Monday, October 31, 2011

Halloween Cake Pops!

So I was supposed to go to Lady's Halloween party on Saturday.  Lady is my best friend from college, and she only lives 45 minutes away from me.  I made Halloween cake pops on Friday afternoon, and went crazy because my new 9x13 pan burnt my first cake.  So I ran back to the store and bought 2 more boxes of Devils Food cake mix just in case.  The second time I baked the cake, I ended up taking it out of the oven 13 minutes early.  This new pan is killing me, and I couldn't find my usual cake pops pan.  Thankfully, the cake was done and not burnt.  So here's my cake pops tutorial.

1. Bake the cake of your choice.  If it's a light-colored cake, remove the ends and any brown parts.  This doesn't matter with dark cakes.

2. Crumble cake into a bowl until you have uniform small crumbs.  Add frosting and mix together until cake and frosting mix holds together well.  You will use about 3/4 of a container of frosting.

3. Melt some chocolate in the color you are going to cover your cake pops with.  I chose orange.  Dip your lollipop sticks in the chocolate so the tip of one end is covered.

4. Make a ball out of the cake and frosting mix.  Insert the chocolate covered stick halfway into the ball.

5. Once you have a bunch of pops made, stick them in the freezer for about 30 minutes, until they are firm but not frozen.

6. Melt more chocolate and dip each of the pops.  Tap off excess chocolate, and stick into a foam block to dry.  You need about 2 bags of candy wafers for every cake you crumble.

7. Once pops are dry, you can decorate with edible markers or use more chocolate as glue for big sprinkles or other decorations.  I was planning on making them jack-o-lantern pops, but my black edible marker crapped out after the first one I did and the other colors didn't look right.  So they're plain orange.

I don't know where everyone who reads this lives, but we had a freak snowstorm in New York on Saturday.  It was treacherous out and we got 9" of snow where I live.  Needless to say, I did not make it to my party, so I have 30 cake pops sitting around in my house.

This is the photo I took from my bedroom on Saturday afternoon of the tree bent so far that the branches were touching the ground, blocking me from even leaving my house.  Thankfully, when some of the snow melted on Sunday, the branches rose back up to where they're supposed to be, although there were a lot of downed trees and power outages in my area.

Happy Halloween everyone! I hope you liked the cake pops tutorial and my cat on a fence pumpkin!

The Girl Creative

Friday, October 28, 2011

Dance Recital Fail

I practice the dance moves again and again in the ballet studio until every step is perfect.  I want to make sure I don't mess anything up because I am the leader for the song and the entire audience will see me first.

I'm excited as my mom helps me get ready for the recital.  I use her shoulders for balance as I pull on the white tights.  Next comes the blue and white striped leotard and the white tutu, then the matching white Tom Sawyer hat with the blue ribbon.

I fidget as my mom applies pink blush to the apples of my cheeks, even though I'm already prone to looking flushed as it is.  She also puts some lipstick on me, then fixes my hair into a bun.  I make sure we don't forget my umbrella with the lace ruffle around the edge as we rush out of the house.

Backstage, we receive our cue as "The Yellow Rose of Texas" begins to play.  I am exhilarated as I dance onstage, all the other girls following me.  The stage lights shine brightly down.  I see the large audience dimly lit in front of me.

I can't focus.  My tutu is itchy.  I'm trying to find my parents in the audience.  I have some mosquito bites on my thigh that are suddenly irritating.

I stop on the side of the stage.  I can't help but scratch my bites furiously.  Tears are streaming down my face.

"Mommy!  Daddy! I'm itchy!" I scream again and again until my parents rescue me from the stage.

This post was written in response to this week's Red Writing Hood prompt from Write on Edge.  Some people consider themselves athletes. Others do not.  Write a piece of fiction or creative non-fiction in which athleticism features prominently. Use one of these photographs for inspiration.

I knew I had to write about my dance recital.  I was 5 or 6 years old when it happened, and afterwards, I stopped ballet lessons and didn't dance again until college.  I have the whole thing on videotape, and it is equally hilarious and humiliating.  Although I failed as a dancer, I was a great soccer player growing up, so I guess it's a good thing I stopped dancing so I could focus on that.
Write On Edge: Red-Writing-Hood

Wednesday, October 26, 2011

Things I Have Done

Last week I wrote a list of Things I've Never Done, so here's one of things I have done.
I am 27 and I have:

1. Been to jail (I was only there for 2 days, though).

2. Visited Versailles (if you've never gone, you're not missing anything-it's so moldy I got sick both times I went)
The gardens are pretty cool, though.
3.  Seen someone throw a dead body out of their car onto the highway.

