Ugh. ¬†I can't believe I'm about to do this.

So Beck men­tions to me the other week that she found some of the stuff I had writ­ten here many, many years ago (okay, 10). ¬†Most of it was poetry. ¬†Now, I have no prob­lem post­ing up poetry. ¬†I love poetry. ¬†Some of my favorite books are poetry. ¬†Shel Sil­ver­stein, Mau­rice Sendak and Dr. Suess are great examples.

No, the prob­lem I have with the poetry I'm about to direct you to is that it is so… well, sappy. ¬†And by sappy I mean drip­ping, thick. ¬†I mean pour over your pan­cakes thick. ¬†I'm sur­prised I didn't scare Beck away with it.

I will admit. ¬†I'm a sap. ¬†I'm a roman­tic. ¬†Chivalry lives on so long as I do. ¬†I hold doors, and say 'Please' and 'Thank you'. ¬†And I can't tell you how many times I've been told not to call some­one 'sir' or ma'am. ¬†I even call my niece (cur­rently 8) ma'am.

Point being, I've always been very flow­ery and sappy when it comes to cer­tain things. ¬†But some of this is way off my own deep end.

You can read them on the Poetry page.

The other thing she found was a dig­i­tal copy of a story I wrote in high school. ¬†It was sub­mit­ted to the writ­ing con­tests and won the school con­test but lost in the regional. ¬†It's a true story about the day I found out my father had died. ¬†I was 14 I think when it hap­pened, on Decem­ber 12th. ¬†So you have an idea when Christ­mas isn't my favorite sea­son. ¬†(Hal­loween is if you care to know). ¬†The story is called Final Good­bye, read it here.

All of these can always be accessed via the Scrib­blings page.

Any­way, enough for now. ¬†I will post more on the devel­op­ment of the gar­den shortly. ¬†Here's a hint: I har­vested some sum­mer squash the other day! ¬†I didn't take pic­tures mostly because they met their fates later that same day :)

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