Deer Watching

Posted on July 7, 2014 by Katelyn The Journalist

Deer

Deer. Photo by Katelyn Avery.

It’s an unspoken rule in my family that when one of us sees deer were supposed to tell everyone else. You holler out “Deer, Deer. Deer in the back yard!”, and everyone whose home runs to the nearest window. It’s an odd tradition of ours, because we act like seeing deer is a once in a lifetime opportunity. One could call us grateful. We have never forgotten how beautiful deer are.

A view from the street shows a typical suburban layout. The trees appear to be mostly removed, and plenty of neighbors are in sight. Only the home owners themselves know of the natural artwork they get to view every day.

My Grandparents first bought this home in the 1960’s, probably unaware of the treats it would provide us with. 21 years now rest under my belt, but I revert to a 5 year old whenever I see deer. Excitement hits me, and I’m in awe of the magnificent animal before me.

The woods are also home to a pond, directly behind where my family and I live. Because of this we sometimes see deer in our front yard as well.

Sometimes someone in the house sees a family of deer crossing the street into our front yard. We all gather around the kitchen and living room windows and hope to God that the drivers don’t go too fast. We’ve never seen a deer get hit yet, so I’m well aware that others share my love for deer.

– Katelyn Avery

248 words

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Fireworks: Summer’s Friend

Posted on June 30, 2014 by Katelyn The Journalist

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Fireworks at Trumbull Day, in Trumbull, Conn. Photo by Katelyn Avery.

Fireworks are a quintessential part of summer. They’re not the only good part of the season, but they have a large fan base. Throughout America people gather in parks and fairs, waiting for the beautiful, and loud, light shows.

Boom is the sound people want to hear. The noise captures the viewers in a vibrant world. Nothing to listen to but the pops of the fireworks. Then comes the screeching sound as they sail into the air. All eyes are focused on the sky parade of green, white, red and blue explosions. It’s a good time.

Clean fun describes the moment, although beer tents tend to be nearby in these situations. No one has ever gotten too drunk at any fairs I’ve attended though.

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 Fireworks at Trumbull Day, in Trumbull, Conn. Photo by Katelyn Avery.

Some friends and I attended Trumbull Day 2014, located in Trumbull, Conn to get our fireworks fix. As the whole crowd congregated into one corner of the field the anticipation grew. Some good music blared through the speakers. Older songs that aren’t always on your personal playlist, but are must play songs during the summer. Our heads tiled up and the first firework finally took off.  My personal favorite “Born in the USA” finally played and moment finally sunk in. I was only interested in the fireworks then.

There were even some surprises. The fireworks didn’t just shoot up into the air and gracefully disperse. They also stayed close to the ground and looked like a wave. My face was stuck in smile mode. I was ageless as I bonded with the crowd. We were all focused on one thing. The show had everyone’s attention. The only words spoken pertained to how awesome the fireworks were. The fireworks community reaches everyone. This summer moment is one of the best, because it rounds up all kinds of people, and allows them all to enjoy a beautiful moment.

– Katelyn Avery

310 words

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Growing Up, and Not in a Bad Way

Posted on June 24, 2014 by Katelyn The Journalist

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 Behind the couch. Photo by Katelyn Avery.

Crawling behind the couch was one of my favorite childhood adventures. It was my version of finding the magic wardrobe. My twin sister Jen also shared this Narnia like activity with me. Sometimes I was in a cave, or sometimes it really was just a couch. I would be hiding out during a game of hide and go seek. Either way my young mind was occupied by such games, and I was smiling.

Aging out of these antics is inevitable. I was around 8 or 9 when it happened. It was during the ‘01-‘02 school year. I was in third grade and my maturity level was beginning to progress. I was also getting too big physically. As one of the tallest kids in my grade at the time I surpassed most of the boys. Fitting behind furniture proved to be less fun when it was a tight squeeze. 

I wasn’t hit in the “feels” as we say now-a-days. Emotion didn’t overcome me, and I wasn’t ready to cry. I was just growing up, and it didn’t need to be a sad thing. People always put down the aging process, even during the “good” years.