4. Had hair so long it was past my butt.

5. Traveled to France, Germany, Mexico, Canada, the Dominican Republic, and South Korea.

6. Given money to a homeless man outside my apartment and later saw on the news that he killed someone (and I probably paid for his bus or train ticket out of Philly).

7. Run up the Philadelphia Art Museum steps like I was Rocky Balboa.

My old apartment is the first building on the right that you can see
8. Had someone steal my favorite cat (Fart, I still miss you even though everyone else hated you, and if I ever get a chance, I will steal you back).

 This is not Fart but is an eerily similar cat I tried to adopt from Petsmart

9. Been involved in a knife fight.

10. Gotten lots of tattoos and piercings (although I only have my ears and nose pierced now).

11. Been addicted to drugs and tried almost every drug in the book, but managed to come out on top.

12. Received love songs from someone in prison.

13. Owned a jeweled cockroach that I could attach to a brooch and wear (yes it was alive-I had it for almost 3 years and kept it in a terrarium).

Seriously, it was so cool.  I wish I had another one.
14. Watched a bag full of frozen rodents fall onto my dad's friend's head (it was hysterical, and they were dead pets that we were keeping until the ground thawed and we could bury them).

It looked kind of like this, but there were some dead guinea pig babies too.
 15. Given birth naturally and without any drugs at at to 2 of my 3 children (and I have an epidural horror story with my oldest).

16. Owned the best Husky ever that we rescued right before his 3rd birthday (he lived to the ripe old age of 14 and held on until I could see him one last time).

17. Stretched my earlobes to 5/8" when I was 17 because I didn't know that was way past the point of no return (which is approximately 5/16").

I still had my lip pierced and another nose piercing when this photo was taken.
 18. Lost my bikini bottom while snorkeling (one of the guides had to go get it off the reef while another held a towel around me while I got on the boat practically naked).

19. Had my boobs done (it was technically corrective surgery and not cosmetic, though).

20. Been to Ozzfest and joined the mosh pit with my friend for  my 17th birthday.

21. Watched a transsexual prostitute get into a fight with her pimp.

22. Had my driver's license suspended in Virginia because I refused to pay the ticket and couldn't drive 9 hours to go to the court date (and I wasn't speeding-I had cruise control on and the cop pulled out of a chicken factory and pulled me over because I had New York plates.  I pay all my actual tickets that I'm guilty of).

I wrote this post after I saw this week's prompts from Mama Kat's Writer's Workshop.  1.) Last week we wrote about what we have never done…this week write a list of 22 things you HAVE done. (inspired by Sellabit Mom)

Mama’s Losin’ It

Wordless Wednesday-Pumpkin Picking

Tuesday, October 25, 2011

My Favorite Halloween Costume

It was my final year trick-or-treating.  I was 14 and in ninth grade, and wasn't sure if I was too old to trick-or-treat.  A lot of the other kids in my grade were going to Halloween parties, but I wasn't invited to any.

I was too old for the cutesy kid costumes and too young (and chubby) for the skanky grown-up ones.  I didn't know what to do until my dad came up with the perfect idea: wear his army dress greens from Vietnam.

My dad and I went to our basement and he opened the green metal cabinet that I'd always overlooked.  Inside hung two pristine uniforms: my dad's and my uncle's.

Examining the uniform and the dog tags was like visiting history.  I asked my dad a ton of questions about his time in the service.  I discovered that he was in Chem Corps and got to stay in the states, while my uncle was a medic stationed in Germany.  My dad joked that his brother came back 20 pounds heavier from all the food he ate there.

I tried on the uniforms, and, although my dad's was too small, my uncle's fit.  I called my best friend Iris, and she agreed to wear my dad's uniform.

On Halloween, we donned the caps, jackets, and trousers and went out.  Trick-or-treating was not that fun, and at one point, the police even stopped to ask us where we had been because some kids vandalized a house.  I was self-conscious about being too old, and a little embarrassed and upset that I wasn't going to a party like everyone else.

But I loved my costume.  I learned a lot from my dad because of it.  I felt like I was wearing history, which made me want to learn more about the Vietnam War.  It was like I was finally privy to a piece of family history that had eluded me until that point.

