Sunday, December 6, 2009
Sunday, November 29, 2009
yes or no
Over Thanksgiving break I've read a book and watched a few movies that all deal with romantic relationships with one question that keeps coming up in each story line: is love enough? And to be honest, I don't know the answer.
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
clearly
Today I was asked by a ten year old boy if I represent the Bloods (i.e. infamous street gang). I was wearing red glasses, a red scarf, and red TOMS. Welcome to the Westside.
perfect reminder of my purpose
A handwritten note left on my desk from my boss on stationary paper that says "You Make A Difference":
Laura,
Thank you for everything you do. Your free spirit and passion to help others is what drew my interest in you. Your sweet personality and kind heart is something our kids want and need in a case manager because they don't always experience this at home. This is more valuable than knowing the information needed to go to college. This is something you have in you, the other stuff can be learned. Transition in to anything is not easy, especially when its moving to a new job and growing program. Growth is an up-and-down rollercoaster and I think you are doing well adjusting to it. Several people in this organization have an interest in you - and that's to make sure you succeed. Take that with pride because I can't say that of everyone. Keep up the work and effort, I promise things will get better. I am proud to have you on my team.
-Jen
Laura,
Thank you for everything you do. Your free spirit and passion to help others is what drew my interest in you. Your sweet personality and kind heart is something our kids want and need in a case manager because they don't always experience this at home. This is more valuable than knowing the information needed to go to college. This is something you have in you, the other stuff can be learned. Transition in to anything is not easy, especially when its moving to a new job and growing program. Growth is an up-and-down rollercoaster and I think you are doing well adjusting to it. Several people in this organization have an interest in you - and that's to make sure you succeed. Take that with pride because I can't say that of everyone. Keep up the work and effort, I promise things will get better. I am proud to have you on my team.
-Jen
Monday, November 23, 2009
TheNotebook
I'm currently reading Nicholas Spark's The Notebook. I've seen the movie a few times; the first time being with Carla who made me laugh throughout the entire movie, while the most recent time was me crying like an emotional mess at every to-be-expected moment by myself. But reading the actual story of The Notebook has been an entirely different, cathartic, and difficult experience. I already know the story as told through film, but as words on paper the story births a push and tug that engulfs my own heart.
I read between the lines with every thought and feeling expressed by Noah and Allie. It's as if this story is familiar to me in both words and actions. Gestures of romance. Poetic words of love. Uncertainty of reciprocated feelings. Doubt of possessing that love again. I'm comforted to read an account of love (fictitious or not) that struggles but ultimately survives.
The love between Noah and Allie is intense and pure. It refuses to accept society's circumstances that suggests their love isn't worth the fight and continuously battles through obstacles that challenge what is felt from the inner core of each lover's soul. I'm learning, bit by bit, word by word, in the hopes...of writing my own account of a love so damaged and broken but intense and pure. I believe I'll have a story to tell. I'm just waiting to know the ending and epilogue.
I read between the lines with every thought and feeling expressed by Noah and Allie. It's as if this story is familiar to me in both words and actions. Gestures of romance. Poetic words of love. Uncertainty of reciprocated feelings. Doubt of possessing that love again. I'm comforted to read an account of love (fictitious or not) that struggles but ultimately survives.
The love between Noah and Allie is intense and pure. It refuses to accept society's circumstances that suggests their love isn't worth the fight and continuously battles through obstacles that challenge what is felt from the inner core of each lover's soul. I'm learning, bit by bit, word by word, in the hopes...of writing my own account of a love so damaged and broken but intense and pure. I believe I'll have a story to tell. I'm just waiting to know the ending and epilogue.
why today was a good day at work
I played kickball for an hour and a half and played dodgeball for two hours. Working with kids has its perks...
Sunday, November 15, 2009
Thursday, November 12, 2009
chipsy girl
I have split thoughts, split intentions, and split decisions to consider during the next few weeks. My heart and purpose and happiness will all be questioned and I'm hopeful they'll respond with clear answers. There will come a time to bravely face the next fork in the road. Which way will I choose? Or better yet, which way will I be lead? And so it begins...
Sunday, November 8, 2009
Poetic Wise Words from one Mees Rachel G.
dance naked in the rain every single chance you get.
one of the perks of having a privacy fence is just that: privacy.
in the small scope of this life, you will be born a thousand times, but you only have to die once.
letting the rain wash you into the next iteration is important, as important as the waters that washed over you as you were born fresh into the world, mother-naked and blinded by the light, squalling and covered in remnants of a life you will never remember. this dance is important. the steps don't make any difference, nor does the color of paint, or the words and worlds you paint with them. but the dancing is important-vitally so.
you will dance, just like rumi said, in your blood and your bandages. you will be reborn and learn that God forgives you completely, just like Jesus said. you will look at the world in wide-eyed wonder, like you've never seen it before, smelling polyphenols and ozone, and hoping to God that the neighbors aren't up late and looking out their top story windows. but there's a part of you that could care less if they do see you. this is your experience. this is your dance, and there's never been one like it, and there will never be anything close to it, ever again. self-consciousness is a burden too heavy to bear when you're in that alone and not-alone place with God. you will shed old skin, and understand snakes in a way you thought impossible.
when you find yourself dancing, you will realize that you don't believe in words like "impossible", or "war". the only things you think of, the only mantra you can find, the only words that will escape your lips will be all about love, mercy, peace, and hope. the rest of the words don't mean anything, in that context. when you dance, you will know that simple and complicated fact down to the bottoms of your bare feet, caressed by the darkening mulch, making those red toenails you sport 365 days out of the year jump out darker in the contrast. you'll dance to the music you love, whether it's coming from your stereo, or rumbling out of the sky.
this is your communion. this is your holy moment. these are the words of institution. this is your wailing wall, your holy of holies, your tabernacle, your mt. horeb, your singing praises on trail out of babylon. and it won't matter that some people will think you are a heretic, an exhibitionist, a crazy. because when you dance naked in the rain, it all makes sense. all the colors bleed to green and gray, to black and silver, and darkest blue, and the color of water that holds them all together, and even at night, you can imagine the rainbow of promise that is lingering and wooing the world back to wholeness, somewhere. when you dance, you put to sleep all the nay-sayers, the down-keepers, the ancient and unrequited love, and the longing for small children of your own. when you dance, you know that you are what God made you to be--unique, free, happy, grateful, redeemed, adorded, forgiven, loved, and at peace. the rest of what you might or might not ever be doesn't even start to matter while your feet are moving and your body is swaying. this a good thing to know.
rain is forcasted all week. blessed be.
mil besos,
rmg
one of the perks of having a privacy fence is just that: privacy.
in the small scope of this life, you will be born a thousand times, but you only have to die once.
letting the rain wash you into the next iteration is important, as important as the waters that washed over you as you were born fresh into the world, mother-naked and blinded by the light, squalling and covered in remnants of a life you will never remember. this dance is important. the steps don't make any difference, nor does the color of paint, or the words and worlds you paint with them. but the dancing is important-vitally so.
you will dance, just like rumi said, in your blood and your bandages. you will be reborn and learn that God forgives you completely, just like Jesus said. you will look at the world in wide-eyed wonder, like you've never seen it before, smelling polyphenols and ozone, and hoping to God that the neighbors aren't up late and looking out their top story windows. but there's a part of you that could care less if they do see you. this is your experience. this is your dance, and there's never been one like it, and there will never be anything close to it, ever again. self-consciousness is a burden too heavy to bear when you're in that alone and not-alone place with God. you will shed old skin, and understand snakes in a way you thought impossible.
when you find yourself dancing, you will realize that you don't believe in words like "impossible", or "war". the only things you think of, the only mantra you can find, the only words that will escape your lips will be all about love, mercy, peace, and hope. the rest of the words don't mean anything, in that context. when you dance, you will know that simple and complicated fact down to the bottoms of your bare feet, caressed by the darkening mulch, making those red toenails you sport 365 days out of the year jump out darker in the contrast. you'll dance to the music you love, whether it's coming from your stereo, or rumbling out of the sky.
this is your communion. this is your holy moment. these are the words of institution. this is your wailing wall, your holy of holies, your tabernacle, your mt. horeb, your singing praises on trail out of babylon. and it won't matter that some people will think you are a heretic, an exhibitionist, a crazy. because when you dance naked in the rain, it all makes sense. all the colors bleed to green and gray, to black and silver, and darkest blue, and the color of water that holds them all together, and even at night, you can imagine the rainbow of promise that is lingering and wooing the world back to wholeness, somewhere. when you dance, you put to sleep all the nay-sayers, the down-keepers, the ancient and unrequited love, and the longing for small children of your own. when you dance, you know that you are what God made you to be--unique, free, happy, grateful, redeemed, adorded, forgiven, loved, and at peace. the rest of what you might or might not ever be doesn't even start to matter while your feet are moving and your body is swaying. this a good thing to know.
rain is forcasted all week. blessed be.
mil besos,
rmg
Thursday, November 5, 2009
Chapter 2 page 11
food for thought from Dan Brown The Lost Symbol:
"The goal of tattooing was never beauty. The goal was change. From the scarified Nubian priests of 2000 B.C., to the tattooed acolytes of the Cybele cult of ancient Rome, to the moko scars of the modern Maori, humans have tattooed themselves as a way of offering up their bodies in partial sacrifice, enduring the physical pain of embellishment and emerging changed beings.
Despite the ominous admonitions of Leviticus 19:28, which forbade the marking of one's flesh, tattoos have become a rite of passage shared by millions of people in the modern age - everyone from clean-cut teenagers to hard-core drug users to suburban housewives.
The act of tattooing one's skin was a transformative declaration of power, an announcement to the world: I am in control of my own flesh. The intoxicating feeling of control derived from physical transformation had addicted millions to flesh-altering practices...cosmetic surgery, body piercing, bodybuilding, and steroids...even bulimia and transgendering. The human spirit craves mastery over its carnal shell."
