Sunday, June 5, 2011

Mickey D's - Concrete images

Okay so this assignment had to do with capturing only physical details or concrete images instead of emotional details which we deemed as abstract images.

Mickey D’s

Wheezing in the grease of the spitting grill,
the smell of the McDouble invades my nose.
Dripping with the juice of beef fillers.
Greeted at the door by a yellow suited, cardboard cutout clown.
Sticky, red tile floors caked with remnants of high fructose corn syrup.
Innocent children laughing with delight,
awed by the display case of happy meal toys.
Black uniforms with a happy yellow “M.”
“Can I take your order?” bounces off every surface.
Lined around the building in their cars they sit.
New Mercedes and old Toyotas all fall into the queue.
 

Purple

This assignment was to mimic the style of Wright's poem "Yellow." I wanted to do a color that was somewhat out of the box as in not blue or green. 

Purple

Purple is for prosperity, the pure, the unattainable:
The bruise’s wide streaks, that purple, the spasms of pain;
Cool morning air, the purple of freedom;
The purple of those ladies, sparkling shadows over their alluring eyes;
The royal purple of kings;
Extravagant purple, the purple of techno;
The limitless purple, applauding the Lakers;
The purple of twilight, a race across the sky;
The purple of memories lost;
Purple of pomegranates, purple of Crayola;
The purple of lilies, the purple within the soul;
Purple of berry pie, their brown skin;
Ocean purple, overwhelming waves;
The purple of burning potassium, the grape, the riches of life.     

Thirteen Different Ways of Looking at a Shoe


So for this poem assignment we had to mimic the style (different type of description with each stanza) of Wallace Steven's poem "Thirteen Different Ways of Looking at a Blackbird."  
            I
A rush for school
A rush for work
Throw on a shoe—it doesn’t matter which.
Pull a pair from under the sofa.

            II
Stainless glass windows
Holding the key to happiness
Bright new soles and laces—find the right size
Pull a pair from the display.

            III
The sharp click of heels
Wild but never free
Confining feet —see the red ones
Pick a partner from the music.

            IV
Her first pair
So small, so important
Molding tiny toes, supporting mini ankles
Get a pair to help her walk.

            V
Sharp cleats pressing into the red clay
Dig ‘em deeper, son
Get to second base
Bought ‘em from a sports catalog.

            VI
Trained leather embracing a foot
Sperry’s never scuffing the deck
Say they’re made for sailors
Today everybody’s a pirate.

            VII
Batman light ups
Essential first grade gear
Stomp extra hard as you walk
Erase the darkness from class.



            VIII 
Commercial interruptions
Fix your thighs, sculpt your abs
Maybe you’ll look like Kim K
Oh these miracle shoes.

            IX
Sore, festering blisters
10 of them like an angry mob
You’ve missed the mark
Just not your size

            X
Sloppy rain, heavy legs
Flooded Charleston streets
Classic color
Bright yellow ducky boots

            XI
Mom? Mom! Mom…
Too expensive, what does that mean?
Cults of teenage girls rush to their altars
Prom—glittering, strappy heels

            XII
Wet with mud
Thrown into the washer
Clomping around and around
Never to be the same.

            XIII
Swampy lake
Sharp bottom rocks and
Ruthless driftwood
Blue mesh shoes to protect us. 

