Chasing Monkeys

Chasing Monkeys

There is nothing in the world quite like those eyes.  Eyes veiled in a thick curtain of lashes, but wide, slightly watery, filled with admiration.  Then the smile, overflowing with all the joy that their little bodies can’t hold inside. It isn’t the way they look at you; it’s why.  Maybe because you helped them pick up a toppled truck, retrieve a stolen toy, or get one more Graham Cracker from the box.  Even the smallest favor can impact their world.  
  The moment I stepped onto the playground, my feet sank deeply into the spongy astro turf. I was transported back to a world of make-believe.  No longer a student, but their counselor.  The highest honor had been bestowed upon me: caring for children. Spotting my favorite camper brought a surge of love and pride to my chest.   Dylan was swinging from the monkey bars, his cheeks puffed out with the intense concentration it took to make it to the other side.  The moment he spotted me, his fingers released their grip.  Dylan hurdled from the monkey bars and sprinted towards me.  In the past days we had developed a deep personnel connection.  We understood each other.  His tiny fingers curled into my hand and the rush of sparks in my palm sent a smile to my face.  He jumped up and down, “Kewen,”  He could never seem to get my name right, so each time it was a new nickname.  “Kewen, we ride bikes now!”  He trudged forward, forcefully dragging me to the bikes.  Immediately, I saw him hop on the smaller of the two tricycles.  
We had established the bike arrangements on the first day.  
He had insisted, “I take the big bike!”  
I pleaded, “Dylan, I’m too big to fit on the little bike.”
His feet dragged across the ground as he pouted, “I’m faster on the big bike!”  Kneeling down so we were on the same level, I put an arm on his shoulder, “Dylan, I don’t think the bike is fast.  I think that you make it fast!  You’re like a superhero!  Like Flash!”  His chocolate brown eyes lit up like a tree on Christmas as he immediately switched bikes.
Though my legs were cramped between the wheels and the handle bars, I launched onto the winding bike path.  “Watch out!”  I narrowly avoided Graham as he stormed across the bike path after a group of screaming girls.  To my left, the rest of the kids played on the playground.  Isabella led the way across the bridge with her elaborate fabric wings, “Follow me to fairy land!”  
Hannah argued, “Why don’t you follow me?”
If a two year old could pull an exasperated face, this would be it.  
Isabella drawled, “Because I’m the leader so I go first.”

It really made you wish that you were their age again.
I snapped back to reality when Ms. Garcia called the children to the grassy area for group circle.  There was lots of pushing and shoving and deciding who was going to sit on whose lap.  All grass at our school is artificial, so it felt like stiff popsicle sticks on my legs.  “Criss cross apple sauce!”  Dylan made a bee line for me and plopped into my lap.  Though it was hard on my knee, from surgery, I could deal with it if it made him happy.
Our head coach stood in the middle of the circle, barking out explanations for the week to come. He gestured wildly with his hands, somewhat like a crazed gorilla.  Introducing the counselors and providing information about study trips was his main and only job.  Though he thought he did everything.  

The gym echoed with the sound of little feet jogging across the polished floor.  Thundering next to me like a playful puppy, was Dylan.  “I’m beating you Kewen!”  With his words I slowed my pace so that he was, in fact, beating me.  He raised his balled fists in triumph and ran to catch up with a friend.
“Kewen!”  I felt a tap on the back of my neck, and a tiny tickle of breath by my ear.  Spinning around on my scooter brought me face to face with Dylan, Jolie, Lochlann, Graham, Hannah, and Camille.  Camille jabbed a finger in my face, “Chase us.”  I tucked my legs underneath me so that I could lay across the scooter and propel myself after them.  “Alright, but I’ll give you a head start. I’m pretty fast!”  
Dylan yelled, “Not as fast as me!”
My hands paddled across the floor as I slithered after a group of screaming two year olds.  Alas, they turned at the last second and I slammed into the wall.  I was about to tag Dylan, but his smile stopped me in my tracks.  My cheek was throbbing from my collision with the wall, the muscles in my arms ached and burned, and I could feel the sweat at the nape of my neck.  Once I saw his smile, none of that mattered.  If I could keep him smiling like that forever, I would.  Soon, I was surrounded by dimples, bright teeth, flush faces, and rosy cheeks as they tackled me.  

Back on the playground, I was tired.  Hollis sprinted up to me, flanked by the rest of my campers.  She announced, “You’re the bad witch, and we are the princesses and princes.”  Before I could object, they took off.  I had already experienced their great stamina first hand, so I tried to leisurely jog after them.  I tagged bodies, fingers, legs, and heads.  It was no use, because they just kept going.  They didn’t seem to grasp the concept of freeze tag.
They were so ecstatic and their happiness seemed to be catching on.  My heart felt as though it was going to burst when the kids giggled and screamed upon seeing me.   They looked up to me, literally as well as emotionally.  It felt as though a warm honey glow was radiating from my body.  In that moment, I made a promise to myself and the kids.  I’d always be back to play with them, make them happy, and keep them smiling for as long as I could.

