Muhammad Tries His Hand at Blogging.

Today, Muhammad asked me if he could post. Of course I was surprised. Normally he is the one who likes to critique my writing, but gripes about any actual writing that he may have to do for school etc. So, without any further ado, here is his first solo masterpiece.

Travels With Baba. A Narrative by Muhammad Gunter Mrs. Brown's class GVA


It had been three weeks since we had last seen Baba. He called us every day but I still missed him a lot. It seemed like he had been gone for most of the summer, but today he was coming home!
“Asalam Aleikom he said with his deep middle eastern accent. “I hope you were good for your mom while I was away, so we can have some fun when I get home.”
I hurried to finish my schoolwork and chores quietly, but quickly. The rest of the house was jumping up and down like monkeys especially my two stepbrothers.
When Baba got home, he hugged us all. Then he unloaded his bags full of dirty laundry for my mother and took a shower. After he had eaten dinner, he sat down with a big smile and said, “Pack your bags boys, we are going on a trip.” Inside I was so happy, but instead of going crazy and wild, I just smiled and wondered where we were going. My mother gave us each a backpack, two changes of clothes, and some snacks. That night I couldn’t sleep. I kept dreaming of all the places we might go. We were leaving tomorrow night. I couldn’t wait!
When we got to the truck, my two stepbrothers immediately started arguing over who would sit in the front seat. I thought to myself, “This is going to be a long trip”. I rolled my eyes but didn’t say anything. Baba just winked at me. I knew he understood.
“Stop that fighting”, he said to them. “Neither one of you will be sitting there. Muhammad gets to sit up front first, because he is the oldest and isn’t fighting.” They both gave me dirty looks, but I didn’t care. It was nighttime and I knew the other boys would go to sleep. Then, Baba and I could spend the quiet time talking, without the noise. We talked a little about school but mostly we enjoyed the fresh summer air and the beautiful night sky. The stars looked like a billion fireflies floating above us. I didn’t notice when I fell asleep.
I woke up early in the morning to one stepbrother screaming in my face. “IT’S MY TURN IN THE FRONT!” he screamed in my ear. “How, rude is that?” I thought. We were at a rest area. The sign said, “Welcome to Mississippi”.
“Time for some exercise Baba said. We all got out of the truck, and walked over to a picnic table. We did some sit ups and some pushups. Baba did pull ups on the beams above the picnic cover too. He has really strong muscles. Not like me, and my skinny arms. Baba said that if I keep exercising I will get big muscles too.
After exercising we got back into the truck. I saw lots of beautiful trees and scenery. Baba still hadn’t told us where we were going. I thought to myself that we were going to my uncle’s house. “Are we going to my uncle’s house?” I asked him. “No. he said, Wait and see.” The day was hot, and we drove for hours. We passed the ocean in Louisiana, and then crossed into Texas. I didn’t really like Texas. It was dry, hot and dusty. There were a lot of cattle. Some of them had really big horns. Instead of trees, there were oil pumps and the tumbleweeds. The road seemed that it would go on forever. Then, suddenly, we stopped.
“Everybody out, Baba said. We all got out and saw a huge sign. It said, “Welcome to the Road Side Zoo”. A Zoo! I couldn’t believe it. How was there a zoo in the middle of nowhere? We saw all sorts of unusual animals. We saw mountain lions, ostriches, capuchin monkeys, llamas, a ram, and a deer. There were buffalos, a wallaby, goats, peacocks and many other animals. We had a great time reading about each animal. My stepbrothers kept trying to feed the animals even though the sign said “Do Not Feed”. Luckily, Baba stopped them. He told them that the animals have to eat food that is especially for them. It was hot, but it was a great day.
After the zoo, we got into the truck so Baba could make his delivery. We traveled back home and talked about the fun we had. I felt sorry that my brother Hussam and my sisters did not get to see the zoo. I knew that Baba would plan something nice for them another time. When we got home we told everyone about our trip. I can’t wait until next summer, maybe we will go on another trip, all together.

The Show Me State...and Other Summer Adventures.