Thursday, June 2, 2011

Catching up on my life

   So I have definitely been neglecting my blog despite how much I enjoy writing.  All my writing adventures seem to stay tucked away in my little notebook but since it is summer and all that jazz I see no reason why I shouldn't pick this blogging habit back up off the dusty shelf it has been hiding on. 
   Running through the last few months I have had little time for any leisure.  Classes were hectic and painful as usual along with the trials and tribulations of locating and moving into a new apartment.  Life has seemed to grab me by the heels and has been actively raking my through the coals.  Thankfully, it is summer and I'm not longer the image of that frazzled cat lady that everyone knew as a child.
   I would like very much to start adding personal photos to my blog but of course my camera recently kicked the bucket it called life, but expect photos as soon as a new camera is acquired.  (sn: My birthday is September 10th if anyone wants to put dibs on buying me a new camera)
   Let's see...this summer I'm taking two classes during the month of June (Now) and I'm involved in research during July and then in August life will be drained slowly from my body by organic chemistry (uh-oh).  I'm living in downtown Charleston with two WONDERFUL girls and I'm loving every minute of it.  I'll probably start putting a lot of poetry on here because one of my classes is poetry writing 101 while the other one is English 395 which happens to the 19th century American poetry.  Needless, to say I am up to my eyeballs in poetry but I actually love it.
   The city is wonderful during the summer.  Spoletto is basically going on in my backyard and although it is as hot as you can imagine...actually that statement isn't true.  The heat has not peaked at his maximum levels of misery for a South Carolina summer just, yet.  Don't worry though, I'm not fooled by the manageable weather.  Before long stepping outside will be like stepping into a wood stove. 
   I absolutely adore living 10 minutes from the beach and I can see myself taking on a permanent career of beach bum if only my family would support this idea.  I also love that there hasn't been a minute of boredom.  Things to do are always floating around. 

To all 3 of my avid readers(the people I force to read this) don't worry I will be updating regularly for the rest of the summer.  Prepare yourselves to be entertained

Wednesday, April 6, 2011

Quote that I love...

“Love is a temporary madness; it erupts like volcanoes and then subsides. And when it subsides you have to make a decision. You have to work out whether your roots have so entwined together that it is inconceivable that you should ever part. Because this is what love is. Love is not breathlessness, it is not excitement, it is not the promulgation of eternal passion. That is just being in love, which any fool can do. Love itself is what is left over when being in love has burned away, and this is both an art and a fortunate accident. Those that truly love have roots that grow towards each other underground, and when all the pretty blossoms have fallen from their branches, they find that they are one tree and not two.” ~Louis de Berniere

Wednesday, March 23, 2011

A Yellow Egg and No Tootsie Roll for Me

    The sun was extra bright that day.  I was nine or ten, maybe.  My great aunt had dragged me to the church Easter egg hunt, an event I was clearly too old for or so I seemed to believe.  But my Aunt Edith was not a women to be argued with.  At the ripe old age of 84, she is still quite the force to be reckoned with.  These egg hunts had never interested me, not even when I was much younger then the age of nine or ten.  I remember being no older then five one year and simply being more fascinated with playing in a huge pile of dirt then hunting for useless eggs.  It could have been because every year the cheap plastic eggs from the local dollar general were filled to the brim with cheap dollar general tootsie rolls.  This was never any sort of real prize to me...a complete rip off.  I didn't even like tootsie rolls, in fact, I despise their very existence to this day.  But lo' and behold there I was stuck at the egg hunt once again that year.
     Now the question is did I hunt eggs? Well, I guess that would depend on what you consider "hunting."  Sure, I picked up a few motley colored eggs but without any real enthusiasm. Mostly I just walked around aimlessly swinging my very pink egg basket kicking rocks in my nice white sneakers.  Occasionally, some of the older boys would run past me and sneak a look into my basket.  Eventually, they realized that I was no real threat in the egg hunting department.  It seemed to that they treasured those sticky, repulsive tootsie rolls way more then I did.
      Somehow I made my way over to the church tennis courts.  I was standing nonchalantly with no real goal in mind only wondering how much longer the so called hunt would go on.  I always thought it was funny that the adults referred to this odd ritual as a "hunt" when in reality most of the eggs were simply strewed around on the ground with a little pine straw covering them.  After awhile I noticed something a few feet away from me.  It was a drainage pipe and upon further investigation I found that it held one yellow egg.
    As I've grown older my life preferences seemed to have varied very little.  As I said before I still hate tootsie rolls and just like my younger self my favorite color is still yellow.  Now, it should be little surprise that I immediately wanted this egg.  I didn't have any yellow eggs in my basket and I hadn't seen any at all during the ridiculous hunt.  I had some pink and light blue paint pens that would be perfect to decorate the cheap plastic yellow egg.  Oh yes, I had elaborate plans for this egg.
    The problem was that I had no desire what so ever to stick my arm up to my elbow into that pipe.  No way. It just wasn't going to happen.  So I stood there stuck with no way to get my egg.  Fortunately, I wasn't a child easily disappointed.  I simply thought "oh well little egg, guess you'll have to stay there."  I was already planning how to get my aunt to stop my the dollar general and buy a pack of plastic eggs for me.  There would surely be a couple yellow ones in there and my big plans for a decorate yellow egg would not be disrupted.
    Soon I noticed the older boys walking over to my side of the court.  Boy, they were all a pain in the butt those days and most of them still are now...once again my preferences remain the same.  The boys raced up the small hill hoping to divert any of my efforts to collect eggs.  Yes, they were pretty dense if they hadn't figured out by now that I was not interested in their stupid little egg hunt.  I simply stood by the hole that trapped that yellow egg with my arms crossed at my chest just waiting to give whichever one of them snatched it the most evil look I could muster.  I assumed it would be one of the snotty twins. Thorns in my side to say they least.  I never liked either of them after the really ugly one knocked my down at the zoo and the other ugly one laughed at my skinned knee.  They were about three years older then me and they were typically annoying little brats.  Of course this is only my youngster sentiments of them, but as I've said many times already it seems like I remain a lot like my young self. 
   Finally, one of the boys approached me.  I didn't know much about him.  He was quiet and never really teased me.  He noticed the hole I was guarding and looked into it curiously.
"There's an egg down there" He said, matter of factually like I wasn't already aware of this.
"Yeah I know."
"You want it?"