                                                                                                 That's Dylan 

See you soon!
The Watermelon Radish

Easter Bunny Blues

Hey Everyone!
This is a story that I wrote for my writing class about growing up, and my teacher said that I did a great job on it.  I thought that I'd share it with you!

Easter Bunny Blues

  It dawned upon me that I was old just last spring.  Well, not really old, just old enough.  It happened on Easter Sunday.  There was always a family gathering on Easter, and as we pulled up I could see the brightly colored eggs littered across the yard.  That was the first sign.  In the past I never saw them, or at least I thought I didn’t.  Seeing the eggs concerned me, but I didn’t have much time to dwell upon it.  The younger children had begun to arrive.  They were all smiles, stuffed animals, spring colors, and Easter baskets.  I hadn’t brought mine.   
        I walked through the door,
      “Hey everyone!”   
        I was greeted with enthusiastic replies.  My little cousin Sadie who barely meets my knee announced,
“Kellen!  Look at what the Easter Bunny brought me!”   
       She was clutching a stuffed purple bunny.   
     “That’s great Sadie!” 
     “When’s the egg hunt?” She asked.  
      Smiling I said, “Looks like it’s just starting. Do you want some help?”   
     She ran out the door shouting, “Noooo!”   

    Following her outside, I stood and watched the kids flying through the yard, It was like a game of leap-frog.   Their pastel baskets were slowly filling up with every type of egg you could imagine.  Each time they emerged from the grass, they seemed to have added another egg to the pile wrapped in strands of wicker.  The sound of their giggles and cries of joy rang through my ears.   Even Striker the old black lab had a purple egg in his mouth.   I didn’t join them because I was too old to participate in their games.  I would if I could, but I couldn’t.   Maybe I was waiting for someone to hand me a basket and tell me,
“Go Kellen!  There’s still more eggs to be found!”   
     But they didn’t.

     From behind me, I heard Uncle Timo snort,  
    “Feeling a bit old there Kell?”
    My reply surprised even me, “Yeah.”  What had happened anyway?  Just two years ago I had been out there gallivanting in the spring sunshine with them.  Maybe I had broken some invisible barrier that separated me from them.  I remember thinking that I was just being paranoid, but then the adults started teasing me.  Uncle Chris pointed out,  
    “Maybe now we can start hiring you to play Santa at Christmas!”  Laughter.  
  “ Maybe you should go and hang out with Gigi in the kitchen, because you’re one of the oldies out here.”  More laughter.  
    “I’m really not that old, just too old to go collect eggs.”   
      I forced a smile.  An egg flew into my hands from an unknown source.   
     Uncle Chris smirked, “Here, take your last egg.  Treat it like an initiation into adulthood.”   
     I joked, “The moment I stepped out of the car I could see these eggs, the Easter Bunny didn’t hide them very well.”
He shrugged, “I got a late start this morning, but what’re you gonna do.”  I shuddered, he had just out and said that the Easter Bunny wasn’t real. 

    During lunch, I crept into the playroom and saw Sadie and cousin Vivian playing Barbies.  I crouched down with them,  
  “What’s going on girls?”   
   Vivian pointed at me, “Only kids are allowed in here, no adults!”   
    I sighed, “I’m a kid; I’m only 13!”   
   She shook her head, “ No old people allowed!  You probably never play with Barbies!”  
   Boy what an attitude.  I had and I loved playing with them. I still had a few boxes of them at home.  It was useless to argue; I was old in their eyes. 

   Later, at home, I was in my room.  I wasn’t that old.  I still went to birthday parties and played pretend.  I still hung out with my friends, just didn’t call it a playdate.  I still listened to music, just not princess lullabies.  I still had dreams, only mine were more about becoming a tennis star than a unicorn.  Maybe I was old.  The Easter bunny probably hated me now for not participating in his holiday,  but who was he to interfere with growing up?

Happy early Easter eveyone!!

Watermelon Radish

The (Eventful) First Week of Summer

For the first week of summer my parents and I traveled to Seattle, Bellingham and Vernon.  This is a writing piece about our cousins lake house in Vernon; enjoy!


