Naomi will always be remembered. She took my heart the second I met her.
My best friend died today. She was my soul mate. We could talk for hours or just sit and not say anything. Her favorite food was papaya and she would always say what she thought. Her brown eyes were a beautiful contrast to her porcelain skin. When she looked at me I could tell what she was thinking, and I like to think she could to the same with me. Her tall thin body was so fragile. Her face would turn red when she was mad. Her name was Naomi. Her blue-black feathers were like fish scales when they moved in the sunlight. Naomi was a chicken.
If you have never really known a bird it might be hard to see how someone could love a bird so much. You might think ‘Birds are pretty but they don’t have personalities, birds can’t love.’ but in fact birds have the most amazing personalities. Birds can most definitely love. I don’t know if Naomi loved me as much as I loved her, but I do know that she had a best chicken friend who she spent all her time with. Naomi and her best friend were always together, they ate together, walked together and shared a nesting box at night. If Naomi got cold or scared she would hide under her friend until things got better. We found Naomi in a nesting box this morning, she had died in her sleep. Her friend was guarding her like any good friend would. Naomi couldn’t have asked for a better friend.
Naomi was my soul mate and I don’t know what to do without her. But you can’t escape death if you want to have animals. It is worth it to have some sadness if you can have love and life. I will miss Naomi every day but the sadness will fade and the happy memories will remind me of what it was like to have someone love me as much as I loved them.
My dog Honey loves the summer
… Loves it maybe a little to much
Today was a day of lies, in the fact that even that was a lie. I just needed something to write about. At morning circle it was announced that there will be a poetry reading/coffee house. This event will be open to the public (not that the public wants to hear gnome literature). I was in a partial coma from my early waking so I did not hear whether or not short stores are permitted. I have a short story that I wrote in an hour that I like very much. It is sad and stuff, so I don’t know whether it will be sufficient for the crowd. And then there is my newly developed fear of public speaking. This is a self-deprecating fear that lies in no reality. It may have started when I sang at the local country fair. Singing in front of the New England Honey Boo-Boos and Mama Junes might have just sent me over the edge of “soon-to-be-pop-star” Kate in to into the deep and formidable quicksand that is self-consciousness. When I have to talk, my mind goes blank and I start just spewing random syllables from the inner workings of my larynx. This happens even with my closest friends. But it is all in my mind. Another part of today that was mostly composed of lies was the weather. Really? Tee shirts can be worn in January? What is this madness? It is giving me a false hope for spring. I have often said I love winter… well, that is before Christmas. After Christmas the jig is up. I am so over winter. Winter can leave. What else can leave, you may ask? 80’s music. Really people? You are still keeping this crap around? Bring back that Fitty Cent. Bring back the lawless days of May and the dog days of July. Let’s just keep passing the time until whatever happens that is meant to happen.
When I was little I wanted to be a singer, but later I decided that I wouldn’t want to because I would hate hearing all my music over and over again.There was also the part about not really being able to sing, that kind of turned me off the idea.
This woman’s musical genius outrides that of anyone else’s
From my wee years until about eleven I loved anything punk. In that way I was a mold of my father, who had had a punk rock band in the late 70’s through mid 80’s. I even tried to learn the electric guitar, and I add “tried” because I have failed at any and every instrument I have attempted. At about age twelve I discovered Taylor Swift. I was obsessed. I would listen at least once a day. That is, until my CD player stopped working. And, neglecting to buy another CD player, I turned to radio. Radio sent me into a downward spiral of Adam Lambert and Britney Spears, this may have sent me into a shallow depression. For, I had never “clubbed” or “danced until the club fell down”. But the Christmas of my twelfth year everything changed – I got the Lady Gaga-The Fame CD. I got a new CD player and went gaga (pun intended). My friends and I went crazy for the auto tuned, synthesized sounds that were emitted from the box of boom. Even my style started to take a Gaga-ish turn – my wardrobe was filled with tule skirts and neon colors. I took a impromptu year long hiatus from music because I couldn’t find anything to my liking, and then the itouch showed up. The magic of downloading struck with a punishing blow, picking my pockets clean with the itunes “most popular” page. That was also at about the same time of my gym rat phase. My playlist were full of Lmfao and Dev. Florence and the Machine would plow throw my eardrums at the YMCA. I think I had about 75 song on that little black box, all circulating through me on a never ending loop. This past spring I purchased a new itouch because I wanted one with a camera. That was at the same time as the SNL Lana Del Rey “abomination”, I wanted to find out what all the fuss was about so I looked her up. The SNL performance was pretty bad, so I wanted to find out what her actual album sounded like. And I fell in love; the sound could not have been more beautiful, the words incredibly inspiring, and her look was something I had never seen before. One of my friends in particular hated Lana with a burning passion. I found myself in heated arguments that left me idolizing Lana more and more. With her new album “Paradise” Lana took on a new persona in my mind, one of old Hollywood glamor gone wrong – the kind of look that had always appealed to me, I just didn’t know what to call it. I find that I am rebelling away from my punk rock roots and tunneling my way into the world of indie, and that is just fine with me.