Summer time. Ah, the fleeting moments and memories that used to seem endless to me. I can't believe that school is restarting this next week. It all flew by so fast. It was a simple Summer...but a wonderful one. I spent most of my summer in Missouri. We visited in May and again in the beginning of July. What started out as a few days lulled itself into a few weeks. It was so much fun! All of my aunts and uncles were there, and some of my great aunts and uncles. All of my cousins were there and we had a great time together. We haven't seen each other for years. I mean I actually have never met some of the younger ones. Finally, a place where I had a little feminine back-up.
It was something new and refreshing, even my little sister made friends with some of the cousins my age. I hardly saw her the entire week, which left me feelings slightly disturbed and somewhat anxious about what she was up to. One particular day she did come up to me as a singleton...which was out of the ordinary. She had a apparently lost her right hand girl Kristina, my Aunt Laura's teenage daughter. She asked, "Nora, where is my sista?"
"I am your sister, last time I looked", I said a little confused.
"No.", she replied in a matter of fact way, "My notha sista"...
My heart fell, and I felt the slightest twinge of jealousy cross over me unexpectedly. I pointed in the direction in which I had last seen the "Understudy"...OK, so call call me catty. It's nothing personal, I mean it's good for her to socialize and meet other girls, but come on, I know Kris is a really nice girl. I like her a lot. She seems to do to kids what catnip does to cats. They LOVE her....like ice cream on a hot day.
After the monumental jealousy passed, I felt liberated. No shadow, constant whining, no tugs on the back of my shirt...no sharing bites of my Popsicle or sandwich. It was nice for about five minutes, and then I missed her. Maybe I am crazy, but she is my sister, and no matter how far apart we are in age, I adore her.

While out at the farm, we fished in great grandpa's pond. It was so fun. We had bluegill, crappy, catfish, bass....we were pulling them out by the dozens. On our last day of fishing, (before the thunderstorms started), we ran out of bait. I was about to head back up to the barn when my younger cousin Mikaela suggested I bait my hook with the banana Laffy Taffy she was eating. I rolled my eyes with doubt, but to appease her I tried it. I couldn't believe it when I yanked out the biggest catfish I had ever seen.
On our way up to the barn to show everyone our amazing catch, my brother, who is almost twelve years old, begged me to let the poor fish go.
"He's OLD! He's lived a long life. Let him go! I think he deserves to spend his old age in the pond", he bellowed, with huge crocodile tears rolling down his cheeks.
"Are you nuts? Look how huge it is!!! I CAUGHT IT WITH LAFFY TAFFY!!! NOBODY WILL BELIEVE IT!!! Besides that nasty snapping turtle down there will probably get him anyway. He can't be that smart if he was caught with candy on a hook."

"PLLLLEEEAAASSSEEE!!!, I'll buy his life! Just let him go!!!" All the while sobbing, like I've never seen anyone cry before.

A moral conflict ensued within myself. I paused. "OK, OK", I said while unhooking the poor gasping fish. "I'll let him go. I stopped short of throwing him back with a mischievous grin on my face. "Do you want to kiss him goodbye? After all you saved his life. He owes you a big wet one!"

"Just put him back in the water! He can't breathe!" he screamed at me.

I felt sorry for my brother. He does have a tender heart for living creatures. Though I couldn't let him know my sympathies for him I wiped his face with my shirt and told him to get himself together before the other boys saw him. Then, I smugly replied, "Looks like PETA has a new found member." With that, that old man of a fish went back to the depths from whence he came.

Covered in fish slime, I headed back to barn where the other girls were at. "What's wrong with you?", one asked.

"A catfish stole my Laffy Taffy", I remarked turning to glower at my younger brother.
There he stood, grinning from ear to ear as if he had just saved the earth from a catastrophe. I guess in a way he did...at least for a catfish.

"What?"

"Oh, never mind", I sighed. "Just a fish story".

All in all it was a great time.

After the cousins left, my mother, brothers and one prodigal sister were left behind with me at Nana and Papa's house. While there we spend another week waiting for my father to fetch us. I told my Nana all about my sewing endeavours. Needless to say, she and my mother spend the next two or three days in a fabric frenzy, visiting quilt shops, perusing Ebay, and of course going through all of the many, many, MANY boxes of fabric that my Nana had in her storage unit. All for the sake of ME!....AWWWW I FELT SO SPECIAL! That is until they made ME carry all of the boxes into the house. Oh, well, who says that fashion design is easy? Secretly, I think my mother was just as excited as I was. Considering she called dibs on all of the seersucker, fleece, border prints and quilt quality calicoes.
However, I did get some really cool vintage fabrics, and the tulle, lam`e, and various trims were really very exciting.
Thank Goodness, being the nice guy that he is, my father didn't say a thing, when he saw the mountain of boxes that we had to haul home. My mother immediately ordered a few new quilting books for herself and settled that next she is going to teach me hand applique...It's going to be a long winter. I picture myself as a little Amish girl sitting next to the fireplace hand stitching who knows what. That's not really for me, I'm a high tech kind of girl. I like machines that make life easier. Perhaps, machine quilting, or applique might be fun though. Anyway, I want to finish the clothing first, there is plenty of quilt time in the winter.
So, bygone are the days of spring, and summer freedom, fish stories and fans in your face. Here come the days of school. I don't mind. Out with the old, in with the new.
In the words of The Great Shel Silverstein:

