All These Are True: Fifty Things I'll Never Do

A list of fifty I’ve compiled:

Some things I’ll never do.

As you’re here to read my blog,

I’ll share them all with you.

I’ll begin quite simply,

I’ll never fly a plane.

I’ll never be an athlete,

Or grow a lion’s mane.

For dignity, I won’t go blonde,

Or be caught dead in cheetah print;

I won’t pierce my bellybutton,

And I won’t eat pocket lint.

I can’t be a superhero,

Or study chemistry.

I’ll never be a school mascot,

Or practice dentistry.

I won’t become a cheerleader,

I’ll never speak Chinese.

I won’t become a circus clown,

Or swing from the trapeze.

I wasn’t meant to be a lawyer,

Doctor, teacher, priest,

I won’t drive a motorcycle,

I won’t ever eat raw yeast.

I won’t design a tall skyscraper,

I won’t watch Jersey Shore.

I don’t intend to become Buddhist,

Or fight a wild boar.

I know I won’t eat pickles,

Or go back to high school.

I’ll never climb a mountain,

Or try to ride a mule.

I know this much for certain:

Hammock’s aren’t for me;

I’ll never set myself on fire,

Or drive in the Grand Prix.

I don’t plan to go to Iceland,

I’ll stay away from drugs.

I know I’ll never win a race,

Or sport glasses shaped like beer mugs.

I simply can’t be Asian,

Mexican, or Black.

I won’t live in a mansion,

I won’t live in a shack.

I’ll never see Hannah Montana perform,

I won’t drink Listerine.

I’m not going to walk on the moon,

I can’t keep my desk clean.

I’m sure I’ll never skydive,

I don’t plan to take up weaving.

I won’t take square dancing lessons,

I’ll never stop “believin’.”

There are many things I’ll never do,

I won’t memorize the Constitution,

But the list of things I will do someday,

Won’t ever reach a conclusion.

Green

A poem? Ruth Book doesn't write poetry! :)

I pass

The house on the corner

Every morning as I

Walk to school.

School is as much the same each day

As the house on the corner

With the cracked foundation.

Little ever changes

In this place.

I pass

The house on the corner

With the cracked foundation

And crumbling steps

And wonder who lived there before.

Someone must have,

Someone trapped in

The inevitable monotony,

But who?

Maybe it was a pair of oldies,

 Tired out of the monotony.

They may have worked their entire lives

And died there,

Trying to escape

The inevitable.

Perhaps, but it’s unlikely.

The house on the corner

With the cracked foundation,

Crumbling steps, and

Peeling Roof

Is painted a little too blue

For a pair of oldies.

Maybe, then, it was a

Young group of boys

Who liked to party

A little too much,

Trying to escape

The inevitable.

Perhaps, but it’s unlikely.

The house on the corner

With the cracked foundation,

Crumbling steps,

Peeling roof, and

Overgrown bushes

Is painted a little too blue

For a group of boys.

It could have been

A woman my mother

Would call an old maid,

With too many cats,

Trying to escape

The inevitable.

Perhaps, but it’s unlikely.

The house on the corner

With the cracked foundation,

Crumbling steps,

Peeling roof,

Overgrown bushes, and

Windowless frames

Is painted a little too blue

For an old maid.

I pass

The house on the corner

For the last time this morning

As I walk to school.

Tomorrow I step towards

The inevitable.

I must be careful,

For even defying the monotony

Can become routine.

As I pass

The house on the corner,

I look in the usually empty frames and

Notice they are full of glass.

A young pair of sparkling eyes

Peek at me from behind them

Before they are pulled away.

They are as blue as

The house itself.

A young couple walks out

The front door,

The owner of the sparkling blue eyes

Not far behind;

 The husband carries

A set of pruning shears.

I wave as I walk by,

And wonder if they will paint

It green. 

Wordsworthy

I almost forgot to post a blog today! I had to pull something out of my archives again, with such little time remaining before midnight! This is an interesting take on the academic classroom:

Bethany knew she was not worthy of a novel. Nothing extraordinary had happened to her in her seventeen years, nothing truly noteworthy. She was nothing like the brave heroines Austen wrote of, or even the woman in the attic of Jane Eyre. She was nothing more than a better-than-average student with a knack for sniffing out competition, which was precisely what she did as she entered her AP Literature class at seven fifty-eight that Monday morning, her twelfth and final first day of state mandated education.

There were thirteen students in the room when she entered, but the number did not affect her – she had never put faith in luck or superstition. Sheer talent and excellent planning always won out in the end, she knew. Bethany took a glance around the room, wondering who she would have to conquer this year in order to become the top dog.

