tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-74232478167119751682024-02-20T20:13:20.942-05:00Love Always,Kierstenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17110687639642291455noreply@blogger.comBlogger160125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7423247816711975168.post-42253665710247314002011-09-18T21:18:00.002-04:002011-09-18T21:21:30.120-04:00Coffee Shop Morals<div style="text-align: center;">So remember that time I said I didn't like coffee? That I was a (constant) hot chocolate girl, and a (fickle) tea lover? </div><div style="text-align: center;">Forget it. I lied.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Pumpkin Spice Lattes are, quite possibly, the greatest thing I have ever tasted. It's like drinking warm pumpkin pie. And who wouldn't love that?<br />
The girls at work talked me into trying one today (and let's just face it...that didn't take much convincing), and I'll never go back. In fact, I'll likely go into withdrawal at the end of the season when they stop selling them. <br />
I may have to convince them to sell me the recipe...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-RJUNAR-hJKY/TnaYBKSqAnI/AAAAAAAAAzQ/eQgedRZi-vo/s1600/Breakfast.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-RJUNAR-hJKY/TnaYBKSqAnI/AAAAAAAAAzQ/eQgedRZi-vo/s400/Breakfast.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">So what's the moral of the story, folks? Run, fly, or teleport (don't even think about walking) to your nearest Starbucks, and buy the largest size they have (I think it's a Trente now? Or something similar...) of a Pumpkin Spice Late!!!</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><3 Kiersten</b> </div>Kierstenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17110687639642291455noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7423247816711975168.post-46422888932895707342011-09-17T20:47:00.000-04:002011-09-17T20:47:57.747-04:00Love of my Town<div style="text-align: center;">Reason #357 I love my town.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">(full disclosure: I don't know if there are that many reasons. I just liked the sound of 357.)</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: center;">Today, my roommates and I ate lunch at a pizza place in town. As I was waiting in line at the register to ask for a fork, the man in front of me was paying off his credit from last night. Apparently the power went out all over town, and he had no cash on him. So they took his name, and trusted him to pay today.</div><div style="text-align: center;">In most places, people stopped trusting each other that much years ago. </div><div style="text-align: center;">I think that a lot of the reason for this trust is that a lot of the stores and restaurants in town are privately owned. I fully believe that had the power gone out at a Dominoes, nobody would ever have accepted "I'll pay you tomorrow", because corporate would likely have fired them. </div><div style="text-align: center;">Which coincidentally is another reason I love this town: I love privately owned places so much more than a large corporate place where nobody who works there has ever even met the actual owner. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Tomorrow is the Restaurant Festival in town. It's a yearly affair, and is a pretty big deal in my town. I work in a restaurant and was advised by my manager to leave my dorm about fifteen minutes to a half hour sooner than I normally would because the side walks and streets will be absolutely jammed all day. Yeah. It's that big.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Last year I was at a friend's house for the weekend, and this will be my first experience of the festival. I almost wish I didn't have work so that I could go take pictures!</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>How about you guys? What's something you love about your town?</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br />
</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><3 Kiersten</b></div>Kierstenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17110687639642291455noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7423247816711975168.post-87698397483688806202011-09-04T23:18:00.001-04:002011-09-04T23:26:06.988-04:00The Lessons You Learn<div style="text-align: center;"><i>When you serve in a restaurant, tables start to take on faces instead of the numbers they're assigned. After you've worked there for a while, you'll start to associate certain customers that ate there with that table, and whenever anybody else sits there, you compare them. </i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br />
</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>At the first restaurant I worked in, a privately owned place in my home-town, 504 became a group of Saturday-night-friends. They'd come in the first night that I was closing around midnight, and I stopped by their table a few times throughout the night to make sure they didn't need anything else. The girl on the left was passed out in her boyfriend's lap. The other two people at the table were in their own world, and didn't really respond whenever I stopped at the table. The boyfriend was the only person ordering drinks, and he must have been the Designated Driver because all he ordered were waters, one right after the other until 2am when we closed.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br />
</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>305 became Ellen- an older woman who came in every morning at 11 or so for lunch. Every day she'd tell us stories about her late husband Edward and the conversations she'd heard on the bus ride into town. More recently, she's started telling us about her boyfriend, a man who she says is younger than her and who she promises that maybe one day, she'll introduce us all to. </i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>601 was a group of older couples, old family friends of one another out for dinner together. The oldest man at the table choked on a piece of steak from his salad, and I remember having no idea what to do. I just kept running back and forth between the server station and the table, grabbing piles of napkins and glasses of water for him. Eventually he coughed it up, and his family had the salad wrapped. </i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br />
</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Given time, I feel like every table will have a face instead of a number. That it will take time, but eventually, every table will be a reminder of a lesson that a customer taught you at one point or another, and even when you leave the restaurant you'll still carry the memory of that table with you.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br />
</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>___________________________________________</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br />
</i></div><div style="text-align: center;">Or am I just getting too philosophical concerning my waitressing jobs?</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><3 Kiersten</b></div>Kierstenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17110687639642291455noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7423247816711975168.post-35268728423192322082011-08-30T23:32:00.003-04:002011-08-30T23:33:41.212-04:00In Which I Admit to Being a Nerd<div align="center"><span style="font-size: large;">You know that feeling you get at the beginning of the school year? Like you're five and it's your first day of Kindergarten all over again, and you can't wait for it to start? </span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size: large;">Well, that feeling is gone, because of course it is fleeting - it only lasts through the first twenty minutes or so of your first class before listening to the Professor discuss the syllabus gets boring, and your turn to introduce yourself to everyone ("Hi, I'm Kiersten. I'm a sophomore with a major in English and a minor in Journalism.") has already passed. </span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size: large;">But after that first excitement fades, and you realize that unlike kindergarten, History 150 and Computer Science are going to require far more work than memorizing the alphabet did, comes the real excitement. The anticipation that follows the end of the first day of classes, when the next day holds the promise of actually learning something, and maybe even an assignment or two! </span><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size: large;">Or is it just me?</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size: large;">Either way, tomorrow marks the first </span><i><span style="font-size: large;">actual </span></i><span style="font-size: large;">day of class. On Monday, all of my professors simply explained their expectations for us that semester and, for the smaller classes, had everyone introduce themselves. Tomorrow, we'll start learning. We'll break in the new notebooks and pens, and write a couple of assignments in our agenda books. And, maybe I'm just crazy, but I'm excited.</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></div><div align="center"><i><span style="font-size: large;">How about you, Friends? Are any of you starting a new semester at school? Tell me all about it!!</span></i></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></div><div align="center"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><3 Kiersten</span></b><i><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></i><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></div>Kierstenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17110687639642291455noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7423247816711975168.post-50832455348336328072011-08-28T10:09:00.000-04:002011-08-28T10:09:25.558-04:00Sunday Morning<div align="center">...but thankfully the rain is not falling. At least not anymore, although the wind is still screaming outside of my living room window. </div><div align="center"><br />
