Mmm...

Posey, has this great recipe for a spinich and garlic penne. Yum. Check our the link on the right side.

We had our inspection today on the lovely house that we are attempting to buy. There were a few things that were a little more of an issue than we thought but no major surprises really. Hopefully we will close in four weeks. Just in time since my wonderful Uncle Richard will be getting married that weekend. We're 95% sure anyway- about the date, not the wedding.

What's new? Well, we've been watching the entire series of The West Wing. It's almost all over. What a great show.

That is all.

Quick list

Things I am grateful for today:

1. My husband and my son.
2. The sureness of my faith.
3. My new home.
4. Possibilities

Friday- and what a day!

First things first- I must update you on the many adventures of the Watson family (and quick because Jonah really likes to try to type).

We made a bid on a house yesterday and we had an acceptance within four hours. I'm super excited about this house. It comes with an acre of land and it's a treed lot (hard to find in Oklahoma). Sorry the link didn't work- here are some pictures!!




Even more exciting is the third little tooth that Jonah is getting. We've been using Oragel to get through some rough spots. It's the top right tooth. I noticed it the other day when he was hanging upside down on my lap and laughing.

Also, at this very moment my niece Ava is waiting to be born. Hopefully she will appear in the next few hours and it will be easy. I know Haydn is excited. I'll let you all know when I know something.

Now for the real draw of the day (ha!)...


This might be cheating since it's been posted on my blog before (about 285 posts ago) but this is one of those things I'm actually really proud of.. so without any further apology...

The Plaid Dress Wishes

By Chara Watson

There were once four little girls who went to the state fair. They went every year to see the quilts, jars of jelly or preserves, to eat cotton candy, and to ride the car up the needle, hundreds of feet above everyone and look all around for just a few minutes.

But then there was the year of the plaid dresses. That was the year their mother made them each a dress of a different color plaid and white collars embroidered with their initials. Christa, the oldest, wore a purple dress and had a purple ribbon in her dark hair. Even though Tara and Chara were twins they did not wear dresses that were just alike. That’s because they didn’t look alike. Chara wore a blue dress to match her eyes and Tara wore a red dress to match her hair. Laura was the youngest and she wore green.

They all held hands as they wandered past strange booths and displays taking in each of the sights and sounds around them like treasures to be tucked away into the special boxes their Grandma had given them to keep their treasures safe. They were young then, in ways they might never remember when they grew even a little bit older than they were.

They were memorizing all the things they saw when their eyes fell on the balloon man. There wasn’t anything all that interesting about the balloon man himself. He was wearing brown pants and a brown riding cap and he had a long white moustache that covered the ends of his wide smile. There wasn’t much to notice if he hadn’t been holding those balloons.

Those balloons! They were the brightest colors the girls had ever seen. Even when they went to the material store to choose materials for the dresses their mother would make for them, running lost among hundreds of bolts of soft fabrics, they had never seen anything quite like the colors of the balloons that the man held in his fist. The girls approached him, saying nothing, only looking wide eyed at the floating rainbow above his head.

“Would you like some balloons?” he asked.

The girls nodded and he handed each one a balloon the color of their dress, only much brighter.

“How much?” asked Christa. For she was the oldest and she had been given the money they would be allowed to spend while they wandered through the fair.

“A nickel each.” he answered.

She carefully picked out two dimes from her little purple coin purse, which had been tucked into the pocket of her purple plaid dress.

The balloon man took the dimes, dropped them in his pocket and looked adown at the little girls.

“Now, before you go I think you should know something.” He beckoned them closer. Wide eyed, the girls came close and leaned in.

“These balloons are magic. If you are brave, for an hour, you can have whatever your heart wishes for. But there’s a catch.” he grew silent and the girls leaned a little closer.

“You have to pop the balloon.”

There was nothing but silence as the girls walked away.

The balloon man had expected the silence. The silence came every time he told the people about the magic. A lot of people didn’t believe him or were too frightened to pop their balloons. If they popped them and there was no magic they would have nothing but a shriveled bit of colored rubber on a string.