I’m only 21 so I haven’t really hit any “bad” parts of aging. Almost all of them are awesome, and would be hard to give back. There are exceptions of course. I wasn’t exercising enough in the beginning of community college so my blood pressure was a little high, but that was easily fixed over four months. I can’t eat endless amounts of junk food and expect to keep the weight off, but I’m losing a desire for some childhood foods anyways. Lunchables and sugary cereals come to mind. They were great at age 10, but at age 21 I can definitely leave them for the young ones out there. Teen acne also hit me in a mild to harsh way, and has followed me a little into adulthood, but that can be dealt with, and I’ve learned to love myself. Also, I’m able to find comfort in my own skin way more as adult, than as a kid.

Growing up has also allowed me way more freedom than the under 18 crowd. I’m able to get a job, and college is more exciting than high school. Even though I did start with community college, it beat the pants off what was said to be “the best four years of my young life”. People always put high school on a pedestal, but I just can’t get on that band wagon. My high school was actually a good one, considering how bad some can be. Friends who had transferred in had horror stories, and the news showed me how lucky I was. I even enjoyed myself sometimes despite teen angst. I have distinct memories of happy times, but the bad ones are there too. I don’t want to bash those formative years, but I also don’t want to go back. 

Open doors

Open doors: New opportunities await. Photo by Katelyn Avery.

Enjoying the present is an underrated activity. It’s something I partake in, and I’m all the better for it. Its how I have good times to remember, without reminiscing too much. There are parts of “growing up” that I want to take in fully, as they are gifts in their own way. That’s why I don’t tell young kids about how they’ll miss “these days” or to “enjoy it while you can”. Every year I experience something new. A secret in life that only my age group and up fully understands. One of the most recent surprises was realizing turning 21 doesn’t have to mean bars and clubs. It can mean blogging, reading and being the once rejected label of straight edge. Getting older means I don’t have to care as much about what others think. My brain just works differently, and that gift has caused me to look ahead, not back.

Of course, it’s not always a glamorous path, as I walk through the aging process. Although I’m well aware that I’ve barely made it past the starting gate. The gunshot to say go still rings in my ears. I just don’t want to lead anyone on, so I will admit there will always be regrets. Some things I didn’t get to experience, but then I remind myself, I can experience those things now. Not every door is open, but their all in sight. The chains of childhood don’t weigh down on me, and I really am free. Well more free than any minor. I’m old enough to do things for myself now, without any worry for obstacles. I can dream. I can picture a better future, because honestly, things have gotten so much better, and I expect them to keep getting better. At least for a while. To me growing-up deserves the spotlight, not the cane. Now that I don’t crawl behind furniture I need a new adventure. Whether you call it growing up or aging, that is my new adventure, and it’s one I’m willing to go on.

– Katelyn Avery

834 words

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Broken Couch

Posted on June 18, 2014 by Katelyn The Journalist

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Broken Couch. Photo by Katelyn Avery.

Furniture can die. While it may not fit the bill of a living creature, a couch can be full of life. Stories are trapped between the cushions, but you can’t find them as easily as lost coins. I’m not in love with this material possession, but it is hard to say goodbye.

So many memories were made on this couch. Many of them include visits from my cousin Ashley, when she was 2, and my twin sister and I were 6. We took photos with her on this couch and watched TV together. Eventually my Mom placed a “kid” couch in front of the adult version. The “kid” couch being an inflatable one, in the same color.  Nevertheless this couch has always held a spot in the living room.

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Broken Couch. Photo by Katelyn Avery.

The kitchen also extended to this couch. The distance between the living room and kitchen is just inches, so there was some overlap. As a child I enjoyed many pizza dinners upon my red oasis. Even though I don’t like to admit it, this tradition continued into adulthood. It’s America, and sometimes I enjoy food with the maturity of a five year old. Just another great experience with the wonderful, yet soon to be gone couch.

Aging isn’t an act that takes pity on furniture. While my family and I put a lot of visiting hours in with this couch one small problem can destroy it. Out of our lives it will go. If only this couch was like a human. A cast could fix small injuries.