Shocked as I was by this I nodded my head slightly not to fall into any juvenile trap where he pretended he was going to give me my egg and instead walked away with it.  He reached his scrawny, white arm into the hole.  It engulfed him all the way to his elbow.  After it was out he handed my egg over to me and walked away.  Surprised at the turn of events, I opened it up to find it held a jolly rancher. No tootsie roll for me.  Hallelujah!


   

Summer, Completely Unforgettable

It catches your heart and makes you breathe deep.
Blistering hot sand snakes between bare toes,
These young summers are impossible to forget
Embedded in your memories to stay forever.
Jewels of water decorate your sun caressed skin.
An exhausted college student jumps back into teenage years with every summer.

Long nights, sweet, meant to be savored.
Rolling thunder dots the afternoon quiet,
A faraway storm, mysterious and alluring.
Falling into a slumber, breath in sync with pattering rain.
Cool winds blow through a partially opened window,
a rare relief from the greedy heat of a Southern summer.

Mornings graced with summer sweets
Not chocolate or cakes, but sugared peaches and damp strawberries.
Sunlight ventures through the curtains
dancing and playing in front of your closed eyelids
beckoning you to join in

Yes, these summers filled with
light ocean breezes and heavy, dark storms,
unbreakable heat, and savory fruits,
lazy mornings and hazy nights
are truly unforgettable. 