But you couldn’t just pop the balloon without thinking either. A wish that is forever is an easy thing. Who wouldn’t wish for a magic coking pot, or a hundred bags of gold, or whatever else they thought would make their hearts happy? But a wish for just an hour is a different thing entirely. You wouldn’t want to wish for a thing like that if it were going to disappear in an hour. No one wants to find out that all the things they’ve been content without are things they would have been much happier with, and them have them snatched away. No there isn’t any happiness in a wish like that.

The girls met their parents and rode home in silence. Their mother and father looked to the back of the station wagon and saw each girl looking suspiciously at the strange, brightly colored balloons they had bought.

When they got home they had a sister’s meeting under the oak tree in the backyard. For a while they sat in silence, no one knowing what to say. They said nothing. They each knew that they had all made up their minds to pop their balloons and wish for something. But what?

Because Tara was the bravest, she went first. She pulled down the string attached to her blood red balloon and took it in her hands. Thinking of the one thing her heart desired, she squeezed that balloon- not the way a timid person would squeeze, afraid that it might pop in their face, but hard and fast in her hands.

Tara wished to be a boy. More than anything else she wanted to wear pants and hit a baseball and climb trees. She wanted to ride her bicycle around with her shirt off and feel the sun on her skin. She wanted to get dirty and rip her clothes and have people just shake their heads. You couldn’t do those things in a dress. Girls weren’t supposed to get dirty and climb trees and be loud, but it was her wish and that’s what she wanted.

Before any of the other girls had a chance to ask her what she had wished for, she stood up, not in her red plaid dress, but in a pair of overalls, dirty and patched at the knees. Out came a loud “Whoop!” and she ran off through the yard through the yard toward a mud puddle and she stomped right into it.

She didn’t look like Tara anymore. Her red hair was short, and her freckles were darker. She looked like she could have been their Dad when he was young.

The other girls watched as she got dirty and made lots of noise and climbed trees. Their mouths hung open and questions hung unanswered on their lips.

After a while she ran out of things to do. Her sisters were sitting under the tree singing and braiding each other’s hair, waiting for the hour to go by. Boys didn’t sit around singing and braiding hair.

And suddenly she was ready for her wish to be over. She jumped out of the tree, back onto the ground in her red plaid dress. She was clean as cotton and blushing a bit at her silliness.

Christa hardly waited a moment before she took her balloon in her hands and popped it with her fingernails. She wasn’t all that eager to make her wish, it was just that she felt she should have gone first since she was the oldest. But as she felt the pressure of the balloon give way in her hands her wish, not the silly wish she had been going to make, but her heart’s wish came into her mind and came true. Her sisters disappeared. In their places were only three little dolls in brightly colored dresses, two still holding balloons. She knew immediately that they would be back in the passing of an hour and so she got up and ran toward the house.

For a while when she was just a little child she had all of her parent’s love to herself. Sometimes she still thought about that time before she had to be responsible for her sister’s and before she had to share everything with them.

She opened the door to the kitchen and went in. Her mother smiled when she saw her. It was a smile just for her.

They read books and played cards for a while. Her mother had taught her how to play go fish and sometimes she won. Her father came in and she was Daddy’s girl. No one else played with them or interrupted her Daddy’s stories about Silly Sally and Mean Milford.

When the hour was almost up she went outside and sat under the tree and looked at the little dolls. The sat there, just waiting for the passage of the hour. It wasn’t as fun to play with dolls as it was to play with your sisters.

And suddenly she was ready for the wish to be over. Her sisters grew back to their normal size with the blink of an eye. It was nice to see them.

Chara reached up and pulled her blue balloon down into her lap. She had thought a long hard time about her wish and she finally decided. She took her balloon and put it on the ground beside her she sat down hard on it and it popped.

Chara knew what she had wanted to wish for. She loved to read books and pretend that she was a princess in a magical adventure. She wanted to see magic and do all the things she had pretended to do and had imagined in her head.

As the balloon popped the backyard changed. Their daisy patch changed into a sleepy forest, the shed grew into a castle and the bee hives turned into a huge evil mountain with twisted trees, where a witch lived.

