Past, Present, Future

 Happy New Year to you, from me, sixteen days late!
 New Year's is my favorite holiday because
1.) Looking back at the past year. I enjoy this because I'm a sentimental fool.
2.) Wondering about the upcoming year.
3.) All the new things you can say about yourself. (I'm graduating next year!!!)
4.) You don't have to buy anyone presents. I am the worst at buying presents.
5.) Parties. Sparkling cider. Food. Obnoxious countdown.
 I babysat on New Year's Eve so I didn't participate in any party activities, which is totally fine. I wanted to go to First Night in Downtown Springfield but my cousin went and said it was lame this year. Of course it was lame. The Y.E.S. Troupe didn't perform and that's the only reason anyone goes, right?????? That's the only reason I go!
 Anyway, here are my resolutions. When I say resolution, I mean that loosely. Every time I make any sort of plans, my brain says "Looks like I should everything EXCEPT THIS ONE THING I PLANNED."
Resolution 1: Follow through with plans. (This is some sort of mind-bending, two level resolution on which the rest of my resolutions are hanging in the balance.)
Resolution 2: Write more. Both on the blog and just writing stories.
Resolution 3: General, all-inclusive, "Keep improving in all facets of life"
Okay now I'm going to try to forget that I ever made resolutions. (Can you trick your own mind?)
Have a great year!

A Short Story Relating the Discovery of Pickles

           A Short Story Relating the Discovery of Pickles*

                                                          By Jaycie Hull

            For countless decades, pickles have been tickling the taste buds of the young and old. Where, you may ask, does this angelic soured vegetable come from? What is the story of its origin? I will tell you.

            It began in a small town, with a quirky chemist. His name was Old Fauvel. Old Fauvel was, as the name implies, old. His taste was not what it used to be. Food that used to excite his mouth was now dull and boring.

            Old Fauvel’s wife was a cucumber farmer. The couple had excess amounts of the vegetable. The green delicacies had over run their guest bedroom and were slowing creeping their way to other rooms of their tiny cottage. Every meal that the Fauvels ate involved cucumber. Cucumber Eggs Benedict, cucumber corn mush, cucumber Chicken Cordon Bleu, even cucumber pie! Old Fauvel thought the cucumber was a horrid vegetable and he complained about it at every meal. We cannot blame him, for cucumbers are really a dull vegetable, and with his fading taste buds, it was probably an unpleasant experience for him.

            As we have mentioned, Old Fauvel was a chemist. He came to concoct a mixture of salt and vinegar. This mixture was strong and sour enough for Old Fauvel to taste! He began to pour it over everything he ate, and added it to everything he drank. He noticed that the meals involving large amounts of cucumber were especially pleasing. In fact, he stopped complaining altogether about his wife’s strange cucumber combos!

            Mrs. Fauvel had noticed her husband’s new enthusiasm for cucumbers, and she was very pleased. To show her appreciation, she decided to make something special for him. She sneaked a jar of Old Fauvel’s vinegar solution and soaked several choice cucumbers overnight, with the intent to add them to her husband’s lunch the next day.

            However, fate is cruel. That very night, Mrs. Fauvel was on her way to a dinner party when she was run over by the first tractor-trailer. She died. Old Fauvel sunk into a very deep depression. He did not eat, and when he did, he stayed far away from cucumbers. After three months of this, Old Fauvel decided to move, for he could no longer stand to look at the cucumber infested cottage. While he was cleaning out his kitchen, he discovered a dusty jar in the dark recesses of his pantry. There was a note pinned to it.

   “To My Dearest Fauvel,

            I’m so glad you have become as passionate as I have about cucumbers.

                                                                                          I love you,

                                                                                                 You’re Mrs. Fauvel.”

            We will urge the reader to overlook Mrs. Fauvel’s serious grammatical error. We know that she really meant to be sweet, and was not trying to imply that Old Fauvel was a woman. Old Fauvel, being grief-stricken, did not even notice his wife’s blunder.

Old Fauvel wept for exactly three hours. Up to this point, he had not shed a tear over his wife’s death. Upon coming out of his crying session, he felt his stomach growl. It was the first time in three months that he was hungry. He took one of these cucumbers out of the jar, and bit it.

            The flavor was like fireworks on his dead tongue. Never had he ever tasted anything so powerful – so tingly! The months spent in the acidic solution had transformed the cucumbers into something completely new. Old Fauvel called it a ‘Pickle’. That was what Mrs. Fauvel used to call him on account of his picky eating. To the reader, this may seem selfish. He would have named them after her, but Old Fauvel was unromantic and never called his wife any endearing nicknames.

            From that day forward, Old Fauvel devoted his life to making and eating pickles. Once he had an impressive stock, he ate only pickles. Eventually, his guest bedroom was freed up and he converted his home into an extremely profitable pickle company. We must give him credit, for he did name the company after his wife. “Mrs. Fauvel’s Pickles” set the stage for the booming pickle industry.

            Unfortunately, Old Fauvel died a year and a half later from cardiovascular disease. It turns out that pickles are very high in sodium and you shouldn’t eat them at every meal.

                                                                                                                    The End.

*Not a True Story