I got to look at old photos of my dad and uncle when they were in the service.  I found out my dad really did have a giant fro (I never believed it before I saw it), and that he looked like the guy in Welcome Back Kotter.

So even though the trick-or-treating experience wasn't the best, the costume and everything I learned about my family as a result made it an incredible experience.

This post was written in response to this week's RemembeRED prompt from Write on Edge. For Tuesday, reach back to a costume that made an impression. Was it yours? A friend’s? Maybe it was a costume you never got to wear. Show it to us with your words, draw us into the emotions it evoked at the time. Word limit is 400.
Also, I'm sorry if this post is not up to my usual caliber.  My youngest, Goober, has been really sick with a high fever since Thursday so I've been preoccupied and totally unfocused.
Write on Edge: RemembeRED

Monday, October 24, 2011

Road Rage

I have road rage.  When I'm driving, people irritate the hell out of me.  Are you going the speed limit or less?  You can bet I'm cursing you out as I plod along behind you.  No turn signal?  I will probably be shaking my fist at you and calling you an asshole.  Are you up my ass in your big SUV?  I will flip you the bird as I hit my brakes to go even slower, just to piss you off.

I know my road rage isn't a good thing, but I've seen worse.  Some people are really freaking crazy.  My actions are tame compared to some of the crap I've seen people do behind the wheel.  Like the time some guy took offense that my dad and I made a right turn into the parking lot before he made his left.  Yeah, we had right of way, but he didn't see it that way.  He leaned on his horn, got up our ass, and followed us until we parked.  Then he blocked us in.  We ended up having to call the police because we were afraid to get out of the car.  Really dude?  We were in a parking lot.  At an outlet mall.  Chill the hell out.

Or the time my boyfriend pissed off some guy in the Toys R Us parking lot.  He cut us off, my boyfriend honked, so he followed us and he parked next to us.  I was really pregnant with Princess at the time.  The guy got out of the car and started screaming at us and wanted to fight my boyfriend.  Oh yeah, and his toddler was in the backseat, terrified and sobbing hysterically.  I ended up getting out of the car and giving him a piece of my mind about how unfit of a father he was to act like that in front of his son.  It is not appropriate to tell a 20 year old to stop being a pussy and get out of the car so you can kick his ass when you're in your mid-40s and your son is watching.  I got him to drive away by threatening to call CPS on him.

Then there was the guy on the Thruway when we were driving home from my Oma's funeral.  The boyfriend was driving with me, my sister, and her boyfriend as passengers.  Some guy cut us off and we almost crashed.  So he honked at him.  The guy slowed down and we passed him.  Then he tried to sweve into us on purpose.  It was scary.  He started following us.  He would tailgate us, then switch lanes, pass us, and cut us off.    We got off the next exit, which wasn't ours, and he followed us.  I had to call 911.  By the time the state police caught up to us, we had driven about 20 miles out of our way and into NJ from NY, with this guy following us the whole time.  When he finally got pulled over, he told the police we followed him and he feared for his life.  Really?  I was hysterical when the trooper came to talk to us.  I had just buried my Oma and some crazy guy was trying to run my car off the road.  It was not a pretty scene, but the guy got a ticket or something.  I almost pressed charges, but I was too stressed out with everything else going on.

So now, I carry a beating stick in my car.  Yeah, you heard right.  It was actually my Oma's.  She kept it in her car in case of trouble (my Oma was an old-school German woman and she was no joke!)  My beating stick is a 2 foot long, 3" across piece of wood wrapped in black tape.  I thankfully haven't had to use it yet, but I've learned it is better to be safe than sorry, because some people are really crazy, and the littlest things can set them off.  And I'm going to make sure I can at least attempt to protect myself.

Friday, October 21, 2011


You need to come get me now. This was a mistake. I don't know how long until he finds me. Please hurry.

This post was written in response to this week's Red Writing Hood prompt from Write on Edge. This week, we invited you to compose a text–160 characters–that would either elicit or express fear.
Write On Edge: Red-Writing-Hood

Thursday, October 20, 2011

Things I've Never Done

I'm 27 years old.  And I've never:

1. Cooked a steak (red meat grosses me out).

2. Gone hunting.

3. Owned a puppy.

4. Drank a glass of wine (sorry wine-lovers, every wine I've ever tried to taste was gross).

5. Been to Africa.

6. Set foot in a limo (they are deathtraps and they scare me).

7. Eaten a tomato (but I have learned to be okay with ketchup-and pizza sauce).

8. Gone within 10 feet of a horse (I am absolutely terrified of them).

9. Traveled to the Midwest.

10. Won the lottery.

11. Attended an opera (although I want to).

12.Used a grill (unless you count my George Foreman, which I've used twice in 8 years).