Three boys sat in the far corner, their eyes a bit too bloodshot to be sober, their clothes a bit too ragged to be new. They wouldn’t last long, Bethany thought to herself. The Monroe twins, Bethany noticed, looked almost unhealthily tan as they chatted loudly to each other. Surely, that amount of self-tanner and hairspray had had an impact on their mental capacities, and Bethany didn’t worry about them. Two girls, Eliza and Arianna, while different in every aspect of physical appearance, mirrored each other’s anxiety from across the room. It was obvious that they had not chosen this class of their own accord, and they were worried about the workload and the level of difficulty it would require. Bethany had seen too many people like them before; they would be happy to simply pull C-minuses in this class. No problem.  Two more people sat completely silent on opposite corners of the room, writing quickly in spiral-bound notebooks, as they usually did. Allison and Stuart, while possibly smarter or more talented than Bethany, posed no threat either. They were disturbingly shy, and cringed when others made contact with them. They evaded group projects and class participation points like the plague, she remembered, from classes they had shared in the past, and she smiled. Oscar, who typically only left the chemistry lab to go to the bathroom, and if he’d had a choice, not even then, peeked at her anxiously from behind a lab manual.

Lyle saw her gazing over the classroom from his seat, front and center, and smiled a very cocky smile. He knew what she was doing, because he had just finished a similar sweep of the talent pool. Bethany groaned inwardly, remembering their two-week long dating fiasco last year, when she had still thought of him as competition. She’d quickly learned that he was all talk and no walk, which suited her just fine. He got by with repeating what other people said in creative ways and smiling too much. She could top that easily, she knew.

Knowing she’d been standing in the doorway for too long, Bethany took a seat next to her lifelong best friend Claire, who was, while incredibly bright, too self-conscious to really succeed. She made a great sidekick, never thinking about taking the spotlight for herself. It was for this reason that she and Bethany had remained friends for so long. She greeted Bethany with a simple smile and “good morning” before turning back to a conversation with her boyfriend Tom, who had adopted the nickname Sawyer their freshman year and subsequently stopped answering to his real name. It was a tendency that irritated Bethany, but out of respect for Claire, she refrained from expressing her opinion, to his face at least. He was about as bright as the antique lamp her parents kept in their living room, which they didn’t even keep a light bulb in, out of fear of damaging it. It was nice to look at, but didn’t prove to be very useful, much like Sawyer.

The bell rang seconds after their teacher, Ms. Barrett, walked in and demanded the class’s attention. She was young, Bethany noticed, possibly only twenty-four or twenty-five, but she exuded confidence in everything from her perfectly curled blonde hair to her pressed black pantsuit. She wore a hot pink shirt under her blazer, and the collar and cuffs showed, perfectly starched. Bethany smiled to herself; this would be easier than she’d imagined. She was already plotting how she would introduce herself when someone appeared in the doorway and her plan promptly fell apart.

“I’m sorry, Ms. Barrett, this is my first day. They just fixed my schedule,” he said, smiling a quick, bright smile, his teeth perfect and white. She returned the smile, something Bethany hadn’t been expecting.

“It’s my first day too. I understand. Please take a seat.” Either Bethany had pegged Ms. Barrett wrong and the teacher was less strict than she’d thought, or Bethany had just met her match. She sincerely hoped for the former.

He walked toward her, and just for a second, she forgot about the competition. He had curly dark brown hair that fell just above deep green eyes, and a day or two of stubble, just enough to be intriguing without being scruffy. He wore faded jeans and a black t-shirt under a tan blazer, looking too grown up to be a high school senior. She forced her gaze back to their teacher.

He sat in the chair directly in front of Bethany, and twisted to greet Claire. Bethany scowled, wondering how he knew Claire’s name, and how she knew his. Liam. His name echoed in her ears. 

Compression

“It’s simple, just do it.”

“It isn’t. I can’t.”

“Just cut.”

“Don’t you understand? I can’t.”

“They’re just words.”

“Just words? How can you say that?”

“It’s not going to kill you.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. An eraser is not a deadly weapon.”

“Those are my thoughts. It is like death for me.”

“You’re being dramatic.”

“Don’t you see? I’m supposed to be dramatic! If you take away my words, I can’t be dramatic!”

“It’s so simple. I can’t believe you’re making this big a deal out of it.”

“Simple as suicide.”

“I’ll do it for you.”

“Murderer.” 

Simple as Black and White

What if I don't believe in black and white? I wish it were that simple, but it can't be. If I could place everything into two distinct categories, a clear dichotomy, it would be easy. Black and white, good versus evil, the good guys and the bad - but it's not that simple. If I had to speculate, I'd say that neither pure black nor pure white exist. Life's about balance, and while some of us are more dark than light, both must exist within one person. "Good" people do things to protect the people they love, to protect themselves, because they don't have a choice, and some light exists within every soul, even if it's buried. The hardest part is deciding when to let the darkness take over, and then when to reign it back in.                                 