Here comes Summer,
Here comes Summer,
Chirping Robin, Budding Rose,
Here comes Summer,
Here comes Summer,
Gentle Showers, Summer clothes.
Here comes Summer,
Here comes Summer,
Whoosh-Shiver-there it goes.

by Shel Silverstein


Peace to all of you in blogland,


Until next time, just call me Nora.

Designing For My Sister The Diva....

O.k., first of all I haven't blogged for a minute because the heat wave we are having has been a nightmare! Our central air went out and it took FOREVER...but we ending up getting a new unit rather than fixing the old one. COOL AT LAST!!!

While sitting motionless for days on end, wishing for cool weather..I had a lot of time on my hands to think. I watched my baby sister...who is nearly four change her outfits every two point five minutes.... This isn't an unusual occurrence at our home, but while watching her maim the closet...EUREKA! I had a great idea! I have been begging my mother for months to let me get a job..she laughs of course and states that child labor laws prohibit thirteen-year-olds from working. I know the lady on the corner who runs a mom and pop store and begged my mom to let me work there for an hour or two every few days. What's a girl got to do for some extra cash these days??? Anyway, back to my sister.

When my sister was born, she had the small word "DIVA" tattooed in very tiny letters on her lower back. My mother didn't notice at first, until the pediatrician pointed it out. She was instantly concerned. Who had done this...? Is it genetic?? Will she turn out right? Is it PERMANENT??? She rattled off every imaginable question with one breath, then gasped and continued on about how it must have been her obsession with watermelon during the pregnancy. The pediatrician assured her that it was only the womb fairies taking revenge for the six boys who had relentlessly trampled their homes and family members with little remorse or care. (Note to Readers: It is proof that to say you do not believe in fairies could have dire consequences on your health, and your children, and your childrens' children...etc.) The pediatrician stated that she had seen it many times before in various forms..."Be glad you got "Diva"...others...well you don't want to know what I have seen."
"Like What?!", my mother squeaked barely able to speak.
"Let me just say, one mother got the worst of it. There was even a film made about it. You may have heard of "Rosemary's Baby"...the pediatrician half whispered.
My mothers face paled and then sighed with some relief. My younger brother, who had so looked forward to becoming a big brother for the first time frowned and whispered to me..."I'll bet she came from aliens." I rolled my eyes...he doesn't know the facts of life and what can you expect from a six year old. "She's not an alien." I said with sarcasm..."She just takes after you", I quipped.
His eyes widened as he eagerly lifted up his shirt and craned his neck around as far as he could. "What does my back say?", he asked..
It says "Your gullible"...I laughed.."Now put your shirt down".

"It does?"...his eyes gleamed proudly.. "Hey, Mom, I'm like the guy in that book you read to us "Gullible's Travels"...

"Yeah, you're more like a Lilliputian"...I whispered under my breath.

"Enough teasing!...This is serious! my mother sniffed...almost ready to cry. "And no son, you do not have anything on your back....Thank Goodness!"

That is how it all started, my sister the "Diva" was born that way, and lives up to her name. She loves to shop. She loves shoes. She LOVES accessories including but not limited to jewelry, hair bows and especially hand bags and HATS, HATS, HATS, including various hair scarves.. She loves pink frillies and frou frou..(can anyone say....make me puke?) She loves kitty cats and butterflies. Her first sentence came while we were shopping for school clothes one August shortly after her first birthday...while pointing and wild eyed, she squealed with delight saying... "DAT"S SOOOOOO CUUUUTTEE". We all turned and looked at one another with disbelief. It was at that moment, we knew she was marked for life.