"The goal of tattooing was never beauty. The goal was change. From the scarified Nubian priests of 2000 B.C., to the tattooed acolytes of the Cybele cult of ancient Rome, to the moko scars of the modern Maori, humans have tattooed themselves as a way of offering up their bodies in partial sacrifice, enduring the physical pain of embellishment and emerging changed beings.
Despite the ominous admonitions of Leviticus 19:28, which forbade the marking of one's flesh, tattoos have become a rite of passage shared by millions of people in the modern age - everyone from clean-cut teenagers to hard-core drug users to suburban housewives.
The act of tattooing one's skin was a transformative declaration of power, an announcement to the world: I am in control of my own flesh. The intoxicating feeling of control derived from physical transformation had addicted millions to flesh-altering practices...cosmetic surgery, body piercing, bodybuilding, and steroids...even bulimia and transgendering. The human spirit craves mastery over its carnal shell."
Monday, November 2, 2009
mix tapes
Mix tapes are funny things. I know that when I make a mix tape, I'm more times than not, extremely intentional in which songs I choose to include. In fact, when I applied for the TOMS internship and had to answer a question about what CD I would listen to during a long distance drive from Point A to Point B, I answered I would listen to "the most epic mix tape ever created". And after spending nearly an hour perusing my iTunes library for the perfect roadtrip jams, I created my hypothetical playlist which I'll chalk up to being the only reason I was offered the internship.
Mix tapes have power, definition, ambiguity, room for questions, hints at answers, heartbreak, encouragement, random joy, inside jokes, tender love and care. Mix tapes can be whatever you want or need them to be for both the creator and the recipient whether shared or experienced independently.
It took me nearly three days to create one of the most important mix tapes I have ever created. There was a larger purpose behind just sharing a couple songs with someone. I spent hours listening to every word in every song to see if it some how rang true with what I was feeling or wanted to say but couldn't. If I didn't have enough songs to tie everything together I researched songs that would be able to fill in the gaps. Every part of its creation was intentional and carefully decided upon. It had to be; it was going to do what I couldn't.
I completely agree with Hans Christian Andersen: "Where words fail, music speaks." And thus, the purpose of mix tapes...
Mix tapes have power, definition, ambiguity, room for questions, hints at answers, heartbreak, encouragement, random joy, inside jokes, tender love and care. Mix tapes can be whatever you want or need them to be for both the creator and the recipient whether shared or experienced independently.
It took me nearly three days to create one of the most important mix tapes I have ever created. There was a larger purpose behind just sharing a couple songs with someone. I spent hours listening to every word in every song to see if it some how rang true with what I was feeling or wanted to say but couldn't. If I didn't have enough songs to tie everything together I researched songs that would be able to fill in the gaps. Every part of its creation was intentional and carefully decided upon. It had to be; it was going to do what I couldn't.
I completely agree with Hans Christian Andersen: "Where words fail, music speaks." And thus, the purpose of mix tapes...
Sunday, November 1, 2009
I-35
North:
I used to be a member of the "I've Cried on I-35" Facebook group. That stretch of road has been witness to a fair share of my upsets and tears. More than three hundred miles in four and half hours makes for a long drive of silent contemplation and unsuspecting realizations. Most of the time the radio can drown out most of what flutters around in my mind but my most recent excursion up the highway put me in a position to consider renewing my membership to that group. I suppose the actual drive time passed by quickly as I was primarily distracted by the nervous anxiety filling my stomach and the doubt creeping up my esophagus searching for an opportunity to become a vocalized fear. The "what ifs?" and "how comes?" controlled all brain function and in turn caused my tear ducts to respond defensively. It is quite a risk driving I-35 because I never expect to be smacked around by both my head and heart in such a concentrated time and place.
South:
I used to hate listening to Delilah on the radio. I would suck it up during the holidays because her particular station always plays the best Christmas songs, but other than that, I would avoid my tuner resting on her station in the evenings and I was vocal about my hatred for her happy go-lucky, do-gooder attitude. But crazily enough, I've needed to listen to her for the past month. She's become a comfort to me on my drive home from work. I can tune into 101.9 at 7 pm and know that she will be on the air delivering love songs and inspirational music for all occasions. Her music tastes and words of encouragement have helped me out of the funk of my most recent difficult days. And I wouldn't have begun listening to her if it weren't for a particular someone's adamant love for Delilah that at one point pushed my buttons. And I wonder sometimes when I'm listening her if that same person is listening too at the very moment in some other state. Both calmed by the melodies streaming from our separate stereos. Both being reminded of the past. Both curious of the future. Both.
I used to be a member of the "I've Cried on I-35" Facebook group. That stretch of road has been witness to a fair share of my upsets and tears. More than three hundred miles in four and half hours makes for a long drive of silent contemplation and unsuspecting realizations. Most of the time the radio can drown out most of what flutters around in my mind but my most recent excursion up the highway put me in a position to consider renewing my membership to that group. I suppose the actual drive time passed by quickly as I was primarily distracted by the nervous anxiety filling my stomach and the doubt creeping up my esophagus searching for an opportunity to become a vocalized fear. The "what ifs?" and "how comes?" controlled all brain function and in turn caused my tear ducts to respond defensively. It is quite a risk driving I-35 because I never expect to be smacked around by both my head and heart in such a concentrated time and place.
South:
I used to hate listening to Delilah on the radio. I would suck it up during the holidays because her particular station always plays the best Christmas songs, but other than that, I would avoid my tuner resting on her station in the evenings and I was vocal about my hatred for her happy go-lucky, do-gooder attitude. But crazily enough, I've needed to listen to her for the past month. She's become a comfort to me on my drive home from work. I can tune into 101.9 at 7 pm and know that she will be on the air delivering love songs and inspirational music for all occasions. Her music tastes and words of encouragement have helped me out of the funk of my most recent difficult days. And I wouldn't have begun listening to her if it weren't for a particular someone's adamant love for Delilah that at one point pushed my buttons. And I wonder sometimes when I'm listening her if that same person is listening too at the very moment in some other state. Both calmed by the melodies streaming from our separate stereos. Both being reminded of the past. Both curious of the future. Both.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
my current jams
"Drop It Low" Ester Dean ft. Chris Brown
"This Body" Janet Jackson
"Break Up" Mario
"Imma Star" Jeremih
"This Body" Janet Jackson
"Break Up" Mario
"Imma Star" Jeremih
Batman
Octavio was Batman today. He wore a mask and a cape complete with a Batman t-shirt. He was in costume for the majority of the afternoon walking around the pavilion and basketball courts, visiting me at the sign-in table, lurking behind the pillars, stopping all adolescent crime. When I asked him who he was he responded "Bruce" in that deep scratchy baritone voice used in the most recent Batman movies. He was fully in character underneath that mask and black and yellow Batman seal. For those few hours he wasn't the kid that gets picked on because he doesn't speak English very well, or wears his khaki pants a little high on the hips, or doesn't have the dentist approved perfect smile. He was Bruce, the crime-fighting superhero whose strength and power is rarely challenged by others. I sat there watching him run about the courts with his cape in the wind wishing I could borrow his mask and fall into all my whims safely hidden behind a more powerful respected face.
Sunday, October 25, 2009
hmms
Pumpkin patches are terribly judgmental. All one does is criticize the outer appearance, shape, color, size of a pumpkin to meet whatever standard of pumpkin excellence one's imagined. If I were a pumpkin, would you choose me out of all the others or would you pass me over for the better pumpkin to my right?
The holiday season and fall/winter weather makes for the best time to fall in love. There is something in the air that hangs on the cool breeze and fall leaves that enables one to feel butterflies in her stomach. Dream of that frigid cold night where the only thing to do is spoon under a blanket with your loved one staring into a dim-lit fire watching the embers float about like snow. The sharp pink tint on your cheeks as you pull his scarf close to your face in order to kiss his frosted nose.The hustle and bustle of holding hands through crowded streets of shoppers. The sharing of gifts and thanskgiving in celebration of his presence in your life and heart.
"I can be alone, yeah. I can watch a sunset on my own. I can be alone, yeah."
- Kate Nash "Merry Happy"
The holiday season and fall/winter weather makes for the best time to fall in love. There is something in the air that hangs on the cool breeze and fall leaves that enables one to feel butterflies in her stomach. Dream of that frigid cold night where the only thing to do is spoon under a blanket with your loved one staring into a dim-lit fire watching the embers float about like snow. The sharp pink tint on your cheeks as you pull his scarf close to your face in order to kiss his frosted nose.The hustle and bustle of holding hands through crowded streets of shoppers. The sharing of gifts and thanskgiving in celebration of his presence in your life and heart.
"I can be alone, yeah. I can watch a sunset on my own. I can be alone, yeah."
- Kate Nash "Merry Happy"
Monday, August 17, 2009
advice
ignorance: (noun) the state or fact of being ignorant; lack of knowledge, learning, information; the condition of being uneducated, unaware, or uninformed
Antonyms include, but are not limited to:
competence
cultivation
education
experience
intelligence
knowledge
literacy
talent
wisdom
awareness
Antonyms include, but are not limited to:
competence
cultivation
education
experience
intelligence
knowledge
literacy
talent
wisdom
awareness
Monday, August 10, 2009
envy
I asked two of my male co-workers last week if they anticipated themselves having "pregnancy envy" when the time comes for them to have children with a loved one. After receiving furrowed brows and confusion about my question, I elaborated more on my inquiry. Still lacking full comprehension of what it is I was asking, they both said "ENN-OHH. NOOOO." I truly admit I was surprised by their shared answer. I mean, really? How could they not be envious of the connection rooted between mother and child while a human being is created, molded, and formed in the most intimate places of a woman's body? Their reasoning for responding "no" focused upon the bloating, painful, morning sickness, ill effects of being pregnant. They couldn't fathom the sensual, spiritual, emotional components of pregnancy that circle the entire process. Penis envy, sure, fine, whatever. But pregnancy envy? It couldn't be too unimaginable for a man to possess, could it?
