Here I Am

I have been through such a strange writing journey lately. I love to write, especially for myself but can't help but hope that someone else will read it and think "hey I would like to meet this person" or wow this person has talent...which unfortunately also leaves me staring at a blank screen. I don't know the meaning of just writing to write. I am always hoping that someone will read it, that someone will be reached through the words that I so carefully type with my fingertips.

I don't know what it is like not to rush writing. I always sit down to write, and sit down to finish. I hate leaving work un-finished which leaves me rushing through the end of every story, or every blog. You can always feel the rush in my writing and I would love to learn to write what I am inspired to write...stop, and then come back later when I am more refreshed.

I know a lot of my rushing has to do with lack of patience but I also know that at this very moment that God is teaching me patience more than ever. If it wasn't for my lack of patience, I could of already been done with a lot more things.

So I am going to end this blog here. I know that there is only one person that knows about this blog...perhaps I will make it kind of my hiding spots or fulfill the title of it and literally make it a trashcan for my thoughts. But how much writing can I actually do before I run out of things to say on the blog that is more public? I don't know..but sometimes I need to just write for me. So here I am.

Purple Bubbles

“Purple bubbles? How on earth did you create purple bubbles?” I asked.

“It’s simple you just put food coloring in the water.”

“Wow I never thought of that. You are quite the entrepreneur Mr. Welch. Pretty soon you will see all the kids around the neighborhood blowing purple bubbles and there will not be one ounce of laundry detergent left on store shelves for the mothers to clean the purple stains with.”

Mr. Welch chuckled as he sat in his wheel chair blowing purple bubbles into the wind. I had only been working at the assisted living center for a month now, but I had grown quite fond of Mr. Welch. He was a jolly old man, always smiling, and full of stories. Everyday I would bring him his lunch and push him around the building for his daily stroll. He would tell me all about his life’s many adventures and stories of his days as a CIA agent, government conspiracies, ghostly encounters, and UFO’s. I think he had been watching too much of the history channel, but he was a great storyteller and I could not help but listen as if they were real. He told of his theories on Nasa’s fake mission to the moon, Area 51, and how barcodes are really intended to serve as means of control by a putative world government, or that they are Satanic in intent. He could talk for days about his silly ideas but luckily his stroll was only thirty minutes long.

Although he was full of some crazy ideas he was also full of good advice. I could tell him just about anything and he was always ready to respond with his words of wisdom. I told him of relationship troubles, and issues with family and friends. He would talk me through my problems and would always end with his favorite quote "Life is like riding a bicycle. To keep your balance you must keep moving".

I could tell Mr. Welch everything, but one thing he did not want me doing was asking about his family. One day during my first week of work I was serving him lunch and I made the mistake of asking if he had a wife or children little did I know I would be wearing his lunch on my shirt for the rest of the day. I never asked him about it again. Some of the nurses say they heard that he was once married to a beautiful woman and that they had two adorable twin girls that died in a horrible car crash and that Mr. Welch was the only survivor. Some of the other nurses believe that his conspiracy theories and days as a CIA agent were true, and that they were involved in some kind of government or alien abduction. I was not sure that any of these stories were true, but I did know not to ask of his family ever again.

“Alright Mr. Welch, it’s time we retire the purple bubbles before we attract any UFO’s.” I said jokingly as I began to roll him back to his room.

He looked at me with a smile.

“Alright my dear, I suppose you are right. Maybe tomorrow we can try for pink bubbles.”

“Sounds good to me, you don’t want to miss UFO hunters either. It starts in five minutes.”

“ I certainly do not. Then what would I watch while I ate my delicious snack of Jello? It would throw my whole day off!” He said with a chuckle.

“You can’t deny your love for Jello Mr. Welch. I know you can’t live without that green jiggly goodness.” I said sarcastically.

“Well it’s better than that damn tapioca. I don’t even know what that shit is made of. It is like the mystery meat of puddings.”

I continued to laugh as I rolled him back into his room. I helped him back into bed, turned his TV on to the history channel and gave him his green Jello as I said my goodbyes.

“Here’s your Jello Mr. Welch enjoy! I will see you tomorrow for lunch and your afternoon stroll.”

“Thanks my dear, you drive home safely now.”

“Oh I will, and I want to hear all about UFO hunters tomorrow!” I said as I walked out the door.

My shift was over, and it was the end of another day with good old Mr. Welch. I knew tomorrow would be another day filled of pink bubbles and stories.

I arrived at work the next day ready to serve Mr. Welch his lunch of questionable meat, over salted potatoes, and half frozen peas. I arrived at his room in great anticipation for the day’s stories and life lessons but my anticipation soon turned to concern when I entered his room and he was nowhere to be found. All that was in the room was his gown that had been draped over the bed and a picture of a woman and two twin girls. Could this be his family? I thought to myself. They were beautiful, and I could see how loosing them would hurt so much. With the picture in hand I rushed out of the room and asked the nurses what happened to Mr. Welch.

