I have not blogged in quite some time. I blame this solely on that social networking website that sucks people in by all the nifty games they offer and the lure of finding old friends and making new friends. I think the whole making new friends is basically a contest to see who can acquire the most friends. I admit to joining due to some very friendly pressure. It ended up helping find some very close childhood friends. That was mazing to reconnect with these special women. I will still maintain my social networking site, but I miss blogging. Soooooo
Hello World! I’m back!
Now that I am rejoining the blogging world, I would like to share something with you. Did you know that you could blog for books? Yep!
If you enjoy reading and are willing to blog a review of the book of your choice from their list, then sign up. They send you the book. You read the book. You post a review on their site and post a review on your blog. You get to keep the book!
Seriously,check it out for yourself!
When my children were younger I would sometimes use the decorative cookie cutters to make pancakes. I would spritz them with some non-stick spray and pour the batter in the cookie cutter.
I’m not talking small cookie cutters either. I am talking the huge cookie cutters with the rubber on the top. We had teddy bears,flowers, butterflies and whatever shape I could get one in to make pancakes.
I lacked creativity. Shame on me.
So sorry this took so long…we were all so sick for awhile that I did absolutely nothing. I owe dear Benjamin a huge apology! Benjamin…here is YOUR story!!
The Story…by Benjamin Valencic
My name is Kaleb G. Willson, Jr. I’m twelve years old. My mom’s name is Janessa A. Willson. My dad’s name was Kaleb G. Willson Sr. The reason I said that is that my dad went to war when I was eight years old. I cried 3 days nonstop. Finally Mom calmed me down, and we had ice cream that night right before he left.
He always called me Junior. He was the best dad in the world, that meant it was harder to lose him. Anyway I woke up, looked at the clock/calendar and it said 10:03 a.m. 3/27/15. “Tomorrow’s my birthday!” I thought. Then I remembered to check the mail. I went and looked and only saw a big brown envelope. I brought it into the kitchen, and opened it, since it was addressed to me. There were two letters, a pocket knife, rope, and a map tied together with a string. First I need to explain something. Sometimes a lot of mail is delayed. Sometimes a few days, or a few weeks or a few months, sometimes a year! Well, I picked up the first letter and it said:
We’re sorry to say your mail has been delayed quite a bit.
I was surprised to see that my mail had been delayed for quite a while. Usually it just says it has been delayed. Then I read the second letter. It said:
Here is another short story by one of our contributor’s. Michael is a young lad. Michael is 13. Michael, this was a cute story. You did an awesome job! It had me smiling even with the sad beginning. I love the Baroness Von Somethingorother…:-)
Story by Michael Valencic
… As I tell you this story, think of something sad. Think of the saddest thing that’s happened to you. Ever. Well, keep that in mind as I tell you of the story of David Alexander Corneliusson, who was only 9 at the time, the sole survivor of a car crash between his family’s car and their Uncle and Aunt’s Car. His Uncle Max and Aunt Marissa survived, but of the other car, only poor David Alexander survived. He was then forced to live with his horrible Uncle and his vicious Aunt.
Life at his Aunt and Uncle’s house was like living at a prison for poor Dac (as his only friend, Aaron Michael Valencic, calls him). His window actually has bars on it, his door is locked, and they only give him food and water through a modified doggie door.At least it’s got a bathroom!
“At least Aunt Marissa is a somewhat decent cook,” he thought miserably, as he received his dinner.
Here is the first story submitted. It is written by Emily who is a 17 year old homeschooler. Beautifully done. I am posting each of the stories. Comments are welcome as long as they be constructive comments. Thank you Emily.
Take Me Home
I quietly shut the door behind me and skipped silently away from the house. The yelling eminating from my house gradually became more and more distant as I made my way to the street. At last, I couldn’t hear it at all. I dusted my hands off and smiled. It did not take me long to reach my destination – Mr. and Mrs. Gallagher lived just a couple of streets away.
Since last year when they had so kindly offered me an open invititation, I had become a frequent visitor. I came as often as I was able – about twice a week. Reaching their door, I knocked.
Mrs. Gallagher let me in. “Hello Abbey,” she said cheerfully. “How nice to see you.” Her youthful energy and never-ending joy smiled out of her. She seemed more like 30 than 50.
“Hello Mrs. Gallagher,” I said, following her to the kitchen. It was bright and matched her I-love-being-alive personality.
“Have a brownie,” she said.
“Thanks,” I said, sitting down at the breakfast nook and helping myself to a piece of chocolate heaven. Mrs. Gallagher made the best brownies.
“Here’s some iced tea,” Mrs. Gallagher said. “I put mint in it too.”
Iced tea with mint was my favorite.
The front door opened and a familiar voice said, “I’m home!” Mr. Gallagher walked in. “Hello Leigh,” he said, coming over to kiss her on the cheek. He saw me out of the corner of his eye. “Hello Abbey!” he smiled, his face crinkling and eyes sparkling.
“Hello Mr. Gallagher,” I said. I loved pretty much everything about him – from his smile, to his dark grey hair, to his unassuming manner, to the obvious affection he still had for his wife after thirty years of marriage.
He came over and took a brownie. “How are you doing?”
“Doin’ fine, thank-you,” I smiled.
“Guess what I got today?” he asked mysteriously.
He pulled out a CD from his jacket. “The newest Celtic Thunder album!”
“Sweet!” I said, eyes widening. I hadn’t expected to hear these songs for a while.
“And,” he said, pulling out another CD, “I got one for you too.”
I jumped up and hugged him. “Thanks!”
He laughed. “Here, I’ll put it on.”
While he unwrapped the CD and slid it into the CD player, I helped Mrs. Gallagher make dinner. It was spaghetti night and it was my job to make the french bread. As I buttered it and sprinkled it with my special ingredients, I tried to memorize that moment for forever – the late afternoon sunlight pouring into the kitchen, my favorite music playing, my favorite people around me.
No one really understood why I liked Celtic Thunder, except the Gallaghers. Most everyone thought I was strange for listening to all of their songs, drinking my tea from a Celtic Thunder mug, wearing my Celtic Thunder t-shirt half the time, and having a Celtic Thunder pin on my jacket. Those things more reminded me of the Gallaghers than of Celtic Thunder, as all had been gifts from them. The reason I first liked Celtic Thunder though, was because their songs meant something. Each one reached deeper into me than anything or anyone else ever had before. Some meant more than others, but each one meant something. Desperado, The Old Man, Caledonia, Take Me Home, Steal Away, Broken Things… each described a part of me.
After dinner, which was quite spectacular as always, I helped Mr. Gallagher organize the choir music. He directed a choir over at Mullaghbouy and they had just had a performance. After every performance, everyone gives in their music so it won’t get lost. With a hundred people in the choir and eight songs for each member, it was quite the mess. I liked being able to help him.
“How have you been Abbey?” Mr. Gallagher asked.
I didn’t answer right away. I was in the middle of finding all of the “Before The Throne of God Above” booklets.
“Did something happen today?” he asked.
I nodded. “Mum and Dad got in another fight,” I said softly.
“Is that why you came over here?” he asked.