Monday, August 3, 2009
proud
I'm standing in the amphitheater surrounded by military loving, troop supporting Texans as Lee Greenwood sings on stage "I'm Proud to be an American." I scan the crowd before me when I see an image so provoking I have to brace my body against my seat to remain steady. I would expect American flags to be waved furiously in the air at a patriotic Freedom Concert, but I'm left stunned when I see a prosthetic leg swaying in the air to the beat. A man only a few rows from center stage is cheerfully lifting his replacement leg to a song in which sacrifice for one's country is expected and never quite honored as much as it should be. My mind races to any number of circumstances in which this man, seemingly a war veteran, is so thankful and so PROUD to be an American that his lose of a leg doesn't stop him from celebrating this freedom he has been given and fought to maintain for our country. I'm a sensitive, emotional person as it is but I was unprepared for my reaction to seeing such a visual representation.
And I’m proud to be an American,
where at least I know I’m free.
And I wont forget the men who died,
who gave that right to me.
And I gladly stand up,
next to you and defend her still today.
Cause there ain’t no doubt I love this land,
God bless the USA.
And I’m proud to be an American,
where at least I know I’m free.
And I wont forget the men who died,
who gave that right to me.
And I gladly stand up,
next to you and defend her still today.
Cause there ain’t no doubt I love this land,
God bless the USA.
shame
On my route to work every day I pass by fences, billboards, overpasses, etc. covered in graffiti. Some streaky letters, some enlarged bubble letters. Never readable. Never intended to be. Background displays to the West side of San Antonio. Always a semi-hazy separation from my life.
I slowly brake to a pause at the end of my straight waiting for traffic to pass so I can turn right when I notice it: my very own stop sign tagged with black spray paint. The street I've lived on my whole life in the suburban Northwest side of town with graffiti plastered across the red sign. I was angry. I was hurt. And I called the local non-emergency police to come have it removed as quickly as possible because I'll be damned if I let graffiti slither its way into my own personal intimate sphere of life. Harsh words? Perhaps. But just wait until you have something close and comfortable in your life disregarded and destroyed right in front of you.
I slowly brake to a pause at the end of my straight waiting for traffic to pass so I can turn right when I notice it: my very own stop sign tagged with black spray paint. The street I've lived on my whole life in the suburban Northwest side of town with graffiti plastered across the red sign. I was angry. I was hurt. And I called the local non-emergency police to come have it removed as quickly as possible because I'll be damned if I let graffiti slither its way into my own personal intimate sphere of life. Harsh words? Perhaps. But just wait until you have something close and comfortable in your life disregarded and destroyed right in front of you.
Monday, July 27, 2009
schmapaged
latest sentiment: everyone [and their moms] is getting engaged and it just seems to keep snowballing.
(interesting how I've only been invited to one wedding in the last year. what does that say about me?)
congrats to all those lovebirds out there floating on moon beams and diamond rings.
(interesting how I've only been invited to one wedding in the last year. what does that say about me?)
congrats to all those lovebirds out there floating on moon beams and diamond rings.
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
Picoult
I'm on a Jodi Picoult kick. I find her writing to be completely vulnerable and honest. My weeks have been filled by reading her words and stories of relationships pulled and worn by life's circumstances. I identify and question, judge and accept the different characters she introduces to me. I escape in her web of entangled emotions, and I'm grateful for discovering a new author that leaves me no choice but to finish the book. So often I find books in my room that possess makeshift bookmarks no where near the end of the story. I look back remembering my attention being drawn to another more intriguing story and discarding these books as something of the past. But Picoult lures me in her force field and I'm paralyzed with an intense focus of turning the page, the next page, and the page after that. I'm sitting here right now thinking about how much I want to go curl up on a chair and read the current Picoult book I'm engrossed with. As a matter of fact...
Monday, June 29, 2009
heartbeats
"Heartbeats" as covered by Jose Gonzalez
One night to be confused
One night to speed up truth
We had a promise made
Four hands and then away
Both under influence
We had divine scent
To know what to say
Mind is a razor blade
To call for hands of above
To lean on
Wouldn't be good enough
For me, no
One night of magic rush
The start a simple touch
One night to push and scream
And then relief
Ten days of perfect tunes
The colors red and blue
We had a promise made
We were in love
To call for hands of above
To lean on
Wouldn't be good enough
For me, no
To call for hands of above
To lean on
Wouldn't be good enough
And you, you knew the hands of the devil
And you, kept us awake with wolf teeth
Sharing different heartbeats
In one night
To call for hands of above
To lean on
Wouldn't be good enough
For me, no
To call for hands of above
To lean on
Wouldn't be good enough
For me, no
[one more example of why acoustic guitar and simple lyrics melt my heart]
One night to be confused
One night to speed up truth
We had a promise made
Four hands and then away
Both under influence
We had divine scent
To know what to say
Mind is a razor blade
To call for hands of above
To lean on
Wouldn't be good enough
For me, no
One night of magic rush
The start a simple touch
One night to push and scream
And then relief
Ten days of perfect tunes
The colors red and blue
We had a promise made
We were in love
To call for hands of above
To lean on
Wouldn't be good enough
For me, no
To call for hands of above
To lean on
Wouldn't be good enough
And you, you knew the hands of the devil
And you, kept us awake with wolf teeth
Sharing different heartbeats
In one night
To call for hands of above
To lean on
Wouldn't be good enough
For me, no
To call for hands of above
To lean on
Wouldn't be good enough
For me, no
[one more example of why acoustic guitar and simple lyrics melt my heart]
Thursday, June 18, 2009
peace
For the first time in quite awhile I feel extremely at peace with who I am and what I'm doing and how I'm contributing to the world. Life is not perfect and not quite what I expected, but I'm comfortable and confident in alot of things that I doubted several months ago. This past Spring was a trying time as I was unemployed, without community and friends, and just struggling with the inevitable question, "what is my purpose?" I can now tell you that I finally possess a healthy state of mind concerning my life course and I'm excited about what has transpired in the last month or so. I'm working at an amazing non-profit agency with some wonderful, hilarious co-workers who have quickly become my friends. I'm helping kids from low-income families reach their goals of obtaining and maintaining summer employment and believing they have a chance to make something of their lives. I find worth and value in who I am as a person and what skills and passion I have to offer others. I have unknowingly been treating people including complete strangers with more courteous and genuine sentiments as I just seem to be more joyful these days. I know my life isn't perfect and there are still things I wish were different, but I'm at peace. And I've waited so long to possess that enrapturing feeling again.
Sunday, June 7, 2009
belief
Since watching SYTYCD this past week I haven't been able to get this song nor the choreography of Mia Michaels out of my head. Beautiful.
Belief by Gavin DeGraw
Belief, makes things real.
Makes things feel, feel alright.
Belief, makes things true.
Things like you, you and I.
Tonight, you arrested my mind.
When you came to my defense.
With a knife in the shape of your mouth,
in the form of your body, with the wrath of a god.
Oh, you stood by me, belief
Builds from scratch.
Doesn't have to relax, it doesn't need space.
Long live the queen and I'll be the king.
In the collar of grace.
Oh, tonight, you arrested my mind.
When you came to my defense.
With a knife in the shape of your mouth,
in the form of your body, with the wrath of a god.
Oh, you stood by me, belief.
I'm gonna yell it from the rooftops.
I'll wear a sign on my chest.
That's the least I can do, it's the least I can do.
Tonight, you arrested my mind.
When you came to my defense.
With a knife, in the shape of your mouth,
in the form of your body, with the wrath of a god.
Oh, you stood by me.
And I'll stand by my belief.
Belief by Gavin DeGraw
Belief, makes things real.
Makes things feel, feel alright.
Belief, makes things true.
Things like you, you and I.
Tonight, you arrested my mind.
When you came to my defense.
With a knife in the shape of your mouth,
in the form of your body, with the wrath of a god.
Oh, you stood by me, belief
Builds from scratch.
Doesn't have to relax, it doesn't need space.
Long live the queen and I'll be the king.
In the collar of grace.
Oh, tonight, you arrested my mind.
When you came to my defense.
With a knife in the shape of your mouth,
in the form of your body, with the wrath of a god.
Oh, you stood by me, belief.
I'm gonna yell it from the rooftops.
I'll wear a sign on my chest.
That's the least I can do, it's the least I can do.
Tonight, you arrested my mind.
When you came to my defense.
With a knife, in the shape of your mouth,
in the form of your body, with the wrath of a god.
Oh, you stood by me.
And I'll stand by my belief.
Friday, May 29, 2009
breakdown
I encountered an Angel today. He arrives to turn in paperwork for his summer employment application in the late afternoon. He is shorter than the typical teenager and resides in a small slender body. His black hair sweeps across his face tinged with sweat from the run from his father's truck to the building's front desk. He pulls out paper after paper to contribute to the required application packet. As I check to see if he has all the necessary documents, he looks around the lobby with curious and frightened eyes and shifts his weight from left to right back to left then right. He is missing two necessary documents so I ask him if he could ask his father for the information. He nervously seems to understand what is still missing from the packet and says he'll be right back. As he leaves through the double doors I turn to the next case and proceed to make copies of birth certificates and social security cards.
With the hum of the machine duplicating with genius precision, I turn my head to look out the window and find him running back to the building feet heavy with apprehension. I leave my half-finished copy work to greet him at the door. He hands me the first needed document and I check it off the list. One last crucial item remains. He hands me a membership card to an existence I'm unfamiliar with and have been forced to face head on. With regret I explain the situation of not being able to count this card's declaration as actual proof for what is required. Desperation flashes across his face. Remembering the cap assigned earlier this week to no longer accept applications from 14 and 15 year olds, I ask how old he is to double check that we have not been wasting his time. He responds and immediately my heart plummets to the floor. Fifteen. I try my best to blunt the sharp reality that he will not be accepted into the program because he has missed the opportunity by only a few days. It is torture enough to deliver the now disappointing news, but I clinch my jaw and lock it in place to prevent myself from breaking down when I see his shoulders slump down, his eyes slide from shock to sadness, and he covers his head with his hand. I quickly try to pick up the pieces of his heart, hope, pride, and future and refer him to another similar program being offered by another community center but I'm too late. The breath of his hot air balloon has exhaled from his opportunity seeking lungs and he stands before me defeated. My attempt to salvage his dream for summer employment through our program fails. And with parting words he passes through the double doors one last time. I stand in the lobby glancing over his incomplete application and look up to find him slowly walking back to the parking lot with this head facing the pavement.
