Mini Memoir

What experiences am I proud of, Facebook?
What a strange question...

I am proud of the Summer I made friends with two fantastic people, and that same Summer I found six four leaf clovers, two of them in one of the fantastic people's back yard.
I am proud of the small patchwork quilt I made in 2009 by myself, and the baby quilt I made for my youngest sister. I raced to hand-finish the edging the night she was born; now she is six, my brown-eyed shadow.
I am proud of the garden I grew four blocks down the street from my house last summer, and I am proud of the garden I am tending in my backyard this year.
I am proud of my experience participating in a scholar class when I was fourteen; I didn't earn any gold stars for their chart, but I worked hard in everything I did and gained a lot of insight into World War II and the life of my heartfelt book-friend, Anne Frank.
I am proud that I built my own longboard with the help of my good friend, and I am proud that I learned how to ride it in spite of my awkwardness and timidity.
I am proud that I went to the DLD alone to get my Learners Permit, and that I studied so hard with tools I found on the internet in order to barely pass the test; but pass the test I did.
I am proud of my experience growing up the eldest of two, then four, then nine children.

I've never won any medals or awards, I've never accomplished anything stunningly grand, I've never had a grueling job in a competitive workplace, I haven't attended an high-ranking private high school or traveled to another country; but what I'm saying is; I have my little experiences that mean a lot to me, and I don't intend to play them down next to what I imagine to be societies values and milestones.
I am quite content to live a small life, and I am equally content to pursue the things I consider big and worthwhile to me.
Thanks for the question, Facebook, and though at first I started out critical of your inquiry, I enjoyed thoughtfully writing out what I am proud of. 

Anne's path to her soul, a short sort of story.

Anne was able to really focus on herself whilst in hiding. She had the opportunity to delve deep within her personality and explore. What she found there was even stranger and more beautiful than she could have ever imagined, she found her untainted soul, the true Anne. She had to dig through many layers of Anne-masks in order to get there, and the Anne-masks did not easily give up their hold on her.
Everyone was used to the masked Anne, and became perplexed when she dared to uncover and set free her true self. Their reaction made Anne falter, the masks gained power once again.
Still, Anne tried numerous times. And each time, the people around her were shocked by what they saw. This new Anne was too alien, too strange, and too unfamiliar for them. This Anne was deep, this Anne knew things. Anne had become quieter, less boisterous. She didn't prattle, she spoke with feeling. Anne had a true and beautiful personality under her masks.
But this unmasked Anne didn't have much time or space to grow. It did not have the strength to persevere all of the time. The masks were too familiar, too comfortable. There were two interchangeable Annes, both vying for attention and control. How long this went on, we do not know. Which Anne won out? I think the unmasked Anne won, the Anne that was kind, the Anne that cared and loved. The true, infinite Anne. The Anne that told stories to little children at Bergen-Belsen.

The other day...

I am sitting in my favorite place to be. I am outside, deep within our field where I like to play my flute.
The annual Spring gales are upon us; my paper flaps wildly in the wind as I write.
I am so sad, I finished the diary of Anne Frank not too long ago. My feelings are of a great loss.
It's snowing, just a few sparse flakes fall on me and my paper. A school bus passes, and a chicken sidles up to me, also watchfully keeping it's distance.
I felt like I knew Anne, she was a real person. She had a soul, and wasn't afraid to bare it in her writing. When I read that she died in Bergen-Belsen at the end of the book, I began sobbing as if my best friend had perished. In a way, that wasn't far from the truth.
I knew Anne had died young even before I had heard of this class. I tried reading The Diary of a Young Girl some years ago, and my Mom told me it was depressing. I asked her why, she told me that Anne dies at the end. That, and the fact that the beginning of the journal is terribly boring, drove me to abandon the book.
I have researched and written about Anne Fank's death , but I still wept. I curled up on my Mom's rocking chair, and I cried.
I learned so much about Anne as I read her journal, and through her, I learned about myself. She taught me as if she had stood and talked to me in person as I read her journal.
The last passage was particularly poignant, it was a beautiful ending to an amazing book. Anne truly poured all of her heart and soul into writing that entry. It made losing her all the more bitter-sweet.
Few books have made me cry as I did at the end. One other besides Anne's diary was the last book of "The Bartimeus trilogy". Although both have heart-rending endings, I am comforted by the fact that both have struck a chord within me.
It is becoming exceptionally windy, so I shall begin thinking of going inside. I wish to play a song on my flute for Anne, so I shall leave you here. Thank you, and, Namarie.

