Divine Decadence

I'd like you to take a moment to imagine a blondie. 
Not just any old blondie, but a luxurious, homemade, dessert. 

Picture your kitchen. 
Your oven is heated, the glow of its light illuminating a pan of golden goodness within. 
Breathe in the scents of vanilla and butterscotch, allowing them to flow through your nose, and past your salivary glands, teasing your tongue. You softly lick the corners of your mouth in search of the nectarious flavour, but there is nothing that can satisfy the desire welling up within you.

You wait patiently...enduringly, for the oven timer to sound like church bells sending off newlyweds, but the minutes drag. Until the melodic echoes of the timer ring, you are forced to stand close by, anticipating the warm, ooey, gooey, blondies.
You fantasize the taste, a graceful sweetness, gently offset by swirls of melted, dark chocolate. 
If only the time would fly. 

Stomach grumbles and drool puddles cast aside, you know that the wait will be worth the divine decadence that lies within your oven. 


If you could not tell, for months, I have a had devilish desire for blondies. 
Tonight, I finally caved.
After one hour of measuring and mixing, I now sit with my laptop, indulging in a beautiful treat, and sipping on a coffee to balance the sweet notes. 

I found a basic, toffee blondie recipe on Pinterest a couple of days ago and since then, my craving has exponentially increased. I am very pleased to say that the recipe was successful. I made some modifications because I didn't want my blondies to be defiled by copious amounts of sugar, and instead of adding Skor bits for toffee, I topped them with chocolate chips to create another flavour dimension. 
These decisions were worth it, although I think next time I will add even less sugar. 
Nevertheless, these blondies are still beautiful. 

Just in case this post has caused you to develop a desire that has left you lusting...and drooling, here is the modified recipe I used. 


Ingredients: 
2 cups brown sugar
1/2 cup butter
2 eggs
2 tablespoons vanilla
1 1/4 teaspoons baking powder
2 cups flour

The dough will be sticky, (which scared me a little, because I was unexpecting) and you will have to wet your fingers with cold water before you press it into a greased, 9x13 pan. 
Bake at 350 for 25 minutes, or until you can smell the deliciousness and the top is firm. 
The centre will still be a little jiggly, but it will cool and become amazing. 
Grab a fork and indulge.  

Devoured, Digested, Defecated...

 School has consumed me. My life, which was once full of joy and adventure, has been devoured and digested by the education system.

It's my final year of high school. Going into it I told myself I wouldn't stress. I laughed in my friends' faces when they questioned me.

"Get stressed out, are you kidding?" 

No. Not me. Not this year. 

I swore I would change my attitude this time around. I wouldn't let anything shake me up. I wouldn't freak myself out over life's insignificancies... 

Apparently when I made this decision, I had forgotten what it meant to be Laurel Farrell, the dedicated perfectionist and over-achieving enthusiast of everything.  

It is only the first week of November and I am officially done. 

The truth is that my courses are great and my workload is balanced. What is tiring me out is my never ending attempt to be the all-doing, ever-involved, amazing...and attractive high school senior. Like a hamster that doesn't know when to stop eating, I am unaware of my own saturation point. I continue to take on challenges and opportunities to help out others even when my stomach is so full that food begins to escape from my cardiac sphincter. As can be expected, this results in heart burn. 

For example, I have taken on so many opportunities to be involved this week that between classes, charity collections, student council meetings, music lessons, university presentations, scholarship applications and semi formals, there is no time left for myself. 

Do not misunderstand. I am not complaining. And yes, I do know how to tell people no. 

The truth is that I absolutely love being busy...it just tires you out after a while. 

This is why I have decided to make time right now, to blog for the first time in over a year. 

I haven't written in a very long time and the past few weeks I have felt as though I was missing something in my life. This is it. 

I believe that by making time for myself through blogging, I am avoiding complete digestion. I am back peddling through the duodenum and knocking on the pyloric sphincter, with the hopes that I can get back into the stomach. 

If I slow myself down, perhaps I can avoid the large intestine for a little while longer. Perhaps I can prevent myself from total defecation. 

And yes...this is the weirdest blog post I have ever written. 

A Letter of Emotion...I Have not Forsaken You!