Hours later after busily manning the front office until closing and attempting to decompress at a Starbucks with book in hand, I arrive at home and walk through the front door. My parents begin asking about my day and naming off options for dinner as I enter the kitchen and I can't do anything but cry. I'm cradled in my dad's arms with tears pouring from my eyes as fast replays of my interaction with Angel continuously play in my head. Angel with a broken wing.
With the hum of the machine duplicating with genius precision, I turn my head to look out the window and find him running back to the building feet heavy with apprehension. I leave my half-finished copy work to greet him at the door. He hands me the first needed document and I check it off the list. One last crucial item remains. He hands me a membership card to an existence I'm unfamiliar with and have been forced to face head on. With regret I explain the situation of not being able to count this card's declaration as actual proof for what is required. Desperation flashes across his face. Remembering the cap assigned earlier this week to no longer accept applications from 14 and 15 year olds, I ask how old he is to double check that we have not been wasting his time. He responds and immediately my heart plummets to the floor. Fifteen. I try my best to blunt the sharp reality that he will not be accepted into the program because he has missed the opportunity by only a few days. It is torture enough to deliver the now disappointing news, but I clinch my jaw and lock it in place to prevent myself from breaking down when I see his shoulders slump down, his eyes slide from shock to sadness, and he covers his head with his hand. I quickly try to pick up the pieces of his heart, hope, pride, and future and refer him to another similar program being offered by another community center but I'm too late. The breath of his hot air balloon has exhaled from his opportunity seeking lungs and he stands before me defeated. My attempt to salvage his dream for summer employment through our program fails. And with parting words he passes through the double doors one last time. I stand in the lobby glancing over his incomplete application and look up to find him slowly walking back to the parking lot with this head facing the pavement.
Hours later after busily manning the front office until closing and attempting to decompress at a Starbucks with book in hand, I arrive at home and walk through the front door. My parents begin asking about my day and naming off options for dinner as I enter the kitchen and I can't do anything but cry. I'm cradled in my dad's arms with tears pouring from my eyes as fast replays of my interaction with Angel continuously play in my head. Angel with a broken wing.
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
charlotte
She's back. That mysterious elusive web-making spider named Charlotte is back and making herself quite at home on my driver side mirror. I noticed her web this morning while stopped at a light. It reached from the top of my door down to the door handle and back up to the side mirror filling the triangular gaps with zig-zag entanglements. She's been missing ever since I last wrote about her existence, and I wonder every time she reemerges where has been and who else she's influenced. Once I parked at work I knocked her web down with piece of discarded paper from my car. I didn't want her web extending any further into my own personal space.
Hours later after the sun vanished for its nightly slumber I stop at a gas station to fill up my tank. I'm sitting in my car feet dangling down outside the open door, elbow resting on my knee, and my head resting on my hand. A glimmer appears on my side mirror with quick jerky movement and I intently focus on the speck. It's Charlotte salvaging her web yet again. Only this time she's been wary to extend too far from the borders of the industrial side mirror. Her web is contained circular dewy and dense. Without thinking I grab another piece of scrap paper to begin my vengeful attack on the web again, but as I crouch down to eye the web pre-destruction I freeze. Charlotte has also stopped moving. We both engage in the typical childish thought that no one can see us if we're not moving. Analyzing her web and witnessing Charlotte in a more dignified light, I retreat from my attack stance and fall back to sitting inside my car. Charlotte starts jittering again with the comfort of a glass window separating us from each other. I point my finger at her and say, "You can stay there for now, but don't you dare come inside my car. If you do, I'm telling you now I will hurt you. But if you do your thing out there, we'll be good." With a giggle to myself realizing I just verbally spoke to a spider, I hear the click of the gas tank telling me it is finished.
Hours later after the sun vanished for its nightly slumber I stop at a gas station to fill up my tank. I'm sitting in my car feet dangling down outside the open door, elbow resting on my knee, and my head resting on my hand. A glimmer appears on my side mirror with quick jerky movement and I intently focus on the speck. It's Charlotte salvaging her web yet again. Only this time she's been wary to extend too far from the borders of the industrial side mirror. Her web is contained circular dewy and dense. Without thinking I grab another piece of scrap paper to begin my vengeful attack on the web again, but as I crouch down to eye the web pre-destruction I freeze. Charlotte has also stopped moving. We both engage in the typical childish thought that no one can see us if we're not moving. Analyzing her web and witnessing Charlotte in a more dignified light, I retreat from my attack stance and fall back to sitting inside my car. Charlotte starts jittering again with the comfort of a glass window separating us from each other. I point my finger at her and say, "You can stay there for now, but don't you dare come inside my car. If you do, I'm telling you now I will hurt you. But if you do your thing out there, we'll be good." With a giggle to myself realizing I just verbally spoke to a spider, I hear the click of the gas tank telling me it is finished.
Monday, May 25, 2009
the bad news
"I'm calling in regards to your summer employment project application. Right now we're reviewing your eligibility and unfortunately, you do not meet the requirements for the program. The information you provided concerning your family's income puts you over the Department of Labor guidelines for low income families. So at this time we won't be able to further consider your application. I'm sorry for the news, but thank you for applying and I wish you all the best."
She was only $300 over the income limit. It broke my heart having to tell her the bad news.
She was only $300 over the income limit. It broke my heart having to tell her the bad news.
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
krtu
I am an avid radio station listener. Though I possess several booklets of CDs from over the past 10 years, the radio is still my music giver of choice. Lately, one station in particular has been satisfying my need for melodious and harmonious tunes. KRTU 91.7 is wicked awesome. Jazz music all day and all night. I remember tuning into the station every now and then during high school, but in these past few weeks I've exchanged the never-listened to Christian music station on my set radio buttons for this always-listened to college radio jazz station. A friend of mine was riding with me in my car this past weekend and commented on my music choice: "You're such a dork," she said. Yup, a dork who waits in stand-still traffic with her right foot held firmly to the brake and her left foot tapping to the jazz syncopation. A dork who imagines life decades ago in a music era distanced by time but still current in raw talent. I'm a huge dork for jazz music. And I have KRTU to thank. I'll be heading to The Landing sometime soon this summer. A jazz venue on the Riverwalk? Yes please.
oh snap
Did you know...?
As of Oct. 1, 2008, Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program (SNAP) is the new name for the federal Food Stamp Program.
As of Oct. 1, 2008, Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program (SNAP) is the new name for the federal Food Stamp Program.
Monday, May 18, 2009
crying soothing melody
"Don't Forget" by Demi LovatoDid you forget
That I was even alive
Did you forget
Everything we ever had
Did you forget
Did you forget
About me
Did you regret
Ever standing by my side
Did you forget
What we were feeling inside
Now I'm left to forget
About us
But somewhere we went wrong
We were once so strong
Our love is like a song
You can't forget it
So now I guess
This is where we have to stand
Did you regret
Ever holding my hand
Never again
Please don't forget
Don't forget
We had it all
We were just about to fall
Even more in love
Than we were before
I won't forget
I won't forget
About us
But somewhere we went wrong
We were once so strong
Our love is like a song
You can't forget it
Somewhere we went wrong
We were once so strong
Our love is like a song
You can't forget it
At all
And at last
All the pictures have been burned
And all the past
Is just a lesson that we've learned
I won't forget
I won't forget us
But somewhere we went wrong
Our love is like a song
But you won't sing along
You've forgotten
About us
[this song is perfect.
and so is the music video:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HulFsv72h3Y ]
Saturday, May 16, 2009
haunting peaceful melody
"Glitter In the Air" by Pink
Have you ever fed a lover with just your hands?
Closed your eyes and trusted, just trusted
Have you ever thrown a fist full of glitter in the air?
Have you ever looked fear in the face
And said I just don’t care
It’s only half past the point of no return
The tip of the iceberg
The sun before the burn
The thunder before the lightning
The breathe before the phrase
Have you ever felt this way?
Have you ever hated yourself for staring at the phone?
You’re whole life waiting on the ring to prove you’re not alone
Have you ever been touched so gently you had to cry?
Have you ever invited a stranger to come inside?
It’s only half past the point of oblivion
The hourglass on the table
The walk before the run
The breathe before the kiss
And the fear before the flames
Have you ever felt this way?
There you are, sitting in the garden
Clutching my coffee,
Calling me sugar
You called me sugar
Have you ever wished for an endless night?
Lassoed the moon and the stars and pulled that rope tight
Have you ever held your breathe
And asked yourself will it ever get better than tonight?
Tonight...
Friday, May 15, 2009
awe
"I choose to shrug my shoulders."
"Simba-logist?"
Hmm. Friends are awesome. Laughing with friends is awesome. Laughing with friends who love you to pieces is also awesome. And laughing with friends who love you to pieces even though you'll disappoint them at times is even more awesome.
Sidenote: I do and will always be proud that I love Star Trek. Call me a dork. I welcome the compliment.
"Simba-logist?"
Hmm. Friends are awesome. Laughing with friends is awesome. Laughing with friends who love you to pieces is also awesome. And laughing with friends who love you to pieces even though you'll disappoint them at times is even more awesome.
Sidenote: I do and will always be proud that I love Star Trek. Call me a dork. I welcome the compliment.
Monday, May 11, 2009
duck and cub
My favorite animal is a duck. Random. Odd. Believe me, I know. Just recently I've decided to declare my second favorite animal: polar bear cubs. Allow me the opportunity to watch polar bear cubs all day long and you'll see the neverending smile spread across my face. I don't know what it is about these two specific animals and why they make me so happy, but I accept these quirky favorite picks in all their cuddly, silly glory. Man, I wish I were a zoologist.