13. Watched Law and Order or its spinoffs.

14. Been married.

15.  Gone to prom.

16. Attended graduation.

17. Read or watched Twilight anything.

18. Given my daughter a bath (her dad has always done it-I only give Goober baths).

19. Worn colorful skinny jeans (or any skinny jeans).

20.  Stolen a car.

21. Gone camping (like in a tent or an RV).

22. Lived more than 2 1/2 hours away from my parents.

I used a prompt from Mama Kat's for this post.  The prompt was: 1.) Follow the template I copied from The Pioneer Woman without her permission and list 22 things you’ve never done.
Mama’s Losin’ It

Tuesday, October 18, 2011

Fall Memories

My Oma piles up the cushions on the driver's seat of her 1984 baby blue Toyota Corolla.  Giddy, my sister and I slide into the backseat.  We are greeted by the comforting scent of dog that always lingers in the car.  Long dog fur covers the throw and attach themselves to our clothes.

Oma drives slowly down the empty road as we look out the windows at the cows and horses.  Finally, we pass the large home modeled after an Italian Villa (Oma always calls it the mobster's house), and turn down the dirt drive to the orchard.

There are apple trees everywhere we look.  Many are heavy with fruit, but the ones closest to the road have already been picked clean.

Oma parks in front of the old blue house.  We run to the door and let ourselves inside before she even has a chance to get out of the car.

The only light inside is sunlight filtering through the windows.  There are tables full of apples-bagged, loose, red, green.  We pick a bag of red apples and I look to make sure they aren't bruised or bug-eaten (I am super picky with my apples-they have to be perfect or I won't eat them).

I run to the refrigerator and grab a gallon of apple cider.  Oma opens the register and deposits money for the apples and the cider.  Before we're even back outside, my sister and I are crunching apples, smiles on our faces.

This post was written in response to this week's RemembeRED prompt from Write on Edge.  This week we asked you to use the weather, or a photo of an autumn day bursting with color to inspire an autumnal memoir piece. Word limit is 300.

I knew I had to write, once again, about a memory I have with my Oma.  I loved going to her house in the fall because she would always take us to the apple farm.  It was always on a weekend morning when the store was closed, but, since she lived in a rural area, the farm owners would leave the door unlocked and trust anyone who came in to leave the money in the cash register.  I always thought it was so cool to be in a store that was closed and still get to pick out  my apples and cider.

Monday, October 17, 2011

Acting Out in School

It has come to my attention that my son is kind of acting out at preschool.  By acting out, I mean he pees all over himself.  Pretty much every single day.

Now, by no means is T potty trained.  He uses Pull-Ups.  We have gotten him to pee in the toilet exactly one time, and that was earlier this week.  And he only agreed because we let him stand on the seat to do it-but hey, anything is a start.

T gets up in the morning, eats breakfast, watches some TV, and at noon, we get dressed for school.  This includes putting on a new Pull-Up, even if he is totally dry.  Then we get his snack and leave at 12:15.

At school, they take him to the bathroom every day to try and help potty train him.  They have been completely unsuccessful, so all they do is change the Pull-Up.  He is always bone dry-then he pees all over himself and his clothes in the classroom.  He's been going through 2-3 outfits in 2 1/2 hours.

He never has accidents at home.  He is really good at changing his diaper himself if he's wet.  Or he will as for help.  So I think he's holding it on purpose and then wetting himself at school.  Maybe it's a passive-agressive thing, I don't know.  But I can't figure out why he's doing it, because he loves school.

So I really don't know what's going on.  But I hope it stops soon, if for no other reason than I hate laundry and he's going through all his clothes pretty fast these days.

Saturday, October 15, 2011

The Old Cabin

I inhale the crisp, clean mountain air.  As I touch the peeling paint on the old porch railing, the rotted wood groans and breaks.

I take a sharp breath as I windmill my arms to regain balance.  Smelling the moist decay, I tenderly test each step until I reach the door.