</div><div align="center">Last night was my first night back at school, and throughout the night our power went out three times - the first two it lasted for about five minutes, the third time only for a few seconds. </div><div align="center"> At one point, we ventured over to our old dorm to visit some friends, but when the building started to rattle as though it may fall over at any time, we made the trip back to our own dorm before the storm got so bad that we wouldn't be able to. And so for the rest of the night, my roommates and I unplugged everything, curled up into a couple of the beds, and talked while the wind threatened to tare the building down and someone made the announcement that a tornado warning had just been issued for our area.</div><div align="center"><br />
</div><div align="center">My roommates are all still asleep, and I have yet to venture outside, but judging by Facebook posts the damage was not too severe. The front yard of our old dorm flooded, but that happens even in a normal rain storm. One of the streets in town, the one that the restaurant I work in is on, is partially flooded, but apparently not so bad that the restaurant had to close. I am still scheduled to work today. </div><div align="center">While I'm sure that the damage sustained in other areas, ones closer to bodies of water was much more severe, we made it through Irene with no real wounds, at least not any that won't heal within the next week or so with a little bit of care. </div><div align="center"><br />
</div><div align="center"><em>How about you guys? Did Irene hit you hard last night, or are you waking up just fine?</em></div><div align="center"><br />
</div><div align="center"><strong><3 Kiersten </strong></div>Kierstenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17110687639642291455noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7423247816711975168.post-86482278929372715802011-08-27T00:50:00.000-04:002011-08-27T00:50:14.245-04:0011th Hour Thoughts<div style="text-align: center;">Tomorrow afternoon (well...I guess at this point it's technically today) I move into my new dorm room, amidst forecasts for the worst storm of my life, at least in Pennsylvania. Everything about it seems completely unreal: my being a college sophomore as of Monday, the severity of the storm they're predicting (so bad, in fact, that my friend's entire block was evacuated today because of it's proximity to the river), and the fact that this time tomorrow night, I'll be hunkering down in my living room at school with some friends I haven't seen in months. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Exactly one year ago today, I was lying in bed unable to sleep because I was so excited about beginning college the next day. And I was so completely ready for it, like in the morning simply wasn't soon enough. I wanted to have been there for the past four years, because I was so ready to get started on the rest of my life. This year, it seems like it came just in time. I spent so much of my time working this summer, that even though it was the longest summer break of my life, it didn't seem quite so long. And I think I'm still in disbelief that it's already the end of August, and the beginning of another school year. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">I had thought that packing would slap me in the face like reality with a hammer, but even as I'm sitting in a bare bed staring at the pile of things I have packed and ready to go, I still don't think it's quite registering. Or maybe it's just a different feeling now that I'm going back to something I already know so well, instead of leaving the familiar for something completely foreign. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">What I'm not entirely sure about is whether I like the feeling I have now, or if I'd rather have back the feeling I had last year. So excited to be going into something I don't even slightly recognize. And maybe that's the reason why I know that I'll spend so much of my life moving around. For so many years, changing schools, moving, making new friends was perfectly normal for me, so that now change seems almost necessary. Like staying in one place for too long might be too painful to bear. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><3 Kiersten</b></div>Kierstenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17110687639642291455noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7423247816711975168.post-65000337628698242312011-08-24T21:27:00.000-04:002011-08-24T21:27:20.502-04:00A Break<div style="text-align: center;">Hey guys!</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">So I know that today is Wednesday - time for <a href="http://inkpaperpen.blogspot.com/2011/08/take-walkits-write-on-wednesday.html">Write on Wednesday</a>. This week though, the prompt was to take a walk, and write based on that. I don't know about you guys, but it has spent the greater part of the last two weeks here pouring rain. Not really conducive to a nice, long walk in the park. </div><div style="text-align: center;">I still want to post some writing though, so I'm going to post a short of mine that I'm pretty proud of. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">________________________________________________________________________________</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">It was the home I’d grown up in, save for those first few months on Glenlock before we moved to accommodate a fourth person, a baby brother named Corey that I asked my parents to send back when I first met him – “he’s boring”. <span> </span>It was the house I’d spent my childhood discovering every inch of, every corner, closet, and cabinet until I had it memorized just in case I lost it one day.<span> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span><br />
</span></span></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"> <div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I’d gotten to know the ghosts and the memories that lived in the attic in the back of my closet, and I knew the little boy who used to play in my room before he died, before I was ever even born; or at least I knew the stories my neighbors had told us when we first moved in, and which my parents relayed to me when I was older.<span> </span>I knew that the house held much more than our nuclear family of Mother, Father, Sister, and Brother.<span> </span>I knew the whispers that the walls spoke late at night when they thought that nobody was listening, and I knew their secrets in a way that said I had no idea how much they actually knew.<span> </span>I knew the secrets they chose to tell me, the way I held onto them like tiny treasures.<span> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I knew which tiles in the bathroom downstairs would come up if you pulled them, and I knew which doors creaked and which ones didn’t.<span> </span>I knew how many windows we had - fifteen, because a Dr. Seuss activity book my father had bought me told me to count them.<span> </span>I knew which plank could be pulled out of the walkway in the backyard to hide secret treasures like berries and honeysuckles in the summer.<span> </span>I knew the area under the porch my uncle had built one spring, and how we sat under there all summer pretending it was a clubhouse, collecting flowers and berries and mixing them to make a salad that neither of us were daring enough to actually eat.<span> </span>I knew the tree stump in the backyard that Corey and I planned to tunnel our way into and build a secret fort under after the first time we heard the story of Peter Pan’s secret house in the ground, and I knew by heart the dents we’d made in the bark with a couple of shovels meant for digging in the sand, not in tree bark.<span> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span> </span>I knew the McDonalds toys that my mom collected, the way they’d been lined up on the windowsill above the kitchen sink for as long as I could remember – Disney princesses and Pokemon.<span> </span>But I can’t quite remember a time when they were being handed out with my Happy Meal.<span> </span>I knew the spices in the back of the cabinet that nobody ever used, but we still owned because “maybe one day we’ll need them.”<span> </span>I remember the play-dough we made on the stove with a recipe my mom had found in a craft book, and I remember the day it dried up, the way Corey and I tried to fix it by putting it in a bowl of hot water.<span> </span>I remember when that didn’t work, and my mom helped us make more. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I knew the way that the platform by the stairs turned into a stage when there was a two-woman play, just me and my best friend, and I knew the way it turned into a church when Corey was marrying the neighbor’s little girl in her old white Communion dress.<span> </span>I knew that I hated sharing a room with my little brother, but as soon as he was in the room next door, the bedroom we’d once shared felt somehow empty and I missed him and the noises he made in the morning, when he was playing imaginary games with himself waiting for everybody else to wake up.<span> </span>I knew the secret language we invented, made up half by whispers and half by knowing the other better than anybody else in the world that we spoke when my parents were asleep and only the walls were listening, collecting secrets about us for the next generation.<span> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I knew the darkened stain on the closet door upstairs, where my friend and I had built our club – Girls Only – and Corey had sprayed the door with Lysol in an attempt to get in.<span> </span>And I knew the baseball cards that Corey and I found stashed in that closet, an entire box of them, unopened that my dad had bought on the day I was born.