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
books on CD
I don't listen to books on CD that often. In fact I could probably count the number of times I have with just one hand. But after listening to nine discs of one book this past weekend driving to and from Fort Worth I discovered something that really gets my panties in a twist. Why don't books on CD have multiple readers? Why isn't there a narrator reader and then different readers for each prominent character? How does a woman reader's voice sound anything like a male character's voice? It was rather weird and unlikable listening to my chick-lit book on CD when the female narrator switched back and forth between the main woman's voice and her many different male love interests' voices. I squirmed in my driver seat every time flirty banter arose in the chapters because I was reminded yet again how unlike a man the male character sounded like and how similar "he" sounded like the main woman. I was annoyed that I couldn't completely fall into the story and characters of the book I was listening to because I was so distracted and mad about the voices of the readers. I understand that costs are probably kept low by hiring just one person to read the entire book as compared to casting several people to provide voices for the main characters, but still... Where's the book on CD that transports me to another time and place because I can genuinely believe the voices speaking through my car stereo?
Sunday, April 26, 2009
Scooter
My family has only entertained cats in our lives, so through the years I've expressed my dog-loving tendencies to the canines of my friends. I'm a big fan of my best friend's dog, Champ, and while on the road for TOMS I was slightly obsessed with every dog I encountered - just ask Kelsey who made fun of me for taking pictures of these dogs on the company-issued Blackberry. Needless to say I love dogs though I have never owned one myself. So when it comes to hanging out with friends who have a dog I'm all about gaining the love and adoration of the pup. And if the dog somehow isn't fond of me from the beginning I certainly try to win him over with belly rubs and the occasional table scrap. Those moments with a dog help make up for all the years I've spent without "man's best friend".
Tonight was no different as more than once I was made feeling special from a huge dog named Scooter. A couple friends and I are sitting outside enjoying the night air from their apartment balcony with Scooter romping around and chewing on his rawhide bone. For some reason unknown to me Scooter decides to plop his front paws in my lap and proceed in climbing his way up to sitting with his full-body weight in my lap. With licking and sharp toenails attacking me from all sides I'm completely embracing the moment. I cradle Scooter until he decides to get up and explore some sound inside the apartment. Minutes later Scooter stops in front of my chair again, looks me in the eye, and hops right on up to his newly designated throne. He is one smart pup to know exactly which person would allow him full access to her lap and let him shed fur all over her black shirt. I never once complained or pushed him off of my lap, even by the third, fourth, and fifth time he came looking for attention. It was precious and sweet and I felt loved by a dog. Silly, I'm sure, but remember: it's the little things. So what made my night so grand? You guessed it. Mr. Scooter. The dog that for a few hours made me forget my woes of growing up dog-less and made me feel loved.
Tonight was no different as more than once I was made feeling special from a huge dog named Scooter. A couple friends and I are sitting outside enjoying the night air from their apartment balcony with Scooter romping around and chewing on his rawhide bone. For some reason unknown to me Scooter decides to plop his front paws in my lap and proceed in climbing his way up to sitting with his full-body weight in my lap. With licking and sharp toenails attacking me from all sides I'm completely embracing the moment. I cradle Scooter until he decides to get up and explore some sound inside the apartment. Minutes later Scooter stops in front of my chair again, looks me in the eye, and hops right on up to his newly designated throne. He is one smart pup to know exactly which person would allow him full access to her lap and let him shed fur all over her black shirt. I never once complained or pushed him off of my lap, even by the third, fourth, and fifth time he came looking for attention. It was precious and sweet and I felt loved by a dog. Silly, I'm sure, but remember: it's the little things. So what made my night so grand? You guessed it. Mr. Scooter. The dog that for a few hours made me forget my woes of growing up dog-less and made me feel loved.
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
comfort from Eliana
Characters: Eliana- 7 year old first grade girl and Miss Hardin- 23 year old substitute teacher
Eliana: "What's your name again?"
Me: "Miss Hardin."
Eliana: "Are you married?"
Me: [giggling] "No, I'm not married."
Eliana: "So you spell it M-I-S-S not M-R-S, right?"
Me: "Right. Miss Hardin."
[a couple seconds pass]
Eliana: "Don't worry- it's not bad you're not married. I'm not married either."
Eliana: "What's your name again?"
Me: "Miss Hardin."
Eliana: "Are you married?"
Me: [giggling] "No, I'm not married."
Eliana: "So you spell it M-I-S-S not M-R-S, right?"
Me: "Right. Miss Hardin."
[a couple seconds pass]
Eliana: "Don't worry- it's not bad you're not married. I'm not married either."
Monday, April 20, 2009
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
m&m(a)
Music and Memories = M&M
I always find myself saying "this song reminds me of the time..." I can be driving in the car, sitting in a restaurant, or walking in the mall and all of a sudden my mind triggers back to a moment in time where the certain song playing overhead first affected my heart. Not every song can be connected back to a memorable moment or time in my life, but there are certainly enough songs out there to constantly keep me on my toes remembering the good ol' days.
I always find myself saying "this song reminds me of the time..." I can be driving in the car, sitting in a restaurant, or walking in the mall and all of a sudden my mind triggers back to a moment in time where the certain song playing overhead first affected my heart. Not every song can be connected back to a memorable moment or time in my life, but there are certainly enough songs out there to constantly keep me on my toes remembering the good ol' days.
"Never Leave You (Uh Oooh, Uh Oooh)" - Lumidee Memory sparked in the car listening to random radio station on I-35. Memory: behind the kitchen in Fazoli's fast-food Italian restaurant, summer after sophomore year in high school, finally made it past being just "the breadstick girl", The Beat 98.5 always playing on the radio, washing dishes in the sink, painting melted butter on the breadsticks for the next day, listening to the O'Connor kids talk about their school gossip, glancing down at my Casio water resistant illuminator watch to see the time
"Falling Slowly" - Glen Hansard, from the movie "Once" Memory sparked by listening to American Idol contestant, Kris Allen. Memory: white fluffy bed, sun shining through blinds of window, late May summer day, Apple laptop sitting on comforter, soundtrack to "Once" playing from the speakers, lying down next to my love, warmth of his arms holding me, looking up at the ceiling, breathing in a deep breath, looking back into his eyes, feeling untouched by time, heart skipping beats, wishing it could last forever
Sunday, April 12, 2009
a fable of sorts
A young woman went to her mother and told her about her life and how things were so hard for her. She didn't know how she was going to make it and wanted to give up. She was tired of fighting and struggling. It seemed as one problem was solved, a new one arose.
Her mother took her to the kitchen. She filled three pots with water and placed each on a high fire. Soon the pots came to boil. In the first she placed carrots, in the second she placed eggs, and in the last she placed coffee beans. She let them sit and boil without saying a word.
In about twenty minutes she turned off the burners. She fished the carrots out, then the eggs, and then the coffee placing them all in separate bowls.
Turning to her daughter, she asked, "Tell me what you see."
"Carrots, eggs, and coffee," she replied.
Her mother brought her closer and asked her to feel the carrots. She did and noted that they were soft. The mother then asked the daughter to take an egg and break it. After pulling off the shell, she observed the hard boiled egg. Finally, the mother asked the daughter to sip the coffee. The daughter smiled as she tasted its rich aroma. The daughter then asked, "What does it mean, mother?"
Her mother explained that each of these objects had faced the same adversity...boiling water. Each reacted differently: The carrot went in strong, hard, and unrelenting. However, after being subjected to the boiling water, it softened and became weak. The egg had been fragile. Its thin outer shell had protected its liquid interior, but after sitting through the boiling water, its inside became hardened. The ground coffee beans were unique, however. After they were in the boiling water, they had changed the water.
"Which are you?" she asked her daughter. "When adversity knocks on your door, how do you respond? Are you a carrot, an egg, or a coffee bean?"
Think of this: Which am I? Am I the carrot that seems strong, but with pain and adversity do I wilt and become soft and lose my strength? Am I the egg that starts with a malleable heart, but changes with the heat? Did I have a fluid spirit, but after a death, a breakup, a financial hardship, or some other trial, have I become hardened and stiff? Does my shell look the same, but on the inside am I bitter and tough? Or am I like the coffee bean? The bean actually changes the hot water, the very circumstance that brings the pain. When the water gets hot, it releases the fragrance and flavor. If you are like the bean, when things are at their worst, you get better and change the situation around you. When the hour is the darkest and trials are their greatest, do you elevate yourself to another level? How do you handle adversity? Are you a carrot, an egg, or a coffee bean?
Her mother took her to the kitchen. She filled three pots with water and placed each on a high fire. Soon the pots came to boil. In the first she placed carrots, in the second she placed eggs, and in the last she placed coffee beans. She let them sit and boil without saying a word.
In about twenty minutes she turned off the burners. She fished the carrots out, then the eggs, and then the coffee placing them all in separate bowls.
Turning to her daughter, she asked, "Tell me what you see."
"Carrots, eggs, and coffee," she replied.
Her mother brought her closer and asked her to feel the carrots. She did and noted that they were soft. The mother then asked the daughter to take an egg and break it. After pulling off the shell, she observed the hard boiled egg. Finally, the mother asked the daughter to sip the coffee. The daughter smiled as she tasted its rich aroma. The daughter then asked, "What does it mean, mother?"
Her mother explained that each of these objects had faced the same adversity...boiling water. Each reacted differently: The carrot went in strong, hard, and unrelenting. However, after being subjected to the boiling water, it softened and became weak. The egg had been fragile. Its thin outer shell had protected its liquid interior, but after sitting through the boiling water, its inside became hardened. The ground coffee beans were unique, however. After they were in the boiling water, they had changed the water.
"Which are you?" she asked her daughter. "When adversity knocks on your door, how do you respond? Are you a carrot, an egg, or a coffee bean?"