Chara met her fairy godmother who gave her magic berries that she used to save a prince from the evil witch who had cast a spell on him. Then the Prince took her home to his giant castle and they crowned her the princess. Then they went to a huge ball and danced and danced all night long.

But then she came to the part of the story that said, “…and they lived happily ever after.” There wasn’t anything else. She had to just be a princess all the time and wear big dresses and do princess things. She knew she was supposed to be happy, but there wasn’t much to do now that she was living happily. She wanted to go home where she could play with her sisters in the daisy patch and pretend all sorts of other adventures for all of them.

And suddenly she was ready for her wish to be over. Her big fluffy dress melted away into her simple blue plaid dress with her initials on the collar and her sisters were all around her again.

Laura was last. She was always last because she was the youngest. It hadn’t taken her long to decide exactly what she would wish for. The other girls looked at her and she stood up. Stepped on one end of the string and stomped the balloon. It popped loudly and suddenly Laura was five and a half feet tall. She had earrings in her ears and she was wearing perfume and makeup like her mother!

She was grown up! Almost immediately a car pulled up into the driveway and a boy got out of the drivers seat and waved at her. He opened her car door and she ran to get in the car. The girls watched the car pull away and wondered where she was going.

She was on a date with a boy. They went out for ice cream and met other grown up friends and talked about grown up things. For the first time Laura felt like she wasn’t going to be told to be quiet or be the last one to get what she wanted. She could do and have whatever she wanted. She even had two scoops of ice cream!

But soon she got bored. The boy was nice but all her talked about was politics and cars and adult things. She wanted to know if he had noticed the snails on the sidewalk or if he liked to jump rope, or if he could whistle. Her sisters noticed snails and stars and would jump rope with her.

And suddenly she was ready for her wish to be over. So she asked the boy to drive her home, and just as he pulled up the driveway the car and the boy disappeared and she walked toward her sisters. Christa met her halfway and the twins were behind her. Christa picked her up and carried her into the house. They all put her in bed and tucked her in. The sun had gone down and it was time for sleep. They all lay in their beds that night whispering about the things they had seen and done and wished for.

Tara had liked being a boy, but she liked being herself, and being with her sisters. Besides, they never told her to be quiet or to stay out of trees. Maybe she could just be herself, with them anyway.

Christa thought about how lonely it had been without her sister. It was nice to have something more than a doll to carry into the house at night, even if she did have to share everything with her sisters and watch out to make sure they didn’t get into trouble.

Chara thought about how exciting it had been to have such wonderful adventures. She enjoyed knowing that she could do big things, but it was also nice to know that she could have all sorts of different adventures in her imagination, not just one little adventure all by herself.

Laura thought about how nice it would be to be grown up someday. Just not yet. Even if it meant she had to be the baby, she still liked being taken care of.

Each of the girls had carefully placed their popped balloons into the pocket of their dress and each one would tuck the balloon away in a corner of their special box. Someday when they grew older and couldn’t quite remember quite so well what it had been like to be so young they would be able to look at the balloons and remember what it had been like to discover just how happy they were to be together and to be just who they were.

If my life were a book and it had a theme, it would be this:

taken from Keri Smith's website

Be open to whatever comes next- God is in charge and He won't ignore your needs.

I haven't had the time to go back and reread a lot of my blog, (if I did I would probably be embarrassed) but if I did I think I would find that I waste a lot of energy being upset or worried or even just overly concerned about what is going to happen next in my life, or how I am going to fix my problems. Sadly, I need to be reminded of this theme quite often.

I was in a class in grad school a few years ago and I made a comment that surprised me at the time. I'm not sure of the exact topic of conversation, but it had something to do with preparing yourself for performance. I said, "My goal is always to come back to the center of things- otherwise my story won't be any good."
I found an almost identical statement in a journal I kept while I was still at Lipscomb- "I am going to have to learn how to focus on my Center [in the sense of my creator] before I can live well."

