All posts by Maura L.

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I look at all the life returning to the yard, seeming fitting for the first day of spring. I look around me at the old jungle gym that I had so many memories on. My first best friend and I made this our castle and we were pirates and princesses and anything else we could think of. I had one of my earliest memories here, watching the Rainbow installers put it in. I stood in front of the window of the bump out in the kitchen and watched them build it, completely and utterly fascinated by how quickly and efficiently they put the entire thing up. I had no idea how many memories, both good and sad would come out of it. When I stood in that window, barely able to stand on my own, and knowing I had a whole lifetime of memories ahead of me.

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Unable to shake the grin from my face, I ramble on and on about random stories that come to my mind and I find somewhat relate to the situation. My parents glance at each other, across from me at the small table in the dimly lit at the quiet Chinese restaurant. I throw my head back and laugh at the story being told to me. I’ve heard it many times before and I always find it funny. I look around the restaurant, only to see a few tables of older people scattered around the restaurant. They quietly talk amongst themselves as they eat. Our table seems to have the most life and energy.

My giggles seem endless throughout the entire meal and don’t stop until we leave the building and I’m faced with the reality of the harsh winds and how hard it became to walk suddenly. Only then, do I realize how warm and happy that building was.

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The rain lightly pounding against the car’s windshield seems most appropriate for the saddening situation. The loss of Michigan State shocked all Spartan fans, and even the team and staff themselves. Not to mention the countless brackets that had MSU going to at least the Elite Eight. Many brackets would pay the price of ripping, shredding, and other methods of torture.

The amount of heartbreak and shock etched on the senior basketball player’s faces and the fan’s both at the game and watching on TV, was undeniable. No single person was to blame, and everyone knew it. They simply underestimated the little school called Middle Tennessse, and now payed the price.

 

 

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I turn over, lazily moving on my bed trying to see if the sunset is worth getting out of bed for. Apparently, it is. With the perfect view of the sun going right between the split of the one trunk of a tree outside my window, almost looking like it was made to fit there, it looks perfect and immediately reminds me of summer. The idea of summer makes my mind ring out in memories of campfires, fireflies, and long pool days. The nights were the best part I think, going over memories from the past summer. The nights when I could wear shorts and thick shirts to hide my (unfortunately pale) sun kissed skin, only to stay up late around the fire, gazing up at stars and only seeing the past.

I snap out of my daze and glance around my lamp lit room with beams of sun fighting for us to not leave it alone again. I set my backpack on the floor from where I quite literally, plopped on my bed to start reading. I decide to open my book once again, knowing that I won’t be able to get out of this trance until the last word is read.

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The gust of wind attacks us as soon as we step foot out of the grocery store. The stack of groceries was piled high on the small cart, and somewhat resembled the Leaning Tower of Pisa. I hung onto one bag, while my mom controlled the cart. It threatened multiple times to tip, but never followed through with it.

Suddenly, one lightweight bag flew across the parking lot and was out of our control in a second. I stood, frozen with disbelief and some amusement. Part of the bag, the tissue boxes, stayed close, but the Ziploc containers sailed nearly to the other entrance. My mom ran to chase the containers, which I would later find out that they were her favorites, and left behind the cart, nearly being impossible to steer, but I try anyway. I finally feel a break in the strong gusts, and hope for the winds to end. Much to my dismay, it doesn’t. I turn around quickly enough to see that my mother had successfully collected the containers and that there was a car coming behind me. The panic begins to rise in my stomach and I turn around to face the challenge of the driving the cart. Only twenty more feet, I think trying to make this seem better than the reality.

Eventually, we reach the car and quickly toss everything in the car. Once we are safely inside, we see yet another person fall victim to the wind. Or more accurately, their returnable pop bottles and cans. After driving out of the large parking, we see the smallest of the cans, already making its way to the main road.