The lake is roughly 99 miles long, and much like a black hole you can’t decipher the beginning or the end.  Set back into the mossy bank is a large house.  It’s fresh white exterior is accented by graceful curves of balconies where one can gaze out over the glassy turquoise water.  It is known as Lake Okenagen, in Canada.  
A smooth rainbow of pastel rocks merges with algae as water meets the choppy shoreline.  It smells crisp and fresh, the odor of water wafting across towering trees.  Throughout the area, wildlife is abundant, it is a natural habitat providing solace for animals.  A solitary beaver, coat glossy and chocolate brown, wades through the cool shallows towards his refuge from the sweltering heat.  A majestic Blue Heron perches upon a slick rock, one thoughtful eye trained upon the shore, its lengthly neck craned in sheer excellence.  
A dock juts out across the crystal clear blue and green hues of the water.  Attached are two powerful jet-ski’s, smooth wake boards, and a boat.  This boat is the focus of my independent afternoon.  Being the only one in a hulking boat built for about twelve, adds to the peaceful serenity of my emotions.  Dashing down the blurring coast, it feels as though I’m growing wings and about to fly.  I’m addicted to the salty taste of the frigid droplets spraying against my face, temporarily blinding me of my surroundings.  I find myself in the middle of the lake, nobody around, save some deer on the shore and the summer lake house in the distance.  Faint sounds of a dog barking is the only noise that reaches my ears. Terror would have gripped my heart in that moment, but it is now a fleeting thought, my mind is vacant.  I cut the engine, its terrifying rumble like a beast poised to strike.  
Frothy waves cease to exist, and the water is still, like a pool of crystal shards waiting for life.  I focus on enjoying solitude in my mind.  The clear water seems to be doing a dance, building up until it peaks beside me.  After a short time, I replace my hands on the soft leather wheel, and steer the boat back to the jetty.  
A beautiful sunset is beginning.  I watch with wide hazel eyes, sinking slowly back onto a cracked log.  Vivid orange morphs with spectacular pinks and bloody reds to form a magnificent spectacle.  Soon the call for dinner jars me from my magical trance.  Much like family, the lake is hard to part with, but sometimes it must be done.  Words seem few and far between when I try to describe the emotions I feel when gazing at the water, illuminated by the sun.  The sheer beauty of life is brought back, and faith in humanity is restored.  
Wispy green grass is spongy underneath my bare feet, and the whispers of bugs are content in the meadow.  This property is a vision of bliss.  I grasp the railing and haul my tired body up the staircase, watching the darkness slowly envelope the dock, then the shore, and finally the shadows of the house.      

For the first night in Seattle, we joined my uncle, his wife, and their graduating daughter Sienna for dinner at Canlis.  The first thing that we enjoyed were the small bites (amuse) that arrived before the appetizers.  The first on the left was a pungent mushroom tart garnished by a delicate purple petal, it was light and sweet.  Next to it was a seaweed wrap filled with salmon mousse, cream cheese, and caviar.  The salmon wasn't overwhelming, so one could still enjoy the familiar creaminess of the cream cheese.  Finally on the far right was my favorite, a fried sphere.  The outside was crunchy, but the true surprise was on the inside.  The ball was filled with a cream/egg yolk mixture that exploded in your mouth, leaving behind a warm and comforting taste.  

My appetizer was the Canlis salad which had blue cheese, vinaigrette, and bacon.  It was much like a Cobb salad, and I enjoyed it very much. 

The main course that I chose was a filet mignon.  The rare steak sat upon potatoes, carrots, and a thick squash sauce.  The steak was very rich and juicy, and it was one of the best steaks I've ever had.  

The next stop was the Dale Chihuly museum to gaze at magnificent glass edifices.  There were things like paper thin glass vases modeled after Native American blankets.  There was a giant blue "ocean" filled with little glass fish and shells.  A whole room had a ceiling which was made of thousands of glass pieces, I took a minute long video walking through there.  There was also a giant glass world, which reminded me of Wonderland.  There were rickety wooden rowboats filled to the bursting with speckled glass balls, and a giant room swathed in glass flowers.

My first story prompt segment

Hi Followers!  I've decided to try something new, every once in awhile I'll write a short story based off of a prompt and post that.  Here's my first try, enjoy!

Prompt:   You put your house on the market and, on the first day, a extremely old woman comes knocking on your door. She’s not interested in buying your house, though. Instead she tells you that this is the house she lived in as a child. The friendly mood suddenly changes when she reveals something terrible that took place in the house years ago.  Fair warning before reading: scary story!  Read this yourself before reading to little ones!