Needless to say, the cost of her lifestyle is not always cheap. My mother, is creative and crafty. In an effort to meet my sister's "Diva Demands" she has begun recycling old clothing into Kiddie Couture..for my sister. She says that buying it would be easier but recycling makes her feel less wasteful and she can make the designs that she likes. So, I thought I could do the same, but sell it. (of course I would use new fabric and not old pieces from other clothes) She agreed that if I designed the clothes, she would buy the fabric for me. I could sew it and start an online store (probably eBay or something) and then I could keep the profits after I pay her back for the supplies. I am really excited about it, and in fact have never really cared a whit about fashion. Suddenly, I have ideas from every direction...It is like an untapped river suddenly overflowing. Every writer has a fall back, or so I am told. Anyway, I am still in the designing phase but hope to make my first outfit next week. I will post pictures for you all when I am finished. If you know anyone who would like a custom made outfit, please let me know and I will design something unique and adorable...with the "Diva Seal of Approval" stamped on the tag.

I am optimistic, so no stealing my thunder with all of you pessimists out there...and you know who you are!

Looking forward to your "constructive" criticisms once the designs are finished.


Until then...just call me Nora.

Cooking and Chemistry...kind of scary don't you think?

OK, so I am thirteen now, I guess I have breached the threshold of adolescence. I don't know if I should shout for joy or cry like a baby. Sometimes I do a little of each. I guess with growing up comes more responsibilities. At least that is what my mom and dad tell me. For a while now, my mother has been trying to encourage my "culinary skills"...unfortunately I would rather write a cookbook than read one. (If I ever do please, Buyer beware! I can't guarantee good results).

I don't know how my mother does it. She can look into the looming refrigerator and pull out a variety of seemingly odd ingredients only to throw it into a pot and make a scrumptious meal. On the other hand, I have had too many cooking disasters to count. From over inflated muffins, to rock hard biscuits.(and those were from a can)...Oh the shame of it all. I once made spaghetti soup...it was completely accidental. (No one mentioned I was supposed to drain the pasta BEFORE adding the sauce.) Never assume a beginning cook knows what they are doing. To put it simply, I think cooking is completely overrated...and it just adds to the mess of things. It's like two jobs in one (cooking and cleaning), three times a day...sigh....Rachel Ray...I know I have watched hours of your cooking show, and never once have they worked out for me. I guess I can now join the club of "the domestically challenged". I am the type of girl who likes to know "why" something happens. This annoys my mother to death, because it is like having a three year old (which she already has). Knowing this about me, she decided that perhaps if I knew the "whys' and "hows" of cooking, I might take more of an interest. It was intriguing, but it didn't work. I still hate cooking, though I will make an occasional grilled cheese sandwich if I absolutely have to. I actually had to write a paper about what I learned. I thought I would share it with you all, because quite frankly, I have nothing very exciting to share with you this week, except this. I guess you could say, it is Cooking with Chemistry...That sounds freakishly alarming in the same sentence. Chemical reactions in our food? Well, it happens. Chemistry is all around us. So here is the paper I wrote after a Saturday morning of "culinary chemistry".

COOKING WITH CHEMISTRY

Saturday Breakfast with Nora Gunter

Chemistry is all around us. Sometimes we use it without even knowing. For example, have you ever been making pancakes in the morning and wonder why they turn out so light and fluffy? Well, today I am going to explain why.

Okay, Here are our ingredients:

We need flour, baking powder, salt, eggs, cooking oil and milk.

These ingredients all have a purpose, but mostly they are used to give the pancakes flavor, ad are inactive ingredients used as a binding base for the "chemistry magic", to work it's wonders. Store bought pancake mix is easy to use, but if you have none on hand and are making pancakes from scratch it is important to add the ingredients in the amount the recipe calls for, Unless you want to win the weirdest pancake award. For example, if you add too much flour, you are going to end up with hard, stiff pancakes. (Trust me. I know.) People expect pancakes to melt in their mouths, not break their bicuspids. (Thankfully, no bicuspids were injured in the making of this project. Whew!) If you add too little flour, well, you could end up with crepes...which are delicious...but flat and rubbery, NOT light and fluffy. Then there is the baking powder, which is the most important ingredient of all. Too much, and you will have a mushroom cloud instead of a pancake, with a hint of bitterness...again...personal experience too painful to speak of, but I will talk more about baking powder a little later.

OK, now we get to the fun part!Do I hear any interjections of "HOORAY", "YEEHAW", or "YIPPEEEEEE!!!!? Hmmm...I didn't think so. Oh well, on with the show.

