To write or to begin to finally write the stories of my life is a step towards finishing the unfinished or the things never begun, but always there in the back of my mind.Â It is a step to changing things that need to be changed.Â Whenever I visit Caitlyn, Aimee, Lainey, Havana, David, Holli, and Mark they ask for bedtime stories.Â They donâ€™t want me to read from books, they want to hear about my childhood or experiences or stories from the childhood of their father or aunts and uncles.Â I find it hard to think of new stories on the spot and often end up retelling their favorites.Â Earlier this year I started a blog project where I post a new photo every day, something I have seen that day. It has been great and has caused me to look around and up to see things Iâ€™ve never noticed before.Â My next project is this, to write my stories.Â Every day may be a bit much but, I will try this for one weekâ€¦a new story a day and then I will be ready for my next visit.Â Iâ€™ll have my stories!
I didnâ€™t start playing the violin because I really wanted to.Â In fact, I wanted to play the cello, but my fatherâ€™s friend gave him an old violin and it was free so the cello was not an option. I think I started playing an instrument because it was something to do.Â I began in 3rd grade and never really practiced at home.Â I played until the end of 7th grade when my mother told me I could quit.Â I never had to do anything I didnâ€™t want to do.Â One day after school I saw a huge group gathered in a circle and I walked over to see what was going on.Â In the middle of the circle there were two boys fighting and one had a knife.Â I felt sick and hurried home.Â When my parents got home from work I told them about all the excitement.Â They really didnâ€™t say anything, but at the end of the month we had moved to a new school in a better town.Â The new school was South Davis Junior High.Â I continued in orchestra, but didnâ€™t like it at all.Â The teacher was very strict and we had chair challenges weekly.Â When we had a concert coming up we had after school practices.Â One day, just before the Christmas concert the practice was unusually long. I remember coming out of the school to a world covered with new snow.Â It was packed on the roads and the sun was gone.Â I realized that my father had grown tired of waiting for me as his green truck turned the corner just beyond the seminary building.
I was walking home on a dark, cold and snowy night.Â I imagine the walk was about two miles total but it seemed like much further in the snow and darkness. At first I was feeling quite grownup and brave to be walking home alone.Â Then I remembered I would have to walk past the city cemetery.Â I had been in cemeteries many times and was never frightened during my daytime visits. This time it was different.Â This was a new cemetery, in a new town and I did not know anyone who lived over there.Â It was also dark and the snow made everything quieter.Â As I passed by houses I could see families inside eating dinner.Â Everyone looked warm and happy.Â I felt like the little match girl.Â Why hadnâ€™t my father waited just a few minutes longer?Â I realized that there was no traffic on the road.Â As I got nearer to the cemetery I left the sidewalk and walked in the middle of the road.Â I wanted to be as far away from it as I could.Â The pine trees cast eerie shadows on the snow.Â I couldnâ€™t run it was too slippery.Â I cannot ever remember being more scared.Â It must have taken me 30 to 40 minutes to get home.Â When I arrived home everyone was eating dinner and acted as if nothing unusual had happened.Â I was scared and they acted like me walking home on a dark and snowy night happened every day.