I clicked the final button, my house was officially on the market.  I felt as though the entire world sighed in relief.  I had put thousands into this one piece of property, quenching the peculiar smell wafting up from the basement, fixed the broken floorboards, and removed the strange stains from the plaster walls.  I  admit, I would miss the sagging turrets, oak doors, stained glass windows, and adorably cozy rooms.  Now, all I had to do was wait for somebody to take interest in this old Victorian manor.  I didn't have to wait long because only minutes after putting my house on the market I heard a knock on my front door.  I smiled, smoothing my short pink summer dress and hurrying to the door.  "Just a minute!"  I turned the knob and welcomed a tiny old woman into the foyer.  She had crystal clear blue eyes that were magnified by giant tortoise shell glasses.  Her nose was reminiscent of an upturned button.  Her thin lips were twisted into an awkward smile, and her arthritis ridden hands were curled around a knobby cane.  I showed her the velvet couch and she patted it like an old friend before sitting down.  I sat opposite her, "Hello, I'm Rachel Johnson!"  She shook my hand slowly before answering in a raspy voice, "My name is Ruth Alderly, pleased to finally meet you Rachel."  I knit my eyebrows together, she had waited to finally meet me?  She stared at the walls, "It hasn't changed a bit.  Not a speck of dust out of place."  I stared at her, "Excuse me for being so forward but, how do you know all this about my house?"  She shook her head and said, "The transaction was done through a lawyer, but do you remember when you bought this house?"  She must have seen the flash of recognition in my eyes because she muttered, "I couldn't stand to live here anymore.  I could hear the souls through the floor, they were calling me.  I couldn't stand it."  I stared at her, she expected me to understand what she had just said?  I stammered, "What souls?"  She took a wheezy breath, "You can't sell this house, another family shouldn't have to deal with it.  This house needs to be destroyed, the entire lot should be leveled. Please, you have to listen to me!"  Her eyes were wild, her hands worked into a frenzy while she was talking.  Whatever this old woman was trying to tell me, I wasn't getting it.  I laughed nervously, "Look, Ruth, I have no idea what's going on here. I 'm just trying to sell this house."  She spoke slowly, as though she was explaining something to a child.  

"I used to live in this house with my family growing up.  It was a seemingly perfect house for a working mother and father, and their twin children.  I had a twin sister named Rosaline.  We were fraternal twins.  I had the long bouncy blond curls, wide blue eyes, and obsession with flowers and dolls.  Rosaline was always gloomy with dark brown hair that fell down her back, always glaring, obsessed with books and blood. 

