Post Holiday Funk

Those who know me personally know that I have an autistic older brother. My parent's first born out of six. Those who know Paul are aware that he excels significantly in certain areas such as running. Paul's communication skills however are obviously less developed than most twenty four year old guys.
Many of you are probably experiencing a post holiday letdown; a period of time after all the presents have been opened, cookies and gingerbread houses have been eaten, and pine needles are beginning to pile up below your trees. Christmas came and went just like any other day. Quick. There is only a twenty four hour window for December 25, just like there is for May 21st, November 22nd, or April 5th. Naturally we all desire a longer Christmas. Why would we not? We have all this time we spend preparing for a blip in our year, then we have to get back to our daily routines. Of course we become sad after Christmas experiences and memories come to an end. For my autistic brother, this is a bit more extreme for him, and the decline in excitement is harder to cope with.
My mom has told me before that there had been one Christmas where Paul did not speak a word for the three days following. Mom has recalled the memory in her own writing, and entitled it "The Three Days of Silence." How terrifying for my parents. I honestly think that silence would be much more difficult to witness than a tantrum. My parents, at the time, must have been lost on what they would do if Paul had never spoken again. On the third day however, Paul came back to life; he looked at my parents instead of past them.
I watched Paul this past Christmas morning as a twenty four year old, just as excited for Christmas as ever. He woke up at four in the morning, and began to tear at the corners of his presents trying to peer at what was contained inside. He flapped his hands against his knees with anticipation, while waiting for my parents to emerge from their room. Paul had all of his presents opened and carried to his room before I had consumed my morning coffee. Afterwards, he immediately slipped on his new running pants, and went on a nine mile long run; Paul's way of acknowledging that there is life after Christmas.
I think it's so funny how upset we allow ourselves to become after the tree has nothing left underneath it. Although Paul's social skills are viewed as less than adequate, he is highly intelligent, and I saw this through his behavior Thursday morning.
I would like to encourage those reading this to look to Paul as an example. Avoid the three days of silence and post holiday funk. Our hearts should be re-nourished during this time following Christmas. We should feel on fire with excitement for this coming year. Do not dwell on the fact that Christmas time is closing, but find your own way to keep your spirits high for the next twelve months to come. One thing I have learned is that time keeps passing whether we chose to enjoy it or not. Though your holiday pick-me-up may not be a nine mile run like Paul's, he definitely has the right idea.
Merry Christmas,
D

Book Review for "Let it Snow"

During my finals week this past semester, I read a book entitled, "Let it Snow" written by John Green, Maureen Johnson, and Lauren Myracle. My roommate thought I was crazy for pleasure reading during the most stressful week of the year as far as school goes. However, I found it highly relaxing to come home from the library and take y mind off of lava viscosity, psychoanalytic theory within literature, and identification of rock types, by reading this fun holiday page turner with a pot of coffee.
There are three separate holiday romances within this New York Times best-seller. The stories tie in together nicely at the closing of the book. Each author used comedic writing to build a story around an ill-timed blizzard that occurred on Christmas eve. Characters developed by Green, Johnson, and Myracle are described as seniors in high school. I think that's why I enjoyed the book; I was able to relate the characters to my own younger sister who is a senior herself. I felt as though I were being told a story by my sister. Similar to Katie, each character offered quirky personalities. I thought each author did a great job developing characters that appealed to readers who may be in their teen years.
The three stories are entitled, "The Jubilee Express", "A Cheertastic Christmas Miracle", and "The Patron Saint of Pigs". First of all, just take a grasp of each title; is your interest not captured already? Maureen Johnson sets the stage with a story of a girl named Jubilee, whose plans to spend Christmas with her boyfriend become twisted, and she ends up on a train that becomes trapped in a blizzard. She must find refuge with a random family, and a son who alters her entire outlook on senior year, her boyfriend, and her family. Johnson highlights the importance of family, especially around the holidays. Jubilee recognizes the difference between romantic love and the romantic idea of love. I related with Jubilee's spunk and sass, and I commend Maureen Johnson on setting the stage for the rest of the book.
The body of a story is sometimes the hardest part to develop, but John Green fulfilled his roll through writing, "A Cheertastic Christmas Miracle" as the second piece of the book. Green portrays a friendship that develops into an unexpected romance during a journey through a blizzard to a Waffle House in quest for cheerleaders. I have always heard that the best relationships stem from strong friendships. Green exemplifies this idea, and shows that some people are willing to endure frostbite for a chance with someone they care about, and cheesy hash browns.
Lauren Myracle wraps up the book with, "The Patron Saint of Pigs". Myracle reveals the importance of selflessness in love. Myracle not only focuses on romantic love, but also shows how paramount selflessness is between friends as well. If you all decide to read this book for yourselves, you will understand what I mean when I say that a teacup pig could prove handy while mending friendships. Myracle brings earlier characters created by Green and Johnson into the end of her story.
If you are looking for a quick and relaxing read this holiday season, I recommend trying "Let it Snow" out. Sometimes we need cheesy love stories, and I believe very strongly that time spent reading is never wasted. I think this book could also make an excellent gift for any teenager to enjoy this season. I enjoyed reading about the unexpected love, inside jokes, unfortunate timing of a storm, and familiarity of Christmas, and I
became excited about what my own Christmas season will bring.