Think of this: Which am I? Am I the carrot that seems strong, but with pain and adversity do I wilt and become soft and lose my strength? Am I the egg that starts with a malleable heart, but changes with the heat? Did I have a fluid spirit, but after a death, a breakup, a financial hardship, or some other trial, have I become hardened and stiff? Does my shell look the same, but on the inside am I bitter and tough? Or am I like the coffee bean? The bean actually changes the hot water, the very circumstance that brings the pain. When the water gets hot, it releases the fragrance and flavor. If you are like the bean, when things are at their worst, you get better and change the situation around you. When the hour is the darkest and trials are their greatest, do you elevate yourself to another level? How do you handle adversity? Are you a carrot, an egg, or a coffee bean?
doughnuts and muffins
An excerpt from the book Faking It by Jennifer Crusie:
Nadine sighed and opened a cupboard, taking down a loaf of whole wheat. "According to Grandma, there are two kinds of men in the world, doughnuts and muffins. Doughnuts are the guys that make you drool," Nadine said, taking a jar of peanut butter from the cupboard.
"They're gorgeous and crispy and covered with chocolate icing and you see one and you have to have it, and if you don't get it, you think about it all day and then you go back for it anyway because it's a doughnut.''
"So doughnuts make you drool," Davy said.
"Right. Whereas muffins just sort of sit there all lumpy, looking alike, no chocolate icing at all. And while muffins may be excellent," Nadine went on, "especially the pineapple-orange ones, they're no doughnuts."
"So doughnuts are good," Davy said, trying to keep up his end of the conversation.
"Well, yeah, for one night," Nadine said, as her toast popped. "But then the next morning, they're not crisp anymore, and the icing is all stuck to the bag, and they have watery stuff all over them, and they're icky and awful. You can't keep a doughnut overnight."
"Ah," Davy said, "but a muffin--"
"Is actually better the next day," Nadine finished. "Muffins are for the long haul and they always taste good. They don't have that oh-my-God-I-have-to-have-that thing that the doughnuts have going for them, but you still want them the next morning."
Nadine sighed and opened a cupboard, taking down a loaf of whole wheat. "According to Grandma, there are two kinds of men in the world, doughnuts and muffins. Doughnuts are the guys that make you drool," Nadine said, taking a jar of peanut butter from the cupboard.
"They're gorgeous and crispy and covered with chocolate icing and you see one and you have to have it, and if you don't get it, you think about it all day and then you go back for it anyway because it's a doughnut.''
"So doughnuts make you drool," Davy said.
"Right. Whereas muffins just sort of sit there all lumpy, looking alike, no chocolate icing at all. And while muffins may be excellent," Nadine went on, "especially the pineapple-orange ones, they're no doughnuts."
"So doughnuts are good," Davy said, trying to keep up his end of the conversation.
"Well, yeah, for one night," Nadine said, as her toast popped. "But then the next morning, they're not crisp anymore, and the icing is all stuck to the bag, and they have watery stuff all over them, and they're icky and awful. You can't keep a doughnut overnight."
"Ah," Davy said, "but a muffin--"
"Is actually better the next day," Nadine finished. "Muffins are for the long haul and they always taste good. They don't have that oh-my-God-I-have-to-have-that thing that the doughnuts have going for them, but you still want them the next morning."
Nightluster
I wish I could take credit for the writing in this post but it belongs to one Laura Herrington. And when I first heard this monologue performed in 2006 by Kat Roll in Acting I class, I cried.
I don't think people see me. I get this feeling sometimes like I'm invisible or something. I can be standing there in a room and I'm talking and everything, and it's like my words aren't getting anywhere and I look down at myself and sometimes my body isn't getting anywhere either. It's like I'm standing behind a one-way mirror and I can see the guys and I can hear the guys, but they can't see me and they can't hear me. And I start to wonder if maybe I'm ugly or something, like maybe I'm some alien species from another planet and I don't speak the language and I look totally weird. But I don't know this, you see, because on this other planet I had this really nice mother who told me I was beautiful and that I had a voice to die for because she loved me so much, not because it was true. And I arrive here on Earth and I'm so filled with her love and her belief in me that I walk around like I'm beautiful and I sing like I have a voice to die for. And because I'm so convinced and so strange and so deluded, people pretend to listen to me... because they're being polite or something -- or maybe they're afraid of me. And at first I don't notice because I sing with my eyes closed. But then one day I open my eyes and find out I'm living in this world where nobody sees me and nobody hears me. I'm just looking for that one guy who's gonna hear me, see me... really take a chance. I mean, I hear them. I'm listening so hard I hear promises when somebody's just sayin' hello. Jesus, if anybody ever heard what I've got locked up inside me... I'd be a star.
I don't think people see me. I get this feeling sometimes like I'm invisible or something. I can be standing there in a room and I'm talking and everything, and it's like my words aren't getting anywhere and I look down at myself and sometimes my body isn't getting anywhere either. It's like I'm standing behind a one-way mirror and I can see the guys and I can hear the guys, but they can't see me and they can't hear me. And I start to wonder if maybe I'm ugly or something, like maybe I'm some alien species from another planet and I don't speak the language and I look totally weird. But I don't know this, you see, because on this other planet I had this really nice mother who told me I was beautiful and that I had a voice to die for because she loved me so much, not because it was true. And I arrive here on Earth and I'm so filled with her love and her belief in me that I walk around like I'm beautiful and I sing like I have a voice to die for. And because I'm so convinced and so strange and so deluded, people pretend to listen to me... because they're being polite or something -- or maybe they're afraid of me. And at first I don't notice because I sing with my eyes closed. But then one day I open my eyes and find out I'm living in this world where nobody sees me and nobody hears me. I'm just looking for that one guy who's gonna hear me, see me... really take a chance. I mean, I hear them. I'm listening so hard I hear promises when somebody's just sayin' hello. Jesus, if anybody ever heard what I've got locked up inside me... I'd be a star.
old old writing
I stumbled across some old writings today. It was a scary, hard, reflective trip down memory lane. I loved my years in college, but looking back I can see and remember a lot of the pain I felt during certain events in my life. I'm so thankful I'm not in the same mindset and heartset I was back then. I am redeemed and accepted and unconditionally loved no matter what comes my way.
(February 2005)
Am I tricking myself with clouds of love?
Do I trust this is the right direction?
How can I walk by your side and not
See this as a perfect lesson?
There’s no reason to hide
Behind the doubts of a foggy view
I can be your hand to hold
You can be my warm embrace
Just to know we have each other
Our hearts can rest in a peaceful place
Sure its scary to think of the future
But if the chance comes you got to hold tight
Cause if you miss out you’ll never possess
The memories of a perfect night
- - - - - - - - - - - - - -
(February 2005)
Roll call.
They call me Laura *clap clap*
Or hey, you nerd *clap clap*
But ya know that's better *clap clap*
Than a five letter curse word.
Sha, sha boogy, sha sha, sha boogy. Roll call.
Its me again *clap clap*
Getting ready for bed *clap clap*
But there's just someone *clap clap*
I can't get outta my head.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - -
(March 2005)
Sun shining down
warming my face
burning my heart
Wind blowing trees
caressing my face
touching my heart
God forgiving all
lifting my face
cleansing my heart.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - -
(January 2006)
Something I wrote about a year ago:
Am I tricking myself with clouds of love?
Do I trust this is the right direction?
How can I walk by your side and not see this as a perfect lesson?
There's no reason to hide behind the doubts of a foggy view.
Something I wrote about a month ago:
I look into your eyes and see that this hurts -the unknown confusion,
yet I'm separated by distance and glaze.
And I can't be stirred to decide one way or the other.
I'm just here and now unavailable to the future and dreams you pour from your lips.
Something I wrote about an hour ago:
Regret has a long name.
Its called "loving you".
- - - - - - - - - - - - - -
(July 2006)
When I'm driving alone my mind wanders to all these things I would want to write about and I tell myself to remember it for the sole sake of writing it down here. Not with the intent of making my thoughts public, but more so affirming these thoughts by making them more than just electric pulses through my brain neurons. But I sit in front of this glowing screen and my mind's canvas is blank. All my epitomes and self-declarations meander back in the abyss and I can't remember them for the life of me. Who knows? I might've conjured up the cure for AIDS but lost it in distraction.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - -
(August 2006)
I'm a penny heads down.
Will you still pick me up?
- - - - - - - - - - - - - -
(September 2006)
you can't save me from these thoughts
for the trust that grew now rots
you've changed into what I despise
a popular gift but not a prize
enjoy your time of ill fated joy
you won't fool me with your face of coy
give back to me all I shared at dawn
vulnerable at best when I attempt to yawn
feeling stupid for wanting that lingering taste
invisible I realize it was all a waste.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - -
(November 2006)
I wish I could scream in someone's face right now.
So I'll face the mirror and scream at the disappointment looking back.
AHHHHHHHHHHH.
I'm beginning to fall in the rabbit hole again.
I'll need to leave behind a rope so I can find my way out.
WOAHHHHHHHHH.
Sitting on the beach watching waves to and fro.
Confused about the life full of glee and hurtful woe.
NOOOOOOOOOOO.
I can do this. OH YES, I can, I must.
Cleanse away the remnants of heavy burdened rust.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - -
(February 2005)
Am I tricking myself with clouds of love?
Do I trust this is the right direction?
How can I walk by your side and not
See this as a perfect lesson?
There’s no reason to hide
Behind the doubts of a foggy view
I can be your hand to hold
You can be my warm embrace
Just to know we have each other
Our hearts can rest in a peaceful place
Sure its scary to think of the future
But if the chance comes you got to hold tight
Cause if you miss out you’ll never possess
The memories of a perfect night
- - - - - - - - - - - - - -
(February 2005)
Roll call.
They call me Laura *clap clap*
Or hey, you nerd *clap clap*
But ya know that's better *clap clap*
Than a five letter curse word.
Sha, sha boogy, sha sha, sha boogy. Roll call.
Its me again *clap clap*
Getting ready for bed *clap clap*
But there's just someone *clap clap*
I can't get outta my head.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - -
(March 2005)
Sun shining down
warming my face
burning my heart
Wind blowing trees
caressing my face
touching my heart
God forgiving all
lifting my face
cleansing my heart.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - -
(January 2006)
Something I wrote about a year ago:
Am I tricking myself with clouds of love?
Do I trust this is the right direction?
How can I walk by your side and not see this as a perfect lesson?
There's no reason to hide behind the doubts of a foggy view.
Something I wrote about a month ago:
I look into your eyes and see that this hurts -the unknown confusion,
yet I'm separated by distance and glaze.