<span> </span>I knew the faces on those cards when we opened a new pack each week, even if I didn’t know the importance of that face and who they really were.<span> </span>I knew the games that we had invented without ever speaking a word about the rules, and I’m sure I could still play the games, but I’d never quite know how to explain them; I have no doubt that he remembers them too.<span> </span>I knew the fallen toy army men who’d been taken prisoner under the fireplace during one of our made-up games; they finally came back out one Christmas Eve, burnt from the fire they’d caused as their last attempt at freedom while my parents held a party in the other room.<span> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I knew which neighbor’s dog howled into the night when they wouldn’t let her in, and I knew the stray cats who came to our yard at night to taunt my domesticated house cat Max, who always managed to get himself up a tree but never quite knew how to get himself back down when the squirrels he’d been chasing disappeared.<span> </span>And I knew which window above the desk in the hall to open to let Max back in when it got dark and he’d learned his lesson, at least for a few hours.<span> </span>I knew the way that Max and Corey taunted one another for years, the way they always acted like they hated one another.<span> </span>But I also knew the look in Corey’s eyes when Max ran away one day – the recognition that he’d never actually hated Max to begin with.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I knew the hallway that led to the family room, even in the dark on tiptoes when Corey and I were playing Spy-Kids late at night in the summer, using our Inspector Gadget toys from Rite Aid as props.<span> </span>And I knew which keyhole to silently stare through to watch Titanic while my parents sat together on the couch unaware that I was crying as the ship sank and Jack lost his grip on Rose.<span> </span>I knew the shapes that the sponge paint on the walls made, and I knew the almost unnoticeable lines drawn in pencil on that wall, marking mine and Corey’s progressive heights on an erratic schedule I could never quite keep track of.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I knew the neighbors that spent most of their days on the front porch talking, and I knew the neighbors who didn’t want us to know them.<span> </span>I knew the neighbors who still got oil heat, because one time their shipment was poured in my basement instead of theirs, and we had to move out for a couple of months to an apartment two towns over.<span> </span>I knew which neighbor was getting older and losing his hearing, because I could hear his phone ring from behind the closed doors of my home. <span> </span>And I knew which neighbors to go to on Halloween, and which neighbors to never go near even in the daylight.<span> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I knew the way the stars shined at night, when I was counting them instead of sheep from my bed, and I knew how many windows I had in my room to watch the starts from – five, all too small to accommodate curtains.<span> </span>I remember the way I felt that first night after my dad finally found curtains to fit those windows, how long it took me to fall asleep when I didn’t have the stars to count anymore.<span> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">And I remember waving goodbye to the poison ivy hills in front of our home where I’d never gotten a rash but my brother and dad did every summer; and goodbye to the stone bench by the garden gate where my dad had long ago given up planting flowers.<span> </span>I remember saying one last goodbye to the tree stumps that had doubled as picnic benches, school desks, chairs, and dinner plates for the last five years since my parents had had the trees outside of my window cut down for fear of a strong spring storm.<span> </span>I remember saying goodbye to the staircase that had worked as a classroom for our imaginary lessons, a church for so many weddings, and a stage for all of our last-minute plays.<span> </span>I remember standing in front of the make-shift closet in my room that led to the attic, finding letters written to a woman who hadn’t lived there in over a decade at least.<span> </span>And I remember saying goodbye to the shadows and the ghosts and the walls that spoke that I’d built a bond with over the years, realizing finally that I wasn’t really scared of them after all. <span> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I remember standing at the top of the concrete stairs outside of my house for one last time, staring at the porch swing I’d never sit in again as it moved slightly in the breeze, and wondering if one day I’d have a home with a porch swing and a park bench by the garden gate because I already missed it there.<span> </span>And the second we locked the door, I missed the creak in the floors and the Crayola drawings on my brother’s bedroom wall, right next to where his bed used to be.<span> </span>I missed the painting in the dining room that hadn’t been painted for this house, but still looked exactly like it in a way that made me think the artist had been there before.<span> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span>____________________________________________________________________</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span>I originally wrote this piece for a creative writing class I took last semester, but I'm pretty happy with how it came out in the end. What are your thoughts on it, guys?</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><span><b><3 Kiersten</b></span></span></div></span><br />
Kierstenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17110687639642291455noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7423247816711975168.post-74512229229351012152011-08-22T22:06:00.001-04:002011-08-22T22:07:46.676-04:00Weekly Gratitude (4)<div style="text-align: center;">I know I haven't done one of these in a couple of weeks now, but today I really think I need to voice (write?) my gratitude. So here goes.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>** Today at work, we received a call from one of my best friends. </i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>She was rushing home from work, having just received a call form a friend at the fire department telling her that her home was on fire. </i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>As it turns out, the neighbors (she lives in a twin) had left a lit cigarette in their bedroom that morning before leaving the house. When the distress call was put in, my friend was called as well because the houses are connected. </i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Tonight, I am grateful that my friend is okay, and that her home retained no real damage aside from some soot on her windowsills, a strong smell of barbecue in her bedroom, and the two destroyed doors which the firemen had to kick down in order to make sure nobody was inside the house. **</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br />
</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>** I am grateful that I work in a restaurant where the staff is genuinely concerned about our safety, and where I have close friends who work with me. **</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br />
</i></div><div style="text-align: center;">Every so often, I think that it is important for something like what happened to my friend today to happen to all of us. It forces us to see the important things in our lives, and to be thankful for them.</div><div style="text-align: center;">I have been incredibly stressed over the past few days, and today made me realize that the things I was worried about are nothing that should upset me. I am incredibly blessed with some very good friends who I know will help me through days like the past few, and who I would do the same thing for no matter what. </div><div style="text-align: center;">Despite what has had me upset lately (and I'm sure a few of you saw the post I recently deleted from the other night), I have plenty in my life to be thankful for.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>So friends, what are you grateful for this week? Have you ever had something happen to you which made you forget everything you were upset about, and just be grateful for the good things in your life?</i><br />
<i>I'd love to hear about it, and don't forget to link up at <a href="http://www.lovelifelace.com/p/weekly-gratitude.html">Love, Life, Lace</a> if you decide to make a post of your own!</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br />