The middle seat now makes a cracking noise if you sit on it the wrong way. We once had a neighbor over who sat down before we could say anything. It was brutal to deal with all the anticipation. Would it break? Would it make a noise? Thankfully nothing happened, and no one had to explain that my family is lazy. Well, lazy with our broken furniture.

Now that some of the legs of the couch have fallen it’s time to say goodbye. Two curved support structures cracked, and now are only partially attached to the couch. We have a spare couch stored away, but part of me wishes the red couch could stay.

Maybe it’s my relationship  with nostalgia. I enjoy living with the couch that has always been part of the living room. Even if it means being careful when I sit, and taping up the torn underside of the middle cushion. I also had to tape up a “free” wire that created the hole in the first place. However that bit or work is what made me realize I’m not dating nostalgia, were just friends. Changes are ok.

I’m ready to add some new memories in my life. I would like to free the living room from part of its past, because I’m always ready for new things.

Goodbye broken red couch. You were a nice part of my life, and you’ll always be part of my memories, but it’s your time to go.

– Katelyn Avery

503 words

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Captured Car Moments

Posted on June 11, 2014 by Katelyn The Journalist

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 Outside the Store. Photo by Katelyn Avery.

Parked outside the store my parent’s car goes unnoticed. The surveillance camera captures it of course, but for the most part people won’t notice its presence. Most of the shoppers had parked in the spots closer to the entrance, and near the bakery next door. I sat inside the vehicle waiting for my Mom to finish shopping.

Shopping at the convenience store didn’t sound appealing tonight, so my twin sister Jen, and I, decided to stay back in the neglected section of the parking lot. We had been able to take advantage of this option since age 9 or 10. We were over 5 feet by then, and looked about 13. We were firmly rooted into “stranger danger” rules as well. Now 21 we enjoyed the nostalgic experience of bumming around in the car. 

Cell phone in hand I texted some friends, before striking up conversation with Jen. A sign that I live in “both worlds”. Born in ’93 I once lived without a cellphone, but you’d never know it. I live with technology as if we were attached at the hip. Although I do so with a flip phone, so I get some non-modern points. At least from the millennial generation’s perspective.

As I placed the phone on the car doors arm rest, cradled by my hand, Jen and I discussed movies. Analyzing them has been a shared past time of ours since we were kids. Books and TV shows as well, but the mood was set for film. The spotlight was upon us, because the stores outdoor “nightlights” were on, but it still swept our minds into the lane of the big screen. The car seats were also comfortable, and looked sophisticated in our twilight setting.

“Swoosh, swoosh” could be heard from around the corner, and I saw my Moms face appear. My cell phone slid back into the left front pocket of my jeans, and the car doors clicked to show that they were unlocked. My Mother put the key in the ignition and we drove away, ending a revisited childhood experience. 

– Katelyn Avery

345 words

 

 

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Words for the Cob

Posted on June 5, 2014 by Katelyn The Journalist

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Corn on the cob. Photo by Katelyn Avery.

Yellow isn’t my color, but on you it looks delightful. Something about your style pulls it off. Corn on the cob just can’t be knocked down.

My mother prepares you because I am a spoiled college kid, but I don’t care how bad that looks. Even if did step up as a real adult, and prepare you myself, I would receive an unequal reward, when compared to the work I put in. You, corn on the cob, are a delicacy often reserved for holidays. Today that rule is broken. Defiance has never tasted so good.

I’ve missed you, and been chasing you, my cob friend. Every time I find a clue your 5 steps ahead of me. As I travel the food lover’s road I meet people who say I just missed you. As I settle into your “current” destination I discover that you’ve moved again. Each time I catch defeat instead of the cob, I would wonder, “Do you hate me my friend? Even after I complimented your bold choice in kerneled “clothing”.

After a long wait the sun is shining today, metaphorically speaking of course, because it’s actually raining here in Connecticut. Nevertheless I have finally been reunited with one of America’s best foods. I’m not ashamed to admit that in my opinion, most sustenance cannot even try compete. How could they ever remove corn from the “popular table”?

