haunted houses

Every time the cold, windy holiday called Halloween rolls around people start talking about Haunted Houses. I hate haunted houses. Why do people enjoy being scared? Why do people enjoy feeling like they are stuck in a small, dark area they cannot escape from? I do not get it. People say, “oh, I just love the thrill!” Nope! Not me. I would rather just stay home, eat my trick or treat candy, and watch Casper, the friendly ghost. And to think that people pay money! They pay money to almost pee their pants in front of all their friends. Maybe I am just a overly sensitive, scared girl. Or maybe not. I hear all the other girls screaming; I see them jump and hold onto the closest guy to them. I must not be the only scared one. Everyone is scared, but everyone continues to return. They return back to the freaky monsters jumping out to grab you, back to the fake blood, back to the screaming, and back to paying money to get it! I simply do not understand their insanity.

arizona girl

I am an Arizona girl. I love the sunshine, heat, cloudless skies, and dry weather. Living in Rexburg, Idaho has definitely been an adventure for me. When temperatures reach to 30 degrees Fahrenheit, I am a frozen Popsicle. My husband actually changes my name once October hits. I am officially “Courtsicle” from October until June. If we were not working towards graduating from college, we would be living back in the beautiful state of Arizona, where winter does not exist. I find it difficult to comprehend why people think snow is vital to a winter. I have never had snowy winters, until recently, and winter was wonderful! I love being able to wear flip-flops in January. If I could run the world for a day it would be about 86 degrees, with a small breeze, and white cumulous clouds would be painted across the sky.

Poem

Creativity’s Anaesthetic
by Courtney and Brenden Haueter (mostly Brenden)

Rain glistens on each blade
Emerald green flows further than my eyes will see
Gardenias float aloft on spring breezes
Daydreams, my reality shade

Hushed whispers tip-toe past
Keyboards sing a studious melody
The Windows symbol nonchalantly explores my screen
The sun, long shadows cast

No inspiration floods my mind
Innumerable tasks dam creativity
Deadlines pull with lead-like weight
No retreat, for which I pine

short story entitled, "Community Service"

Community Service

Graffiti.
“You have been sentenced to two-hundred hours of community service for defacing public property,” said the judge. After hearing these words, Michael began to regret the large drawing he spray painted on his High School gym wall. He always seemed to be finding himself in these situations. Michael has always been somewhat of a delinquent. He is a tall, husky seventeen-year-old boy. He has the kind of body, perfect for playing Offensive Line on the High School football team. However, he used his body for much more careless, irresponsible things.

Soup Kitchen.
Reluctantly, he begins his community service, working at the Soup Kitchen. Michael plans to work through his community service hours as quickly as possible and get back to his “life.”

Sylvia.
On Michael’s first day working at the Soup Kitchen he sees Sylvia. Sylvia is a petite, young girl with light blue eyes and soft blonde hair. After awhile, Michael starts to notice that Sylvia comes to volunteer at the Soup Kitchen everyday.

Crackers.
On May 29th Sylvia drops a large box of crackers, they go flying everywhere. Michael kneels down to begin helping Sylvia pick up the crackers, she looks at him and says, “No thank you. I do not need your help.” Sylvia starts to be uncomfortable, and even judgemental everytime Michael is around.

Defense.
A few days later. Sylvia is pouring an old man some soup, when suddenly another man waiting in line says something vulgar and disrespectful to her. Michael walks up to the man, looks him in the eye and says, “You will not talk to a young lady that. I will not tolerate your disrespect. You can either escort yourself out of the building or I will escort you out of the building.”

Thank you.
“Thanks for earlier,” says Sylvia with a subtle smile. “You’re welcome.” Michael replies.

The pipe.
Water began spraying everywhere. The guest and employees had no clue what to do. “Michael and… uhh… you, Sylvia, I am putting the two of you in charge of stopping that water and fixing whatever is going on over there.” Michael and Sylvia look at each other. Sylvia shrugs her shoulders as Michael lets out a big sigh.