“Betty where is Mr. Welch?” I asked in a panic.

“What do you mean? He is in his room isn’t he?”

“No I went to go serve him his lunch and all I found was his gown and this picture.”

I held out the picture as she squinted at it carefully.

“Well I’ll be damned. They did exist.”

I began to panic.

“But where is Mr. Welch?”

“I will check with the other nurses, start searching the bathrooms and the hallways.”

I searched everywhere that day and Mr. Welch was nowhere to be found. The only thing he left behind was a National Geographic magazine about the possibility of life on other planets. It listed the locations of where all of the most famous alien sightings took place. Inside he circled the page about Roswell with the words “someday I will come home” written beside it. Had he set on an adventure to see the great legend of Roswell for him self? Did aliens abduct him? Or did his family come and get him? His disappearance would remain a mystery and the story soon became a legend at the Live Oaks Assisted Living Community. I miss good old Mr. Welch but I know he is still somewhere out there. I can still see his infectious smile and hear his crazy stories in my mind. I may never know exactly what happened to him, but once in awhile I will spot a purple bubble blowing in the wind and I know that he is near.

A Clean Room and A New Beginning

Two days ago I woke up at my usual time of 7:00am. Normally I get out of bed pretty quickly, head for the bathroom, and then to the fridge for my daily fix of Honey Bunches of Oats. But this day I laid in bed for a good twenty minutes. I sat there staring at the roof of my top bunk in deep thought. I thought about many things, family, friends, school, etc. there has been alot of changes in my life lately and it was the first time I was able to come to a realization of how much I had actually changed. I quickly put these changes in the back of my mind and then for some reason I developed quite an itch to re-arrange and organize my room. I began to think of how I was going to go about this and where to start, and was having some trouble. I quickly consulted my brother, the master of bedroom organizers for some help. He quickly answered my cry for help and inspected my room. He gave me a a few pointers and ideas and told me what I needed to clean up in order to make those ideas a reality. Excited about the potential of a much more spacey and organized bedroom I got to work and started going through the clutter. I decided to start with the closet since one of my dressers was going to be put in there. I stood in front of my large mirrored closet doors not wanting to see what was waiting for me on the other side of them, but it couldn't be any worse than my own reflection so I opened them. Yikes... I definitely needed a large trashbag, or possibly a few bouldosers and a dump truck. It was not long until the left side of my closet was clean, and then I began to clean the right side which is where I keep all my shoes. My shoes can be put into 3 categories. 1. the shoes I regularly wear. 2. the shoes I used to wear but got worn out, but I still have them for some reason unknown to me and 3. the shoes I never should of worn but me being such a nerd... wore them all the time. As said by Forrest Gump you can tell alot about someone by their shoes. I have found this statement to be very true. I went through my shoes a pair at a time with each pair bringing back some kind of memory from the past. There was my 8th grade banquet shoes, my prom shoes, my infamous wierd lookin white tennis shoes I would wear every chapel day to school, my soccer cleats, my work shoes for when I worked at Jimboys Tacos, and lastly my skate shoes. Out of all the shoes it was my skate shoes that struck me the hardest. It brought back memories that I was not ready for. Don't get me wrong I love skateboarding, but that is the problem. I just recently hung up my skateboard and tried not looking back but that would prove impossible because it was everywhere. Skateboarding was such a big part of my life and it wasn't just something I did but it defined who I was. Little did I know, cleaning my room would be a cheap form of therapy. In a way I have been in denial about hanging up my skateboard. I still had my skateboarding posters hanging in my room, my old skateboards stacked beside my bed, and my skateboard magazines ever so neatly displayed on my bookshelf. Thats when I realized I was in denial and that I had to let it go and come to terms with the fact that my skateboarding days were now over. I hesitantly picked up my old worn out skate shoes with missing shoe laces, and awkwardly placed holes from the rough griptape of my skateboard, and held them over the dark monsterous trashbag. It was if they were looking back at me screaming don't do it! How could you? I took one last look at them, said my goodbyes and dropped them in the bag. I quickly closed the bag in fear I would see them again. This moment was especially painful. It was if I was throwing away my childhood dreams, my identity, and my friends. I had gone this far so I had to finish it, I took down my posters, I threw away my skateboarding magazines, and looked on as my dad drove away with my old skate decks to give away to some kids he knew would put them to good use. Most people probably wouldn't see quitting skateboarding as such a big deal but as I said before it was my identity. I used to be able to say hi I'm Amber, im a skateboarder. But for now all I can say is hi, I'm Amber, and thats it. It is a new beginning for me, and a new journey to fill in the blank of who I am and what I will become.