Merry Christmas, and happy reading!
D

For Dad

I know that this blog post is a little bit early, but in honor of my dad's 50TH BIRTHDAY, I decided to write him a poem. This blog post isn't long, but I hope you enjoy this dad.

Gathering of Gifts

You give me soft chords of acoustic guitar strumming.

You give me a teddy bear with a gold trimmed uniform from Germany.

You give me animated voices of Aslan, Mr. Tumnus, Gandalf, and Sam Wise.

You give me stiff whiskers grazing over soft cheeks.

You give me miniature men coated in frosting laid on a Santa plate.

You give me a smoking gas grill overlooking misty mountains.

You give me chlorine saturated hair.

You give me mud caked sweaty sneakers.

You give me a five-speed lacking power steering.

You give me popping bacon over a glowing eye.

You give me white leather binding with thin pages of ancient print concealed.

You give me wooden beads linked together with tan twine rope.

You give me dances on a hard wood kitchen floor to Chicago.

You give me a shore, breaking and bubbling at dawn.

You give me dew dripping from the pines of spruce.

You give me an open mouthed grin.

You give me batting curled eyelashes.

You give me folded hands resting on an oak kneeler.

You give me a desire for daughters of my own. 

I love you dad. Happy Birthday<3

Halloween Growing Up

While growing up, Halloween for me was the holiday that took the back burner in comparison to others like Christmas and Thanksgiving. As a child, I would dress up with my siblings, and march around our town square heaving plastic grocery bags filled with Dots, Tootsie Pops, Reeses, and off-brand hard candy concealed in colorful plastic wrappers. Our family never invested in any store bought costumes. I attended a ballet school as a little girl with my sisters, so most of my costumes were recycled from old dance recitals. My brothers would typically wear their football pads and cleats. It wasn't that we were lacking creativity as kids, we just associated Halloween solely with gathering as much candy as possible. My family was known as "healthy", so candy was not usually stocked behind our pantry doors next to the granola bars, brown rice, and bananas. We would run around the square several times before the vendors of each booth began to notice their repetitive, candy fiend, visitors. I'm not sure why, but it became a tradition for my siblings and me to spill the contents of our bags onto the living room carpet as soon as we arrived back home from trick-or-treating, and sort the candy. We would gather all the lollipops into one pile, the chocolate in another, and the Dubble Bubble gum was the most prized pile. It was as if we were examining our loot. Candy was and is the best part about Halloween. I love what comedian Jim Gaffigan says about Halloween,  "As a kid Halloween was amazing. You'd dress up like a super hero, bang on your neighbors door, and they give you candy. I do that today and my neighbor wants me arrested." Candy was the only reason I even acknowledged Halloween's existence as a kid.
I also never understood the scary aspect of Halloween. Frankly, I found it utterly repulsive to see my friends with wounds made out of ketchup and dollar store face paint. I saw no point in dressing oneself up as a zombie cheerleader. or a grim reaper other than to make everyone around them uncomfortable. I cannot carry a conversation with someone who has a plastic knife glued to look like it is coming out of the side of their head. I find no enjoyment in being scared, or scaring other people.
I can recall a few years ago, attending a Halloween party with members of my cross country team. Everyone dressed up as a famous person: Ke$ha, Lady Gaga, Miley Cryus, Katy Perry. My sister Katie was Reese Witherspoon, and was sporting a pink knee-length pencil skirt, with heels, and a flowing pink blouse. I went as Roselyn Sanchez from the movie "Rush Hour". In honor of it being Halloween, my friends decided to watch a scary movie. People who know me are aware that I am a baby when it comes to scary movies. I can watch them, but I will be freaked out for days following. My sister is the same way; we can't sleep in a room alone after watching one. Needless to say, we were not too excited about the whole scary movie idea.
Everyone decided on "The Wrong Turn". Apparently that movie isn't scary in comparison to others, but I still hated it. I remember sitting in the basement floor of my teammate's house for ten minutes before calling it quits with the movie. I remember looking around, and noticing that my sister had left the room. I rose and found her sitting on my friend's bed in the next room over with tears in her eyes. I asked her what was wrong, and she replied, "I'm too scared to watch it, and I feel like a baby."