Working Together.
The two young adolescents begin to tackle their task at hand. At first, working together was tough for them. They most certainly did not enjoy each other’s company. After awhile, Michael finally said to Sylvia, “What’s your problem? Why don’t you like me? Have I ever done anything to you?” Sylvia responds, “Yes. You have. Gang bangers like you are the kind of people who have put Frank in jail!!” Frank? Who is Frank, Michael began to wonder.

Frank.
A little later he asked, “Who is Frank? Frank is my older brother, who is now in jail, because he was blamed guilty for something he did not do! Those boys framed him. They let him take the blame, when he did nothing wrong! He just happened to be in the wrong place at the worst time!”

Blue.
He had nothing to say. Michael worked in silence for awhile. Staring at the blue tiled ground. Michael hates the color blue.

That’s dumb.
“I am sorry. I don’t know what to tell you, except to say I am sorry that that happened to Frank.” Michael finally responded. For awhile, Sylvia had nothing to say.
Then she responded with a question, “What did you do to have to work here anyway?” “Graffiti” he said.
“Oh, I guess that’s not too bad. But… Why would you do anything you know is illegal?”
“The thrill I guess, I am not sure.”
“That is dumb.” Sylvia boldly declared.

Trip to the Store.
They found the source of the leaking water, but realized they needed a new piece from the hardware store before they could finish the job. They drove to Home Depot.
“I think you should stop doing illegal things and just get your act together, Michael.” Sylvia begins to say, “You just seem like the kind of guy that could do really great things, but… instead has been choosing to do lots of silly stupid things.”
“I wouldn’t call them all stupid. Have you ever tried to graffiti? Ha. No, Of course not. You wouldn’t understand.” He responds.
“Well, I am just saying. You seem like a smart, determined guy and I hate to see you waste those strengths. One day you will wind up in jail you know. Maybe you won’t ever fall in love with your lifestyle or even worse…”
“Okay okay. I get your point. Can you stop please?” he says.
“Im sorry. I didn’t mean to ramble,” she replies.
“Can we just talk, not about me and my life?” Michael questions.
“Ya sure.”


Ride Home.
In Home Depot and the entire ride home their conversation went well. They got along and enjoyed conversing about all sorts of topics.

Finishing the task.
The part was in. They fixed the leak. They mopped up the water. Right before they went back to serving the soup to their guests. Michael said to Sylvia, “Thank you. Thank you for not being afraid to be bold with me. Also, for your compliments. You seem like a nice girl. I am sorry about Frank. I can promise you that once I am out of here, I will do my best to steer clear of trouble.” Slvia just gave him a smile, nodded her head and went back to ladling out the soup.

First Paragraph.

Today is my birthday. My husband gave me a turtle today! So adorable. He is so tiny. He has a bright green shell. And... I have no idea what I should name him. Ideas? Anyone.. I think pet names are so funny. I don't like all the usual pet names like... Sparky, Spot, Ect. Also... I don't want any names that are the names of actual humans like... Jessica, Becca, Steve.. That's too weird. Why do pets even need names? Why can't I just call him turtle.. Oh heavens... I can't pick a name.

Thanks... Anthony Doerr

This semester I am taking a creative writing class. Love it! And... In my class we have been reading a lot by Anthony Doerr. If you enjoy reading, especially modern fiction-- he is great! :) really. Well, in Doerr's book, Four Seasons in Rome, he explains that very single day he writes at least one paragraph. Just one, about anything he wants. I thought that was pretty awesome. So, I have decided to start doing that. I think I will post some of them right here. :) enjoy...? maybe... i don't know. they might just be totally random and hard to follow. :)

taking off.

i am taking off. i have been trying to convince myself to share my writing with the blogging world for almost a year now and i have finally begun to do so. pat on the back for courtney? yep. done.

here is my first post. my first posted essay. the following is a shorter version of and essay i wrote while sitting in the Salt Lake City Airport, observing and waiting...