When making pancakes first, you will want to mix the dry ingredients together:

(Hint: in chemistry, this is called a mixture because, theoretically we could still separate the ingredients from one another and they would be unchanged.) (I'll bet you didn't know I knew that right? )

First, we have the two cups of flour, 1/2 teaspoon of salt, and four teaspoons of baking powder. Then, we whisk it slightly until the ingredients are combined. See any "chemistry magic" yet? Yeah, I don't either. Be patient it is coming soon.

Next, we will combine (in a separate bowl from the dry ingredients) the two eggs, oil, and milk. (A.K.A. the WET ingredients).

After that, add the bowl of wet ingredients to the bowl of dry ingredients. NOTICE ANYTHING???

If you look closely you will notice that as soon as the dry and wet ingredients meet there are a lot of bubbles that form on the top. This is because of the Guest of Honor....Drum roll....Yep, you guessed it. It is baking powder.

We asked Baking Powder, "Just how do you do it?"

He replied, "I must admit I have always had and effervescent personality. I can't help myself. Whenever H2O and I get together, it's like a party every time. Some people just have that chemistry...You know!"

We couldn't get him to tell us the secret behind his bubbly, however he did leave us with this parting message..."Eat your heart out baking soda!".

What that means..? We may never know.

What our sources did find out is that baking powder is the combinations of sodium bicarbonate (a base) and a combination of sodium aluminum sulfate and calcium acid phosphate. (Both weak, solid acids). When baking powder comes into contact with water, (or in the case of our pancakes, milk) and acid-base reaction occurs causing the release of carbon dioxide gas...resulting in bubbles suspended within the batter. (Once this chemical reaction occurs this "mixture" is now defined as a "compound" because the components in it cannot be separated without another chemical reaction to do so)...fascinating...if you are a zealous chemistry buff...(I'm not).

Once the wet and dry ingredients are in the same bowl, you must stir it. When stirring it the batter it is important not to over stir it, because with every stroke you release the carbon dioxide gas inside the batter. The more bubbles that remain in the batter, the better. Small lumps are a pretty good sign that you have not over mixed.

We also found out that most baking powder is "double acting". This means that one acid is used to release hydrogen ions while resting at room temperature and then another acid is used to release even larger amounts of hydrogen ions when the compound is heated... (In this case by our HOT griddle).

With the mixing and measuring out of the way you can now start cooking your creation. Get a frying pan or a griddle and let it sit on the stove burner for a few minutes to preheat. You can put a little oil on the pan if you don't have a nonstick pan. Note: It is probably better to let an adult do this if you are not and experienced cook. We would not want anyone to burn their fingers...(I know about burned fingers also by personal experience. NOT FUN!!)

When the oil starts to fizzle or when a drop of water dances on the griddle it is ready. Pour the pancake batter slowly onto the griddle.

The sizzling sound is like music to the ears. After a time you will notice the second acid releasing its bubbles from the heat. (Lives up to it's name "double acting".)

When the edges begin to turn gold brown and you see bubbles on the surface you know it is time to flip the flapjacks..

Voila!!!

Breakfast is served, with syrup, milk and a side of chemistry. It is a perfect Saturday Morning breakfast.

**Note** A special thanks to my research staff, and also to my unfortunate taste testing brothers. They were lucky...this time....

Also, please disregard the date on these photos...my mothers is still trying to figure out how to set the correct date on the camcorder/digital camera...She insists she can figure it out herself...Parents...eye roll... Love 'em tons.

Well, there it is. In case anyone is wondering the original paper had pictures along the way, but I haven't figured out the ins and outs of the blog world yet, and I am not sure how to post the pictures I wanted to. I suppose that to perserver with my journey of cooking would be the right thing to do. One must not lose hope...even over something like cooking.

I love Emily Dickinson's poem

Hope is the Thing with Feathers
by Emily Dickinson


Hope is the thing with feathers

That perches in the soul,

And sings the tune without the words,

And never stops at all,

And sweetest in the gale is heard;

And sore must be the storm

That could abash the little bird

That kept so many warm.

I've heard it in the chilliest land

And on the strangest sea;

Yet, never, in extremity,

It asked a crumb of me.

I hope you all keep your fingers crossed for me and a little prayer in your hearts for me. If ever we invite you over, I promise I will not cook on that occasion. If ever you see a cookbook entitled the Jewels of A Juvenile Junkfood Junkie...Buyer beware...you have been warned.

Peace to all of you in blog land,

Until next time...just call me Nora.

My Saga Continues...

My saga continues with Sibling survival…(Pay close attention now..)