Thursday, February 17, 2011

Dare to Make A Statement

So I haven't written in awhile because I am super busy with school BUT I decided that since I write for school all the time I might as well post some of my papers. Boring? Too bad I don't care.  Anyway this paper was for my American lit class and it is about Phillis Wheatley, a young slave girl that is taught to read and write.  She uses her faculties to write poetry that awakens religious fervor while crying out against slavery.  Enjoy!
Take This Thomas Jefferson!
            The 18th century was a time in which many people questioned the rationale for slavery.  Running rampant throughout the Americas, slavery was openly criticized by liberal parties throughout Europe.  Activists such as Jeremy Bentham joined the abolitionist movement, and successfully abolished slavery in British ruled colonies in the early 19th century (Hunt, 653).  Tormented by what was occurring in their own backyards, many people living in America openly chastised the evils of slavery.  Writers such as J. Hector St. John de Crevecoeur condemned the American slave trade.  From the pen of de Crevecoeur the treatment of slaves is declared: “Forced from their native country, cruelly treated when on board, and not less so on the plantations to which they are driven” (Heath 449).  Depicting the beauty of America in his Letters From an American Farmer, de Crevecoeur cannot ignore the horror he sees in the pitch black eyes of slavery.  Phillis Wheatley, who was thrust into the vile slave trade as a young girl, wrote politically hypnotic poetry.  By examining Wheatley’s poetry the idea that she utilized her writing to debase the ideologies of the slave trade becomes evident.  Many people will argue that Wheatley’s poetry simply demonstrated her religious fervor.  Individuals such as Thomas Jefferson argued that religion could make Phillis Wheatley, but it could not create a poet (Belasco & Johnson, 517).  Although religion was a pivotal theme in Wheatley’s poetry, it does not mask her desire to dissemble the disjointed falsehoods of the white man’s slavery propaganda while struggling to lobby for the freedom and equality that would ensure the common good of America.  Wheatley’s works become more than frivolous poetry; they become political acts. 
            Despite the fact that Wheatley is making a statement against the slave trade, she is by no means down playing her faith, but she is belittling the power of the white slave owners by disproving their perfidious propaganda.  “On Being Brought From Africa to America” is a short poem that possess a tone of thankfulness, but not to those that originally kidnapped Wheatley but to “mercy” (1).  Mercy is an important word in this first line because to have mercy means to be compassionate.  Compassion is a trait that the slave traders do not possess when it comes to the slaves.
Guided by the ludicrous myths of the slave traders, slave owners began to believe that they played an essential paternal role in the lives of their slaves.  By thanking only God for her good fortune, it can be suggested that Wheatley is taking all power from slave traders by discrediting their fictitious propaganda and diminishing their paternalistic roles.  Often times the humanity of slaves was questioned. By saying that “some view our sable race with scornful eye,” Wheatley is addressing yet another misrepresentation of slaves (5).  Refuting the idea that slaves are not human, Wheatley illustrates that given the same opportunities as other human beings, slaves are as capable of achieving what society would consider as success.
   The last two lines are crucial to the overall message of “On Being Brought From Africa to America” because they enforce the humanity of Wheatley and other slaves.  Utilizing a biblical allusion to compare slave to Cain, Wheatley declares that they too “May be refin’d, and join th’ angelic train” (8).  The “angelic train” is a metaphor for heaven that discredits the idea that slaves are not human because if they can reside in the presence of God they must be humans that he crafted, himself.  Furthermore, this can be seen as a criticism of the inequalities created by the human society because every Christian will be present in the realms of the angels regardless of their skin color.  Enthralled with her religion, Wheatley is pointing out that if God can see her as an equal to a white woman, then society should strive to do the same. 
“To the Right Honourable William, Earl of Dartmouth, His Majesty’s Principal Secretary of State For North- America, &c” is a poem that not only orchestrates a battle for freedom and equality, but it also awakens the reader to the idea that an end to slavery and inequality would be for the greater good of America.  Why would a mere slave care about the common good of the American nature? Although slaves had no voice in the government, it can be argued that they were indirectly affected by the policies of America; therefore, Wheatley would be concerned with the condition of America because it would affect her.
            To achieve equality Freedom first must be gained.  Wheatley emphasizes the importance of freedom throughout the first stanza of “To the Right Honourable William, Earl of Dartmouth, His Majesty’s Principal Secretary of State for North-America, &c.”  The word freedom is both italicized and capitalized.  This is important because Wheatley is emphasizing that in this poem, freedom is not only a word on a piece of paper but Freedom becomes a person.  Freedom is elated that “her race no longer mourns” (ln 5).  The personification of freedom supports Wheatley’s desire to abolish slavery.  She is saying that Freedom cannot be happy while her people are enslaved, and in turn America cannot truly be content while slavery is acceptable.   Freedom is described as elated at the end of slavery.  The word “elated” is pivotal because elation is beyond happiness—it is pure joy.  Believing that joy can only occur when America is estranged from the turmoil of slavery, Wheatley fights for the good of America through her poetry. 