 Our parents were always working, but on the rare occasions that they were home, it was obvious that I was the favorite child.  Rosaline began collecting cheerful birds, mice, squirrels and sometimes stray dogs or cats.  After many days of keeping them in her room for company, she would suddenly turn on them.  I would hear the yelling fits from my room across the hall, she would be screaming at them and then their whimpering would end.  I would always see her stalking out of her room, leaving behind a large knife, and taking their carcasses to the basement.  Rosaline was still the best sister to me, I reasoned that every child needed a hobby.  She threatened terrible things if I told mother and father, so I kept it a secret.  The smell in the basement got worse.  I think it was the one year anniversary of the day we moved into the house that father went down to the basement and discovered the dead animals.  He was furious, and scared.  Scared of the creature that his beautiful daughter had turned out to be.  It wasn't long before he took out the dusty old phone book and looked up a number on the very last page.  I remember the day they came to take her to the asylum, she was sitting in her turret room, staring out the window into the sunny sky, shaking.  I sat down with her, putting an arm on her shoulder.  She stared into my eyes, "Please don't let them take me Ruth, don't let them hurt me Ruth.  Please.  It isn't my fault Ruth.  Please don't let them take me."  I hugged her to me, mindlessly promising, "I won't, I swear Rose."  Obviously, I couldn't keep that promise.  Minutes later, they came into her room, their false smiles still haunt me today.  They told Rosaline that they had a sweater for her to wear instead of her threadbare dress, and she put it on.  I'll never forget her cries as she realized that she was in a straight jacket.  I struggled, held by my parents, while they loaded her into the white van marked with the red asylum symbol.  She glared at me then, "Ruth you promised.  I'm not crazy!  I'll make you pay Ruth, I'll make you all pay."  Then they shut her into the back, and I could only watch as they drove down the lane. Her face was twisted in agony as she cried out for her parents to save her.  At night I would lay awake, staring out the hallway into her empty room.  I  thought over all of the terrible things I could envision them doing to her.  I could see her tiny body convulsing under the pressure of electro shock therapy.  Her hands restrained so that she couldn't kill herself.  
By then, we had bought a television for the family room.  One night, about two months after committing her to the mental facility, we were all piled on the couch.  A fire was going in the hearth, and I was cuddled up to my mother.  My father flipped the channel and we stared in shock as the news channel showed us a shot of the mental hospital.  The caption below read, 'Rosaline Alderly escaped from Asylum just minutes ago'.  We stared at the camera shots of her empty room and the broken window.  Suddenly, we heard the front door creak open.  Father jumped up, clutching the remote.  A figure came into view.  Rosaline was a forgotten husk of the person she used to be, her brown hair was scraggly, her head was tilted to the side, her dark eyes were crazed, and her hospital gown hung in tatters around her thin frame.  A long, sharp butchers knife was clutched in her pale hand.  Mother screamed loudly, and I shrunk back against the far wall.  Father held out his hands, "Rose!  You're back!  We missed you so much!"  She smiled wickedly, "Did you father?  Did you really?  That isn't what they told me at the asylum.  They said that you were better off without me.  I know that you hate me, that you sent me away because you liked her better.  But that ends now."  She pointed an accusing finger at me, "You promised, and you let them take me.  You stole mother and father from me.  And now I'm back.  How do you feel about that oh great and privileged Ruth?"  I began to cry, not knowing what to say.  Mother was crying as well murmuring, "All we ever did was try and love you."  Rosaline shook her head, "You didn't do a very good job with that, did you?"  Mother put an arm around me.  Rosaline stalked towards father, cleaver in hand.  He flung the remote at her, stepping back against the wall.  Mother scolded, "Harold!  Don't hurt her!"  Rosaline moved closer and swung her blade.  It sliced his neck and deep red blood splattered against the wall.  That's where those stains came from.  He wasn't quite dead yet, so she used the knife to carve a chunk out of his chest.  More blood spilled out, along with some of his entrails.  She picked up his heart, "Now I finally get to hold fathers heart!  Now do you love me father?  Answer me!"  He was dead, mother and I knew that, but my sister didn't seem to.  She began to wildly chop at his body until you couldn't recognize any part of it.  My mother turned to me, "Run Ruth!"  I did.  I ran up the staircase, waiting at the top so that I could observe the gruesome scene in the living room.  Mother pleaded, "Why Rosy? We love you!  Don't kill me too!  It wasn't my decision!"  Rosaline shook her head and looked down, "You're right mother."  Mother moved to hug my sister and I screamed, "No!  Mom!"  It was too late.  I saw their bodies meet in a hug, and then the knife impale my mothers body.  Blood soaked her dress, and she slumped against my twin.  Rosaline turned to me, "And now for you.  You promised.  You stole my dream, you blinded me with candy and treats when all I really wanted was to be loved. By you."  I began to cry, both my parents were dead.  She began walking up the stairs towards me.  I saw the sinister glint in her eyes, and the glint of the knife in her hands.  I screamed, "Rosaline no!"  She came closer, giving me a tortured smile.  When she was close enough, I pushed at her blindly.  I felt the sharp pain of a deep cut to my forearm, but heard her cry out as she crashed backwards down the stairs through the floor and down into the depths of the basement.  I forgot momentarily about my arm and sprinted to the basement door to push it closed.  I saw her pale hand curled around the door frame, trying to keep it open.  I could hear her voice, "Ruth, let me out!  Let me out!"  I yelled back, "No!  You'll tear me apart!"  I slammed the door shut and locked it, haphazardly running from the house."

She finished telling the story and I was curled against the arm of my chair.  It all made sense now.  The nasty smell in the basement was from the dead animals, dead bodies of Ruth and Rosaline's parents, and Rosaline herself.  The stains on the wall were blood from the horrific murders committed in this very room.  The broken floor boards had been from Rosaline's doomed fall to the basement.  I nodded slowly and helped Ruth get up.  She opened the door and I followed her out.  She began to walk down the drive, taking the For Sale sign with her as she went.   

Cupcake Wars; Shakespeare Style

Greetings friends and followers!  I bring news of  the Shakespearean cupcake wars, where each young soul is assigned a category from The Tempest.  They are then given the challenge to create a  handsome cupcake deserving a reward!  Your very own Watermelon Radish partook in this affair, and was assigned the topic of Ferdinand.  Shall we see how she represents the handsome hero of our own bards famous play?

I was given the topic of Ferdinand the prince, the daring new love of Miranda.  "'tis fair morning when you are by at night,"  These soft spoken words of Ferdinand convey his love for Miranda.  The moment he happened upon her nestled deeply into the island, he knew he had found an angel.  To represent the deep new love of Ferdinand and Miranda, the cake is sweet red velvet.  Since Ferdinand is a prince, rich chocolate frosting coats the top of the cake to symbolize his monetary wealth.  The silver wrapper represents the many tears he cried for the loss of his father in the storm and inevitable shipwreck.  The delicate white chocolate flowers on top illustrate his growing love for the exotic island.

