China cabinet

Wow, it's really been a while, but I have a moment, so here I go. This really does help me writing I think. I actually sit at home at night, and think, aw shoot, I should've posted something I wrote today.
there's also a lot going on for me right now, and i wish I could figure out it. once I do, I imagine it will be on here, because writing is how I sort things out. I can write what I think easier than I can just say it (Go figure! ha!) ok, but this story is also a piece I wrote for my cnf class, and I really like this one a lot, I think it has potential, I may have to make it a little bit longer, but I think this is something that can be submitted somewhere! yay!


18 years after my mom decided she wanted to get a china cabinet, my dad finally got around to getting one for her. It sits against the wall, facing the kitchen; proudly showing off the china set passed down from her mother to herself, the set that eventually will be split up between her 5 daughters.
After my grandparents decided to become permanent snowbirds in St. George Utah, my grandma thought it time to distribute everything important among the children and grandchildren. She didn’t want everyone to fight over who got what when she eventually died, although, since she was only about 65 at this time, we didn’t have any fear that it would happen any time soon. As she packed for the move, she set things aside with someone’s name, so she wouldn’t forget who was getting what. My mom got the majority of the china set, since she was the only daughter, and my four sisters and I each got one tea cup and saucer, part of the set my mom received. Each item made the trip from across the ocean with some ancestor or another. I never did pay attention to where my family tree root’s started.
As my mom unpacked the china set, she came across the tea cups my grandma had given her to keep for us girls. She was smart, I know I would have broken mine or lost it if I had been in charge of it. As I watched her and my dad gently place the china in the cabinet, I wondered what my brother was going to get. He wasn’t getting a tea cup from grandma, (much to his dismay I’m sure). My dad then revealed to me what his only son was getting. A dusty brown box with ‘David’ written on the side had been put in the cupboards under the cabinet. The tape holding the box shut was faded yellow, and broke easily apart.
“Glenn gets this” my dad said, and set the box on the floor in front of me. Intrigued by this, I opened the box; it looked like a bunch of rags to me. I pulled one out, and it unrolled to expose a green-tainted serving spoon. It didn’t look like anything stupendous to me. Joking, I said “So Glenn gets dirty silverware”.
“Silver is right.” My dad replied, and then pointed out the fancy engraved ‘W’ on the handle. I opened another rag, spilling out a few forks, their tines and handles also tinted green. The ‘W’ was now obvious on the handle. Glenn was getting the family silverware set, since he was the only son, the first born son, he got to keep the family name of Wilson. I felt a sense of guilt inside of me. All of us girls in the family, we were all so anxious to get rid of the W as a last name, wanting to move forward in the alphabet. It had turned into a game for us, to see who could get the farthest in the alphabet. AnnaJune was an ‘E’, Jenni was now a ‘G’, and Heather was going to be a ‘G’ as well. Amber was only 11; we weren’t even going to try to get her involved yet. I had no prospects, but I was hoping for anything higher than an ‘E’ to ensure success in the game.
My grandma, on my dad’s side had written a letter to him before packing up the silver. I don’t recall the exact words, but she wrote that the whole silver set was his and his alone to do with as he chooses. He was the first born son. There was also a list of how many of each item there should have been. We were missing a few spoons, a candle holder, and other random items. My dad knew where they were. After my grandpa died, and the family went through his things, he knew his other siblings had taken things, since they all lived close in California, and we lived in Utah. All he got was the partial silver set, a Japanese chest, and the orchids. He let everyone else fight over the things that didn’t matter to him; he knew he was lucky to get out with what he had. And it had been a fight; his sister still wasn’t talking to him, 15 years later.
We haven’t yet cleaned the silver, my brother, who was 16 at the time, doesn’t really care that some day he’ll inherit it. Right now it still sits in the box under the china cabinet, wrapped up in rags. My mom’s china, her history, is proudly displayed in the glass enclosed cabinet, while my dad’s sits in a box, waiting for someone who cares enough for the ‘W’.

for another friend . .

I've been too lazy to move my computer over to my apartment, that and my internet cord is my ex's, and I really don't want to hang on to anything that belongs to him. So I go a new apartment with friends that aren't really his friends, got a new hair cut, bought a car, and I'm trying to create a new life where I'm just RockFlower, not rock flower and captain jax. I'm hoping it'll work, but we'll see. *sighs*
anyway, this one's bout my room-mates boyfriend. It's very true of him, but it was fun to write. Another mimic, which was just fun (to read as well)

He flips me over every time I see him, when I would much rather prefer to have my feet on the ground to say hello. What kind of hello can that be when all I see for the next few minutes is the room spinning? Whenever I get the craving to run, he tells me how much he hearts the high school track, while I lay down until the feeling passes. He would drink protein shakes all day if he could afford it, and can’t imagine how I would rather drink a glass of water than the brown sludge. The first time I meet him he told me we could never marry because I love dogs and he despises them. We could never get married for a 1,000 different reasons, but he feels the need to add one more each time he sends me an e-mail or letter. He loves the angry rock, while I prefer the emo punk rock. After spending two years in Wisconsin, he can’t stand cheese. Cheese is a staple part of my life, and I don’t know if my world could turn without it. He hates to read, and hates to write. The only thing I could ever think of possibly doing with myself is writing and reading. He thinks I waste afternoons reading books when I could be out playing ultimate Frisbee. I don’t think it’s time wasted, I was able to spend the afternoon with a person I didn’t know in the first page, and become completely involved in their life for the next 200 pages.
I always talk loud, and he talks so soft that people sitting next to him can’t hear him. My family doesn’t know how to be quiet, so we yell to be heard over the other person, because my story is ultimately better than hers. I stutter a little bit when I talk, and I generally can’t get across the point I’m trying to make. He will create words to suit his purposes, saying something in three sentences that could have been said in three words. I don’t like to be the center of attention, because I know I will be embarrassed and people will laugh at me. He thrives off the attention of others.
I don’t know how to plan anything, and I don’t carry a day planner with me to schedule anything. Everything in his life is planned and sorted. The next 50 years are all planned out, I don’t even know what’s going to happen tonight. He will work for 10 hours a day, hard manual labor. The only thing I can focus on for 10 hours a day would be my writing and in his mind, that’s not work, that’s just writing. When look back on when I meet him I remember intense anger because he told me my dreams to write were stupid and I would make no money. I told him that I don’t need to make money as long as I love what I’m doing, that’s enough for me. But I ask him about all the fights we used to have, the arguments that would make me furious at him for days, he just laughs. For him, those were the best moments of our friendship, the moments when he was he and I was me, and we decided that nothing was stupid enough to break our friendship.

yeah, it needs some work, I realize reading over it again (haven't looked at it for a while)
oh yes, and asmond, I apologize if you felt decieved or if the personal things you wrote you didn't want olf friends reading, but I do enjoy reading the things you write, and seeing a different side of you, that's the best part. :)