Dear Readers, 

Have you ever been so full of emotion that you don't know what to do with yourself? 
Have you felt excitement, and fear, and love for those around you all at once?
And have these emotions been so strong that you simply have to accept the strange but beautiful combination of feelings?
This is what I have been going through for the past few months, and despite my efforts, I haven't been able to sit down and pin point my feelings about anything. Recently, I'm easily swayed and stirred, and in a matter of seconds, I often go from being absolutely furious, to so in love and so happy that I find myself laughing...and then later, I laugh at my own stupidity.
Am I bipolar? Honestly, it feels like it sometimes. 

I don't know how to explain what I've been going through other than saying that I've been stuffed and unable to vent. I'm filled to the brim with feelings that are so deep and so real, that no amount of poetry, or song writing, singing, dancing, or long conversations at Starbucks can do them justice. 
So I've kept them to myself. 
The truth be told, these feelings are mostly wonderful and most nights I fall asleep in awe of how blessed I am. Even still, there's a part of me that is full, and wants these feelings expressed. 
I've been trying to do so. 
I've stared at blank documents and notebooks for weeks trying to empty my mind, but nothing ever resulted. I have realized that this is because I'm always striving for perfection; the perfect post. The perfect poem. 
The reality is, I'll never find that perfect piece because I'm not perfect, and neither are my feelings. Trying to force my heart into an alliteration or a limerick won't work because emotions were never meant to be structured. I guess freedom is one of the beauties of the heart. 

So here it is, my first blog post since the spring. Flawed, full of errors, and barely edited at all, but I could care less because even though it might be sloppy, it's a chip off of my heart. 
I guess the point I'm trying to prove to myself in all of this is that it doesn't matter how flawed something is-whether it's an assignment, or a performance, character traits or a shitty blog post that you wish was something amazing-what matters in the end is that you got your message across. 
I'm hoping that I did, and if not, here it is: perfection is an illusion.

For now, I'll sit at my kitchen table, looking out the patio door at the fall colours, sipping my Red Rose, and feeling a little bit lighter because I've "vented"...and also because I have finally published something on this nearly forsaken blog. 
Knowing myself, in about three hours or so, I'll reread over this post-which is the fastest piece I have ever written and published-laughing at myself because I really need to pull it together. 

Thank you for reading my ten minutes of "blah,"

-Laurel Farrell

Roadblock

You drive along the road,
To your destination.
You expect speed and ease,
Without complication.
Roadblock.

Suddenly your plans fade,
Like pictures in sunlight.
It's no use to organize,
When you don't use insight.
Roadblock.

If you had read the signs,
Maybe you would have known,
That there's construction here.
You don't know where to go.
Roadblock.

The panic settles in,
You thought that you knew best.
Intellectual fool,
No smarter than the rest.
Roadblock.

Now the stress of rush hour,
Yanks on your sanity.
You should've paid attention,
To signs, not vanity.
Roadblock.

You have what you wanted,
A clean face and crisp clothes,
But now you will be late.
The stupid things you chose.
Roadblock.

Stop.

Take an even breath in.
Realize there's a detour,
That's organized so you,
Won't worry anymore.
Roadblock?

This path will take more time,
Your choices injured you.
But you're not stuck forever,
Wondering what to do.
Detour.

Your struggles were foreseen,
By the foreman in charge.
Understand your problem,
Really isn't that large. 
Detour. 

A solution put in place, 
So that you wouldn't miss, 
All that you're meant to do, 
You can get around this...
Road Block. 

Trust...Another Point

To believe someone no mater what.
To rely on them.
To place hope in them.
To follow them.
To believe their opinions.
To let them take care of you. 

     All of these are ways that we demonstrate and manifest our trust. Trust is a complex concept that seems so simple. Trusting someone means that we shouldn't have to worry, that our backs are covered and our burdens are relieved. It seems like everyone should have a person to trust, but it isn't always that simple. More often than not, trust is taken for granted and in the end, it is shattered, leaving us broken. 