It all began with a box of red velvet cupcake mix, because that seemed the best to me.  I had the help of my grandparents caregiver, and my friend, Brianna.  She bakes a lot, and gave me some helpful tips.  Instead of oil, we used butter to make the cake moist.  When I opened the box, the mix was brown.  I was, naturally, very confused.  Red Velvet cake should be true to its name, and be red right?  Brianna assured me that when we began to mix the cake, it would turn red.  That was a relief, I really hate chocolate cake!

  

I definitely made sure that the batter tasted just fine before we baked the cakes in the oven, and I might have tried the frosting (just to be sure that it was good!).  Next up where the "delicate white chocolate flowers" that I spoke about in my speech.  It definitely wasn't delicate trying to make them.  My mom had been experimenting Friday night when I wasn't home, and I'm positive that I wouldn't have been able to make them if she didn't.  I had done some research in a cooking book (given to me by my friend Maya) and decided that using Wilton's melting chocolate would be the best.  The best way to do this, was by using a lot of plastic spoons.  When I got home on Saturday, we immediately got to work with the white chocolate.  After dipping each spoon in the newly melted chocolate, we stuck them in the fridge and waited for the chocolate to harden.  After they did, we took them out and began attempting to peel the petals off of the spoons.  My mom explained to me that you had to bend the plastic so that the chocolate started to peel off, but not to break the spoon.  This sounded easy at first, but not as easy when shards of plastic were flying around the room at alarming rates.  You have never felt frustration, until you have tried this.  Some spoons worked perfectly well, and led me to believe that the next spoon wouldn't give me any trouble.  So I proceeded to break the spoon.  After many trials, complete flowers were finished.

Once we had set our our many tools of the trade, we decided that it was time to prepare the actual cupcakes.

The rich chocolate frosting was lovingly spread across the top of the cupcake, and my fingers (yummy). I had to be very gentle, or else the cake would lift up and leave gaping holes of red.  After the chocolate was spread as thick as we dared, the flowers were attached to the cupcake.  We attached the flowers by spreading a thin coat of chocolate on the bottom.  Then we squirted a perfectly textured dab of pink in the center of the Lilly, and then added yellow sprinkles.  The cupcake was complete!

Everyone in my family enjoyed them, including my grandparents.  I felt very touched by these comments because my grandpa doesn't ever eat cake.  My mom and dad shared one, and I had the last. It tasted perfect!  I loved the moist cake, and the chocolaty frosting!

I guess that all of that hard work payed off, because yesterday at school we heard the winners of the cupcake wars!  I was one of the winners in my class!  The other winner was my friend Maya.  I had so much fun, even though all the cupcakes were good!

Duffs Cake Mix and Sushi

All of my friends have been talking about Duffs, and posting endless streams of photos.  On more than one occasion, it had peaked my curiosity.  I did not expect, after getting in the car with my friend

Eliza and her mother Ellie, to be told that we were going to decorate our own cake.  

The bakery smelled like icing, sugar and candy.  We were handed a clipboard filled with options for the genetic makeup of our cake.  We had originally thought that we were going to make an Avengers themed cake, because that is our favorite movie.  After seeing what they had to offer, we realized that a cake with such a complicated theme would be extra hard to create.  So we were left to think about what we wanted.  Many ideas were thrown around, but none made us overly exited.  At that moment 

I was reminded of something that my godmother Lynn made, a giant piece of sushi with real fish.  She had referred to it as a sushi cake.  So, why couldn't we do that, but without the fish?

Eliza and Ellie loved my idea and we began plans for our cake.  It would be made up of vanilla cake, and the frosting would also be vanilla.  The outside would be built of white fondant.  Fondant is thick creamy sugar paste.  You may be thinking, sushi isn't white.  Ah, but the rice is!  Our amazing helper, who was extremely nice to us (let's call him Alex), cut large slices of black fondant and wrapped them around the sides so it began to resemble a sushi roll.

We were really getting into it, snatching pieces of fondant and sugar, then moving our newly clothed cake to our table.  We were each given another large piece of white fondant by Alex and we proceeded to learn how to stick fondant to fondant.  Fondant is an extremely sticky material to work with, especially when your hands are wet.  Soon, there was a circle of water on our cake, leaving a lopsided circle in the middle for fish.  After about a half hour the entire wet area was covered with over sized "rice" grains.  The fondant "rice" began to harden and we began working on the next area of the sushi.  The avocado and the salmon, only the most important parts!

I cut cubes out of my fondant and set them down on the table, wondering how I was going to get them orange.  Eliza had the same problem after cutting triangular slices of "avocado" out of her fondant.  Alex pointed us to the dye rack, the only part he forgot to point out were the gloves.  Only a minor detail right?  No.  I still look like Snooki gave my hands a terrible spray tan, and Eliza's hands have green spots.  But, back to the story!