Brothers…that is what life’s hand seems to have dealt me…I feel a bit like Millie in the film “Seven Brides For Seven Brothers…(Though the boys I deal with are younger….Thank goodness, and no bride kidnapping…Oh the dread of puberty…)
Three bio brothers one bio sister and four step brothers make up the building blocks of my family. It is only by the Grace and Mercy of Allah that my four year old sister was born.
Now, many people have a sibling or two that renders an annoyance from time to time. Consider yourselves lucky! I am privileged enough to have eight times the joy and eight hundred times the trouble. With that, I welcome you to an exclusive inside look at a day in my life…

I groaned as I rolled out of bed to make my sunrise prayer…It was still dark. I frowned as the beeps and shrill music of an unidentified video game assaulted my drowsy ears. Still half asleep, I wandered down the hallway toward the bathroom. I jumped back suddenly as two humanesque blurs dashed by, one with a spray bottle, in an apparent attempted revenge for a rude awakening. Ugh…I thought..here we go again.
Now fully awake I continued down the hallway to the bathroom, which was predictably occupied, of course. I knocked…impatiently. “Who is it?” called a little voice from the other side.
“It is me, Nora!”, I replied. “Hurry up!”…. No answer. I sighed angrily and pressed my back into the wall. “I should have stayed in bed until rush hour has passed.”, I thought to myself. In our house rush hour never passes. Our house is large enough, but it needs more bathrooms. Yeah, like ten more.
Once the bathroom was said and done I walked into the kitchen to find my mother pouring cereal and juice for nine while looking appropriately tired. I sympathized with her as I found my seat at the kitchen table. While engaged in thought of sympathy I felt something cold and wet on the back of my shirt…”What the…?” I turned around to see two guilty faced brothers trying in vain to stifle their giggles, while trying to conceal their weapon of choice….the notorious spray bottle….Ugh..again. My look of surprise flashed into my menacing “big sister” look… For those of you who are unfamiliar with the look, it’s the look that makes little brothers quake in their boots…it’s the look that says “Back off or I’ll have YOU for breakfast…” Not that I am a mean sister, but one must keep order you know. Besides, I happen to know that they all adore me…despite popular belief. The giggle quickly turned to wary, apologetic glances, much like two puppies with their tails between their legs. Cute but, my shirt was still wet…and we ate in silence after that.
Though breakfast was eaten in silence, school time was not. Paper confetti rained down on me as I was pelted with paper wads, courtesy of one brother’s latest history project, a catapult made from a toilet paper roll, craft stick and a rubber band. (My mother strongly believes that children should have a hands on approach to learning…eye roll).. Paper airplanes zipped past my head in retaliation and squabbles typical of nine year olds broke out amongst them. I had images of myself in the role of King Kong crushing little airplanes as they zoomed around my head…but I knew it wouldn’t help. Just then, my mother stepped out of the kitchen and put everything back in order.
“The referee has entered the building”, I thought to myself. Alas, the sanity that my mother so kindly brought would not last long. The phone rang with mocking laughter calling my “peace bringer” back to the kitchen. Almost immediately “Hurricane Siblings” was in full force….”Folks, this one is a class four…you better watch out…” the little news broadcaster in my head warned, “High winds…I repeat High winds…”.
“Good . Maybe their paper airplanes will be blown away…the catapult too”, I mumbled to myself as I dodged yet another paper wad. I flicked a paper wad from my history pages…sigh…”Is it stuffy in here or is it just the testosterone in the air?” I wondered…”maybe I should open the windows.”
Ten minutes later my mother reemerged onto the battleground from the kitchen. She had finally finished the breakfast clean up and came to soothe storm, though totally unaware of the ferocity of the winds just moments before. The room was silent as she scanned the living room like a queen surveying her kingdom. Her left eyebrow cocked with a quizzical appeal…and her mouth turned down with a kind, yet no nonsense twist. “Your father is coming home today, she declared in a calm, silky, tone…I hope you have all decided to behave yourselves, I would hate exhaust him after a long trip with complaints of naughty little boys.”
I glared accusingly at all of the boys, who by now had all lowered their eyes to the ground in shame. My eyes wandered to those of my mother’s. I couldn’t help but chuckle when I saw the triumphant gleam of victory in her eyes. She knew she had them….and she knew I knew. I smiled at her. She winked. There was no need for words. Once again, the peace had been restored, for now.
In the anticipation of our father’s return, the afternoon passed unusually uneventful. There was the usual bickering over whose turn it was to vacuum, or who took out the trash last. My favorite of course was the wrestling match baited by the heated debate…”Who is the best superhero?” Hulk or Thing?...Suddenly the “Great Debaters” felt the need to move on to demonstrations of each superhero’s skills, to prove superiority... No injuries…but two “superheroes” were promptly placed into opposite corners for time out. I bet you don’t see that every day. I do. Even superheroes have to answer to their mothers.
In our house, the evening time always seems to bring an air of relief. It is a fresh breezy breath, (at least for my mom and me.) Nearly every evening, I watch the stark yellows and oranges of the sun gently fade into the purple and blue hues of the horizon. The mugginess of the heat fades along with it and the cool breezes blow in from the North rattling the leaves of our Pecan tree. It’s my favorite time of day. My mind always travels back to my favorite poem…