Pushing it open, stale air whooshes in my face.  Mice skitter across the floor, disturbed by my presence.  Old cheese crackers gray with age are strewn across the kitchen.

The broken army trunk lays on its side next to the crumbling brick fireplace.

I love the possibilities.

This post was written in response to this week's prompt from Jenny Matlock's Saturday Centus.  The literary device to use this week is Sensory Details. Describe the image using five senses: perception, hearing, sight, touch, smell, and taste. WORD COUNT - Not to exceed 100 words. STYLE OF WRITING - Sensory Details Literary Device NO ADDITIONAL PICTURES 

The prompt photo reminded me of an old neglected house upstate that bordered our property.  On further investigation, I discovered it belonged to an old man who was dying of AIDS.  I called him because I loved his house.  We were in negotiations for me to buy it (I was 17 at the time and was going to use my college fund to pay for the property) when he died.  His daughter ended up selling the property to a group of 6 hunters who only come up a couple times a year.  I'm not a fan of hunting, and I still feel, 10 years later, that they stole my property.  I will find some way to own it one day.  That house calls to me.

Jenny Matlock

Friday, October 14, 2011

On Tattoos and Family

I have a lot of tattoos-14 to be exact.  And I've already written a post about how I have been negatively judged for one of them.  You can read about that here.  So enough about my naked lady tattoo. I'm going to talk about my favorite.

Everyone always asks me about my tattoo on the front of my leg, near my ankle.  It reads "Familie ist Leben, Liebe, Herz, Seele, und Respekt" (this is German, by the way).  I got it in college, when I was living in Philadelphia (at Olde City Tattoo, by Steve Tiburi).  It's for my Oma.  She was still alive at the time, but she has always had such an impact on my life that I wanted to honor her and everything she stood for.  You can read more about my Oma here.

In English, the tattoo would read "Family is Life, Love, Heart, Soul, and Respect."  And for me, that is what rings true.  My family is really important to me.  I was very close to my Oma when she was alive.  And my Grandma was a big part of my life when I was a kid-unfortunately, she suffered from Alzheimer's, and the last 10 years of her life, she wasn't the grandma I grew up with. 

I'm very close with my parents as well.  They live right down the street and they are always there for me.  They watch my kids if needed, buy diapers and formula when we can't afford it, and make sure my kids have presents on Christmas and their birthdays. 

I would have nothing without my family.  My family is my life.  And I wanted to make sure I would never forget that, so I got my tattoo to commemorate what family means to me.

Sorry, I tried to get the whole thing and it took 3 views since it wraps around my leg

This post was written in response to this week's Red Writing Hood prompt from Write on Edge.  If you haven’t figured it out, this week, we’d like you to write a piece in which a tattoo figures prominently. Fiction or creative non-fiction. There is a lot to think about: why someone would get one, what they chose, when they got it, what message does the tattoo(s) send?  You will have 300 words with which to play.
It was really hard for me to keep to the word limitThere is so much more I could have said about what my family means to me.  I guess I'll have to save that, and the meanings (or lack thereof) behind my other tattoos, for another post.

Thursday, October 13, 2011

Speaking Up

I dislike public speaking-in fact, I despise it.  I am extremely shy around others, to the point where I am painfully quiet.  I also get panic attacks, which doesn't help at all.

In high school, I joined Model UN, which involved speaking in front of large groups of people.  Oh, it also involved doing research or something about the policies of the countries you were assigned, but I could have cared less about it.  I didn't give a damn about Model UN either, except for the fact that it got me out of school.  I spent quite a few school days (and a few weekends) in various hotels, and that was cool.

For those of you unfamiliar with Model UN (United Nations), each school is assigned a country or two as well as topics that will be debated.  You are supposed to research your countries' stance on said topics and pretty much present and argue that viewpoint with other countries.  You can meet up with other kids who have countries that share your views and make resolutions to the problems with them.  It's pretty much a weekend full of kids pretending to be diplomats.  It was always really fun for me to watch heated debates.  I never participated in said debates.

Usually, our school was assigned unimportant countries like Djibouti (we always asked to be Djibouti-saying it still cracks me up).  However, when we went to a conference at the Naval Academy, we were assigned France and Mali.  I was actually kind of excited, because France had veto power on the Security Council.  So I jumped on it immediately with my friend (the girl who did the research for every model UN conference because she actually cared).