 I grabbed the dye bottle labeled orange while Eliza picked up yellow and green.  I tried squeezing the orange, expecting it to come out like liquid, but it was actually colorful paste.  I did the only thing I could think of, smashing the fondant cubes between my hands until they turned as Orange as the bottle.  I also helped Eliza with mixing green and yellow, then molding them together.  I stuck the orange cubes to the clear circle with water and then went around each one with orange butter cream frosting.  To top off the salmon look, I sprinkled sparkly orange sugar on the icing to give them impression of salmon roe.  I know what you're thinking, I'm so full of good ideas, right?  Eliza did the same with the avocado, using green frosting.  

The cake looked heavenly, I didn't know whether to continue working on it or take a giant bite out of the side.  I obviously didn't do the latter.  Then we sprinkled the sides with brown granules of sugar that looked like sesame seeds.  Finally, we added some green grass peeking out from underneath as a garnish.  It turned out amazing, better than we ever could have hoped.  It was our baby!

I tried the cake with Eliza that night, it was so good!  I love how the vanilla cake compliments the sweetness of the butter cream and the fondant.  It might be the best cake I've ever had!  If you'd like to check out our cake on instagram go to @DuffsCakeMix and click on the picture of the sushi cake!  It has over 850 likes, last time I checked and over 33 comments!  I feel so accomplished.  Please go there, it is so fun!

Bye, 

See you soon,

The Watermelon Radish 

24 Hours Of Christmas 2012

   
Picture this: It's Christmas morning and the kids wake up at the crack of dawn, dashing into their parents room.  Even though their parents are still asleep, they don't care!  All they want to do is go downstairs and look under the tree.  The kids bounce on the bed and try everything to wake their exhausted parents.  
Now return to reality.

On Christmas morning I didn't wake up early like these kids, I was out like a log.  I had stayed up late the night before, putting out fudge and milk for Santa, playing Wii all day with my friend Effie, and listening to my grandparents noisy friend on speaker phone when I was trying to sleep.  I had cracked. I was saying, "Who cares if Santa comes while I'm awake?  Who cares if he even comes?"  Deep in my heart I knew that I would definitely care, but I wasn't ready to tell myself that yet.  Soon I fell asleep, and if this was a cheesy Christmas story, the sugarplums would come dancing in my head right about now.  Sadly, no enchanted candy visited my dreamless sleep.  I don't think I would have gotten up if it wasn't for my dad in his Santa hat.  He barged into my room, bombarding me with early morning Ho Ho Ho's and sitting on my bed.  I reluctantly got up and donned my elf hat.

I checked on my fudge happily noting that it was all gone.  Then I moved to the milk, which hadn't been touched.   My dad shrugged, "I told you that you should have left wine for Santa."  I sighed and moved to the stockings, taking mine and Stella's.  We sat down in our playroom and opened our respective stockings.  Stella's stocking is red with a black lab stitched into it.  The stocking contained a collar, a big puffy red velvet collar with bells.  It was very classy.

I left her to inspect her new gift and try to take it off, and moved to my stocking.  There was a bear surrounded by presents worked into the material.  The stocking held many great gifts, a new grip for my tennis racket, animal butt magnets, and some not so great deodorant.  Then it was time to open the gifts underneath our wooden Jewish star tree.

 I received a gift all the way from France, a hand stitched donkey ornament to match the painting in my room.

I opened a box that contained a porcelain mask, the face had sparkly golden eye shadow and lips with a very elaborate turquoise hat.

My parents gave me an Ipad and a very cool keyboard case for it.

I acquired my very own hairdryer and curling brush.  Loads of new makeup for me to "experiment" came pouring in.  All in all, it was a very successful Christmas.  Most people would be content with their gifts and decide to sit around all day and wait for Christmas to be over, but not me.  The moment that the last present was opened it was time to start getting ready to go to my uncle's house for breakfast.  I donned my rather space age silver pants and black shirt, accenting the outfit with a red scarf and stylish Santa hat.

My parents had on rather similar color choices, so we looked like a family car full of red, silver, green, gold and black wrapping paper and tinsel.  During the long drive out to New Hall I plugged in my headphones and listened to some music.  Most of the music was purchased using my birthday gift cards, especially the six minute song that I accidentally bought.  It's a very good thing that I now like that song, or I would be a very angry Kellen.  I was jolted out of my music world a couple of times from the wet nose of Stella who was next to me in the car.  Soon we rolled to a stop and I opened my eyes to find the familiar outdoor facade of my uncle's home.  I threw open the door, grabbing the first bag that I could find from the trunk (letting Stella out in the process), then ran over to the gate.  I pulled on the little black string that pushed the gate open.  I stared into the beautiful back yard and then I was run over by two black Labradors.  In a storm of black feet, wet pink tongues, and jingling bell collars, the dogs started to wrestle playfully around the yard.