And I can't be stirred to decide one way or the other.
I'm just here and now unavailable to the future and dreams you pour from your lips.
Something I wrote about an hour ago:
Regret has a long name.
Its called "loving you".
- - - - - - - - - - - - - -
(July 2006)
When I'm driving alone my mind wanders to all these things I would want to write about and I tell myself to remember it for the sole sake of writing it down here. Not with the intent of making my thoughts public, but more so affirming these thoughts by making them more than just electric pulses through my brain neurons. But I sit in front of this glowing screen and my mind's canvas is blank. All my epitomes and self-declarations meander back in the abyss and I can't remember them for the life of me. Who knows? I might've conjured up the cure for AIDS but lost it in distraction.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - -
(August 2006)
I'm a penny heads down.
Will you still pick me up?
- - - - - - - - - - - - - -
(September 2006)
you can't save me from these thoughts
for the trust that grew now rots
you've changed into what I despise
a popular gift but not a prize
enjoy your time of ill fated joy
you won't fool me with your face of coy
give back to me all I shared at dawn
vulnerable at best when I attempt to yawn
feeling stupid for wanting that lingering taste
invisible I realize it was all a waste.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - -
(November 2006)
I wish I could scream in someone's face right now.
So I'll face the mirror and scream at the disappointment looking back.
AHHHHHHHHHHH.
I'm beginning to fall in the rabbit hole again.
I'll need to leave behind a rope so I can find my way out.
WOAHHHHHHHHH.
Sitting on the beach watching waves to and fro.
Confused about the life full of glee and hurtful woe.
NOOOOOOOOOOO.
I can do this. OH YES, I can, I must.
Cleanse away the remnants of heavy burdened rust.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Saturday, April 11, 2009
stop sign
The city installed a set of four-way stop signs one block up from my street. I don't like it. For the 23 years I've lived at the house in the righthand corner of the Oxted cul-de-sac there was never a need for a stop sign. Granted my sister got hit by a car when she was younger at that same intersection, but still. It was the fault of the dumb driver rather than the lack of required legal stoppage. So now every time I turn right from my street I'm immediately forced to stop, check right and left, before making any other move. It's an unnecessary hassle and it interrupts the familiarity of my neighborhood. There is a stop ahead yellow caution sign directly next to my street sign. I resent it because it takes away the importance of notifying anyone that this street, my street, my home is on Oxted. Now if I give directions to my house I'll have to tell people to "turn right at the street with the stop ahead sign" because it is more obnoxious and noticeable than the blue street sign that has remained solitary and stationary for more than two decades. I imagine in a few months or years I'll be used to the sign and it will be no bother to stop one more time en route to a destination.. but for now I'd like to remain on my high horse of being annoyed with the city just coming in without warning and disrupting the comfort of recognizing and knowing my own neighborhood.
Monday, April 6, 2009
library count
books currently checked out from the San Antonio Public Library
- Almost French: Love and a New Life in Paris by Sarah Turnbull
- BITCHfest: Ten Years of Cultural Criticism From the Pages of Bitch Magazine edited by Lisa Jervis
- Trail of Crumbs: Hunger, Love, and the Search for Home by Kim Sunee
- A Map of Home: A Novel by Randa Jarrar
- Addition by Toni Jordan
- The Late Bloomer's Revolution: A Memoir by Amy Cohen
what are you reading?
- Almost French: Love and a New Life in Paris by Sarah Turnbull
- BITCHfest: Ten Years of Cultural Criticism From the Pages of Bitch Magazine edited by Lisa Jervis
- Trail of Crumbs: Hunger, Love, and the Search for Home by Kim Sunee
- A Map of Home: A Novel by Randa Jarrar
- Addition by Toni Jordan
- The Late Bloomer's Revolution: A Memoir by Amy Cohen
what are you reading?
hppy wknd
awesome weekend.
Thursday night - NESA Spring dance concert "Footnotes"
Friday night - burgers, Scooter the puppy, Full Moon, remembering old times
Saturday day - TCU Spring dance concert
Saturday evening - TCU Theatre musical "A Chorus Line"
Sunday - reliving Vagabond memories, dinner with Mike and Pam Mycoskie
epic weekend.
Thursday night - NESA Spring dance concert "Footnotes"
Friday night - burgers, Scooter the puppy, Full Moon, remembering old times
Saturday day - TCU Spring dance concert
Saturday evening - TCU Theatre musical "A Chorus Line"
Sunday - reliving Vagabond memories, dinner with Mike and Pam Mycoskie
epic weekend.
Thursday, April 2, 2009
Etta
Etta is a lap cat. And right now she is resting on my stomach while my computer sits on my lap with her head and her paws draped on my left arm mid-type. We had to do some adjusting when she jumped in my lap to join me because I had intentions of writing about my past three days in Montessori while her intentions were to sprawl out to the satisfaction of her own comfort level without any regard to me. Okay, she just shifted and is now resting her head on my right hand while I'm typing. It bounces along with the movement of my fingers against the keys. Gosh, she's so funny. Have you ever seen a cat sleep on her back with all her legs and arms curl up in midair? Imagine a dog when it wants you to rub its belly and then change that image of a dog to the body of a black and gray speckled cat. There's Etta's daily sleeping habit. But if you try to rub her belly, as you would to a dog, she'll immediately claw and push your hand away. Although, you can get lucky scratching her upper chest early in the morning when she's just aching for attention and will take whatever she can get. She has eyes like the cat in Shrek that just melts your heart and makes you think she's looking directly into your soul. She's missing her bottom left canine tooth so when she yawns you can see the asymmetry of her mouth. My mom calls her Etta Bell because of the tinkly bell on her collar. Okay, now Etta has grown bored of her time on the hand-made Bounce Castle and has left the room. And now I sit here wondering why I wrote so much about my sister's cat? Oh, I know. 'Cause I love her.
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
car-line
"Bye, Daddy. I love you."
---
versus
"Yeah...bye."
---
[silence]
___________
the interaction and responses I've witnessed between kids and parents during my morning car-line duty have been both appalling and inspiring. one minute I'm pulling the car handle to a vehicle clearly filled with love and encouragement and the next minute I'm opening Pandora's vehicle that overflows with bitterness and distaste. it's confusing and disheartening to view the latter, but I'm privileged to peek into the relationships within the car that possesses hugs and kisses goodbye. I just feel sorry for those children who are booted out of their parent's car without a word. or a hug. or a smile. just silence and a head faced forward.
---
"Okay, bye Mom. Love you!"
versus
"Yeah...bye."
---
[silence]
___________
the interaction and responses I've witnessed between kids and parents during my morning car-line duty have been both appalling and inspiring. one minute I'm pulling the car handle to a vehicle clearly filled with love and encouragement and the next minute I'm opening Pandora's vehicle that overflows with bitterness and distaste. it's confusing and disheartening to view the latter, but I'm privileged to peek into the relationships within the car that possesses hugs and kisses goodbye. I just feel sorry for those children who are booted out of their parent's car without a word. or a hug. or a smile. just silence and a head faced forward.
Monday, March 30, 2009
pina colada
I had a job interview today at a local marketing firm. It lasted five minutes and by the end of it I knew I couldn't possibly enjoy the position they were offering. I wasn't created to do sales for a credit card processing company. My talents weren't molded by the hand of God to do that. And perhaps I come across arrogant for being so bold in those statements, but I'd rather believe that I'm becoming more aware of what it is I should be doing or in turn what I shouldn't be doing. I'll chalk this one up as a learning experience and a foot in the door of the job world. I mean, I landed an interview right? That can be an accomplishment in itself.
EDIT: I received a call from the bossman who interviewed me. He thought I gave a "great impression" and "would like to meet with me again." I said thanks but no thanks. And the search continues...
EDIT: I received a call from the bossman who interviewed me. He thought I gave a "great impression" and "would like to meet with me again." I said thanks but no thanks. And the search continues...
Sunday, March 29, 2009
one of those moments
Sea World in San Antonio
Nautilus Amphitheater
6:30 pm show
waiting for Revive, Needtobreathe, Third Day
crowds of people looking for seats
honey-lemon cough drop
end of never-ending phone tag with Elizabeth
update on life
"God has so many doors open for you, we just don't know where they are yet"
difference between her joy and my sadness
"I choose to be happy"
new mantra starting now
Coldplay's song "Fix You" playing overhead
teary eyes and smile
words of wisdom from an angel on earth
perfect preparation for night of worship
prayers of thanksgiving and forgiveness
hands eager to raise in praise
lights dim
musicians on stage
Spirit envelops
Nautilus Amphitheater
6:30 pm show
waiting for Revive, Needtobreathe, Third Day
crowds of people looking for seats
honey-lemon cough drop
end of never-ending phone tag with Elizabeth
update on life
"God has so many doors open for you, we just don't know where they are yet"
difference between her joy and my sadness
"I choose to be happy"
new mantra starting now
Coldplay's song "Fix You" playing overhead
teary eyes and smile
words of wisdom from an angel on earth
perfect preparation for night of worship
prayers of thanksgiving and forgiveness
hands eager to raise in praise
lights dim
musicians on stage
Spirit envelops
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
naptime
I subbed today in a Montessori class of 2.5 to 5 year olds. They have a two hour naptime after lunch in the afternoon. I can't quite express what a strange and wonderful feeling it was to be in a room full of napping youngsters. I spent most of the time observing how funny and adorable they all looked while they slept. Some children couldn't fall asleep as easily as others and that's when they look at me with hope-filled eyes. I patted the backs of two little girls (oddly both named Isabella) for about twenty minutes waiting until both their eyelids drooped with heaviness. About an hour into naptime a little boy named Jackson was still squirming on his cot trying to find a way to sleep. I asked him if he wanted me to stay by his side and he nodded at me looking on with his big bright blue eyes. So he stayed on his back and I gently brushed my hand on his head in a calm, soothing motion. In five minutes he was asleep. It was neat to watch his hand grip the corner of his blanket tightly and then as time progressed in that five minute span watch his fingers relax and fall to the will of gravity. I absolutely loved and adored those two hours. I thought of a lot of things during that time and one thing in particular being when I have children of my own. I know I'll still be able to treasure and adore those moments when my son or daughter asks me to rub his or her back for them to drift to dreamland. I can watch their eyelids flutter with movement as their eyes dart back and forth in their dreams. Watch the rise and fall of their breath as it balances out for the night's journey. Hum a low lullaby as the soundtrack to their slumber. One day my naptime dream will come true.