THE SONG OF WANDERING AENGUS
by: W.B. Yeats
I went out to the hazel wood,
Because a fire was in my head,
And cut and peeled a hazel wand,
And hooked a berry to a thread;

And when white moths were on the wing,
And moth-like stars were flickering out,
I dropped the berry in a stream
And caught a little silver trout.

When I had laid it on the floor
I went to blow the fire a-flame,
But something rustled on the floor,
And someone called me by my name:
It had become a glimmering girl
With apple blossom in her hair
Who called me by my name and ran
And faded through the brightening air.

Though I am old with wandering
Through hollow lands and hilly lands,
I will find out where she has gone,
And kiss her lips and take her hands;
And walk among long dappled grass,
And pluck till time and times are done
The silver apples of the moon,
The golden apples of the sun.


I love this poem because it helps me find the beauty that is around me. We all have a lot to be thankful for, we just have to find the ordinary and make it extraordinary.

So my friends, I hope you have learned a lesson or two from me today. First of all I hope that you learned to think twice before wishing for seven brothers..(though, I doubt anyone in their right mind would wish for that). Second of all, for those rare few that do have seven brothers, I hope you can appreciate them for what they are…Men in the making. While it is a well know fact amongst older sisters that it is our exclusive right and privilege to complain about the irritations and annoyances of younger siblings (in my case namely brothers, but on a rare occasion my sister as well) They never cease to bring me joy and plenty of materials for stories and poems. I hope that one day I can share them with the world.
Though I am no W.B. Yeats here is a poem I wrote regarding that very thing.
A Recipe for Little Brothers
By Nora Gunter
A dozen smart remarks, a dirty face;
Fruit Loops, and whirls, a relay race.

Two scraped knees, one lost shoe
Five holey socks, two jeans of blue.

Now how many to make is a great debate
As you know they take a lifetime to bake.

You may want to bake them as fast as you can;
What goes in as a boy, comes out as a man.


Thanks for sharing my ramblings of today….more later but..

Until then…Just call me Nora.

The Last Day of School....The First Day of The Rest of My Life.

Today is the last day of the school year. I can't say that I am sad, even though I really like school. Honestly what thirteen year old is saddened by the last day of school...? I like to look at it in the most positive way.
TODAY IS THE FIRST DAY OF THE REST OF MY LIFE!!! I guess everyday is..but somehow we never seem to appreciate the blessings of a new sunrise as we rise from our beds every morning. I think it's about time to take the reins and take out the trash left behind. Therefore, I have decided that this summer I will relieve myself of old baggage. Namely, what has been left over from my parent's divorce. I intend to confront some things that have been bothering me for quite a while. Things that until now, I could never really understand.
These are my feelings, and though I do not intend to injure anyone else, this is the reality. I can't speak for everyone who has shared my journey, but as for myself, this is my saga.