♥Ruthalyn

Rocking Chair Test: 2078

I wrote this during my junior of high school. It's so fascinating to see what has already changed, and what will change in the future, as well as to observe some of the details that may play out accurately. I encourage you all to try out this exercise; it is quite rewarding and insightful, and I'd love to read your responses if you feel inclined to share them with me! Enjoy:

     I am eighty-seven years old today. Six of my great-grandchildren sit around my rocking chair, asking me about my life. I begin with high school, and tell them about the great opportunity I received to go to college early. Education is the most important thing you can ever have; unless you completely lose your mind, knowledge is something that no one can take away from you, no matter how poor or devastated your life may seem. Next to education, the most important thing in my life is my family. I didn’t have a great family growing up; it was pretty scattered. I tell them how I made sure their lives could be better than mine, providing their parents and grandparents with the best family possible. I loved my career, but I made sure it didn’t take precedence over my family or my spiritual life. For the past seventy years, I have taken at least one day out of every month to devote to those who aren’t as well off as I am. Time is of the essence. I tell them how time can be much more valuable than money; a smile and a helping hand can be much more motivating than a couple of dollars. Of course, money is important, but loving money can get you into a lot of trouble. I gave each of my four children $20,000 when they went away for college and have a trust fund ready for the future generations. I travelled the world in my twenties, I say, fresh out of college and free of obligations. At twenty-six, though, I decided to settle down and start my career at one of the largest advertising companies in existence. I started my family a little more than two years later. I encourage them not to get caught up in life; take some time just to step back and see the big picture. Don’t worry too much about what you can’t control; I spent the first twenty years of my life doing that, but it didn’t solve much. Maintain your little corner of your world, but remember that everything happens for a reason.

                I tell them how I pursued my dreams and have published twelve novels. I pursued a career in music for a little while, but gave it up. I wasn’t made for the life of fame. I remember how I won valedictorian in high school by one point and laugh. I tell them about my friends from high school, especially Hannah and Hillary. I tell them about how Hannah and her daughter used to live down the street from their grandparents when they were growing up. I remember all of our reunions, and mention a few of my memorable teachers, especially Ms. Beeman and Mr. Hochevar, who really pushed me to succeed to my highest potential. I laugh and tell them about him, about how much he’d done before he was thirty and how he had finally landed in teaching high school. I think back to the last reunion I went to, the fiftieth year since graduation. Ms. Beeman was there, ninety-two and still kicking. I tell them how she taught all of my children and two of my grandchildren. She didn’t retire until she was long past seventy. I tell them about some of my friends that aren’t here anymore, some that were taken early and some later, but I tell them how it was time for all them to go. Nobody goes before God’s timing says they should.  I mention the presidential election of 2008, how strange it was for an African-American to be running against a white man and a woman. Of course, they’re so used to this now; it seems unbelievable that the office would be segregated so much. I tell them about Y2K, but they don’t believe that either. “Americans couldn’t have been so dumb that they thought the world would end,” one of them said. I laughed. It didn’t just happen once, I told them. The scares happened at least a dozen times during my life. They marvel at how “primitively” I lived in my teenaged years, and it makes me chuckle, relating that with how shocked I was to hear about my great-grandmother who lived through the Great Depression.

                “What else did you do?” The youngest asks, barely three years old.

I won the lottery once, I tell them, but it wasn’t much. Your great-grandfather and I opened a coffee shop about thirty years ago and ran it for fifteen years until I just got tired of it. We didn’t really need it; between the two of us, we’d made all the money we could ever need. When I was sixteen, I went to see some open houses. One of them was worth $4.4 million. It was the most beautiful thing I’d even seen, but I promised myself I would never buy one like it. There was so much useless space, and that was wasting so much money. If I spent that much money, I don’t think I could live with myself. If I’d spent that much money, I wouldn’t be able to give you any. Your great-grandfather and I built a house that cost a million dollars and it was wonderful. It had everything I could hope for, and a room for all the kids. It even had a laundry chute.

                “What’s a laundry…what’s that?” I chuckled. I forgot for a moment that they didn’t have laundry chutes; their clothes were automatically washed in a high-tech machine for them now. Things were more different in 2079 than I could have ever imagined.

                “It’s hard to explain, really. You drop your clothes in it, and they go down to where the machine is.”

                “Okay,” the youngest girl said, but it was obvious she didn’t quite understand.

                “I’m pretty tired, kids.”

                “Grandma, you can’t leave now! You didn’t tell us your whole life yet!”

I laugh lightly. I’ve told you the important stuff, I say. I have what really matters to me sitting right in front of me. Just remember that no dream is too crazy to come true. Set your mind to something and do it. Never start something without finishing it. Remember that the most important things are the things you can’t touch: love, knowledge, and faith. Remember, kids, God is always around, and after I’m gone, I’ll be watching over you. I wouldn’t trade any part of my life; if I could do anything over again I would do it exactly the same. I spent a lot of my young life wondering what would have happened if I’d done something else; don’t do that. Everything happens for a reason, no matter how much it may seem to suck. It’s bound to get better.  

First Post!

Here's my first little spiel:

Tuesdays are a magical time, which explains part of the title of this blog. Each Tuesday I will post a new entry, to attempt to escape the tedium that is so easy to become caught up in. This is a literary blog; I will post things I have written in the past and present. Many of the posts may be unrelated, and may simply be simple blurbs about something I've been thinking about, story hooks, old assignments, or commentary on paradigms I've noticed. Please comment and subscribe - I look forward to writing each week and hearing from anyone interested in reading! I already have this Tuesday's post ready. I'm so excited!

♥Ruthalyn