Dearest Anne,

I feel as if I know you, from experience as well as the reading of your journal. I would like to thank you, you have taught me more about WWII than any old History book could have. Le hannon.
Anne, I would have liked to meet you. I feel a connection through the ages to you, but I expect everyone who has read your journal feels that way. You may have died young, but your journal will forever keep your memory alive. I want you to know that. Still, I wish I could some how have rescued you. My heart aches when I think of what you have gone through, and I try to reach back and comfort you. I don't know if it helps, but I like to think it does.
I don't know how to express all of my feelings to you, but I feel like you understand.
Anne, can you feel this letter, even though you probably won't ever read it?

Noro go hul, bado go Eru,
Amoniel

Run with the wind, go with God,
Bryn

Seder meal

Hava nagila, hava nagila...... Uru achim! Uru achim!
This song has been playing through my head over and over, it is a very catchy Jewish dance song :) My scholar class had a sort of mock (Since none of us are Jewish) Seder meal. I really enjoyed participating in it all, never before have I had such a new and exciting culture-exploring opportunity. The whole Seder ceremony was very intriguing, although it was a little long in my opinion (I had to go to the restroom quite badly at the end of the whole thing, as did everyone else) :) But that does not mean I didn't enjoy it, you know. Just a little too much grape juice on an empty stomach :) I especially liked that we were supposed to serve grape juice to the person at our left four times during the ceremony, although for different reasons than it was practiced for. It reminds me of how Jesus wants us to serve each other. I think it was in the ceremony to make everyone feel like they had a personal servant for the meal, that's basically what E. said.
The real eating began after the ceremony. All of the food was delicious, from the funeral potatoes (Mormons... [Shakes head]) to the vegetable platter. But my favorite part was dessert, Yum. Cheesecake, chocolate dipped Matza bread, (Which I didn't have as I am on a sort of chocolate diet until June) butter cookies, (The food I made for the meal, unfortunately not very traditional, as I could not get a hold on any Matzo meal what-so-ever) and a couple of other cakes that I didn't try. I was too enamored with the cheesecake :)
Then our in-house person of Jewish ancestry (She was recruited to help make the Seder meal as authentic as possible, meaning she was our consultant) taught us three or four Jewish group dances. Lots of fun, although I am terrible at choreographed dancing. I never have been able to memorize or follow complicated dancing steps, not even for the three or four years I took ballet.
Our laughter echoed in the gymnasium as we tripped over eachother. I may not be a great dancer, but I love it anyway :)
I had a wonderful time, and I learned so much that I probably wouldn't have otherwise learned, I am so thankful I had such an opportunity in Sanpete county. (Of all places!) Thank you.....

Poems I wrote for scholar class.

These are two Bio-Poems I wrote for scholar class. Enjoy :)

Me
Amoniel
Quiet at times,
Loving,
Quirky,
talkative at times.
Parents, Diedre and Adam Lachnar,
Always there,
Forever listening,
Eternally loving.
Luin,
The lover of all.
A seeker of truth,
And of beauty.
Eternally searching,
For what,
You know not.
A deep dreamer,
A bottomless thinker.
Living in Winter Grade,
A town raided by artists.
You, content, but in a way that allows for change,
Lachnar.

Anne Frank
Anneliese.
Deep, friendly, ever changing, self-reflective.
Your parents, Otto Frank and Edith Frank
Don't understand that you,
Once a child,
Are now growing up.
And in growing up,
Have found affection for Peter Van Pels.
Yearning to be free,
But trapped by the changes
In the world around you.
Longing to be free,
But safe in your Secret Annexe.
You,
Wishing for Spring,
For the outside world
Frank.