It was also awesome because my friend was a cadet at the Naval Academy at the time, so I got permission from my parents to spend some time with him instead of being stuck with my classmates and teacher the entire weekend.  We went to an awesome seafood restaurant with some other cadets and I gorged on crab.  It was great.

Anyway, since I was on the security council, it was a small group.  There were 1-2 kids representing each country, and less than 30 people in total in our conference room (which was also the nicest room I've ever done a model UN conference in-the Naval Academy knew how to hook us up).

Oh, and I forgot to mention another perk of the security council-at one point during the conference we would be presented with an emergency that we had to get together to solve.  Usually, it would happen in the middle of the night.  Unfortunately, our school was in a different hotel than everyone else, so it happened in the late evening, before we were supposed to go to the hotel.

I actually wanted to speak up at this conference.  I was excited we got a major country to represent, and only the cream of the crop was allowed to be on the Security Council.  I was totally prepared to get my debate on.

And then one of the kids who was Mali left to help someone out at the WHO (World Health Organization-yeah, we really pretended to be all parts of the United Nations for a weekend).  The kid who was left had never been to a conference before, so I told him to go with my partner as France and I would handle Mali.  It didn't take me long to brush up on Mali's policy, and I ran with it.  I did awesome.

I've always been good at debating when I put my mind to it.  I lose my shyness and become another person.  An incredibly aggressive and ruthless person who will destroy anyone with an opposing viewpoint.  I can point out fault with anything in order to prove that I am right and you are wrong.  This skill doesn't come in handy in real life-maybe I should have been a lawyer or something.

I spoke up constantly all weekend.  I jumped back and forth between France (since I had prepared for it) and Mali and made almost all the speeches for both countries.  I wasn't supposed to, but like I said, there were only 30-ish people in the room and they didn't want to argue with me (I would have totally won if they tried).

Needless to say, I kicked butt at this conference.  I even got an award at the end.  It was pretty much the only Model UN conference I spoke at, even though I did Model UN for 3 years.  I think I was less intimidated by the small group.  Usually, in the general assembly, there are hundreds of kids in an auditorium, which is like my worst nightmare.

Since then, I still have trouble with public speaking, but not debating.  I learned that weekend that I am awesome at debating.  I can keep my cool, get my point across, and refute anything that someone throws at me.  This is not true in life.  If I am not prepared to be confronted, even a semi-mean comments sends me into tears.  I can't really figure out what is so different that I am okay in one situation and not in another.   But I do know that no one can beat me in a debate.
This post was written in response to one of this week's prompts from Mama Kat's Writer's Workshop.  I chose 3.)Speech!! Tell about a time you had to speak or present in front of a group of people.  So I wrote about speaking for the first time at Model UN, which I really enjoyed throughout high school (even though I joined for the wrong reasons).
Mama’s Losin’ It

Wednesday, October 12, 2011

A Panorama of Upstate

Since I got such positive feedback on my post about how much I love our house upstate, I thought I would post some pictures of what it looks like.  All the daytime views are what I can see while standing on the porch.  I took the night pictures standing in the yard by the fireplace.

Tuesday, October 11, 2011

The Ice Rink

My heart pounds as bile rises in the back of my throat.  I try to calm down by telling myself I do this every night, tonight is exactly the same as last night and the night before that.

Focusing away negative thoughts, I tug the laces again and again until they are tight.  I spend a full 10 minutes on the effort.  I roll the clear tape over my socks, making a big X from my ankle to my knee.  I pull on my helmet, fastening the straps, and yank the gloves over my fingers.

I breathe slowly a few times, fighting the rising panic.  I walk down the hallway and through the  swinging double doors.

I am hit immediately by the cold, frozen air.  It smells like rubber, sweat, and old gym bags.  For some reason I love that smell.  It is what finally puts a smile on my face.

Pucks crack loudly off sticks and echo as they slam the boards.  Sharpened blades dig into the ice, making a barely audible swish.

I enter the rink and all of a sudden, I am the same as everyone else.  I finally relax.  As we line up and run drill after drill, I know I am doing what I need to be doing, whether anyone else likes it or not.

This post was written in response to this week's RemembeRED post from Write on Edge. In “On Writing” Stephen King wrote, “The scariest moment is always just before you start. After that, things can only get better.”  Write a memoir post – first-person and true – inspired by that statement.  Word limit is 300.
I knew I had to write about hockey again because I recently ran into my old hockey coach as well as the teammate who broke my heart.  You can read about that here.