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Finally deciding that petting Lucy is getting absolutely nowhere to get rid of all her pent up energy, I move towards the garage door and she runs full speed at it. I barely have time to open the door before she manages to not run into it. As soon as the demon runs out the door, she has a cat in her mouth. It is still alive, and disturbingly seems to be enjoying it. She cowers and I sigh, separating the two and looking around the garage to see what could help me. My eyes descend on Lucy’s bright pink soccer ball (a past replacement of the purple one) and I go to pick it up, only to feel that it’s flat and probably wouldn’t even roll on its own. I then remember that she put multiple holes in it over the last summer, from dragging it around with her teeth, and sigh. I look around and find one of my first soccer balls from the rec days at Oakwood, a blue ball from when I hated the color pink. I pick up the blue ball and feel that is almost completely pumped up and I toss it to the prancing puppy. She eagerly chases after it and hits the ball, not very delicately, with her paws, attempting to trap it and bite down on it and failing because of her short legs which I can’t help but feel sympathetic towards.

The continuous cycle of Lucy chasing the ball, trapping it, and sometimes bringing it to me, continues for about 15 minutes until I assume Lucy is tired. Of course, I should never underestimate the powers of Lucy. She isn’t tired and wants food, which I comply to, assuming that she didn’t get fed this morning.

I text my mother later, asking the very question of whether she did get fed, only to find out that she was in fact fed.

Now, as I write this, Lucy lays on the floor, completely cashed out, and hasn’t moved in half an hour. This may be somewhat concerning to some, but from the soft snores coming from her sprawled out body, she’ll be okay with sleep.

 

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Glancing out of the car window, watching the miles of bare fields, usually full of corn and beans, makes the area seem so sad. The bare land, the awkward “only in spring” temperatures, and the dark sky make up the epitome of loneliness. The sky reflects your mood, I suppose. Even so, it doesn’t set the bar very high.

Turning to position my body so that I am facing the front of the car, I am brought into the quiet conversation. I’m asked about my day, and what happened while at catechism, and immediately, I feel my eyes widen with childlike innocence that seems to appear whenever I’m asked a direct question. I take the stage, so to speak, and start explaining what they missed out on. By the time I’m done, which only took about a mile to do so, we arrive back at home and I set down and out of the truck to be greeted by two energetic puppies, one wanting all the attention in the world and wiggling her whole body to get it, and another, much calmer dog, just wanting his head and ears scratched. I appease them both, and spend extra time on Lucy, and walk into the house with them following behind me. By eight o’clock, I am ready to go to bed and the day to be over.

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The rain drizzles onto my shoulders and I turn around as quickly as I can, back into the safety of the garage. I reach into the green bucket, trying to grab a bright red umbrella to shield the rain from me. Being able to twirl it around is just a perk, I think giddily as I splash water all over. My loyal companion, Lucy, walks with me on all fours as she enjoys the rain just as much as me.

I walk out to the coop and let out my birds, only to have them stop halfway out of the coop to dig for bugs in the mud. I laugh, thinking how dirty my all white chicken will be by the end of the day. I continue my mission through the rain of getting at least one egg for my mother who is baking cupcakes. I don’t walk back into the house empty handed (thankfully) after I was told “not to come back in until they squeezed one out,”. I was slightly disturbed, but listened anyway. I return to the kitchen with nine eggs, all ready to be washed.

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I set up the final pictured filled canvas of a player on my big brother’s hockey team and immediately start reminiscing about how these pictures came about. I remember standing by the glass surrounding the ice, and being scared out of my mind. The number of hits taken right in front of me always made me flinch at the beginning of the season, but by the end of the season, I was more interested in getting a picture of their facial expressions. I think about how much I’ve grown, and how much they have as a team. The end of the season banquet is always a bittersweet moment, especially for the seniors, and I can’t help but feel sad in thinking that next year is the last year I’ll ever be able to see my brother play hockey. I’ve spent nine seasons in these rinks, and it’s sad to think how quickly it’ll all be over.

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For the first time all night, I’m able to plop down onto the couch and not worry if it messes up my hair. I flex my aching feet, from both walking around with and without heels on. As I look at the strips of photo booth pictures I’ve accumulated over the whole night, I let a small smile take over my face playing over the dance in my head. As chaotic and loud as it may have been, it was great. The random dancing, weird inside jokes, awkward and unexplainable pictures poses taken with friends, and collection of smiles and laughs, make it worth all the aches and pains in the world.

After all, it’s the memories and pictures that last longer than any hairstyle, nail polish, or makeup could ever last.