One of my favorite books is by Elizabeth Elliot. It's called, "Discipline: The Glad Surrender". I recommend it for anyone who wants to become serious about their spiritual life. In one part of the book Ms. Elliot says, "The closer one comes to the center of things, the better able he is to observe the connections. Everything created is connected, for everything is produced by the same mind, the same love and is dependent on the same Creator."

The call of my Creator brings me back to my center. It seems that in times when I am forced to be dependent on Him I am brought forcefully back to the center- the basis of all things. Perhaps if I could learn to focus there first I would stop forgetting that theme that runs steadily along.

Last Thursday wee closed on our house. I didn't want to leave it. I was a little bitter even though it was something I had agreed to do. Now I am [trying to] looking forward to the next place we live and the next adventure. Even now we are not settled, and we won't be for a while. So... back to the center I go.

Friday Archives

Sorry I'm a day late. Josh and I spent most of last week loading up a truck with all of our belongings and then driving them to Oklahoma on Thursday and Friday. Sadly, the truck was rigged to go no faster than 70 miles per hour so it was a rather long trip. Jonah sat between us in the front of the truck so he didn't mind it too much.





For my Mother

I don't think I ever imagined that
we would be- Friends
AS it were, in the emotional chaos
Of puberty, adolescence and
My phase of self-establishment,
I hardly thought to tell you
My wildest desires, My thoughts, My dreams.
And now you know the kind of man I want,
And you advise me when I do not understand.
I finally let you love me when I am unlovable and lonely and tired.
It is almost as if a storm has passed.
As though I have been set free,
Instead of diapered and put down for a nap.
So when I am doing taxes alone,
Changing the oil in my car,
Or cooking dinner for someone else,
I will know that the one who labored ot give me my life,
And struggled so hard to teach me how best to live it,
Is now my friend.

The new coolest things I've EVER seen!

Seriously- I want one. Who is going to make me one???

Also, I want to try this recipe... MMMMmmmm.... tomatillos!

And another thing I would really like to have... I just love buttons!

And this reallycool website- I'm going to have to make one of these.

And now, more gratuitous cuteness:

To explain...

A couple days ago I posted a slogan...
It is what it is.

To help you all understand that, maybe you should read this.

I've had Keri Smith's link on my blog for a long time, but I spent a portion of the evening catching up on her blog. I haven't really looked at it since the monkey came along. She has these occasional slogans that she posts. I think I may using them as writing prompts on here from time to time. I wonder if she would mind?

Some part of me has become starved for creative output lately. It's hard to find the time, but I feel drawn to create again. I guess I had to go into hibernation for a while after I quite working for "The Man" at NSN (That's a joke, since there were no men working at NSN).

I think I may need to journal again. Maybe I can take pictures of some of my journal pages for a Friday archive?

Tomorrow is Mother's Day. I'll be spending some time with my mother and some time with Jonah (who am I kidding? I spend all my time with Jonah!) and hopefully taking a long nap.

Friday Again!

So, before Josh and I were married I went through a brief period when I was able to write constantly. It had been a while since that had happened. I have my theories why, but they really aren't important. They important thing is that I look back and have some interesting written products that preserved the depth to which Josh rocked my world (and why not??).

This is one of my favorite poems form this time, not so much because it is well written, but... well, maybe you'll understand.

Map of my Heart

Sir, here is a map of my heart.
You will need it,
There are many pits, dead-ends-
You will only get one chance
To make a wrong turn or fall down.

True love is a long time in it's coming.
There has been using and wishing
But not love- well, there has been self-love
But not from me.
"I love... I love...
Myself." he said to me.
He did not sigh when he left me,
And I panicked because I did.

Love is a cruel delight-
Exacting pleasures, belief in wholeness-
And love can drift away.

Yes, I believe you will need a map.
If you are able to decipher
Where there is soft earth and loose gravel,
Maybe-
You may find a place to make you home
Nestled in a lush hillside
Or on a valley floor.

Do not believe me damaged for this rough terrain
No one broke me down, laid me bare.
I laid these traps myself.

I have been alone now.
My voice has been a hollow falling wind...
falling... faling away from God.
I spoke His name until I could speak no more.
Until I could devise a plan.