</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><3 Kiersten</b></div>Kierstenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17110687639642291455noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7423247816711975168.post-69739291632093870312011-08-20T01:20:00.000-04:002011-08-20T01:20:45.998-04:00After-Midnight Thoughts<div style="text-align: center;">It's 1am and I'm still awake. </div><div style="text-align: center;">I couldn't tell you why I'm still awake, except that I found old notebooks when I got home a half hour ago. The old notebooks from two years ago, when I was a senior in high-school. And now I'm feeling nostalgic for something that I don't remember ever believing I'd miss. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">I'm looking through old "last-minute-before-the-bell-poetry" that I wrote in every class of the day. Poems that started in second period biology, and finally ended as the lunch bell rang, telling me it was time for the second half of my day. Poems that I changed and edited, read and re-read on a daily basis for nine months straight. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">And everything's dated - telling me exactly where I was in the year when I wrote it. Exactly what made me write it, and at exactly what point it tapered off. A moment I remember, and a letter that marked the end of it. A letter that's missing now. And when you look at the dates - I wrote almost every day for months at a time. And I'm sure that on the days I didn't write something new, I was reading what I'd already written over and over, trying to make it fit just right, just the way the voice in my head was hearing it. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">The voice in my head that still screams at me every day to <i>write</i>, but somehow - at some point, I stopped listening as desperately to it. I still dream of writing one day. Whenever I pick up a magazine I like, or read an article that really meant something to me, I feel it inside of myself - that overwhelming desire to write something that matters to someone one day. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">It's been a long time though since I've written just for me. Poetry or short stories that really mean nothing, and that I'll work at for months at a time, just so that I can read them over a year later, and realize that they're still not finished. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Classes start in just over a week, and with them, the beginning of my sophomore year of college. And just as soon as I can get the ink on the papers dried, the start of completing my major: the one thing I've always known and believed I could do. While I've always second guessed my ability to do anything else, I've always believed in my writing. Even when I knew I could do better, even when I read an <i>incredible </i>story or a heart-wrenching personal essay and thought <i>I'll never be that good</i>, something inside of me has known that I <i>do </i>have that ability if I work for it heard enough. And this year, I want to listen to that feeling every day. I want to remind myself every morning, every time I read something that is better written than a story of mine, I want to know that one day, that article that makes someone smile can be written by me.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Every so often at work, a coworker of mine will tell me that they expect to see that novel one day. </div><div style="text-align: center;">And one day, they will.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><3 Kiersten</b></div>Kierstenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17110687639642291455noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7423247816711975168.post-15722471247423913272011-08-16T11:19:00.000-04:002011-08-16T11:19:54.404-04:00I'm Having Brunch<div style="text-align: center;">Hello Friends! So sorry that I've been gone for a bit - I've been settling back into routine since returning from vacation!</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">However, today I am guest-posting over at Alivia's blog: <a href="http://www.brunchinapril.com/">Brunch in April</a>!! Alivia's blog is one of my favorites, and I love reading her posts every day. Normally, she has a featured blogger of the month, however for the month of August she invited her readers to guest-post for her. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">So definitely go check out my post over there, and while you're stopping by, check out some of Alivia's posts!! She's wonderful - I promise! </div><div style="text-align: center;">And if you're stopping by <i>from </i>Brunch in April, thanks so much for taking the time to come see me! Please, pull up a chair, have an Irish Potato, and enjoy yourself. And don't forget to let me know you were here so that I can stop by your little home some time! :)</div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>____________________________________________________</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><br />
</b></div><div style="text-align: center;">And now that I'm finished with announcements, who's ready for some vacation photos??</div><div style="text-align: center;">My mom, brother and I spent most of the week in LBI. It was my first trip to the island, and as a girl who spent most summers in Wildwood and Ocean City, let me tell you - it was <i>gorgeous. </i>The beach was beautiful and <i>so</i> clean (not really a factor in Wildwood), and we went biking through all the towns on the island to see the lighthouse in Barnnagut (is that how you spell that?). All in all, it was a very relaxing vacation, and I'd love to go back next year!!</div><div style="text-align: center;">So without further ado, here are some photos from our trip.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-CbzlwB2pK48/TkqJfGd8iII/AAAAAAAAAwk/8jBMy_f1BiE/s1600/IMG_1235.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-CbzlwB2pK48/TkqJfGd8iII/AAAAAAAAAwk/8jBMy_f1BiE/s400/IMG_1235.JPG" width="266" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-H9gX5OZXUDg/TkqJjdVXF1I/AAAAAAAAAwo/39ELXZiBfNA/s1600/IMG_1239.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-H9gX5OZXUDg/TkqJjdVXF1I/AAAAAAAAAwo/39ELXZiBfNA/s400/IMG_1239.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">This was a view of the water below from the top of the lighthouse. My brother took this photo because I'm not a big fan of heights. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1UTSECNGJ0E/TkqJl6dH6zI/AAAAAAAAAws/6c5naFTUis8/s1600/IMG_1246.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1UTSECNGJ0E/TkqJl6dH6zI/AAAAAAAAAws/6c5naFTUis8/s400/IMG_1246.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Also the view from the top of the lighthouse</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NDuNbCUIYdg/TkqJn2-hBXI/AAAAAAAAAww/4ZM_v6eM72M/s1600/IMG_1262.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NDuNbCUIYdg/TkqJn2-hBXI/AAAAAAAAAww/4ZM_v6eM72M/s400/IMG_1262.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-HmBWT2kmJA8/TkqJpF4Xq1I/AAAAAAAAAw0/BAjDqXNs4s8/s1600/IMG_1265.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-HmBWT2kmJA8/TkqJpF4Xq1I/AAAAAAAAAw0/BAjDqXNs4s8/s400/IMG_1265.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">mom and brother in the ocean</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-RQRp0RRnjqA/TkqJrt1dc8I/AAAAAAAAAw4/5umAz5JdXJc/s1600/IMG_1289.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-RQRp0RRnjqA/TkqJrt1dc8I/AAAAAAAAAw4/5umAz5JdXJc/s400/IMG_1289.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GG48AWFynY4/TkqJtdsFgBI/AAAAAAAAAw8/yZyD7sSmcOo/s1600/IMG_1300.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GG48AWFynY4/TkqJtdsFgBI/AAAAAAAAAw8/yZyD7sSmcOo/s400/IMG_1300.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>So how about you, friends? How are you enjoying the last few days of summer?</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><3 Kiersten</b></div>Kierstenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17110687639642291455noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7423247816711975168.post-9490738143912399232011-08-07T22:43:00.002-04:002011-08-07T22:56:50.405-04:00Up and Away<div style="text-align: center;">Well, technically not up. But oh well, I thought it sounded nice.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Tomorrow, as a last minute decision on our parts, my mom, brother and I are going down the shore (at least that's the plan for right now). Over the past few months, our travel destination has changed more times than I can count, and about an hour ago, we finally decided on going to the beach (although we haven't decided <i>which </i>beach yet). </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-uAkVzJ48ZiI/Tj9M94zYOiI/AAAAAAAAAwU/5eFRg0DMG30/s1600/IMG_7152.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-uAkVzJ48ZiI/Tj9M94zYOiI/AAAAAAAAAwU/5eFRg0DMG30/s400/IMG_7152.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">So Friends, for the next five days, I will be digging my feet into the sand and catching up on my reading - two novellas I picked up at the bookstore last week and haven't had a chance to start yet. </div><div style="text-align: center;">But I promise, I'll take <i>plenty </i>of photos to bring back and show you guys! See you in a week!</div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><3 Kiersten</b><br />
PS. Anyone have some blog-design tips? I'm trying (and desperately failing) to make Love Always look pretty, but I don't have the money for a blog design. Any thoughts would be awesome!!</div>Kierstenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17110687639642291455noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7423247816711975168.post-6516549869246562192011-08-06T21:15:00.000-04:002011-08-06T21:15:43.617-04:003 Weeks<div style="text-align: center;">Three weeks from today, I will be in my dorm room at school. </div><div style="text-align: center;">I will be setting up our room, and getting ready for classes in a couple of days. I will be spending time with friends who I haven't seen in a few months, and possibly thinking up all the things that I will write to my friends back home about.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">I will be ordering Chinese food from our favorite delivery place in town (and trust me...that took a semester or two of trial and error to win a place in our hearts), the one that we all have stored in our phones. We will be putting off eating in the school cafeteria for one more day. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">I will be meeting the people living on my floor, going to an all-floor meeting to introduce ourselves. </div><div style="text-align: center;">I will be walking to the frozen yogurt place in town to make a diabetes-inducing mixture, and making plans to go to the fair in town later that week. Because what else does a college-town have to do over the summer other than plan a celebration for the returning students?</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">I am <i>so. ready. </i>to be back.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><3 Kiersten</b></div>Kierstenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17110687639642291455noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7423247816711975168.post-52045068938185290862011-08-03T22:26:00.001-04:002011-08-03T22:44:12.837-04:00Write on Wednesday (4)<div style="text-align: center;">Hey guys! So although I'm cutting it a bit close, today is Wednesday and that means my fourth attempt at <a href="http://inkpaperpen.blogspot.com/2011/08/clock-winkedits-write-on-wednesday.html">WoW </a>(and no, I don't mean the interactive computer game...). If you guys haven't seen my previous posts for this project, or just haven't had a chance to check it out, you should jump right on over to <a href="http://inkpaperpen.blogspot.com/">InkPaperPen</a> to check it out. Go ahead, I'll wait here. :)</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">This week's prompt was a single phrase: "The clock winked". Our assignment was to take this sentence, and use it to write whatever came to mind over the course of <b>five minutes. </b>I'll be honest: I spent the first two minutes like a fish out of water, with no idea what to write, as though the art were a totally new form to me. I'm not entirely happy with how it came out, but I think I'm proud of the general premise of it. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>What do you guys think? Let me know in the comment box, please!</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br />