Now that corn on the cob is displayed before me, smothered in butter and ready for consumption, I am smiling. A glory dance is in order. I have accomplished a hefty goal, and the reward is beyond sweet.

-Katelyn Avery

269 words

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Beauty in a Barn

Posted on May 30, 2014 by Katelyn The Journalist

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Horse. Photo by Katelyn Avery.

“Black beauty” describes her well. If the horse is female. I forgot what the teen caregivers said. Regardless Ebony is beautiful. 

The word horse makes me think of the plains. Western movies flash through my memory. I can see those beautiful creatures running free, even if I only see horses at farm fairs. Hosted by high schools and their young staff. 

Horses are one of the most beloved animals in America (Other countries as well). They’re up there will eagles, and we really love eagles. I think it’s a combination of good looks, and practicality. 

Horses were once a main source of transportation, but now most of us are limited to being admirers from a far. There are options like horse lessons, but the price isn’t kind to the average wallet. My limited exposure to horses, like Ebony, makes up for it though. I imagine some people are even less fortunate. 

Horses may or may not be part of an Americans life. No matter how much experience you have the “horse journey” is open to all. As a participant, searching for those rare days when I can pet one of nature’s masterpieces, I am happy.   

– Katelyn Avery

195 words

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Delicious Choices

Posted on May 22, 2014 by Katelyn The Journalist

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Cupcake. Photo by Katelyn Avery.

Diets are for other people. This girl needs her cupcakes. That crème filling does not like to be ignored, and the chocolate shell wants to be opened. I enjoy my sweet choice.

Brand names don’t matter to me. Comparing Little Debbie and Hostess is like comparing Pepsi and Coca-Cola. No obvious difference jumps out.

Other brands also find a place in my kitchen. The food pantry is occasionally filled with lesser known brands. Often found during a trip to Walmart. Less money, but my dessert needs are fulfilled. 

 A close-up may cause some to gag. The demand for generic pre-made treats baffles them, but preservatives don’t scare me. The youthful beginnings of adulthood don’t always come with sense. I’m enjoying myself though.  

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Cupcake. Photo by Katelyn Avery.

My hand stretches out, and my arm glides forward. I grasp the cupcake and happily raise it. I grew up on these treats, and I don’t plan on outgrowing them soon. I would be healthier if I did, but for now they comfort me.

I’m past the age where I can consume these every week, even twice a month is pushing it. Maybe if I could control myself, and not eat four at a time, I could reward myself every Friday.

Sadness is part of the deal too. Eventually I finish the cupcake, and I can’t grab another. I’ve hit my limit, and no one else in the family is going to give up one of their cupcakes. It would be nice, but it would hurt me too. The calories add up of course. I try to avoid that part of the label though. The facts are against me, but I still want to bask in the chocolate reward known as a cupcake. 

– Katelyn Avery

285 words

 

 

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May 15, 2014

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Retired Ladder. Photo by Katelyn Avery.

Against the wall the ladder leans. I guess I should say the “Old ladder” now though. It’s been awhile since it made its way onto the dance floor. It’s been replaced by an old star.

The detached ladder, that calls the edge of the office/garage combo home, watches the dance. The ladder that comes down from the garages above crawl space takes the lead. The detached ladder used to show off some moves during new paint jobs to the outside of the house and garage, but its been awhile since those days. 

Leaning, forever leaning, but not in a pile of dust. It’s almost impossible to join the ladder because it has the same aura as James Dean. A cool dude who eventually has to get older. The empty spaces around it are filled with a vibrant personality. Stories rightfully belong to that ladder, and their good ones.

The paint stained ladder is set aside, but not discarded. There’s still some juice in there, although not literally of course. There is no rust to be seen. Just a leaning hunk of metal, that isn’t ready to be scrapped.

-Katelyn Avery

188 words

 

Posted on May 15, 2014 by Katelyn The Journalist | 3 Comments

Skating Away

Posted on May 5, 2014 by Katelyn The Journalist

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 Broken Skateboard. Photo by Katelyn Avery.