And my voice came back,
Alike that of a bird's voice, a call to morning.
A joyous call.

So who are you to sigh for me?
You who need a map?
You who dared not play my games until you knew...
Until you thought you knew all of me.
Who are you to sigh for ME?
As though those sighs buy lumber for bridges-
As though my own two hands could build.

You think these traps are for you.
To catch you, to break you, to drive you away.
I fear. I do.
It is not you I plot to catch, to break, then drive away.
I fear those sighs.
I fear a hollow falling voice.
I fear love is too late coming for me.
I fear I could not sigh for you.

Just so you all know-
As I reread this, I realize that I still have a bit of rough terrain in me, and that I still fear a hollow falling voice, but I do have hands that can build.

And that's all I have to say about that

Friday Archives

Okay- I know I'm a day late but I've decided to start making myself post at least once a week. One of my favorite crafty bloggers returned a while back (she'd taken some time off) and she is now posting every Friday with something that she made. You should check her out if you get the chance- Loobylu.

So, I could totally cheat and post a picture of Jonah as the thing I created most recently, but I don't want to cheat. Instead I will post this short story I wrote in college. I was a little inspired by Edgar Allen Poe and by my own state of mind during that time of my life. I wrote a lot about being betrayed.

Quoth the Raven

When they first announced it, I thought my head would explode. It was so unreal, like a dream of something horrific that was happening to someone else. But it wasn’t happening to someone else, it was happening to me.

Anticipation had filled the house before the evening ever began. There were about a dozen servants running circles around the house cleaning, dusting and straightening. My mother was baking enough to feed an army. The Zettegren family had been invited to a celebration for something my parents had yet to explain. I was certain my parents were going to announce my engagement.

Gathered around the candle-lit table that night I was absolutely glowing with expectation. What came instead was the culmination of Satan’s mission to destroy my life. Of this I am undoubtedly certain, and I will never withdraw that claim.

As my father stood to toast the gathering, I surveyed all who were present. No one that I loved was left out on this occasion that I believed to be so joyous. My mother kept fussing with things, wanting them to be perfect. My father was completely jubilant with pride. My sister always seemed to shine like the sun, but somehow she seemed more subdued tonight. I believed I did not feel the rays of her presence bearing down on me as I normally did because she instinctively knew this night was for me. Across the table were Roger’s mother and father. He came from a long family line of wealthy, influential people. They were stern looking but I knew that if they could raise such a loving, kind son, surely they must also be loving and kind. Roger sat between his two younger brothers who were quietly kicking one another under the table. Roger was very quiet but his handsome face rarely gave away the thoughts hidden in the deep pools of his mind. I loved him for that. I loved him for his unchanging grace and charm. I simply loved him.

My father’s booming voice lifted to toast the prosperity of our two families. The candlelight caught up in the lines of his face and in his beard to cast golden beams across his face and onto the crucifix hanging on the wall behind him. He looked like a Grecian god, full of power and strength. He thanked God for His hand of mercy upon us, that our families had suffered no tragedy or hardships. My father did always tend to ramble on about God and His infinite mercy, but after that night I never did believe it again. In the candlelight, however, it was almost believable.

“May our two families be ever joined in the days to come by more of God’s infinite Mercy, and may his hand be over the new family which will come of us. To Annabelle and Roger. May they live ever in happiness.”

At that exact moment I felt my heart stop dead in my chest. Not one flush of blood has graced my veins since those words were spoken.

Roger was looking dead into my eyes and I did not seem to understand anything that was being said by the people around me. They were tipping their glasses and cheering, but all I could understand was the agony in his eyes. They were screaming at me to forgive him. To love him, anyway.

My sister was beaming again. She had always been the one to whom the choicest things were given. She had always been the one to be pleasing. For some reason, she seemed to have God’s favor about her. And I did not.

I knew I had to say something or risk the wrath of my mother.

“Congratulations, Annabelle.” I said.

The rest of the night was little more than a blur. I went to check on the dessert at least a dozen times. Something about the little dining room bathed in candlelight made me feel suffocated and panicked. It was almost impossible to think or breathe. The conversation floated mainly around their task of preparing a wedding in the week to come. There would be no long engagement for the two oldest children of the two most influential families in town.