The reality of trust has resulted in me torturing myself with two questions.
The first is "Who do I trust?" 
My answer, as I know it is for most of us, bases itself in others: family, friends, mentors. 
For some of us, we place our trust in our jobs or our schooling, our knowledge or our money. Sometimes we're so afraid of getting hurt by the world that we place our trust in ourselves to avoid its destruction.
Our trust can't be broken of we're the only ones that possess it, we think. 
This may seem true, but when we keep our trust to ourselves for long periods of time without letting anyone in, we end up believing that no one will ever deserve our trust, and as a result, our lives are lonely.
Why does it have to be so difficult? 

The second question I ponder is: Who should I trust? 
As Christians we all 'know' the answer. Some of us have heard it every Sunday from the time we were toddlers in the nursery. Some of us have heard it at camps, from our parents or even read it for ourselves in scriptures. Yes, God's word is pure and He is a shield to those who trust Him, but simply knowing this isn't enough...we need to believe it, and we need to act on it. 


Reading a recipe doesn't bake you chocolate chip cookies. You have to pull out the ingredients and follow the recipe in order to get the promised results. It's no different with God. 
We, as Christians, are professionals at knowing. We can read the Bible and quote scripture, we can go to church every Sunday and we can win countless quiz nights, but when it comes down to it, are we really acting on the recipe? Do we really advance the Kingdom of God? Do we really trust Him? We all know we should, just like we know we should mix dry ingredients and wet ones separately, but whether or not we put our knowledge into action is a different story. 

The Bible promises us that God will always look after us, and that we can place our trust in him no matter what, but reading that over and over again won't draw us closer to Him. We need to take action. We need to step off the edges of our cliffs in leaps of faith, and pursue relationship with God to see what incredible things he has in store for us. 
It's terrifying and difficult, but we need to fight through the struggle of trusting God because unlike worldly things, He will never fail us. He's got our backs. He will relieve us of our burdens and look after us for eternity if we ask him to. 
All we need to do is act on that recipe. 

Some trust in chariots and some trust in horses, but we put our trust in the name of the Lord.

~Psalm 20:7 

Pondering Love

What is love?

To hold someone forever, or to learn to let them go?
To share our hearts with others, or to hide them all alone?

Is it infatuation; an extremity of like?
Is it rare and genuine, hidden by a black disguise?

Can you feel it for many, or is love limited to one?
Is it between just men and women, or meant for everyone?

To love unconditionally, is difficult to do.
To love someone through dire straits, and base relationship on truth.

How can you love people in the 'right' and 'proper' way?
And how do you let them know? What's appropriate to say?

No one wants to be pushy, yet we all want to be heard.
We don't want to lose friendships, or end up being hurt.

Love is so condescending, it gives and then soon it takes.
It patronizingly tempts, and slowly steals our hearts away.

Can love become unhealthy, when you try to make it true?
So at end your efforts result in once more hurting you?

Is love way too serious, moulded to something it's not?
We're blind from misconceptions, and so love seems corrupt.

Is there an answer to this puzzle, or is love Pandora's Box? 
A treasure to admire, and to never be unlocked. 

Perhaps the secret to love, is to stop disrupting fate,
To truly be yourself, and see if things correlate.

Perhaps the secret to all love, is to simply learn to wait
Because once it's discovered, we don't need to actuate.

Winterberries

To my fellow pessimists…

In winter, our world becomes cold and is ultimately void of life.
Green grasses succumb to soft white blankets and robins leave the trees to themselves in pursue of gentler temperatures. There isn't much to do other than stay inside, enveloped in warm blankets, sipping tea, and longing for better days.
In nature's dormancy it seems that the planet has been robbed of all its beauty, and the lack of loveliness puts us in a state of depression; a chilled, tired, tea drenched, sweater wearing depression.
Sunlight has all but abandoned and left us to winter's icy grasp, and as a result, we feel betrayed.
Snow Shovelling.
Slipping.
Salting.
Winter's a demon…cold, heartless and abusive.

However, in the midst of this torture where grey skies reign victoriously at negative ten degrees, there is a remedy that can cure all despondence. It's small and can be hard to find, but whether in the hearts of forests or out in open fields, once discovered it is a precious beacon of hope to those in need.
The ruby glow of winterberries cast against crisp white is a sign that is often overlooked, but is strong in symbolism nonetheless:
Life in the midst of death.
Beauty in the midst of misfortune.
Simplicity in the midst of perplexity.

