Apparently I'm in to story telling recently ....so..

A few summers back I was on my lovely island out in the middle of the Atlantic, and by the middle I mean 25 miles off of the coast of Rockland. Close enough. It was mid August, I was preparing to come back to Bucksport, when a storm surge hit from one of those Tropical storms. Now living in Maine and Maine having no resemblance of The Tropics you wouldn't think that we would have little to no repercussions from the storm. Wrong.

 While the day was crystal clear and the temperature ran about 70 there was no way that anyone was leaving that island. Not even the rugged fisherman braves these seas, and they're fearless. The winds were gusting from the easterly and the beakers were rolling in one on top of the other as high tide approached. White foam frothed up onto the paths all the way onto the Maine roadway. There were sea cucumbers in the roses and lobsters tumbled in at my feet. lawns were covered in seaweed. My dad strolling along in his cut off, Hawaiian print short and his gum-rubbers picked up a deceased crustacean looking around to one of the  local fisherman. " I thought this job was hard" he laughed, a typical corny dad line, and tossed it towards his friend.

We all walked around that whole day soaked from the wast down, snapping pictures like tourist at an attraction show. It was just that. A show. that summer i will never forget, "the island doesn't want me to leave!" I shouted as I dramatically swooned to my mother. She just rolled her eyes.

The next day it was like it never even happened only remains of seaweed and the change of the shoreline shape were there to show that that beautiful contradiction of a storm had ever even came.

First of all, I want to start off  by saying that this blog just deleted my post. Again. Second, I hate my own lack of ability to come up with an interesting topic to write about. That ability is almost nonexistent. When I asked for some help with an idea, Mrs. Morrison suggested my first kiss. So here we go.

My first kiss was with a boy that I went to preschool with. His name is Owen Krause. Owen also happened to be my best friend at the time. We were quite young and were obviously still into make- believe games so it was probably around kindergarten. But lets be seriously, I took an abnormally long time to come out of that stage in my life, so it could have been at any number of ages, I truly do not recall.

Owens father, Chris, had built him an under ground bunker. Yes, a real under ground bunker. It had a wooden top that was raised above the ground no more than a foot. There were stairs that led down to the open bunker with two built in benches on opposite sides.  it was probably about 10x5 and about 5 feet tall.It was placed right next to his driveway just parallel to the drive with the opening facing the side road he lived on, making it perfect to spy on his neighbor across the street. His yellow barn loomed in the background as we pretended to duck and cover and crash through the overgrown field  to the left. I remember he was wearing his favorite dark brown corduroys and a blue tee shirt. He was always obsessed with those brown corduroys and I have no idea why, sometimes when he'd wear them he would remind me that they were his favorite and I would remind him that I knew that. Its strange the things you remember from your childhood. they aren't always the most important things, but they become the small details that no one else will ever know about and that you will never forget because of it. His pants were exactly the color of a dark brown teddy bear. He had light hair and was very thin, his smile was so infectious though, he seemed a bit scrawny to me even then, but I never told him that to his face. You see, he was a big talker. He always told me that he would never be afraid of anything. I also never told him that that was because his mom didn't let him watch cable.

We were attached at the hip as children, he was always at my house and I was always at him. I would actually throw fits when I had to leave. I would tell my mother that I  "would never speak to her again if she didn't turn the car around. Right. Now." I don't know who I don't know who I thought i was talking to her like that. someone important apparently. As close as we were, I didn't think it strange when he asked me if he could kiss me. I just sort of went with it. He asked me and I said "why?" he said something along the lines of " that's what boys and girls do, they kiss" and I said  "okay" he leaned in and kissed me and then he looked at me. I started laughing which made him laugh and we both ran out of the dusty bunker chasing each other and finding another adventure to conquer.

He told me never to tell anyone that and believe me I kept that secret well into middle school. Marie Bissonnette is the one that finally dragged it out of me. I even felt a little guilty about it. By that time Owen and I were not as close anymore and we saw less and less of each other as the years went on.

On September 19th 2012 Owen Thomas was killed in a head on car collision while driving to school.

The bunker at his house is no longer there. Where it used to be is filled in and now its more space for cars to fit in their driveway. It was me, Owen and the bunker and now its just me with the memory that dusty afternoon as children. Like I said, its sort of funny the memories that you take with you from your childhood as you grow up. I don't remember the majority of my birthday parties or  some of the "monumental" presents I received at Christmas but I remember the fact that I kept on getting dirt in my eye that day and I cried about it a few hours after my first kiss and I remember the broken sled that sat in the corner, even though it was well into spring time and on its way to being summer. It probably sat there for God knows hows long after that day too.

So that is the story of my first kiss.

So at the beginning of this assignment I was instructed by the glorious Mrs. Morrison that i would be posting three times a week and that they needed to be lengthy lengthy by my standards. certainly not hers. So I go about doing what I do, try to get motivated, get pumped. I put on some Marvin Gaye  'Aint no Mountain High Enough'  and dive in.

 I find a wonderful letter written to Time Magazine by a 16 year old. it was the greatest thing I've ever read. It made me love my generation. She was kind and courteous  but explained her point perfectly and clearly. If you get the chance to read her letter I highly recommend it. You can probably google it under Jenni Hurd letter to Time, or its all over tumblr I'm sure. The point is i write this really passionate log post about how great she is and how misunderstood teens are and that really is the generations who formed the world to what it is today should be blamed not us, yadah yadah yadah. What ever. It doesn't matter. The reason is doesn't matter is because THIS STUPID BLOG SITE DELETED IT. 

So yeah, that was a day ruiner. The motivation I used up making that thing basically doesn't leave any to create other post so I just rant. So if all my post suck I'm sorry Mrs. Morrison and I'm sorry to my classmates that have to comment on this and therefor read it. 

OR WHEN ITS A HOMEWORK ASSIGNMENT  AND MY OTHER ONE GETS DELETED^^^^^

To: Mother Nature 
I am seriously so fed up with all of this weather. It is totally bringing me down. I'm trying to be excited about graduating and summer coming and turning 18 in April. All of this weather though. It makes me want to listen to Celine Dion and watch Steel Magnolias over and over again. No exaggeration. My cats are both really grumpy which means that I have to wear shoes around the house so that I don't get slashed to ribbons everytime they pass by me. My dog doesn't even want to get up which obviously makes me not want to get up so all of my spare time I spend hiding from my cats and cuddling with my 120 pound dog. If I could just have some consecutive sunshine and a little bit of thawing that'd be great. 
In all seriousness , Eleanor

I can not wait until summer. Summer is my favorite time of the year. No school, sun, short shorts and tan lines. Nothing is better. Not to mention that I leave to go to my island for 3 months. With a summer job as a stern man and days filled with tanning and beach combing, no one can really blame me for being annoyed with the busy schedule that I keep the rest if the year. My family owns 2 houses on this little speck of an offshore island. My grandmothers big red Victorian house that sits up in the hill looking over he harbor and my parents cottage that sits in the mouth of the harbor secretly watching every native, dog and sailboat tourist that passes. With no cars and no electricity I grew up knowing 4-wheelers and candle light as important means of sustainment. I get my water from a well and my entertainment from the people around me rather than a TV or social media(there is also no cell phone service). If this sounds dreary to you than we clearly have different morals. It's my favorite place in the world and I CANNOT WAIT TO GO BACK. Number one reason why I'm excited to get out of school. To go to the island. Number two. I don't have to make up reasons to write on this blog in 300-500 words.