<html xmlns:v="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:vml" xmlns:o="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" xmlns:w="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:word" xmlns:m="http://schemas.microsoft.com/office/2004/12/omml" xmlns="http://www.w3.org/TR/REC-html40"><head><META HTTP-EQUIV="Content-Type" CONTENT="text/html; charset=us-ascii"><meta name=Generator content="Microsoft Word 15 (filtered medium)"><style><!--
/* Font Definitions */
@font-face
{font-family:"Cambria Math";
panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4;}
@font-face
{font-family:Calibri;
panose-1:2 15 5 2 2 2 4 3 2 4;}
/* Style Definitions */
p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal
{margin:0in;
font-size:11.0pt;
font-family:"Calibri",sans-serif;}
span.EmailStyle17
{mso-style-type:personal-compose;
font-family:"Calibri",sans-serif;
color:windowtext;}
.MsoChpDefault
{mso-style-type:export-only;
font-family:"Calibri",sans-serif;}
@page WordSection1
{size:8.5in 11.0in;
margin:1.0in 1.0in 1.0in 1.0in;}
div.WordSection1
{page:WordSection1;}
--></style><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
<o:shapedefaults v:ext="edit" spidmax="1026" />
</xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
<o:shapelayout v:ext="edit">
<o:idmap v:ext="edit" data="1" />
</o:shapelayout></xml><![endif]--></head><body lang=EN-US link="#0563C1" vlink="#954F72" style='word-wrap:break-word'><div class=WordSection1><p class=MsoNormal>Resolution<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal> It was the start of a new year and Stacy contemplated what she should try to change on her negatives list. She wasn’t ever going to be tall, or gorgeous, but there were a few things that she didn’t like about herself that she could do something about. Last year, she had vowed to learn to control her temper and for the most part, she thought she had done pretty well. At least she hadn’t thrown anything at anyone, screamed at them or just lost it and burst in to tears…. This year though, she thought perhaps she had to take it to the next level. As her brush slid through her long hair for the hundredth stroke, she vowed, “I will not let anyone push my buttons.” *** <o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><span style='font-size:16.0pt'><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal><span style='font-size:16.0pt'>Star Johnson rolled her eyes and glanced back at her klick of toadies and drawled, “That plaid flannel shirt you have on makes you look like a hick Stacy! Don’t you know that kind of farmer look is just not cool?” <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal><span style='font-size:14.0pt'><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal>Stacy took a deep breath and replied, “I guess I would rather be warm than worry about looking cool.” <o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>Toby Larson grinned down at Stacy and said quietly, “I think you look cute in flannel shirts and jeans, girls who try to look like fashion models scare me. They are like Barbie doll plastic clones.” ***<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal> <o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>“Stacy Anne! You have to be the laziest sixteen-year-old on the planet! Can’t you see that the kitchen is a disaster? Shouted Stacy’s mother Brenda as she looked for an uncluttered spot to put down her grocery bags.<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>“Oh, let me take those, I got so involved in trying to read my English homework, I didn’t notice that the boys had trashed the kitchen. I will clear this stuff away and get things straightened up. Then I’ll get us some iced tea. Oh, you got the cereal I like! Thanks mom!”<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>“That sounds good honey. Sorry I snapped at you, I am just so tired trying to work all week, then do the shopping and house chores, laundry, and all that on the weekends. I know you try to help-out with your part-time job and keeping your grades up. I shouldn’t take my frustrations out on you.”<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal style='margin-left:.5in'>“Maybe we can make a chart to assign chores to all of us so you don’t feel like you have to do it all mom,” offered Stacy. ***<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal style='margin-left:.5in'><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal> It was a really busy night at the pizza shop. Stacy had scrambled all evening to keep the make line filled with toppings and the phone answered. There hadn’t been a single lull since she started her shift and she was starving. Oh no! Mr. Woodruff from church had just worked his way to the order counter with his usual scowl on his face. He was never happy about anything and he felt he should make sure that no one else was either. Squaring her shoulders, Stacy stepped to the counter with a smile and said, “Good evening Mr. Woodruff, will it be you’re usual, A small Meat Lover’s with extra sauce and double pepperoni, isn’t it?”<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal> Mr. Woodruff looked surprised. He grunted “That’s right, and make it snappy girlie!”<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal> Stacy smiled at him over her shoulder as she moved quickly to the makeline. She slipped on a pair of plastic gloves and snatched up the sauce brush. Deftly she spread a thick layer of sauce over the dough making sure she covered the whole surface all the way to the edge. “Is this enough,” she called.<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>“Yaa, that looks good,” Mr. Woodruff replied.<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>Stacy moved down the make line assembling the pizza being careful to spread the toppings evenly so that every bite would have all of the ingredients. Swiftly she wrapped the take and bake pizza and handed it over the counter. As the grumpy old man took his purchase she called out “Did you get that sweater for Christmas? <span style='font-size:16.0pt'>The blue is the same color as your eyes. </span>See you in church next Sunday sir!”<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>Jill’s mouth fell open and she paused as she slid a new tub of pizza sauce in to place. “My God! I think he actually smiled at you! I didn’t think he had the facial muscles to do that!”<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>Stacy shrugged, “maybe he just thinks no one will <span style='font-size:16.0pt'>notice him unless he makes a fuss. I just thought I would see if my grandmother’s old saying that you can catch more flies with honey than with vinegar really worked!”</span><o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal style='margin-left:.5in'> <o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>DeAnna Quietwater Noriega<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>Cell: 573-544-3511<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>Email: <a href="mailto:dqnoriega@gmail.com"><span style='color:#0563C1'>dqnoriega@gmail.com</span></a><o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>Author of <i>Fifty Years of Walking with Friends<o:p></o:p></i></p><p class=MsoNormal><i>https://www.dldbooks.com/dqnoriega/</i><o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p></div></body></html>