"No! I don't want to watch it either! We can just stay in here."

So we did. We spent the rest of the night watching "My Girl" by ourselves. We ate Pixie Stix, drank Dr. Pepper, and avoided mental discomfort! I'll never forget that night. No it isn't a paramount memory to me as a person, but it's one of my favorites. I don't enjoy memories of Halloween because of how scary the haunted house I attended was, or how detailed the costumes were. Halloween is just another excuse for me to spend time with my family and eat unhealthy foods.

My Princess

Katie is a vision standing on the green turf football field in her floor length deep blue dress. Her fare skin glows against the dark hue. Her hair has been curled into tight golden ringlets that bounce around her shoulders as she walks. She has pinned the front back on either side to reveal her shining smile and sparkling blue eyes. She seems to float with every move she makes. Katie has been chosen by her senior class to represent her high school as a member of the homecoming court. She is a royal beauty.
This is the first time since Christmas, over half a year ago, that my whole family has been able to gather together at once. We all have traveled home from college and new jobs to celebrate Katie and her continuing success. My family and I sit among the bleachers gazing down at her standing with my dad, her arm laced in his; she is beaming. A woman's voice over the loud speaker of the stadium is reading aloud the answers to a questionnaire that Katie has previously filled out. The questions discuss where she plans to go to college, what she would have done differently in her high school career, and who the most inspirational person  in her life is.
My eyes begin to fill as I hear the answer she has written down for this last question. "The most inspirational person in Katie's life is her sister Danika. Katie says that when thinking of Danika she knows that 'If I kick a balloon to you, I know that you will not let that balloon touch the ground. And call me crazy, but I think that's important." What an odd and meaningful compliment. These words take me back through an album of memories. Memories involving Katie and I at our first hip hop class together, singing "The Girls of Rock and Roll" in the grass of our front yard, sipping coffee on our back deck in the morning as mist begins to rise from the mountains in front of us, our trip to Disney World. I recall hearing Katie perform her first singing solo, the two of us playing the roles of cards together in an "Alice and Wonderland" play, spending countless hours swimming, singing as loud as we possibly could at a Journey concert.
These memories will remain forever in my heart and mind. There is not a day that goes by where I don't thank God for giving me a best friend for a sister. There have been several times where Katie and I have been asked questions wondering how we could be friends since we are sisters. Those questions have never made sense to me. As far back into my memories as I can reach, I remember thinking of Katie and feeling nothing but admiration for her.
As I gaze down at her from my stadium seat, we make eye contact and I wave at her. She returns my wave and aims her shining smile towards me. She is a picture of elegance and grace. The woman's voice reads all of the academic honors and athletic accomplishments gained by Katie, and I hope more than anything that she knows that she also serves as an inspiration for me. I could not ask for a more blessed relationship with my sister.

I love you Katie.

Lifeguard for a Swimmer

I have always considered myself a strong swimmer. Water has never been something that I fear. What is scary about water are the things inside of it; fish, pollution, piers, rocks, other people. Water isn't the enemy, its occupants are.
On Tuesday, after my eight o'clock class had been released, I received a text from my brother Mark saying "wassup". Mark is older than me, but we could easily pass as twins to people who don't know us. Our apartments are right next door to each other, so it is in a way a little one story house separated by a wall. Needless to say, I took this text as code word for, "Hey I'm home. Let's do something." I replied, "Not much. Just eatin some cereal. you?" (We text like we are insanely bored with each other haha but texting rules are different for siblings. If that makes sense). Not even five seconds later, I hear my door open, and in rolls mark.