After dinner I escaped to the back porch. It was bleak December, and the sky was clear and crisp with the piercing starlight. A sad wind howled across the hay fields around the house and for a moment the waving hay sounded like the ocean. There was not a tear within me that was willing to fall, to comfort my breaking heart. My eyes lifted to the sky. Our little town had not installed electric lights, so the stars seemed to hover just above the house. The stars looked down at me with cold little glares, daring me to cry. But I would not. Could not.

Roger managed to escape and find me on the back porch some time later.

“Caroline….” He whispered.

I turned and looked at him. He was standing in a shadow, looking as if he were ready to run if anyone caught him, but my heart leapt. For a moment I was certain that he had a plan to save me. He would sweep me away and everything would be made right.

Our eyes locked and I knew that he could read every thought I was hurling at him at that moment, just as I had read his thoughts at the dinner table.

“But our love it was stronger by far than the love of those who were older than we. Of many far wiser than we, and neither the angels in heaven above, nor the demons down under the sea, can ever dissever my soul from the soul…” I whispered those words to him, certain that it would somehow end differently. Somehow I knew that he was there to reassure me that everything was going to be all right. Instead, his face fell in frustration.

“Caroline, it wasn’t my idea. I don’t have a choice. They just told me that it was what I was going to do.” He searched my face for understanding. “You know I love you. This isn’t the end of the world for you.”

He did not know that I was already dead. My heart had stopped, and my body was slowly growing cold. I could not move to go to him, though I truly wanted to. It didn’t matter anyway, I felt dead inside as well.

“Caroline, you’re too wild and unpredictable. You aren’t fit for presentation to the kind of people they want me to be around. I tried to tell them…but you know how they are. I’m trapped with them.”

I had to believe he told the truth, but there was nothing to reconcile the hours of time we had spent together with the betrayal of his engagement. I never felt more accepted by anyone. I was fascinated with Poe, though it wasn’t exactly popular to read Poe in 1892. Lots of people thought I was eccentric, or morbid because I enjoyed reading the grotesque. Because I felt a kinship to it. Nothing was quite like Poe to me. It was as if my spirit were caught up in the words of his poetry. My mother told me over and over that it wasn’t an attractive quality in a young lady to enjoy reading such stuff. But Roger had loved to listen to me talk about the darkness and the love in Poe’s poems. I was certain that we were destined to be together. Poe captured my spirit, but Roger captured my heart. Roger had been my consolation from God for being patient for His love.

I looked at his face in the cold moonlit night. His head seemed to float before me. It all became clear then, that Roger was not a gift to me from the God that my father so loved to harp upon, but he was a tease from Satan. He was dangled just beyond my grasp, and given to my sister to leave me in the agony of the broken hearted. It was the perfect culmination of His plan.

“The wind came out of the cloud by night, Chilling and Killing Annabelle Lee…” I whispered. Our eyes never averted. He saw the knowledge in mine and realized that I knew who had sent him to me. He knew.

“Caroline…” he said. It came out as a gasp, but it almost sounded like a curse. It was a curse. It was my punishment.

“Take thy form from off my door.” I uttered, waving a hand, as if to brush him away.

He went inside and I did not follow him. I did not go inside for hours. I only stood there staring up at those cold little stars that shined so bright. When I close my eyes I can still see them burned on my lids. They were watching me. They knew what I had done and they had told Satan, and He was punishing me.

It had been months since I had lain in the grass looking up at the night sky. It was that warm summer night for which I was now being punished. I had gone out of the house through the back window. I had carried a volume of poetry. The sky had been open and welcoming. Not like this sky. The stars in this sky were looking down on me, expectantly, angrily.

At my mother’s bidding I finally came into the house and went to bed. I lay between the crisp sheets for hours before I knew what I had to do. I opened the window and watched the curtains blow in the freezing winter breeze. It was as if they were moved by the invisible hands of Satan, reaching in to grab hold of me. I was no longer terrified. Slowly I removed my nightdress and stood with my arms spread wide. The cold air rushed over my bare skin but I was not cold. The truth kept me warm. I could not defeat Satan, but I could defy him.