            Boldly examining the discrepancies between slavery and freedom, Wheatley depicts the differences between life for a slave and the life of a free man.  The slaves are depicted as holding “silken reins” as “Freedom’s charms unfold” (ln 8).  This can be compared to the dreaded “iron chain” (ln ). The silken reins are a metaphor for a life of freedom while the iron chains become a metaphor for slavery.  When comparing the two the difference between a free man and a slave can easily be seen.  The reins are made of silk making them soft to the touch.  A man would never get calluses from holding these reins, but the iron chains of slavery are hard and unyielding.  The difference between the reins and the chains are vast and startling.  The chains imprison souls while the reins are something one can choose to pick up or not.  This illustrates how slavery is not a matter of choice for those brought from Africa.
Using a pagan belief, Wheatley discredits the idea that the central point of her poetry is religion.  Furthermore, she uses this pagan symbol to represent equality emphasizing the need for it in America.  If Wheatley is simply praising the Christian God throughout her poetry, it seems peculiar that she would refer to equality as “the Goddess long desir’d” (ln 11).  This goddess is a metaphor for equality because she only appears after “hated faction dies” (ln 10).  Because Wheatley uses a goddess, it suggests that she has not lost all of her pagan roots in her world of Christianity.  This one example can be used to support the idea that all of her poetry does not revolve around Christian ideals. 
Further along in the poem Wheatley directly expresses that an end to slavery would be the best avenue of action for American society.  After Freedom and the Goddess of equality appear in the first stanza America is “No more…in mournful strain” (ln 15).  The word “mournful” is often used in regards to death.  People typically mourn the death of a loved one and this particular word usage could be foreshadowing the death of America if the society continues to rely on slavery as a forerunner in the economy. 
            Not only does Wheatley advocate an end to slavery and the gain of freedom along with equality for everyone throughout this poem, but she also gives a personal insight to her own feelings regarding her enslavement.  This alone becomes a political statement because it is an account of how the loss of freedom affects a slave who is very well treated in comparison to the majority of other enslaved Africans.  Because Wheatley allows her own personnel feelings to emanate from the page, she is oppressing the misconceptions surrounding the intellectual abilities of slaves.  Wheatley obviously has the capacity to debate and determine her own thoughts about slavery. Wheatley talks of where her “love of Freedom sprung” indicating that it came from her fate of becoming a slave.  Longing for freedom when it is not attainable anymore is clearly how Wheatley feels.  Not only does her explanation for why she is so intrigued with freedom send a clear message but thoughts of her parents also reach out to society with an appeal to pathos reinforcing her humanity.  Images of how she wonders “What sorrows labour in my parent’s breast” appeal to the emotions of the reader (ln 27).  She was ripped from her parents by the market of slave trading, and now has no idea how they are faring in this cruel world. Sorrow is a state of extreme sadness and because this sadness lives in her parent’s breast an image of great turmoil at the loss of their child is created.  This appeals to the pathos of any parent.  Wheatley utilizes the images of her parents to remind people that she is more than a slave—she is someone’s child.  This gives her an identity beyond that which has been thrust upon her by slavery.  
It is important to take into account Wheatley’s status as a slave woman because this greatly affects her views.  This should not cast a negative light on her views, but it should shed a light on the reality of slavery for those who are not experiencing it.  She gives a rare first hand account of her feelings on slavery and the importance of this stance is that she is one in a million slaves that has the means and ability to voice her want for freedom.  Also, considering that despite the fact that Wheatley is under the command of a generous household that has educated and embraced her, she still longs for freedom.  It can be assumed that her want for freedom is nowhere near to that of the slaves that do not even have the taste of it that she possesses.  Wheatley is emphasizing the idea that nothing physical or spiritual can replace the freedom that every human deserves and wants.  Wheatley is also establishing her own role as a human.  She personalizes her poetry by self indentifying with all other slaves emphasizing that they like the people of European descent are humans made by God.  Because Wheatley is a slave that cares about the well being of America, it makes her poetry make relatable to the white people in America.  They too care about the ultimate good of America. 
Appealing to the raw human emotions of her reader, Wheatley shows that she is more then the ludicrous myths that surround slavery and that she longs for the end of slavery for more then her own betterment but also to ensure the prosperity of America.  Throughout her poetry she is pleading with the masses to turn from the ignorant propaganda and see slaves as their fellow brothers and sisters of humanity.  Seeing them as humans with equal intellectual abilities would abolish all rational reasons for the slaves to remain as chained prisoners of the white men.           


