Merry Christmas

It's a blizzard outside.  Snow falls in a whorlwind of dust, sweeping through like icing on a cake. It falls and spins, whipping the trees back and forth. Each flake is a memory of winters gone by.  I remember my first snowman.  A faithful helper to the family I was, dashing into the house on a quest for a carrot nose.  A baby carrot would have to do; it was that or a stick of celery. I fondly remember hours of mom readying us for a day out in the snow.  Only then, after bundling up so well, we would inform her that we had to use the bathroom.  Snow suits were the worst. Those colorful pants, bright pink or green, that made it impossible to walk. Yet they provided a soft cushion for harmless snowball fights and falling icicles. I loved the way our yard was unrecognizable in the white array of splendor, and the skating rink of a driveway that carried us down to the mailbox in one slide.  We would throw snowballs at the icicles hanging from the gutter like stockings above a fire place. Best of all, my brothers would spend countless hours building an enormous snow mountain in the back yard with all the snow they could find.  It reminded me of an upside down ice cream cone covered in white chocolate and sprinkled with coconut. Or a giant snow mountain. It would last until all the snow in the neighborhood had melted, and then some.  I like snow because it's beautiful and falls like powdered sugar on a tray of brownies.
http://pinterest.com/search/pins/?q=snowing

Living on the Edge

Sometimes I like to think of all the crazy things to do before I die.  Skydiving, snowboarding, scuba diving, hand gliding, sitting through a Broadway show, or playing in Carnegie hall. A bucket list brings out my creative side.  Many things appear on my bucket list of which I'd never dreamed to do.  But the fact that they're there invites and allows the possibility. It takes a step of courage, a leap of faith, and a bit of insanity.  Every summer my family drives up to the wooded moutains of Northern New York.  There among the great lakes and dangerous cliffs my grandparents own a log cabin.  Down a steep cliff and across a lapping river sits a train bridge, so rustic and old that no trains care to use it. Like a pack of wild natives, my siblings and I climb into conues and make our way out to the bridge. From the bridge you can see the log cabin peeking out of the thick woods high up on the mountain. A broad American flag sweeps back and forth in the breezy autumn wind. Climing the concrete steps up to the bridge ties a knot in my stomach.  Easing my way out to the middle of the bridge only tightens that knot.  I see my self in the reflection peering down at my doom.  The water calmly passes by beneath me.  I peer out over the water.  I see the dock from wence we came.  Beyond that is the forest of trees whose leaves laugh in the wind at my fear of jumping.  In a gust of courage I suck in a breath of air, shut my eyes and jump. It takes a step of courage and a leap of faith...and a little bit of insanisty. But in the end, the thrill is worth it. 

 Check out my brothers cycling video.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fLtF3zwvLyc

Study Spoof

Finals week was a hassle.  Late nights. Cups and cups of coffee. I soon found my favorite study spot in the library.  It was on the second floor, deep in the book shelves, and beside the giant glass windows that looked over the atrium. Sometimes it seemed I spent more time there than in my room.  Hours would fly so fast. Yet distractions crept in like a late student in lecture hall.  When I was supposed to be working on a chemistry problem I would be giggling over endless YouTube videos.  "Must focus," I told myself, after slamming my lap top closed and pulling out my calculator.  Every now and then a pleasant voice would call over the loud speaker announcing fresh coffee and cookies waiting at the front desk for those in need of a study break. The coffee table soon became a socializing table.  I normally don't drink coffee, but for the chance to stretch and a shot of caffeine anything was acceptable. And now I must recount of a most interesting study evening.  Through the cold dark of December I walked.  A brace of warm air welcomed me as I pushed through the library doors. All was quiet.  Up the stairs I stormed with my heavy backpack weighing me down.  The second floor was even quieter, and nearly every study spot occupied. At last I found a table all to myself.  My books came out of my bag, my lap top flew opened and I went straight to work.  The silence was overbearing.  I put my headphones on and started up some Christmas classics. After some time passed, I noticed the girls at the table across from me were peering around the room as if in search for something.  The girl with her back to me glanced a few times directly at me.  Taking her for one easily distracted, I simply typed away at my eight page paper.  The song was O Holly Night, with a grand orchestra playing behind the choir. At length the girl turned around and caught my attention.  "Could you turn your music down?"  She demanded.  In seconds I pulled the plugs from my ears.  The music continued to play.  Glancing down at my computer in horror I realized my headphones were never plugged in.