</i></div><div style="text-align: center;">________________________________________</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div class="MsoNormal"><div style="text-align: center;">The clock winked.<o:p></o:p></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div></div><div class="MsoNormal"><div style="text-align: center;">Mona was convinced that it had, despite being well aware that her eyes were playing plenty of tricks on her these days, and what was to stop this from being one of them. But it <i>had </i>winked at her. In a mocking sort of way too, as though it knew it had full power over her, and intended to use that for all it was worth.<o:p></o:p></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div></div><div class="MsoNormal"><div style="text-align: center;"><i>You’re going to be here forever, </i>the clock seemed to say to her. <i>I control time. I can stay right here for hours if I like, and there’s really nothing you can do about it. </i><i> </i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br />
</i></div><div style="text-align: center;">But honestly, it seemed as though it had been days <i>already </i>just since she'd sat down on the kitchen chair which, according to the clock, had been five minutes ago. Something so small as a second seemed to pass over the course of days for her now. And days could pass as an eternity. She had no idea as to how she was going to live the rest of her life.<o:p></o:p></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div></div><div class="MsoNormal"><div style="text-align: center;">There’d been a time though, when time seemed to go so fast. When they knew they had so little of it, and that realization only seemed to result in their having less of it, no matter what they did to make sure they spent every moment being happy together. What had they done wrong? Why, after all they’d done to appreciate the time they had, did he have to be taken away in what seemed like the blink of an eye? Or rather, the wink of a clock. </div></div><div class="MsoNormal"></div><div style="text-align: center;">________________________________________</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>How about you, friends? Do you want to give WoW a try? Link up at InkPaperPen so we can all check it out!!</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br />
</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><3 Kiersten</b></div><div><br />
</div>Kierstenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17110687639642291455noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7423247816711975168.post-30676312246642287442011-08-01T18:14:00.000-04:002011-08-01T18:14:07.685-04:00Weekly Gratitude (3)<div style="text-align: center;">Hey guys! </div><div style="text-align: center;">So it's Monday again (already?!), and you know what that means, right? Time for <a href="http://www.lovelifelace.com/p/weekly-gratitude.html">Weekly Gratitude</a>, a lovely idea from <a href="http://www.lovelifelace.com/">Love, Life, Lace</a>! If you just <i>love </i>this idea, be sure to link up over at the blog that started it, and let me know too so that I can check your list out!<br />
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<i>- Vacation to Wildwood next week. I can't wait for the time off, and I miss the beach so much!! </i><br />
<i>- Finding my ring that I thought I'd lost today at work. At some point, I noticed I wasn't wearing it anymore, and thought that when I'd taken it off to wash my hands, I'd left it in the bathroom. When I checked and it wasn't there, I assumed someone had taken it. Towards to end of my shift though, I found it lying on the ground next to a table. Guess I knocked it off when I was bussing a table?</i><br />
<i>-RAIN! As much as I hated walking home from the bus-stop in it, the flowers and the grass and the trees needed it!</i><br />
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So how about you, friends? What are you thankful for this week? Let me know!!<br />
<br />
<b><3 Kiersten</b></div>Kierstenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17110687639642291455noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7423247816711975168.post-24042903228116822472011-07-31T23:21:00.001-04:002011-07-31T23:22:41.992-04:00WebCam Love<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-BMcnjuDf6zk/TjYa_puqUhI/AAAAAAAAAsI/CukgEQM1QnE/s1600/Image102.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-BMcnjuDf6zk/TjYa_puqUhI/AAAAAAAAAsI/CukgEQM1QnE/s400/Image102.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">She didn't much appreciate it at the time...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-wjRBAbue-_4/TjYbCHb7DII/AAAAAAAAAsM/riiibsB-mLE/s1600/Image103.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-wjRBAbue-_4/TjYbCHb7DII/AAAAAAAAAsM/riiibsB-mLE/s400/Image103.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-kdp26Cr-Q8k/TjYbCazRv5I/AAAAAAAAAsQ/A-9GLHqiHz4/s1600/Image104.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-kdp26Cr-Q8k/TjYbCazRv5I/AAAAAAAAAsQ/A-9GLHqiHz4/s400/Image104.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">But I am absolutely positive that Kitty will cherish these photos a month from now when I'm back at school....</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Or maybe I'm just flattering myself, and she'll continue her daily routine of ninja-sneaking her way into my room, and sleeping on the bed all day....</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>How about you? Got any pets you miss dearly when you're away from them? </i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>(or is that just me and my unhealthy relationship with my cat?)</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><3 Kiersten</b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">PS. Whatcha think of the new layout/blog name, friends? I'll un-friend you if you don't love it. Just kidding, but seriously...it took me two days. Worth it?</div>Kierstenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17110687639642291455noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7423247816711975168.post-37562826357373429022011-07-28T23:44:00.001-04:002011-07-28T23:46:09.011-04:00Talk to Yourself (1)<div style="text-align: center;">Hello, Friends! </div><div style="text-align: center;">So one week ago, I challenged you guys to start writing in a journal - whether it be a small notebook you carry with you, a spare piece of loose-leaf, or a computer document. I challenged you to write down whatever it was you were thinking at the end of each day, and see how that affected you throughout the week. And I took part too, creating a document on my laptop, and trying to write each night. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Of course, with work and everyday life, and my own forgetfulness, there were a couple of nights where I forgot to write. At the end of the seven days though, <strike>I think</strike> I can say that I'm glad I did it, and I'm going to continue trying to write every night. I found that on the nights I did write, typing out everything that came to mind, in no order whatsoever other than the order in which I thought of them (and trust me...if anybody were to read it, they'd doubt that I am an English major), I fell asleep easier, and slept better. Lately (and by lately, I mean over the past four or five years) I've had trouble falling asleep at night, and usually I wake up every couple of hours and find myself tossing and turning for another 45 minutes to an hour trying to fall back asleep. And I have no illusions that this is due to anything other than one simple fact about me: </div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>I think far too much. </i></div><div style="text-align: center;">There, I said it. Honestly though, I do. Every night I lie in bed and think about a million things, like what happened that day and what I could have done or said differently in specific situations, worry (I do <i>a lot </i>of that), my apparent "future", school, work, friends, family, my room and the fact that it (inevitably) needs to be cleaned, chores for the next day, taking pictures, did I choose the right major, and so on and so forth. Until 1 in the morning, at which point I pass out from complete exhaustion, only to dream about everything that I'd spent the last three hours thinking about.