Rose bud's (abridged) friendship stories~

So you are probably thinking what is Rose bud up to this time? And my answer is that I am trying to cure two different problems that can pop up at once. One is of course, friendship troubles... everyone has them! Including me. Two is, surprisingly, writer's block! Yes, nonfiction is a possible way to cure writer's block. Just start writing! So yes... this is an example of how to cure writer's block, and I just needed SOMETHING to write about. You may be thinking: "Rose bud, do you have writer's block?" The immediate answer would be: "Me? Um... no... what makes you think that? I... um of course don't have writer's block..." you get the idea :P So here goes nothing!

I suppose it all began in the pit of the peach, my birth place: Atlanta Georgia. More specifically, Acworth Georgia, but if people here in South Carolina ask us where we moved from, the answer is usually Atlanta. No one, not even spell check on the computer seems to recognize the city I grew up in, so we learned to simply say "Near Atlanta," to those questions, as everyone immediatly knew the placement of the big city. When I say IT all began in Acworth, I do mean everything. Many sleepovers and play dates took place in the brick house at the top of that long, sloping driveway. I soon had two very close friends. If you were to ask me to choose between them, I would say no way, that's like choosing between Hogwarts or Camp Half-blood. They both moved away before I did, one only 45 minutes away, and the other, years later, to North Carolina.  She moved there a year before we moved to opposite Carolina. That year was full of empty spaces. It grew harder to sleep at night once we began moving furniture, toys, books, and all the object in between out of my room. I remember writing in my diary one night, using my booklight, that everything felt so empty. Soon, all that was left were the four walls, and the bed. Even that was carted off soon after. Huge cleaning projects took place. Our beloved house and backyard were swept over and over again. Looking back, I can't see how we did it all. Tears were shed, meetings were held, phone calls were made, and finally there was a "for sale" sign in our yard. I wanted to take it down and throw it in the trash can. Meanwhile, a house was slowly being errected in the woods right next to our grandparent's property in South Carolina. More and more frequent visits were made up there; we stayed with our grandparents. I was happy to spend time with our cousins, grandparents, aunts and uncles. On our longest stay, school began. Thankfully, "school" was only on Tuesdays. We joined Excelsior Academy, which I considered school for homeschoolers. I loved it. We packed turkey sandwiches, our binders, pencils, erasers and notebook paper in our brand-new back-packs and lunch boxes the night before. We lined them up in the hall, and always went to bed excited. Since there were six of us kids and only two rooms for us to share, we had to buddy up. The two oldest of my younger brothers stayed in my Mom's old room, while the two youngest boys and I shared my aunt's room. I can't even remember exactly where my two-year-old sister slept. Perhaps in Mom and Dad's room. My second-youngest brother and I shared a queen sized bed, and we always woke up a little earlier than everyone else on Excelsior days. In whispers, it became a tradition for me to tell him "The story of Harry Potter," which was pretty much me whispering what I could remember of the first Harry Potter book. We got as far Diagon Alley on those treasured mornings. From the first day at Excelsior, I tried to make friends. (As this is an abridged tale, I will not tell you all of my attempts). When we went back to Georgia for our last few days in that house, we searched hard for sleeping material that had not been already moved out of there. I got a mattress, which we hadn't moved because we were getting rid of it. It was lumpy and the springs poked you, but I managed to sleep. My remaining friends in Georgia were with me up until the last night. We all spent the afternoon at the pool, went out to dinner together, and later, I had a sleepover. Then we moved. I didn't cry when we said goodbye to our house, our backyard, or our neighborhood. But I did cry when we said goodbye to the library. Several of the Librarians knew me by name, and the books, they knew me by name as well. I still miss them. We soon fell into routine at our new house. My oldest brother and I worked at our grandparents' bussiness. They owned a cornmaze which was (and still is) open in the fall. We worked side by side at the entrance to the pumpkin patch, drinking slushies. He liked strawberry, I liked apple. Fall passed and Excelsior continued. Except something happened: I made a friend. I think it was the magazines that started it. I told her about Stone Soup, a magazine with all the stories, poems and artwork completely done by kids under thirteen. I started giving the Stone Soups I was finished with, and then I started giving her Cricket magazines. Yes, it was the magazines exchanging hands during science class and Percy Jackson disscussed constantly that slowly drew us together. Our first play date was somewhere in February. I remember, because there was ice everywhere and the wind was cold and crisp. To start, we lost control of a wild puppy, were delivered a bag of sweet tarts by one of my cousins, slipped on patches of ice and got wet, created character names and wrote them in notebooks, and had the best time. More play dates followed, and then, months later, a sleepover. The days leading up to it were spent in anxiety. I just knew I was going to mess up, do something wrong and ruin everything. I scrubbed the bathroom in between leftover bits of school and swim practice. When the day finally arrived, I ensued my neatest brother's help to straighten my room. Dad was very surprised to come upstairs and see me vacuuming vigorously. I was in my room when she arrived, and I raced downstairs to meet her. We hugged and rushed upstairs, talking. Talk, talk, talk, we didn't even notice when her mom's white car disappeared from the driveway. We played at the pool, watched the second Harry Potter movie, and then I discovered that the noise we had been hearing for a while was fireworks. We ran out of the trees until we could see them, both pajama clad. You are probably wondering if I messed up in some way. Nope, my worring was in vain, and I was extremely glad of that. So from Georgia to South Carolina, my prayers were answered. This is my story of moving, and of friendship, and if you read it all, I am surprised. :) So, in a way, Cricket was right there in the middle of my new friendship!!!