These modest little berries send us messages, but it's sad to think that we usually only see them in our greatest times of desperation. 
Think about it. If these fragile little berries can survive harsh winters, then maybe they're a sign to us that not only can we survive the winter season, but that we can make it through the blizzards in our lives as well. 

We need to search for the positives in every challenging situation because when discovered, they can bring us great healing. Whether they are happy memories, or certain people that impact our everyday lives. As inconspicuous as winterberries, these moments and memories, whether buried deep inside us or hidden in plain sight, give us something to believe in. They provide us with hope and reassurance that there is peace in the eye of the storm and a light at the end of each tunnel. 
Memories give us something to hold onto so that when we are forced to go through struggle and pain, we have moments of the past to treasure. If we go through life in pursue of these treasures we may find that when tragedy strikes we are stronger. 

If we keep our eyes open, our minds clear and our heart aware, we might just discover our winterberries in the places that we least expect them. 

Old News

I'm slightly disgusted with myself. 

It's a horrid truth knowing that in everything I've blogged about-unedited free verse and puppet symbolism-I've forgotten to write about a very important event. 

In October I found out that I won the Fresh Ink 2013 contest! 

It's only taken me three months to blog about it…and I have no excuse. 

As I said before, I'm slightly disgusted…and that is to say the least. 

I was announced the first place winner and awarded $100 in prize money, as well as published in the St. Catharines Library magazine. The magazine was by far the best part of the prize, as it meant that I was officially a published author. My life is a little bit closer to being complete. 

I had the pleasure of reading my story at the awards ceremony, as well as meeting some of the chair members of the library. 

As small as the contest was, it was really extraordinary for me to be able to share my writing with other people and to hear the praise and compliments I received over a single chapter. 

For those of you that haven't read the story, you can do so here, or by clicking the tab "Fresh Ink 2013" at the top of the page. 

I hope you enjoy the chapter, and once again, I apologize for my lack of commitment to my blog. I wish I had shared this with you earlier, but I guess old news is better than no news at all!

A Dusty Poem

Whilst flipping though the dusty pages of a notebook, I found this poem scribbled down. Thought I might share, since I haven't posted in a while. 

If I had to walk a million miles, 

In someone else's shoes. 

The issue wouldn't be the walking,

But just whose shoes to choose.  

If I had to walk a million miles, 

For someone else's sin, 

I'd stand up straight and suck up my pride,

And boldly lift my chin…

Because that's what Jesus did. 

For someone else's sin,

In someone else's shoes,

He was slaughtered on the cross, 

He died for me and you.

When Winter Waltzes In…A Horrible Attempt at Free Verse

When winter waltzes in

It's never subtle

However hard it tries to be. 

Sneakily swiping degrees 

And minutes of daylight 

From our warm lovely summers.
Slowly choking life
And colour
Away from the leaves 
That so graciously
Dress our maples. 
Suffocating them 
So viciously 
That they turn red 
From lack of oxygen…
Or so it seems. 
When winter waltzes in
Crickets go to sleep
And flower petals fall
Pink
Yellow
Blue
Against the earth. 
The geese leave for the tropics 
Honking
As they pass in the grey sky above us. 
The nipping winter wind 
Whistles by
Slow and steady
And then stronger
Chilling our bones 
Like ice.
By November 
Summer is forgotten 
Winter is all we can think of.
Ice
Cold
Wind. 
Hot cocoa becomes our only comfort. 
The smooth
Warm 
Silky taste 
Of chocolate. 
The fire in the hearth 
Glows orange 
Red
And yellow.
The crackling embers 
Sparkling 
Flickering
Against the coal.
Thick grey wool socks
Burgundy track pants 
Green fleece sweatshirts 
The fresh smell of pine 
Balsam
And the luminescent light 
From candles in the room. 
When winter waltzes in
These things keep us cozy. 
Protecting us from the cold
That has taken over outside. 
When we look out 
Our windows
That shield us from the air 
We struggle
To see 
A single speck of life. 
Winter has robbed 
Our world of its beauty
The only thing remaining
The baby pink petals 
Of a single
Closing
Primrose
And soon 
Not even this will remain. 
When Winter Waltzes in
And the trees are naked
Marshmallow fluff clouds 
Cover our dark sky
As the wind starts to howl
Against the crimson brick 
That is holding up our houses. 
Tea brewing 
Branches shaking
Dark settling
Street lights glowing.
Flakes start to fall
Gracefully landing 
And shimmering
Sparkling.
When winter waltzes in. 