</div><div style="text-align: center;">And I've tried everything - counting sheep, reading a book, imagining a broom sweeping all the thoughts out of my head (yeah...I did that...), trying to consistently think about one simple thing (like a toothbrush) until I fell asleep, etc. etc. etc. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">But this project was the first thing that worked. The nights that I wrote everything I was thinking, I fell asleep much quicker. Partially, I'm sure, because I'd tired myself out a bit. But also because I'd exhausted my mind of everything it had stored from the day to think about. I'd already written it all down, therefore thinking about it. </div><div style="text-align: center;">And besides that, I think that "talking to myself" has helped me in one other way: it helps me to work things out in my head. If I'm writing it down, that means that - for at least a couple of minutes - I'm focused on that one issue, and that time plus writing down every relevant though, helps me to work it out in my mind, and calm myself down. It helps me to process all the crazy things flying through my head at all times, because when I see something written down, I judge it more harshly than when I'm thinking it. I can see some ridiculous fear typed out on my screen and think to myself "Kiersten, calm down. That's not even legitimate.", and as ludicrous as that sounds, it helps me. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-GKRMAPxCFhk/TjIs9WoPTqI/AAAAAAAAAlo/N1W5zPnQk_k/s1600/Day+25.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-GKRMAPxCFhk/TjIs9WoPTqI/AAAAAAAAAlo/N1W5zPnQk_k/s400/Day+25.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #0c343d; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><b><br />
</b></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>So how about you? I want to know how you guys felt about talking to yourself this past week. Is it something you'd do again? What'd you think about it? Link me to your post about it!</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br />
</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><3 Kiersten</b></div>Kierstenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17110687639642291455noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7423247816711975168.post-1719277403259924202011-07-27T21:43:00.002-04:002011-07-27T21:45:37.565-04:00Write on Wednesday (3)<div style="text-align: center;"><i>Here she was again...back at the same tree she'd stood under ten years earlier, still dreaming about a future she had no clue what she wanted for. Young, and starry eyed, she'd been about to get what she'd wanted for as long as she could remember - to get out of this town, and on to something which she could only imagine was so much bigger and better than what she'd always known. She'd been so ready for a change, after 18 years of the same things and people every day. But didn't everyone want change at that age? Wasn't that what they all spent their lives dreaming about from the time they first realized that change was an option? And in the end, when she finally got what she'd spent so long working towards...it wasn't at all what she'd written in her letters about. The letters which she was now here to dig up and read, as her 18-year-old self's 28th birthday present.</i><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-lHVhEbKYtqk/TjC_IcR16eI/AAAAAAAAAlc/5o9IMTJzHpM/s1600/IMG_0737.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-lHVhEbKYtqk/TjC_IcR16eI/AAAAAAAAAlc/5o9IMTJzHpM/s640/IMG_0737.JPG" width="426" /></a><i> </i></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Hey friends! So it's Wednesday, and therefore my third attempt at <a href="http://inkpaperpen.blogspot.com/2011/07/sit-under-tree-and-writeits-write-on.html">Write on Wednesday</a>! The prompt this week was a photo of a tree, and the command to write whatever came to mind when looking at that photo. (the photo above is mine - not the prompt photo!) I thought, originally, of myself and a trail near my home. Of course...the story ended up being nothing to do with me, but it got me started. I'm not terribly happy with the end result, but it got me writing, and that was the point. So in my mind, a mission accomplished! (Although now that I'm thinking about it, I'm considering other options I could have had with the prompt... hmm, an idea to pursue?)</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">So how were your Wednesdays, friends? Did you participate in WoW, or did you write about something else you'd love to share? </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><3 Kiersten</b></div>Kierstenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17110687639642291455noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7423247816711975168.post-76099274458653395012011-07-23T23:40:00.000-04:002011-07-23T23:40:28.339-04:00What's for Dinner?<div style="text-align: center;">Hello friends! How has your weekend been? Wonderful, I hope!!</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Yesterday was my day off, and I spent the evening with my wonderful friends Heather and Eric. We decided to make dinner, since Heather had found this great recipe via a video she stumbled to. And of course, I photographed the whole process for you!</div><div style="text-align: center;">Now, for anybody that knows me personally, you're aware that I can't cook or bake <i>anything </i>legitimate. Honestly, I can't even peal a potato. I know - this is a serious problem which needs to be rectified immediately. And last night was one step towards that!</div><div style="text-align: center;">So anyways, first Heather made a smoothie. I suppose the technical flavor was strawberry-banana. But we're the type of people who like to raid cabinets, and so the mixture consisted of much more than strawberries and bananas.</div><div style="text-align: center;">______________</div><div style="text-align: center;">-a bag of frozen strawberries</div><div style="text-align: center;">-2 1/2 bananas</div><div style="text-align: center;">-a few blueberries</div><div style="text-align: center;">-2 peach-flavored popsicles</div><div style="text-align: center;">-creamer</div><div style="text-align: center;">-a <i>little </i>bit of water, just to make the blend easier</div><div style="text-align: center;">______________</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-oX9eqdoyFk0/TiuPlXGtMlI/AAAAAAAAAlI/GrN7RjKPeWo/s1600/smoothie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="274" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-oX9eqdoyFk0/TiuPlXGtMlI/AAAAAAAAAlI/GrN7RjKPeWo/s640/smoothie.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Let me tell you guys. I was doubting the legitimacy of those smoothies. But they were <i>delicious!!! </i></td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="text-align: center;">So after the smoothies were made, we started work on the appetizers - <a href="http://www.stumbleupon.com/su/1yHfto/www.jasonandshawnda.com/foodiebride/archives/7195">mozzarella balls</a>. Another recipe Heather found online while stumbling. :) These were made up of:</div><div style="text-align: center;">______________</div><div style="text-align: center;">-Dough</div><div style="text-align: center;">-Mozzarella</div><div style="text-align: center;">-Pepperoni</div><div style="text-align: center;">-A butter/pepper mixture </div><div style="text-align: center;">______________</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-nWGXSbE3gr0/TiuSGivPJ7I/AAAAAAAAAlM/5wUHV6G8YM4/s1600/mozarella+balls.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="326" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-nWGXSbE3gr0/TiuSGivPJ7I/AAAAAAAAAlM/5wUHV6G8YM4/s640/mozarella+balls.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Finally, after that, came the main course: <a href="http://www.stumbleupon.com/su/4J87Yv/www.youtube.com/watch%3Fv%3DRSsx8m4PG_U">Mozzarella Chicken</a>. Yet another recipe we have Heather's stumbling addiction to thank for. </div><div style="text-align: center;">Because it was dinner, this of course had plenty more ingredients!</div><div style="text-align: center;">______________</div><div style="text-align: center;">-Chicken </div><div style="text-align: center;">-Mozzarella cheese</div><div style="text-align: center;">-Tomatoes</div><div style="text-align: center;">-Basil (we didn't include this, though)</div><div style="text-align: center;">-Olive Oil</div><div style="text-align: center;">-Flour</div><div style="text-align: center;">-Egg</div><div style="text-align: center;">-Garlic</div><div style="text-align: center;">-Parmesan cheese</div><div style="text-align: center;">-Peppers (side dish)</div><div style="text-align: center;"> ______________</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-tNQcxk3I6VI/TiuTm5WCBtI/AAAAAAAAAlQ/R-fjXijIka8/s1600/IMG_1196.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-tNQcxk3I6VI/TiuTm5WCBtI/AAAAAAAAAlQ/R-fjXijIka8/s400/IMG_1196.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VLi7hPx0oIw/TiuToUVQMvI/AAAAAAAAAlU/lTv_1LSnjR0/s1600/IMG_1202.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VLi7hPx0oIw/TiuToUVQMvI/AAAAAAAAAlU/lTv_1LSnjR0/s400/IMG_1202.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-DXJBdTfAz5Y/TiuTs99R1hI/AAAAAAAAAlY/wQOMP4Fna0Y/s1600/IMG_1216.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-DXJBdTfAz5Y/TiuTs99R1hI/AAAAAAAAAlY/wQOMP4Fna0Y/s400/IMG_1216.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Unfortunately, I had to leave at about this point in the preparation, so I never had a chance to try to chicken. I've heard from Heather, however, that it was delicious, and it certainly looked like it! So definitely worth trying if you like chicken and mozzarella! </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>So how were your Friday nights, friends? Did you do anything exciting? I'd love to hear about it!!</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br />