First of All: A note to my father...You all know him as Joe. I don't want to hurt your feelings, but I remember a lot. Even if you think I don't. Maybe you were in a time in your life when the pressure was a lot. Maybe you were immature or maybe you just weren't prepared mentally to raise three kids at such an early age. I don't know your reasons, but I do remember the day you sat me down when I was two and told me that I couldn't live with you anymore. I remember when you would leave for days and wouldn't come back. I remember you cold and void of expressions when my mother would beg you to stay home. It hurts me.
Now I know that adults have complicated relationships sometimes, but I also know my mother. She is a good mother. She is a good wife to my Baba...(stepfather). She never says anything bad about you, but I remember what happened.
My mom says that I am a lot like you. She said I am funny and sarcastic like you. I have a great memory. I can quote passages from books and movies verbatim, just like you.. I walk like you (much to my dismay) and I have your "distinguished" chin..whatever that means. She said I have all of your good qualities. I am stubborn, (but you are off the hook on that one.) She said I get that from her side...
I guess what is bothering me is that you rattle on and on in your blog about how you try to call and write us as much as possible. You publicly recall how important my brothers and I are to you. You pine over how saddening it is that you haven't seen us for "5 years". Get real Dad. You never call. I called you two months ago because I didn't even know if you were still alive. You haven't called us for 3 or 4 years. The ONLY time you have ever sent us a letter was when you sent us pictures of your little girl when she was a newborn. That was three years ago. As far as seeing us? That was 7 years ago. I guess it is hard to keep track though. I know you have a life of your own, just like we do. I am not really sad about not visiting you because I think I would miss my mom too much but, I do love you dad, you are a part of me after all. I can't help but feel angry with you at times....a lot of times. You deserted us dad. You picked up your life and pretended we never existed. You don't even know us.
With that said, there is good news.
I have a really wonderful life dad. My mom and dad are really supportive of me, and try to help me make sense of it all. They always set high standards which I must admit isn't always fun, but when I am successful in school and achieve my goals I appreciate it. My mom even made me start seeing a therapist....strange....but the therapist is nice...She reassured me I have the right to my feelings and should confront them. I don't do much talking to her, but I do listen and like to think about her suggestions. I think overall, I have great sense of who I am and who I want to be. The one question I have though... Why did you not value us? If I knew the answer to that question I think I could get over it. I think I could forgive you.


Now for those of you who are reading this blog who are not involved with the "D" issue, welcome to my saga. I don't know how exciting it will be as you journey along with me on my way. I am just an average teen with an average life. I think I should get reacquainted with those who have been out of contact with me for awhile. First of all I am thirteen...the oldest. Actually I have one stepbrother the same age as me, but as the oldest daughter, I certainly rank in maturity.
I have 8 siblings. Six of them live with us, two do not. Now I know it seems like a lot, and at times I want to pull my hair out, but it's all in good fun. It is quite humorous at times, and often a source of inspiration for my writing. Having seven brothers and one small sister is a comedy in the making. I am currently in the process of writing a book of poetry....called Memoirs of a Big Sister. It is quite a funny book though unfinished mind you. God willing, one day, I will finish it. I just finished school as I mentioned in the beginning of my post, and passed my CRCT tests with flying colors. I prayed hard on the math section. With sweaty palms I solved each one according to my best abilities, and Allah is Great, he answered me. By the way, Allah is the Arabic word for God for those of you who don't know. A lot of people think that Muslims worship a different God but they don't. Allah is just the name of God in Arabic.
Oh, guess I should mention that I am a Muslim. ( I guess you have figured that out already) I think a lot of people out there make judgements pretty unfairly. They should learn about things before they pass judgements. I had one girl in my History class...she hates me now because I am Muslim. We were discussing the religions of the world in one unit of our history class a lot of the kids in our class were discussing Muslims. Of course, they have images of militant, wife beating, Arabs who smell like goats and camels....Ridiculous! I had to set them straight (in a nice way of course). I asked them if they knew what Muslims believed...or if they had ever met a real life Muslim...none of them knew or had. They were quite shocked to learn they were talking to a Muslim at that very moment....I had a few insults thrown my way by that particular girl. I felt really sorry for her, because the level of her ignorance overcame her intellect in the most severe way. The rest of the kids however, were really curious, and graciously asked questions of pertinence. We had a good laugh when one boy thought the word Muslim was the word for sheep meat...we laughed so hard, when I told him the word is "Mutton"... I could tell he was embarrassed but it broke the ice, and made for a good laugh and a good pat on the back for him. Even our teacher laughed though she was fuming at the girl for her ill mannered remarks, and then she reminded us all that our freedom as Americans hinges on the rights to religion, speech...etc. Later, she told the girl that she shouldn't talk about things that she isn't well informed upon. I think that is why the girl hates me.
OH WELL! I have learned that to be true to oneself is better than trying to please the world. I have also learned that no matter what, there will always be someone who hates you from the inside out for no good reason. My mother always says, "Don't let other peoples' issues become your own"...So I leave them brood on their own terms. You can't help everyone.

I guess I will close, I always have something to say, but if I say it all now, what will I blog next time?


Until then, Just call me Nora...