Sounds echo in my mind coming from the monotone voice speaking over the heads of quick moving bodies--each body with a destination and a purpose. The leather seat imprinted with the heart and wings symbol, seems to increase in discomfort as I sit here. While similar in the sense that we travelers are all going some place and leaving some place else-- each of us is completely different with unique life stories, cultures, and destinations. I would be interested to hear the thoughts that are running through the minds of each of these people sitting and moving quickly around me.
The man sitting directly in front of me is buried in his novel entitled “Legend of Huma.” He appears to be completely enveloped in the words he reads on the page. He nods and drags his eyes from left to right across the page. With his glasses pulled down to the brim of his nose and his glasses case placed perfectly on his lap, his eyes continue to shift across the page. He also holds tightly to a small, note-filled paper, which I presume he is using for a bookmark. He wears a fancy silver watch on his right wrist, to which he seems to care nothing about. Time seems to have no meaning in his life at this moment.
Others around me appear to care only about the time, constantly checking their palm pilots and itineraries to be sure that their life is still in perfect order. In fact, their constant need to check the time is actually creating the chaos they are trying to avoid. The woman sitting to my right exemplifies this personality type. She sits up straight with perfect posture, highlighted hair, manicured nails, black high-heels, and coach purse sitting closely beside her. She is there with both hands holding two of her, most likely, prized possessions-- her Starbucks and Blackberry. She is having a conversation with the woman beside her. A conversation that I cannot hear, however I can see her nodding and pleasantly smiling as if she really isn't listening to what the woman beside her has to say. What thoughts could possibly be running through her mind? There is still an hour and thirty minutes remaining before our flight takes off. She is clearly on time and right on schedule, but still had a worried, stressed-out look painted across her face. Her mind is constantly fixed on the time, what is next in her schedule, and what she should be doing at the moment. She seems to be worried about wasting her time, but in all reality she is losing her time by spending a great number of her minutes worrying.
I begin boarding. Soon the flight attendants begin to pace the aisle checking for seatbelts, trays in the “upright and locked position”, and bags stowed underneath the seat. There was one flight attendant to take notice of; she had a young, toothy smile. She leaned her stick-thin body over to take a peek at the small infant on board. Her eyes bulged with proof that this woman was, without a doubt, “baby hungry.” To be baby hungry does not mean that your stomach longs to be eating children—that would be horrible. It means that the woman feels like she is in desperate need to have a child. This flight attendant smiles and walks around with a kick in her step. However, I feel she is unhappy with this time period in her life. Most other woman her age are married and possibly looking and planning for children. She is in a time she must enjoy and needs to enjoy before wishing and wishing for the future to come sooner.
We are about to take off. Four or five rows in front of me sat a small girl, only a couple years of age, my eyes could not see her. My ears could here the words which she spoke to her father, next to her. She was innocent, naïve, and adorable. She was like a piece of clothing, unspotted and unstained from the horrors of the world. I, and several others on the plane, heard her exclaim with excitement, “Daddy will you be driving the plane?” What an innocent, cute thing to say. She had no idea that her father was not the pilot and assumed he would be flying because that is how she looked up to him. She had brought her father to a level, set him on a pedestal and looked up to him above all other men in her life. If only she could freeze herself in this time and keep these same thoughts and feelings forever.
The flight and my airport experience turned out to be an interesting one. In the end, the thoughts that are rolling and playing in my head are simply the thoughts that I believe others may be thinking. As a writer, I feel I may be missing out on thoughts of my own by trying to only understand the thoughts of others. Could time that I am spending writing about the lives of others, be better spent understanding myself and my time, right now? Through reflection, I have come to realize that analyzing and trying to understand how others may be processing their thoughts only serves to strengthen mine. We are all made up of bit and pieces of what we learn from each other. Life is meant to be observed, as well as lived. The airport is one of the many places that serves me well for this type of education.