</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><3 Kiersten</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div>Kierstenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17110687639642291455noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7423247816711975168.post-5906772475351022242011-07-21T23:39:00.001-04:002011-07-21T23:40:17.511-04:00Talk to Yourself<div style="text-align: center;">Hey guys! </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">So I know today is Thursday, but instead of doing Awkward and Awesome, I have a challenge for you (and, on that note, for myself). Recently I've been thinking about writing a journal. It's something that I've done on and off for most of my life, and I've always loved the idea of having a journal to look back at twenty years from now and read. To see what I wanted then, and if it matches up with what I have and what I still want. It never really seems to last, because I usually feel like W<i>ow I sound pathetic. Why am I talking to myself? </i>But that's the thing. I <i>do </i>talk to myself, and if I can take the liberty of assuming this, I think we all do. My mind is running for most of the day, thinking of a million different things. I have found myself writing <i>that's crazy </i>on a customer's check instead of my usual <i>thank you</i> because I was thinking about a million "somethings" other than the tables I had waiting for me. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">And here's the thing. If I'm talking to myself all day anyway, in a completely unorganized and distracting fashion, why not keep a journal of all these thoughts? Maybe it will help me to focus it all so that I don't find myself rereading entire chapters in a book because I was busy thinking about everything I had to do the next day instead of processing what I was reading. And as an added bonus, it'll give me one more reason (aside from this blog) to write on a regular basis. You can always improve on your writing, and like I've always been told, you're your own worst critic. Maybe if I'm reading over my own grammar errors and improperly formed sentences every day, it'll help me to construct something better.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">So here's my challenge for this week, until next Thursday night: keep a journal, separate from your blog. Write everything in it that you talk to yourself about (because I know you do), even if it seems silly to write it down. Does it make you feel better when you're done? Does it help you organize the chaotic mess that your mind is (or perhaps I'm deflecting the current status of my own mind onto you...)? </div><div style="text-align: center;">For the next seven days, try to write every night, even if it's only a couple of sentences. Next Thursday, blog about how you think it helped (or was detrimental towards) you and your every-day life. You don't have to talk about what you wrote, just how it affected you that week. Sound good?</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">I'm putting a button on the "Cool Stuff I Do" tab, so grab it! And make sure to link back here so everyone can join in! :)</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-RBuAmbLKj54/Tijw8xfIKUI/AAAAAAAAAk0/3Ys584Rprvc/s1600/Day+25.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-RBuAmbLKj54/Tijw8xfIKUI/AAAAAAAAAk0/3Ys584Rprvc/s400/Day+25.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><3 Kiersten</b></div>Kierstenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17110687639642291455noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7423247816711975168.post-63758080288774028982011-07-20T23:06:00.001-04:002011-07-21T09:27:17.580-04:00Write on Wednesday (2)<div style="text-align: center;">Hey guys, so today's Wednesday and you know what that means, right? My second attempt at <a href="http://inkpaperpen.blogspot.com/p/write-on-wednesdays-online-writing.html">Write on Wednesday</a>! This little project was started over at InkPaperPen, and each week there is a new prompt for anybody interested to attempt. Sounds cool, right?</div><div style="text-align: center;">Well, this week's prompt was to log onto your social networking site of choice (Facebook, Twitter, etc) and use the first status update you see as a prompt. I didn't feel comfortable using any of my friends' status', so I used the most recent update on <a href="http://www.lamebook.com/">Lamebook</a> which for me at least, happened to be a photo. I started the prompt at 10:56, and finished at 11:01. Five minutes. :)</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-cABMjh1Vjtc/TieXUZ9WqsI/AAAAAAAAAkw/9RfiPtUR6Xw/s1600/lamebook.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="375" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-cABMjh1Vjtc/TieXUZ9WqsI/AAAAAAAAAkw/9RfiPtUR6Xw/s400/lamebook.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.lamebook.com/problematic-pictures-2/p1/">Source</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Eggs.</div><div style="text-align: center;">That was the most recent "love note" topic. For whatever reason, Natalie's husband, Ryan, had been leaving these notes around the house recently. Usually they didn't mean anything. </div><div style="text-align: center;">Natalie opened the fridge, looking for the carton of eggs she'd bought at the PathMark this past weekend. Sure enough, the carton was still there. </div><div style="text-align: center;">She smiled, and turned back to her breakfast - an English muffin, toasted with peanut butter and honey on it, something Ryan always made fun of her for eating. He never seemed to believe her when she told him how good it tasted, and swore he was allergic to peanuts whenever she asked him to try it. An excuse which the couple's doctor had informed them was just that - an excuse with no truth to back it up. But she supposed it was just one more of the funny things the two of them shared. </div><div style="text-align: center;">Reaching out for a glass of chocolate milk that wasn't there, Natalie realized she had nothing to drink, and turned back to the fridge to grab the milk. <br />
As a last minute decision, she decided to boil a couple of eggs. It was September, but maybe they could scrounge up some leftover egg dye and have some fun tonight. She pulled out the eggs, and as she opened it, realized that they were all multicolored plastic eggs from March's egg hunt over at the community center. <br />
"I guess we were out after all..."<br />
<br />
__________________________________________________________________________________</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Want to join us? Jump on over to <a href="http://inkpaperpen.blogspot.com/2011/07/status-anxietyits-write-on-wednesdays.html">InkPaperPen</a> to add your name to the list of participants for this week!</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br />
</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><3 Kiersten</b></div>Kierstenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17110687639642291455noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7423247816711975168.post-87027630225262146062011-07-18T23:20:00.000-04:002011-07-18T23:20:53.951-04:00Weekly Gratitude (2)<div style="text-align: center;">Hey guys! Sorry I'm running kind of late with this post - I just got home from work! </div><div style="text-align: center;">This week I am thankful for:</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">1) The fact that my brother is having an awesome time in Greece. You know, on a cruise ship...where there are no riots taking place. I'm a worrier, and I'll admit, I was scared! But he's having a great time, and will be home in less than a week with some amazing stories!</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">2) My new tripod :) I know I mentioned this the other day, and as of yet I haven't had a chance to try it out because of work. However, once I do, I promise, you guys will be the first to know! (I was outside about ten minutes ago searching in vain for the moon, but there's too much cloud coverage to get a picture of it)</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">3) My friends. And the fact that even if it's been a while since I've seen them, we still mesh back together perfectly when we do see one another! </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">4) Now this is going to make me sound like a Harry Potter Generation nerd. But. The fact that the movie was good. Okay, that's an understatement. Amazing! I was pretty worried that because it was the final movie, they would somehow butcher it. But Rowling helped to produce it and write the script and all, so it came out great! I was very happy with it, and, in full disclosure, cried a couple of times. Only briefly and quietly, in a way that nobody seemed to notice. But I still think that says something about the impact Harry had on my generation. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">5) Pinterest, and the fact that I am starting to get used to it and understand it better. I actually love having a place to catalog all the lovely images I find throughout the virtual world so that when I want to use it for something, I have it readily available! I'm thinking a once-a-week Pinterest-Find Post? What are your thoughts on that?</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">6) And finally...you guys!! It really does mean SO much to me to know that somebody's reading the things I write on here. And it means even more when you take the time to leave me a little note! I love getting to read them every day! So thank you soooo much!!! :)</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>So what are you guys thankful for this week? Let me know in the comment box, and don't forget to link up with Love, Life, Lace if you decide to join in on all the fun!</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br />