I could feel the cold, sharp rush of the winter air on my skin as I turned toward the door. There was only one thing left to do. I carefully tiptoed my way to my sister’s room. From the shadow of the hallway I could see her sleeping. I stepped out of the shadows and walked to her bed without making a noise. She looked as if she were a princess, waiting for her prince to come and kiss her awake. She was waiting for my prince. The thought broke some dam in my mind.

“Nevermore!” I burst into giggles. I hadn’t meant to say it.

Annabelle stirred a little and I put a hand over my mouth. Her eyes fluttered open, like butterflies I’m sure.

“What is it?” She asked, looking up at me her eyes seeming not to comprehend.

“Nevermore!” I whispered louder. I covered my mouth immediately to censor my laughter. Her confusion showed plainly on her face as she took in my presence.

“Caroline, why are you waking me up to laugh at me? I’ve got a busy week ahead.” She was always oblivious to what was plainly before her.

“I said ‘nevermore’! Don’t you get it, Annabelle Lee?” I smiled at her.

“Caroline, you’re scaring me. What are you talking about? Caroline, your lips are blue!” Her eyes grew as wide as saucers as she looked closer at me.

”I’m talking about me… and Roger. Nevermore!” I whispered fiercely. I pulled my long braid over my shoulder and began to twist the end. “You don’t know anything! You don’t get it do you? As if his soul in that one word, did outpour! Nevermore!” I whispered leaning ever closer. It was so very frustrating that she did not understand. She had never understood Poe. She never understood me. She just stared in horror. I suppose it was because I wasn’t wearing any clothes, but it didn’t make it any easier to put up with her ignorance.

I sighed loudly. “You really don’t understand, do you? The dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore?” I could see that nothing was getting through to her.

“Roger doesn’t love you! He loves me. It will be me, Annabelle Lee. He will lie beside me in the sepulcher there by the sea, by the sounding sea!” I smiled and raised my arms to the ceiling in joy. “It won’t be you, Annabelle Lee- It will be me!” I broke out into a peal of quiet laughter. Then I leaned very close to her face.

“He’s already lain beside me. We are already joined forever in our love. The stars can tell you! It was in the summer, and they saw it all!”

So I told her all of it. I told her how I crept out that night with my poetry under my arm and I met Roger in the wide field. I read Poe aloud by candlelight and he kissed me. He kissed me and then… I told her about the way the moon shone on his white skin and how he touched me. I told her about how Satan was punishing me.

She looked at me in horror. “Oh God!”

“No!” I corrected. “There is no God. Only Satan for me, sister. Only Satan.”

But she didn’t seem to have heard me. “You gave your body to him! You gave your body to the man I am supposed to marry? Get away from me!” she began to cry quietly and slowly rocking her self back and forth. She buried herself in the blankets and I watched her body tremble with sobs. I was done.

I crept back to my room and sat on the window seat. The window was still open and the wind was still filling the room with cold December air. My arms and legs were covered with goose pimples, but I did not feel the cold. My heart had stopped beating long before, and I could not feel anything.

I could see the stars up above looking down at me. They winked and twinkled at me. They were watching me still, and I could tell that Satan was angry. He could put me in hell, but he couldn’t stop me from sharing it with my sister.

“Tell me truly I implore- Is there a Balm in Gilead? Tell me! Tell me! I implore!” I called upward. But I knew the answer long before and the stars did not hesitate to call it back.

Nevermore. They whispered.

I heard the crying far off the next morning when my mother tried to rouse me from the window ledge. She shook me, slapped me and wrapped me in blankets, but I didn’t feel a thing. I saw a reflection of what must have been me. My lips were blue, and my eyes were wide and wild. My mother tried to make me talk to her. I just smiled and said to her: “Nevermore.”

So I am never flitting, still am sitting. Roger comes to see me sometimes… and his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming. And the starlight o’er him streaming throws a shadow on the floor and my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor shall be lifted nevermore…