I picked myself up and fixed my toppled hat.  Once I walked through the back door I was almost run over again, but this time by relatives.  The first in line was my uncle Timmo, next my grandmother Jeanne gave me a hug, then my aunt Elisabeth, my uncle Kurt, cousin Mathew, and finally our family friend Kit.  Everyone was especially festive and gathered around the counter to catch up and chat.  I walked into the backyard and immediately saw the three black labs rounding a corner, frantic for more attention.  It was hard to pick out which was which; Tonka was like a large bear running towards me, Stella was distinguished by her fluffy collar, and finally Striker was the oldest, identified by his white beard.  I wrestled a new toy from their gaping mouths, and chucked it down into the vineyard, slinking away as soon as I could.  There was a very inviting smell coming from the barbecue and I decided to go and check it out.  My uncles were crowded around the silver grill, layering different sausages onto its hot surface.  I clapped my hands when I saw the ham (made just for me) and stepped back when the meat began to spit and sizzle with delight.

Inside, uncle Tim was cooking some breakfast sausages on the stove.

There was a big bowl of vibrant raspberries, dark blackberries, and fluorescent blue berries.

My parents had brought Rugula cookies as their contribution, which were filled with various things.  They were encrusted with granulated sugar, which made them even more enjoyable.

Tim was also tossing some scrambled eggs in their clean black pan.  The yellow yolk was consuming the white as he stirred the mixture with some milk.

 Once the entire buffet was set up, we all loaded our plates with delicious food.  The hash browns were perfectly seasoned, with just the right amount of salt.  They were also fried, not burnt, but crispy which made them a nice honey brown color.

The sausages and ham were all cooked to perfection, and I tried the ham with my meal.

 The hash browns tasted kind of sweet but also had a strong flavor of potato in them, but that it understandable considering that they are potatoes.  The ham was charred on the top and had a rather smoky taste to it.  After breakfast was finished, my brother Pat and his girlfriend Zsanett arrived.  We were trying to scold them for missing breakfast, but that didn't work because they had some really big news!  They were engaged!!!!  I was totally taken aback, and super duper happy for my brother and Zsanett!

We chatted while they ate their breakfast and the rest of us opened our presents.  My aunt Jeannie and my uncle Chris gave me a really pretty yellow striped scarf and a headband to warm my ears in cold weather.  I received a super nice Barnes and noble gift card from my grandmother, a cute handbag from my uncle Tim, and a cool tank top from my brother and his FIANCEE!  Most people would have given up at that point, being way too Christmas-ed out on Christmas.  Not me.  My parents, Stella, and I drove home to prepare for  Christmas dinner at our house that night.  My dad, still in his bright red pants, began to cook the rib.  Using his very favorite seasoning from our dear friend Dario in Panzano, Chianti Italy.  This famous butcher/chef would be proud to have my dad in what he calls "Dario Pants"( because Dario rocks those red pants), with his Dario Salt, cooking meat like Dario.

After much preparation by my parents, and much Sim playing by me, we were ready for our guests.  The first to arrive was my other brother Chris, we enjoyed the house music mash up CD I made him for Christmas.  The other guests started to roll in, and we all made our way to the den for H'orderves.  There were two types of eggnog.  The plaque for one said, "Without" and then a Christmas tree, so I guess it meant "Without Christmas Tree" and the other meant "With Christmas Tree".  I tried the "Without Christmas tree" one and I'm pretty sure that it was the right move because I didn't immediately stagger back in alcoholic overdose.

After the eggnog drinking and H'orderve eating, it was time for the main attraction. We all sat down at the very festive holiday dining table and awaited our salads.  The lettuce was very thick and multicolored, mainly green and pink, and there was melted cheese on the top.  I had chosen not to have hazelnuts sprinkled on my salad, but that is only my preference.  The salad tasted very citrus like with the dressing.

After the salad I was called to the kitchen to help serve the plates of prime rib.  I placed plates down for everyone, serving on the left and clearing on the right.  After I had finished with serving, I sat down at my own seat with my own plate.  The piece of prime rib looked juicy and rare.  It tasted perfectly tender and it went really well with the other items on the plate.  My mom just made a lovely jello mold, it had raspberry on the top and sweet cream on the bottom.  It was very good, sweet, refreshing, and I wanted to stick my hand in it because it was so wobbly.  There were also mashed potatoes that stuck together and were very sticky, creamed corn that was sweet and warm, and pop overs that could break a window.

That was my Christmas, and I wouldn't change anything about it for the world.