</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><3 Kiersten</b></div>Kierstenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17110687639642291455noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7423247816711975168.post-76136170787955759002011-07-16T23:13:00.001-04:002011-07-16T23:13:52.948-04:00Awkward and Awesome (1)<div style="text-align: center;">This is my first week trying out the <a href="http://www.thedaybookblog.com/p/blog-page.html">Awkward and Awesome project</a>! Exciting, right? The project was started by Sydney over at <a href="http://www.thedaybookblog.com/">The Daybook</a>. Usually, the posts are supposed to be on Thursday, so I'm a little late this week. Better late than never though, right? So here goes nothing</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><u>AWKWARD:</u></div><div style="text-align: center;">- Being late on my first Awkward and Awesome post</div><div style="text-align: center;">- The bulkiness of my new tripod</div><div style="text-align: center;">- The fact that I still haven't seen the Harry Potter movie...</div><div style="text-align: center;">-....and that Harry Potter is officially over, after having been around for more than half of my life</div><div style="text-align: center;">- Figuring out the time difference between here and Greece so that I don't text my brother at 3am. </div><div style="text-align: center;">- Trying to figure out how to <i>use </i>Pinterest</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><u>AWESOME:</u></div><div style="text-align: center;">- My new tripod!</div><div style="text-align: center;">- The U2 concert (definitely worth the one-year delay!!)</div><div style="text-align: center;">- The quad that I'm going to be living in with my roommates this Fall</div><div style="text-align: center;">- All the lovely comments you all have been leaving! I love them <3</div><div style="text-align: center;">- Pinterest<br />
- The ridiculously enormous impact that Harry Potter had on my generation</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>So how about you, Friends? What's awkward or awesome about your life? Make sure to link up here, and at The Daybook!!</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br />
</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><3 Kiersten</b></div>Kierstenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17110687639642291455noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7423247816711975168.post-28580774435768887682011-07-13T23:21:00.002-04:002011-07-13T23:22:52.031-04:00Write on Wednesday (1)<center></center><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">Hey guys! So today is my first day doing a new project that I found on <a href="http://inkpaperpen.blogspot.com/">Ink Paper Pen</a>. The project is a way to get ourselves writing something at least once a week, and hopefully in the process, it'll make me write more often than that. Each week, there will be a new prompt for anybody participating to write on. The only rule is that you read the other participants' posts. Sounds good, right?</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">So anyway, the prompt this week was to pick a song and, after listening to the first line or two, give yourself five minutes to write whatever comes to mind. You could either pick a favorite song of yours, or turn on the radio and go without whatever you hear playing first. For my piece, I chose <i>Come on Get Higher </i>by Matt Nathanson. It's the first song I heard by him, and I love it - it's a very lyrical song, which I thought would be helpful in prompting me to write something. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">___________________________________________________________</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>"I miss the sound of your voice. And I miss the rush of your skin. And I miss the feel of the silence as you breathe out and I breathe in."</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br />
</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>I wasn't the one singing the song. I hadn't even been the one to think the words, at least not the way he said them. But I felt them. I felt every beat of them and more.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br />
</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>I missed the smell of your hair, and the sound of your breathing while you slept next to me at night in our queen-sized bed. I missed waking up next to you just a couple of minutes before you opened your eyes, having it all rush at me like a wave - how much I loved you in that moment. In every moment.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br />
</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>I missed swapping sections of the New York Times with you each morning, lying in bed together. I miss arguing over whose turn it was to jump out of bed at 7am, to go grab the newspaper off of the cold cement front step, still barefoot and in pajamas, before rushing back inside and under the covers to pretend we'd never left in the first place.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br />
</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>I wish you'd never left in the first place...</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br />
</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>_______________________________________________________</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br />
</i></div><div style="text-align: center;">I know it's not very well put together - such is my unthought out (is that a word?) writing sans editing. </div><div style="text-align: center;">But damn, it felt good to write it! </div><div style="text-align: center;">So thank you if you stuck with me this far to read my short first post. And welcome if you're here as a result of Write On Wednesdays - thanks for stopping by!</div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://inkpaperpen.blogspot.com/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img alt="Write On Wednesdays" src="http://i1200.photobucket.com/albums/bb340/mumstrosity/Blogs/Write%20On/WriteOn.png" /></a></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><3 Kiersten</b></div>Kierstenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17110687639642291455noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7423247816711975168.post-63318296573487731432011-07-12T21:14:00.000-04:002011-07-12T21:14:38.522-04:00Adventure<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gkEUI7j-KQc/Thzv-mZKJ1I/AAAAAAAAAkc/CLSL3VUDMWg/s1600/IMG_1088.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gkEUI7j-KQc/Thzv-mZKJ1I/AAAAAAAAAkc/CLSL3VUDMWg/s640/IMG_1088.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">It was July 3rd, and we could see so many firework displays right in front of our eyes, as though the flares were being shot off just for us, as though we were the only ones watching them. Every few seconds, one of us would point out another blue or red streak shooting up into the night sky. </div><div style="text-align: center;">We could see everything from where we were. The traffic lights a mile away, directing the traffic at 1am in all different directions. We could see the houses, their lights going off slowly, one by one as each different family went to sleep. </div><div style="text-align: center;">It was beautiful. It was the adventure I'd been itching for. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><3 Kiersten</b></div>Kierstenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17110687639642291455noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7423247816711975168.post-8927043664384105982011-07-11T11:33:00.001-04:002011-07-11T11:33:24.504-04:00Weekly Gratitude (1)<div style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Hello, Friends!</span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">So if you've been here before, you've probably seen these posts from me in the past. I'm starting back at "1" because I've been spotty about these posts lately.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"> If you don't know what the heck I'm talking about, Weekly Gratitude posts were something started by Tatiana at <a href="http://www.lovelifelace.com/p/weekly-gratitude.html">Love, Life, Lace</a>. The point is to reflect, once a week, on the things or people about your life that you are grateful for.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">This week, I am grateful for a few things:</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">1) About a month ago, I started a new job as a waitress at a locally owned restaurant. I had never waitressed before, so to begin with, I'm thankful that I was hired! Most restaurants won't hire somebody without previous experience in the field, and this restaurant was willing to train me! </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">So far, I absolutely love it! My coworkers are great, and I love the job itself. So I'm grateful for that too! </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">2) Lately, I've been noticing a few new readers. It's not much, certainly not as many as most of the blogs I read have, but it still means a lot to me. Comments make me smile every time the little button pops up, and I really do love reading what you have to say!</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">3) My friends. Especially simple things like nights watching Titanic and playing Monopoly. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I miss my friends at school <i>so </i>much, but at the same time, I love being able to see my friends from home all the time. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">What are you thankful for this week, Friends? If you do decide to write about it, make sure too link it up at <a href="http://www.lovelifelace.com/p/weekly-gratitude.html">Love, Life, Lace</a>, and let me know too!</span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><3 Kiersten</span></b></div>Kierstenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17110687639642291455noreply@blogger.com9