Wednesday, February 2, 2011

Dare to Know What a Friend Really is...

    When I think about my friends I realize that there are only a few that I truly know will always be my friends.  Lifelong friendship is rare these days because people just don't value their friends the way they should.  Maybe it's because everyone thinks friendship is easy, and it should be in most aspects, but it's also something you have to work at.  Because essentially nothing is worth anything if you don't have to work for it.  You know this to be true.  Just think about how much more you value your money when you earn it yourself.  If you aren't willing to work at your relationships with your friends then you probably were never really friends.  Friends disagree, get mad, laugh, cry, and sometimes they even loose touch for a while.  What matters in a real friendship is that you always find your way back to one another.  You may go days, weeks, months, sometimes even years, but when you do find that your paths have intersected once more it's like no time has passed at all.  That's friendship, real friendship.  Your friends are going to hurt your feelings and make mistakes.  How do you know if they are real friends? Well it's easy.  They'll always be there for you.  If you call them at 3 o'clock in the morning they will answer the phone despite the fact that they have to wake up in 2 hours.  When your car breaks down or you're home alone and sacred a friend will come.  They always notice when your facebook status is a bit off of the regular. A friend never says anything about you when you're not around that they wouldn't say when you're around.  Friends want to lift you up, never tear you down.  My friends, the handful of people that are truly my real friends will be with me for the rest of my life.  I may mess up and loose sight of my path in life, but I know I'll always have a home in the hearts of my friends.  My friends are my foundation.  I always know that I can turn to them for guidance and support, never judgment.

A Few Stories I Hope you Laugh at...

"The Day a Friendship blossomed from Body Odor"
Picture it. Fourth grade. Two smart kids that won the special privilege of being Ushers for the 6th grade graduation.  Two kids that stood at the door and bickered back and forth mostly because he was a boy and she was girl.  At this age bickering is the way to a great friendship.  He was tall and skinny.  Skinny is probably not the right adjective.  He was TINY. Stick skinny, to say the least.  She was wrapped in sheets with a Athena headdress (They were dressed as characters from Greek myths).  They walked the 6th graders in.  The auditorium was stifling hot and hand held fans vibrated through the room.  The boy and girl were stuck sitting beside each other for the whole program.  Unfortunately, the boy stuck to the high Heavens.  The girl tried not to be rude, but she wanted to do nothing more then hold her nose.  If only they knew then that that one experience would lead to future of new ones.

"Oh the Things She Made Me Do" 
My current roommate and I have been friends since the 7th grade, and the list of things that she has convinced me to do could go on for days.  As she has said before she is my exclamation mark while I am her period.  To put this in simple terms she adds spice to my life and I bore her? Well I hope not! 7th grade is the first years we started jr. high and this is the year where you figure out where you fit in.  During the late fall of that year she convinced me to try out for the girls basketball team.  So here I went all 4'11" of me to basketball practice.  Yes, I was intimidated and really didn't want to do it.  I did it because my friend was doing it.  Not in a "I woulda done drugs if she had of way" but simply in a I've got a friend to go with so I might as well.  This attitude has followed me during our friendship.  Fortunately, I definitely grown out of the shell I was hiding in during my jr. high days.  She later convinced me to run track.  We convinced each other to get navel piercing.  She's convinced me to go to a party where I was probably one of two white people.  I've convinced her to go ice skating.  I'm going to convince her to try hookah with me.  I guess what I"m trying to say is we encourage each other to do things we may not have done without that encouragement, and that's one of the things I love best about our friendship.  I always know that if there is something I want to do she'll most likely be willing to give it a shot with me and vice versa.


"And He's Probably Sat through Every Girl Breakdown Possible"
I have another friend who's a guy but sometimes I forget that.  No, I probably don't forget it.  He's completely straight, completely manly but he has literally sat through every "girl" breakdown I have ever had.  He's sat on the phone with me for hours while I cried over my ex-boyfriend.  He's come to my house because I had to stay alone and I was afraid.  He's threatened to beat people up for me and he was totally serious.  I can complain about my menstrual cycle to him or my boyfriend.  He loves whoever I love as in as long as my boyfriend is good to me and I love him then he will, too.  We've certainly had the most ups and downs as I've had with any of my friends.  We allowed life to get in the way of our friendship for a little while and that time lost is something to always be regretted, but I do believe we are making up for it quite nicely.  Our friendship is the ultimate story of what true friends are.  We picked up exactly where we left off and that's I never doubt that we will always be friends.