The Puppet in All of Us...a Point

Being someone's puppet doesn't necessarily mean that you're a prisoner unable of  escaping punishment, tied to 

unbreakable strings binding you forever. A lot of the time we are other people's puppets without even realizing it, 

enjoying our performance and applause so much that we are oblivious to the fact that we are being controlled. Held up by someone else and basing our identity in what our puppeteers deem to be acceptable.

We're afraid, sometimes terrified, to resist the tugging on our wires for even a minute in case we make a fool of ourselves 

in front of other people and receive their negative judgement. And so, we go through our lives doing as we're told and 

expected, and nothing more. It might be boring, monotonous, and probably doesn't even go along with what our beliefs 

are, but we don't care. We care more about our puppeteers affirmation and the sense of false security that comes with it, 

than we do about our own ideology.

The truth is simple:

Wake up.

A life spent pleasing other people isn't a life at all; it's a pointless desert wander. 

We need to stop being lemmings that jump off of cliffs because someone says the word, and be like eagles instead, soaring through our journeys.

Take charge of your own life and do what you believe in.

Grow up, cut your strings and walk away. 

Christmas Cards Galore

It's almost December, which means that for most people it's time to start writing and sending Christmas cards…and let's admit it, it's the one time of year that we actually use the 'snail mail' system. 
The hardest part about sending cards is typically not labelling the envelopes-although that takes a lot of time-but instead finding the cards themselves. People want to send greetings that are cute, sentimental, and of course reasonably priced, but it's hard to find that in your run of the mill department store. Most places sell packs of twenty for a minimum of $8.00, and unless you've found the bargain of the season, they're typically nothing special. No glitter, no sparkles and no pizzazz.  
If you can relate to this, then I am glad to present the perfect solution:

Original water colour Christmas cards with a variety of pictures available to chose from, and the opportunity to write your own custom messages inside. 

Glenn Farrell is a local Grimsby, Ontario artist with a passion for painting. Currently he has an interest in snowmen, capturing their character and whimsical charm with his brushstrokes. His cards are available through Fine Art America on his website. 
For more info, artwork and cards, visit the link below!

Glenn Farrell Art 

Heineken...a Pearl I'll Always Treasure

I have recently realized that in my almost two years of blogging I have never written an entry about my little lager...Heineken the gerbil. 
Three years ago I brought home my first fury little pet. A tan and cream, 2 month old gerbil not much bigger than my index finger. I had researched gerbils for years with the hope of someday getting one, but I never imagined that Heineken would be anywhere near as much fun as he has been. 

The epitome of cuteness and the most snuggly rodent I've ever known, he has always loved being held and stroked until he falls asleep close to my chest, as well as cuddling with a sock like a baby with a blanket while I watch tv. Because of how tame he has always been, people have often called me "The Gerbil Whisperer" but I think the majority of credit should go to Heineken and his unique characteristics. 

As cute and calm as he is, he's also a bundle of energy! When he was little, I trained him to jump out of large containers and run through mazes set up with books, although till this day he has never quite figured out how to run in a ball. His bravery when it comes to heights however, makes up for his lack of running. Since he was little, he has had the courage to jump from heights that should typically be unfathomable for such a small rodent. Recently he tackled six feet by jumping out of my friend's hands...still without getting hurt. I'd say he's quite the daredevil.  

Alongside being a package of fun, he is also the second pickiest gerbil in existence-other than his brother Remie. Changing his favourite seeds almost every week and only eating almonds with the tops already bitten off, I used to joke that he would only eat
 vegetables that were crinkle cut 3/4" thick. Who knew a gerbil could be so picky? 

Heineken is definitely the tamest, cuddliest, cutest, most amazing gerbil to ever live. From falling asleep in my lap, to challenging the cat, wrestling with his brother and playing hide and seek with me, he is truly an incredible animal. I'm proud to say that for the past three years he has been my companion, friend and snuggle buddy and I look forward to many more days with him and praise the Lord for him every day. 
Time with him is something I'll always treasure.