The Y.M.C.A has been a looming figure for the last few months. This summer I was all about the Y, every Tuesday and Thursday I would go to a Tae Kwon Do aerobics class. It kind of kept me sane. That there is a total lie. But it did make me feel good about myself.
Don’t open your eyes under this water! It will burn them until they bleed.
And now I find myself sitting in a post-christmas blah hole. Nothing tastes quite as good as a corn syrup-y pecan pie or a hot cup of practically pure chocolate. So I end up eating at least twice the recommended amount of good foodie stuff. I can’t even look at white house paint without thinking of marshmallow fluff. Ah fluff, you are the conquerer of empires. So after whining about going to the gym, I finally got my lazy bum off the couch and into the car. And I ended up kicking my self defense teacher’s ass! And now I can justify having some of the world’s best soup. Thank you the Y for being so clean and new, thank you for having nice equipment and an awesome hot tube. But please, I think you are adding at least two extra barrels of chlorine to the pool – the last time I went in, it it turned my hair semi orange and gave me a sunless sunburn – my skin will never be the same. The Y is overall a great place. You should go some time, that is, if you are willing to pay ten bucks a person to go for the day, it sure does pay to have a membership.
This week is the start of a new year, duh. But what I mean to say is that this is a new start for some of us, a time to reinvent our selves.
Looking back at last year is a cringey thing, I was the homeschooler who had the dyed orange hair that was growing out from a pixy cut and was in a perpetual afro. I wore short shorts with knee sox all year round. I had no drive, really, not much of a life. I was the odd one out. I had nothing to do.
But I feel better now, more alive. I really like how my life is going. Even as a homeschooler I still felt the judgment of middle school, the need to conform to the standard. I don’t feel like I need to straighten my hair and listen to Britney Spears anymore to be able to fit in, to be liked.
My first love was theater, I took a musical theater class at a local dance studio for five years and had the time of my life, sometimes it would get awkward when people started to talk about school and I would have nothing to add to the conversation. I had lots of friends in theater and everything went well until this past fall, it just seemed different, it had gotten really clique-y and I was once again the odd one out. In the past couple of years I had started to get more shy, this meant that I wouldn’t try out for the bigger parts, which meant that I wasn’t in the inner circle of leads anymore. This fall I signed up for a show I had been excited about all summer, I was going to try out for the lead. I got to class the first day with my song memorized and my newly found confidence from going to real school, I was ready to start my teen dream. But then I heard the other girls sing, I had never been certain of my singing voice, much less my talking one, and this made up my mind. Made up my mind that I would never be the Broadway star I had wanted to be all my life, I would never be the pop diva with the crazy outfits I had dreams of being. I would just be Kate. I would be Kate, and Kate might be a veterinarian, Kate might be a poultry scientist, she might be a writer, she might make great discoveries in the field of lab grown meat. Or she might just be Kate, living happily in a lighthouse on the coast of Maine with her small flock of chickens writing her silly blog about the little things. Thats what she will do.
My pies never look this good! This pie must be fake.
Now I’m not talking about pi, like in math terms – vacation is for not thinking about math. And I’m not talking about Greek pi either, I like my alphabet with all 26 letters in it thank you very much. I am talking about pie, the dessert. I love pie. Pie is the best. And most of all, I love to make pie. My favorite pie is pecan, said in my house as Pee-cAn, not Pee-cOn or even Pe-ken as some Satan worshipers may say it. Pee-cAn, plain and simple. The only setback to pecan pie is the amount of corn syrup (pronounced Sear-up) you have to use, I do not mean it in the sense of “Corn syrup is so unhealthy!” but after you have made two pies you need another bottle and then you think, ‘I might make more than two pies before next week when I go back to the store.’ And it always so happens that pushing the cart to the check-out I get judgmental looks saying ‘Eight bottles of corn syrup? Is she running some kind of corn syrup contraband?’ And my answer is always ‘No I do not sell illegal corn syrup to terrorists, I sell pies to my family for the price of unconditional love, which is almost the same thing.’
Turns out ducks are the same shape as wine bottles and wine bottle costumes are much more functional for ducks
Merry Christmas everyone! I hope you all are having a wonderful day and are eating delicious food stuff. I am enjoying my little antisocial christmas with just my parents and the flock. Pots are boiling over and the duck eggs just might be frozen, but if the turkey explodes there is always left over indian food. Anyway, I think they put a ban on explosive turkeys last year, so many dinners without the main item, such a shame. I am lying in a pile of wrapping paper and magazines while I write this, smelling of the perfumes I had been pining over for the last few months, my parents know me so well. And then there are the impulse presents, the vinyl snow boots and fake fur train conductor hat. My favorite part of Christmas is when people open the presents I got them, not because I know they will be useful but because I love people feeling like I am a superior gift giver, yes folks, I am that good. Its from listening to everyones conversations and learning what they want. Who else would have known to get their secret santa a giant chocolate santa? Well, probably anyone, all boys like food. But I have to end this madness, my dog Honey is passed out from to much Christmas and at 3:07 we have not had a real breakfast yet, just candy. Merry Christmas! And a happy New Year!