These are the three people that have been my friends the longest. They know most of my secrets and they love me despite that.  They never judge me, but their never afraid to give me their opinions.  I love them like they are my family and always will. 

Monday, January 31, 2011

Dare to Take the Time Every Day

    Adele was a normal little girl with a normal Mom and Dad.  They taught her kindness and love, peace and charity.  They took her to church every Sunday and let her listen to the stories of Jesus.  At eight years old she only vaguely knew what these things meant.  She brushed her teeth like her Mom told her to, and usually shared her toys with her twin brothers.  She cried if she skinned her knees, and she laughed at the funny voices her Daddy could make. 
    The only thing that set little Adele apart from other kids her age was what she did every day during play time.  Adele never played puppets or built block towers with the other children in her 3rd grade class during her play time.  Adele always ventured away from the other children to a quiet corner where she'd sit talking to someone.  Her chatter was unceasing and her demeanor was that of pure joy.  Miss Washington, her teacher, noticed this odd habitat and at first she attributed it to an imaginary friend.  Every child has an imaginary friend at some point during their childhood.  When months passed and this behavior persisted Miss Washington became worried.
    Adele's parents were called in to talk with Miss Washington and they too were concerned.  Mostly, because Adele never did this at home.  Why wasn't she fitting in with the other kids? That just had to be it.  Why else wouldn't she play with them?  Miss Washington suggested that they get Adele involved in outside activities and they obliged.  And so began Adele's soccer playing days.
   Adele played for the Grasshoppers and she loved being the goalie.  She made friends and had sleepovers with the latest Miley Cyrus video and homemade brownies, but her strange behavior at school continued.  It followed her into the fourth grade.  Adele's parents never asked her about it because they had hopes of it just disappearing.  Finally, they seemed to realize that Adele was not going through a phase and that it was time to talk to her about removing herself from the other children during playtime.
   Adele's Mom and Dad sat her down in their cozy living room one day after soccer practice.  She was beyond a chatter box, giving them every detail of the day's practice.  When they finally got her quiet they asked her why she never played during play time.  Adele's answer was far from what either of them expected.  She told her parents that she was doing what her Sunday school teacher told her to do.  Adele's parents were confused, but Adele went on to explain that in Sunday school almost a year ago she learned that she should spend time with God every day just like she spends time with her friends.  This prompted Adele to take her play time to sit and talk with God.  She told her parents that he knew everything about her like her favorite color and what books she liked and which swing took her the highest on the playground.
     Little Adele did not have a problem instead she had a friend that no one could see but she could feel him in her heart and that's what mattered the most. 

Sunday, January 30, 2011

Dare to Know Your Footprint

    The daily buzz always seems to be about the weather and the environment.  One day it's 75 outside and the next you're pulling your heavy coat and gloves back out of the closet.  What's all this about? Well of course it's global warming.  Now I realize that there are people out there who just don't believe in this complete breakdown of the climate, but really, let's face the facts.  Whether you believe it or not any average Joe with a thermometer knows that the weather has been in a spiral for quite awhile. 
    We all know that there are only a handful of scientists and environmentalist out that, but the masses can help with this problem, too.  Everyday we all leave behind our footprints.  Some are physical and others are emotional.  Your footprints can be found on beaches in the warm sand and on the hearts of your friends and loved ones, but they can also be found etched deeply into the environment around you.  These footprints are your carbon footprints, and it's essential for each and every one of us to minimize that footprint because unlike those warm imprints we leave on the hearts of others, this footprint is burned into the world leaving a mark that cannot be erased.
    The definition of a carbon footprint is something along the lines of the amount of carbon emission released by one person.   These emissions are the ultimate cause of global warming and with a few simple steps anyone can reduce their so called footprint.  One of the easiest ways to reduce this footprint is to cut back on the amount of meat you eat.  Now by no means I am telling anybody to go out and become a vegetarian, but every now and then order a veggie dish at a restaurant where you frequently go.  You've most likely tried all the dishes they serve expect the ones in the veggie section so branch out and save the environment while you're at it.
    So you may not like the vegetarian kick, but no fear there are many other things you can do to reduce, reuse, and recycle ( Haha, Just needed to add that slogan in somewhere).  Make sure you turn the lights off when you leave a room. Try to unplug your appliances when you're not using them.  Not only will these simple steps leave you with a less noticeable footprint, but your electric bill should start to decrease, and everybody likes to save money unless you're Lindsay Lohan.  
    I'm probably going to sound like an environmental freak, but in all seriousness we need to take care of what we have.  It's like a new car.  You clean it and polish the outside.  You put the right oil and gas in it and have it checked regularly at the local mechanic.  Just do the same thing with the Earth.  It's everybody's dream car with the ultimate amount of space!  Cherish it. 