Writing...Revising...Rewriting

I'm very proud to say that I've finally, officially submitted my entry into the Fresh Ink 2013 contest!
It was a painful process that took a lot of editing...revising...rewriting and more editing, but with the help of my wonderful mother and friends, I was able to complete a short story that not only complies with the required word count, but  also has plot! 

For my entry this year, I decided to sway away from the short story I previously mentioned about Acamar the Turkey Vulture, and submit an older creation of mine that some of you may be familiar with. When I originally published Lilac Lane on my blog last year, it was full of typos and was in need of some serious reshaping. Today, completely reworked, it has been entered into Fresh Ink 2013 with my high hopes that someone will enjoy it. 
Due to contest rules and the possibility of plagiarism, I unfortunately can't post the entry right away, but I will soon. 
I hope that those of you who end up reading it find it interesting...and maybe even that it leaves you hungry for more!

All the best!
~a very happy girl

Fresh Ink 2013

     With July 31st fast approaching, I've been hard at work on my entry for this year's Fresh Ink writing contest. Remembering the last minute rush I went through to submit my entry last year, I've been determined to complete my short story in advance to give lots of room for editing and critiquing. 

    Although I have a few things up for entry consideration this year, the piece that I find myself focusing on is a short story that I wrote while planning to enter another local contest this past March. All writers were required to create an original piece that tied in with the theme "Raptorfest," an annual springtime event where various birds of prey migrate through the Niagara Region. Entrants had to write a short story or poem from the point of view of a bird of prey on how they see their environment, and I did exactly that. My bird of choice was an unusual one, but I picked the Turkey Vulture with the intention to hopefully spark some interest.


     Just shy of 1000 words, my story took place inside the typical day of a young Turkey Vulture named Acamar. I packed in as much information about the bird and its environment as I could while trying to keep it intriguing at the same time, but as you can imagine, that can be challenging to do with such a small restricted word count. Unfortunately, I didn't get the opportunity to submit my entry due to the fact that we went away for the Easter Weekend when the contest closed. However, I've been planning to submit it into Fresh Ink 2013 this month with some slight adjustments considering the fact that the word count for this contest is a minimum of 1000 words!

     Unless I have a miracle brainstorm within the next week or so, I'll be submitting Acamar the Turkey Vulture into Fresh Ink 2013 by the end of this month with climbing levels of anticipation and excitement! 

Crimson Beauty

     I walk down the sidewalk that boarders our property line. Past the maples and the mailbox. The cloud coverage that was existent all day is finally clearing and I can see the warm rays of the sun starting to set. They cast a petal pink evening glow across the neighbourhood and show the shadows at their strongest. 

     I casually make my way along the sidewalk, pausing at the bike path that leads down to the park and listening to some shouts and giggles coming from the playground. I decide to change my path of direction and take a stroll through here instead, along the rolling hill. 

     The breeze gently kisses my cheeks as I pass under the evergreens, and it's still warm enough that I feel comfortable in my shorts and amaranth t-shirt. I can hear the distinct whistle of robins and blue jays starting to settle down for the night, and smell the distant scent of barbecue coming from a neighbour's backyard.

     I shield my eyes from the last bit of sunlight that tries to blind me as I come around the loop of the park, and continue on the sidewalk again. It's quiet here, and there's a certain serenity that makes me want to freeze time and simply indulge. There's a quiet ticking off to my left side, the result of a sprinkler watering the grass, and as I continue on my walk I see a few people meticulously mowing their lawns. Passing a few people with dogs and strollers are the only encounters I make. 

     Finally I see it. The highlight of my trip always lies around the corner of the bike path. On the edge of a huge property is a cedar rail fence and trellis stretching at least thirty feet and adorned in crimson roses. I've never been entirely sure who owns the property, but it's always been my favourite place in the neighbourhood because of the copious amount of roses that are in full bloom this time of year. The way that the sun rays illuminate the blossoms makes it feel like one of the most pleasant places in the city to be, and the fragrance that the flowers give off is almost saccharine. The purpose of my walk complete, I decide to stay here for a while marvelling over the bright carmine colours and taking in the scent and sight of the Crimson Beauty on Evergreens Drive.