"What time is your next class?"
"Two."
"You wanna go surfing?"
"Yes!"

It was raining, and the wind whipped the drops against us, stinging our faces. The waves were extremely heavy and coming from several directions that day. We pulled up in Mark's truck listening to Rage Against the Machine and Motley Crue. Mark whips his long brown hair back and forth to the music before looking over at me with a massive, open-mouthed smile. We were so stoked to get to the beach, and after checking out the surf from the parking lot overlooking the sand dunes, I could tell Mark felt obliged to tell me that if it became too much for me, I didn't have to go out. Did he really think I was about to sit in the sand and observe what I could be doing? Ha. NO.

The water looked gray, and was coated in a layer of white foam. The stirred up sand and shells from the shore prevented our ability to see through to the bottom. The only other person within sight of us is the beach patrolman sitting in his truck. Perfect, now I can wipe out and fall as much as I need to without unwanted witnesses. We walked down the beach and did jumping jacks, laughing at each other in an effort to warm up before wrapping our leashes around our ankles and plunging into the water. I imagine it would have been comical to watch us doing this.

The water relieved our shivering skin from the icy rain-filled air. Not a single hole appeared in the sky over our heads to let even a sliver of sunlight to seep down into our pores. The first paddle session out against the waves went surprisingly smooth. I paddled around for a while, and caught one wave (By caught, I mean I stood up for around 2.5 seconds tops before falling). Feeling encouraged, I paddled out again. The drift seemed to have sped up significantly, and the sets were approaching without much space or time between them. I focused on grabbing hand fulls of water and pushing them behind me, all I was concerned about was getting back out to the lineup.

Before I knew it, I was once again in the middle of the ocean sitting on my board. I had made it through another paddling against the choppy waters, but I also realized that I was dangerously close the pier. The same pier I had seen several large fish and jellies lurking underneath just a few days before while fishing. Not to mention a pier with massive cement pillars that would crush every bone in my body if a wave decided to smash me into them. The thing about the ocean is that it does what it wants, and you kind of just have to play the cards you're dealt. In short, I was scared. I was drifting straight into the pier faster than I could swim. I scan the shore and spot Mark running up the beach waving at me, and yelling for me to get out. I had not seen him since we first paddled out until then.

I tried to paddle toward the beach, but before I could reach the sand, a wave well over my head high, knocked me off my board and tossed me like a washing machine. I was held underwater longer than I would have liked. As a swimmer, I can hold my breath for extended amounts of time, but I would like it to be on my own terms where I know I will breath again as soon as I decide to.  It was the kind of thing where I couldn't tell if I was swimming toward the surface or toward the depths of the ocean. I chose the right direction, but as soon as I emerged, another wave crashed into my right ear leaving it ringing, and pulling my body back under. Wave after wave kept coming, relentlessly pounding me. I surfaced a final time and immediately cried out, "Mark help me!" Panic was approaching me. I saw Mark sprinting through the water to me from the beach. He reached me with wide salty eyes asking, "Are you okay? Are you okay?" He didn't hear me cry for him, but he knew. I immediately felt safe with him next to me.
I replied , "Yeah, I didn't realize how close to the pier I was."
"Get on your board, and I'll push you in." He swam through the water right next to me until I could stand again.  I refused to admit it out loud, but Mark knew I had been shaken up. We make it back to his truck with our boards through the wind and rain. He could tell it was time for coffee. He drove us to a local coffee shop off the beach, and bought us both large steaming house brews. We sat down on a plaid couch in the lounge area with bits of shell in our salty saturated hair, and a layer of sand brushed onto our skin. Our shoes were hardly on our feet with the backs bent under the bottoms of our heels. Apparently it is frowned upon to go into a public place without shoes or a shirt on. Mark talked to me soothingly, making sure I was okay. Did I look like I still needed to recover? Is that what it means if your body is shaking?
Sitting there talking to my brother as the rain ran down the window panes, I realized that half the reason I enjoy surfing is because of him. I get so excited when he invites me to go with him. Not solely because it is surfing, but because it is something in his life he wants me to be a part of. It takes me back to a picture of Mark and me as kids holding hands in a Walmart parking lot. Not much as changed. I am always going to need my big brother, and he very well may always end up holding my hand through everything we do, and that's okay. Mark was a lifeguard to me that day. Even swimmers need help through rough waters sometimes.

Mark is the man.