Skateboarding has left my life, but only for the time being. The spirit of skateboarding will stay with me during this break. I will continue you to flip through skateboard magazines and follow publications on Facebook. I’m not ready to quit skating, but I am without a board.

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 Broken Skateboard. Photo by Katelyn Avery.

As early as seven years old I wanted to start skating, but my Dad was against it. He allowed me to ride a bike, thankfully, but something seemed too dangerous about a board on wheels. I can’t blame him though, it does sound bad on paper.

One day my Mom and I were shopping, possibly at Walmart, when I decided to drift away into the sports section. I was 8 years old and allowed that much freedom while my Mom grabbed some new rugs. It was like hitting the jackpot, at least to a kid, as I placed my hands around a skateboard. I tugged on the board to get it out of the miscellaneous bin, and placed it on the floor for a “test run”. My spirit lifted as I stepped up onto the board. I was gliding through the air and descending quickly onto the floor. I must have put too much weight on the tail because the board slipped out from under me. I landed quietly, able bask in my first skateboarding fall. Literally down, but not out for the count.

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 Broken Skateboard. Photo by Katelyn Avery.

My requests for a skateboard continued for the next 4 years until my life met a compromise. My younger cousins Ashley and Alex were around 6 and 8 at the time, and they owned “kid skateboards”. They were flat boards that you could put a handle on if you wanted a scooter. I think one of them may have been a Barbie scooter/skateboard.  Ashley, the older of the two, had since removed the handle and begun skating.  She allowed me to use her toy as well, and I graciously took lessons from her. When I could finally push off and roll away, without bailing, I felt complete.

Sometime later, while I still in middle school, I finally stepped onto an actual board. My cousin Alex had a used skateboard that he had received from an older neighborhood kid. The ware and tare was minimal. The board wasn’t cracked or anything, but it didn’t have any grip tape. The deck had a surfer design on it, and I thought it was beautiful.

A real skateboard had finally been placed below me. From that time on my cousins, twin sister and I took turns riding around on that skateboard, until winter pushed us off the street, and into snowbanks. Of course, borrowing my cousin’s skateboard was not completely satisfying.

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 Broken Skateboard. Failed healing of a split nose. Photo by Katelyn Avery.

During my freshman year of high school my paternal Grandmother agreed to buy me a skateboard. The best birthday present I ever got. I was a week away from being 15 when my Mom, Grandma and I made a trip to the sporting goods store. My Grandma didn’t know much about skateboards so she wanted me to pick the board myself. A Tony Hawk birdhouse series was my first complete skateboard.

I finally owned my own skateboard. I could ride around whenever I wanted, and I had even learned how to do a manual. The basement became my skate park. Eventually I was able to do a low ollie, but I never became that good. It didn’t matter though. Cruising around was good enough for me.

For a little more than six years I skated around on that board. By the end of its life my board had a fraying tail and a split nose. A small piece on the top of the deck had snapped out while my cousin and a friend were doing tricks, but I had hot glued it back on. The grip tape really needed to be replaced.

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 Broken Skateboard. Photo by Katelyn Avery.

My cousin Alex is now 14 and I’m 21. I finally passed my board on to him during Palm Sunday weekend. He’s always been better than me anyways. Although I didn’t give him my board until it was almost snapped. The loose piece on the deck had snapped out again and the wood was starting to split through the middle. My cousin and I tried to snap it completely but the wood was too strong. Still, it was undeniably broken.

We headed into the street and rode around. My cousin could even do a few tricks. When I saw that my heart felt moved enough for me to say “You can have my skateboard now. Try to break it, but the real way. Ride around on it. Do tricks. Don’t break it with tools”. He agreed that was the “right” way and was happy with his “new” board.

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 Broken Skateboard. Photo by Katelyn Avery.

Now I’m boardless, but not for long. Tax returns came in and a new order is about to be placed on Amazon. I’m not going to make it to the Women’s X Games, but for now I still need a board in my life.

-Katelyn Avery

833 words

 

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