Molly's Blog

I’m from the smell of wax and cheery bright colours 

while I bring my imaginary pictures to life. 

From living in the pages 

feeling their emotions as my own. 

 

I am from the orange scarf sling  

and the slippery branches of that crab apple tree. 

From “Swiper no swiping!” and “I’m the map!” 

Lessons with Oso and riding with Lucky. 

 

I’m from gingerbread and shortbread. 

From stockings and needles on the floor. 

 I am from a towering tree, 

covered in stories 

made from glass, plastic, and wood. 

 

I’m from “16 days until Easter” and “41 days until Christmas”. 

Opening doors on the best kind of calendar  

until the best ever day. 

 

I am from grammar rules, 

scratching pencils, 

wiping eraser dust. 

 

I’m from re-reading, re-watching, re-playing, re-doing. 

 

I am from nests in the porch. 

From blue eggs, 

hatching chicks. 

From goodbye robins. 

 

I am from the stained-glass windows, 

and wooden pews with heavy books in the back. 

From the surprising taste of communion. 

My white dress. 

 

I am from waiting, watching, wishing, wanting. 

 

I am from sifting through catalogs, 

circling every toy. 

I’m from ABCDEFG, 

a story told by the keys, 

a secret language between Ms. Heather and me.  

  

I am from watching the sky  

for any sign of white. 

From melting fluff on my tongue, 

and my hands burning from cold. 

 

I am from wet mittens, 

and roaring fires. 

I’m from helmets and seatbelts, 

from “Don’t touch that!” and “Don’t eat those!” 

 

From Elsa and Anna and Olaf the snowman, 

from “let it go” and “for the first time in forever”. 

From “it’s not fair!” and “what about her?!” 

Basically my whole life was ruined sitting on those steps, 

waiting for the timer to beep. 

 

I am from birds chirping in the early morning, 

and rain dripping over my head. 

From biking in circles, 

round and round. 

From roasted marshmallows and glowsticks. 

 

I am from water splashing,  

delighted cries, 

dripping wet in the summer sun. 

 

I am from the soft sound of scratching blades, 

and hitting the ice as my pick digs into the ground. 

I’m from stories retold, 

I follow along with my friends. 

Just before bed. 

 

I am from tiny clothes 

so detailed they’re real, 

and all the time spent playing with those they are for. 

 

I am from open drawers, 

from crackers and gummies 

At sleepovers with Grandma. 

 

I’m from fudge and cookies, 

from Peter and Donna. 

Weird gifts and swimming in the lake. 

 

I’m from dark hair all around me, 

and blue eyes. 

I am from Skits, 

so furry, black, and white. 

 

I am from these moments, 

these people, 

this love. 

 

         Have you ever broken a pencil and taken it to the pencil sharpener only to find it won’t work? This is something I hate. I have found that each pencil sharpener works differently. For example, a handheld sharpener works very differently than an electric one. These are the pencil sharpeners you may find in a classroom: cranking ones, electric ones, and handheld ones. Though the first two may be easier to use, the handheld ones often give the best results. Anyway, here are the ways I get the most out of all these sharpeners. The electric ones are simple. Just turn your pencil the way it is not trying to turn it. The cranking ones are more difficult. There is not one safe way to do it, because it depends on the sharpener. You will have to figure that out yourself. The handheld ones are easy. Just turn it. I hope this helps you be more effective when sharpening pencils.