Friday, January 28, 2011

Dare to Know the Simple Life

    So when I was eight years old a new Burger King opened up in my town and this was big news for all of us, and of course I had to have my birthday party there.  I mean really who wouldn't wanna have their birthday party in a massive ball pit where you could easily loose anything you may have had in your pocket.  This year I was so excited because I was turning nine and nine is one year before to big one zero.  Hello double digits!
      Now the only downfall to this whole wonderful birthday party deal was that my dad, my hero, the only man in my life at the time was out of town on business and wouldn't be able to make it or so I was told.  Well I'm not going to lie.  I wanted my Dad to be there but I was about to be nine years old and there were presents. You could say that I got over my heartbreak very quickly. 
    And then my Dad surprised us all like he always does and showed up right at the end of the party.  I was opening a gift from my favorite auntie that happened to be a massive bag of pre popped popcorn when in walks my dad.  We have this picture of me in his arms that day and that's the best way to explain how happy I was.  Now here's where the story gets better.  He didn't just bring himself, he definitely had a present.  He pulled out a zip lock baggy and gave it to me.  When I dumped the contents out I saw that I have several dollar bills folded into all kinds of different things.  I had one shaped like a turkey, a frog, a t-shirt, a necktie, and several other odds and ends.
     I'm twenty years old and every year on my birthday I pull those little origami pieces out that my Dad gave me and cherish each one.  I'm not sure why they are so important to me. Maybe it's because I never received a gift so simple but so full of love before.  I doubt my Dad has the faintest idea of how special they are to me or even that I still have them.  They remind me every time I pull them out how something simple can mean the world to someone.  I always want to have those simple things in my life because those are the things that matter the most in the end.  Your $1,000 macbook won't last a lifetime, neither will your nice car or that hair style you paid $200 for.  What will last a lifetime? The simple things that you tuck away into the back of the closet and forget for weeks, months, even years, but the key is when you pull them out again you'll always have a rush of memories that matter more than anything. 

Thursday, January 27, 2011

Ha, Dare to Know Me

Introductions are always the worst part of writing.  I always start in the middle, but I tend to jump right into things completely skipping the normal introduction.  So if there is somebody who cares to read this you should probably know some things about me.  I am NOT a jersey shore character.  Unfortunately, none of my relatives are famous, although if any celebrities excluding Paris Hilton and Tom Cruise want to claim me then that is perfectly fine by me.  I will not be recounting wild nights of passion or mornings spent hung over a dorm room toilet.  I can't tell you anything about having a pretend job fabricated by MTV producers.  I am not a beauty queen, but I am not morbidly obese.  Hoarding animals or worthless junk will never be my forte.  I have only mild addictions to crazy things like string cheese and the TV show Criminal Minds, no heroin or crack. My ass will never look like Kim K's and I'm past the point of becoming a teen mom.  I'm a real live person.  Not a reality show star or a celebrity.  Sometimes I think we all forget what real people are like with all the scripted reality shows on TV.  Especially real live young adults.  I'm a college student.  I'll probably make a lot of jokes about a lot of people but that doesn't mean I hate them or anything harsh.  Everybody needs a good laugh.  I actually watch the news and care.  Although, if I ran my own news broadcasting station I would definitely only report the good things that happen in the world because we have plenty of stations that cover the bad.  Seriously, the weather would always be 72 according to my weather guy.  I enjoy knowing what other people think, but I rarely let that affect my own opinion.  Sillyness is my number one hobby.  It's fun and growing up is not that fun so I have to have that balance.  I really haven't got a clue about what I'm going to write on a daily basis but I'm sure it will come to me.