Sunday, March 22, 2009
Taco Communion
I grew up going to the same church for most of my entire life and my parents still attend there regularly. The church happens to be a couple blocks away from the original location of Taco Cabana and we've fully taken advantage of the close proximity. (For those who haven't been so lucky in enjoying Taco Cabana, it is essentially the best fast-food Mexican food in the world. Forget Taco Bell, Taco Bueno, Rosa's, etc. : Taco Cabana or bust.) The 8:30 am church service has always been the service of choice for my family so we're out the church doors and into the car to head home by 10 or 10:30 am. Perfect time for some Taco Communion. That's what we call it. It is the time period right after church where we partake in the consumption of tortillas, tacos, beans and rice while never losing sight of the blessing of the food before us. In our own non-traditional way, we continue to break tortillas and share in the Lord's Supper. Because let's face it: Jesus loves Mexican food.
"Do this in remembrance of me."
"Do this in remembrance of me."
Saturday, March 21, 2009
Eat Pray Love p. 176
There's a wonderful old Italian joke about a poor man who goes to church every day and prays before the statue of a great saint, begging, "Dear saint - please, please, please ... give me the grace to win the lottery." This lament goes on for months. Finally the exasperated statue comes to life, looks down at the begging man and says in weary disgust, "My son - please, please, please ... buy a ticket.
Thursday, March 19, 2009
bitch
Yesterday afternoon I found solace at a wooden table in Barnes & Noble. With the intention of drowning out my woes with instead the woes of celebrities I proceeded to indulge in the trashy magazines made available on the stacks. One by one I flipped through the glossy colored pages hoping to feel some vindication that my disappointment of a morning wasn't as terrible as the paparazzi following my every move. An hour into the attempt I felt shallow and wasteful of my brain cells, so picked up one of my guilty pleasure magazines, Bitch. This mag isn't every one's cup of tea and sometimes I feel the need to turn my shoulder from the coffee shop public due to some of the articles in it, but overall, I'm obsessed with the intelligence, perspective, and brutally honest opinions this magazine encourages and examines. It offers me a chance to escape from the idea that being skinny is what matters most and being submissive and quiet in regards to our male counterpart is our purpose in the workplace. This is one of the rare magazines I will devote to reading every single page.
Here is the mission of Bitch:
Here is the mission of Bitch:
We seek to be a fresh, revitalizing voice for feminism, one that welcomes complex arguments, showcases witty and whip-smart critiques of popular culture, and refuses to ignore the contradictory and sometimes uncomfortable details that constitute the realities of life in an unequivocally gendered world.
We seek to formulate replies to the sexist and narrow-minded media diet that we all--intentionally or not--consume. It's about critically examining the images of things like femininity, feminism, class, race, and sexuality that are thrown at us by the media. And by media, we mean TV, movies, books, magazines, the music world, advertising, fashion, the web--and also the messages that are sent through the news media, in schools, and on the streets.
We seek to forge connections between the sociocultural messages we get and the commercial agendas of who's behind them. It's about creating a dialogue--making people aware that the dissenting views they hold are, in fact, shared by many. It's about asking ourselves and each other questions: Where are the places in the mass media that don't insult our intelligence? How can we get more of them?
We're about saying, We can make them.
And what's with the name??
The B Word
For as long as we've been publishing Bitch, there's one question that gets asked over and over. And over. "Why did you choose that word as the name of your magazine?" While we're aware that our title is off-putting to some people, we think it's worth it. And here's why.
The writer Rebecca West, back in the day, said, "People call me a feminist whenever I express sentiments that differentiate me from a doormat." We'd argue that the word "bitch" is usually deployed for the same purpose. When it's being used as an insult, "bitch" is an epithet hurled at women who speak their minds, who have opinions and don't shy away from expressing them, and who don't sit by and smile uncomfortably if they're bothered or offended. If being an outspoken woman means being a bitch, we'll take that as a compliment, thanks.
We know that not everyone's down with the term. Believe us, we've heard all about it. But we stand firm in our belief that if we choose to take the word as a compliment, it loses its power to hurt us. And if we can get people thinking about what they're saying and why when they use the word, that's even better.
And last, but certainly not least, "bitch" describes all at once who we are when we speak up, what it is we're too worked up over to be quiet about, and the act of making ourselves heard.
Pretty rad, right?
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
book and tear
I'm currently reading the book Eat Pray Love by Elizabeth Gilbert. My friend Lauren passed the book along to me saying she thought I would like it. I'm absolutely moved by this book and I feel as if it was given to me at the right moment in time. It is uncanny how well I identify and find myself aligned with her stories, observations, concerns, doubts, interests, and thoughts. I'm receiving advice, guidance, and support from a piece of literature more so than my own friends. What an oddity. What an indirect blessing.
I aspire to write a book one day. I've guessed it to be a fictional love story based on my real life experience, or an ethnography covering my time spent with an unknown indigenous people, or perhaps it will be a travelogue of all that I've encountered in my x number of years of traveling. I would love to be published one day for a great piece of work in which I've let my heart guide the pen.
There's nothing quite like the taste of salt on your lips after you've cried out your despair and disappointment. Or to see the water stains of your tear droplets form on the pages of your latest journal entry or hand-written letter. Or the solo tear that traces the sadness from the corner of your eye down the curves of your cheek and then lingers lightly on your chin deciding if it wants to fall into the unknown or remain in the moment.
I aspire to write a book one day. I've guessed it to be a fictional love story based on my real life experience, or an ethnography covering my time spent with an unknown indigenous people, or perhaps it will be a travelogue of all that I've encountered in my x number of years of traveling. I would love to be published one day for a great piece of work in which I've let my heart guide the pen.
There's nothing quite like the taste of salt on your lips after you've cried out your despair and disappointment. Or to see the water stains of your tear droplets form on the pages of your latest journal entry or hand-written letter. Or the solo tear that traces the sadness from the corner of your eye down the curves of your cheek and then lingers lightly on your chin deciding if it wants to fall into the unknown or remain in the moment.
Friday, March 13, 2009
rainy day thoughts
The past couple of days have been rainy and cold, and I've loved every minute spent outside in this weather. There is something about cold, wet days that make me want to walk in the wind and feel the drops of rain cover my face. A mini-baptism for my daily sins. Washed away and found clean again.
In my dresser drawers you can find t-shirts upon t-shirts from all sorts of events and organizations I've been involved with for the past few years. But there is one t-shirt I will always choose to wear before any others, especially when it comes to wearing the shirt to bed. It is the most comfortable, light-weight, soft shirt I possess. A navy blue short sleeved tee with the outline of a sailboat and the word "Southerly" written in white on the front left. And as much as I choose it for physical comfort sake, I also choose this shirt for sentimental comfort. It was my old love's shirt until he offered it to me one evening we came back to his apartment. I'm sure I was done up in a dress or skirt and that wasn't going to cut it for lounging around with him for the rest of the evening. So I changed into the blue tee one evening and have kept it ever since. It used to smell like him but now it smells like my mom's fabric softener. Nonetheless, I love this shirt. And I hope he never asks for it back.
funny quote that makes me think of my Miss: "why you eye-in' my lemon drink?"
In my dresser drawers you can find t-shirts upon t-shirts from all sorts of events and organizations I've been involved with for the past few years. But there is one t-shirt I will always choose to wear before any others, especially when it comes to wearing the shirt to bed. It is the most comfortable, light-weight, soft shirt I possess. A navy blue short sleeved tee with the outline of a sailboat and the word "Southerly" written in white on the front left. And as much as I choose it for physical comfort sake, I also choose this shirt for sentimental comfort. It was my old love's shirt until he offered it to me one evening we came back to his apartment. I'm sure I was done up in a dress or skirt and that wasn't going to cut it for lounging around with him for the rest of the evening. So I changed into the blue tee one evening and have kept it ever since. It used to smell like him but now it smells like my mom's fabric softener. Nonetheless, I love this shirt. And I hope he never asks for it back.
funny quote that makes me think of my Miss: "why you eye-in' my lemon drink?"
he's just not that into you
I've seen the movie twice.
I've read the book twice.
I refuse to believe EVERYTHING it promotes.
But, I still can't help but think, it's true... he's just not that into me.
I've read the book twice.
I refuse to believe EVERYTHING it promotes.
But, I still can't help but think, it's true... he's just not that into me.
Monday, March 9, 2009
just dance
I thought I had lost some of my dancing skills because I wasn't utilizing them often, but apparently, I've still got 'em. When more than five people come up to me (strangers or not) and say, "dang girl, where did you get those moves?!" I know I'm doing something right. And I just love surprising people.
Cute little pre-K tidbit:
Teacher: "One, two, three, eyes on me."
Students: "One, two, eyes on you."
I'm so proud of the TCU Soul Steppers for providing an amazing, krunk show this weekend. My little baby is growing up so quickly...
Zumba, Cardio Dance Fusion, and Cardio Groove are saving my sorry bum this month.
Cute little pre-K tidbit:
Teacher: "One, two, three, eyes on me."
Students: "One, two, eyes on you."
I'm so proud of the TCU Soul Steppers for providing an amazing, krunk show this weekend. My little baby is growing up so quickly...
Zumba, Cardio Dance Fusion, and Cardio Groove are saving my sorry bum this month.
Saturday, February 28, 2009
birth(day)
The entirety of my 23rd birthday was spent with the sole woman on earth who gave me a day to celebrate: my mom. It was wonderful. I couldn't have asked for a more needed birthday experience. I could've been sad and disappointed that I didn't have any friends in San Antonio to celebrate my birthday with and I could've pouted all day that my birthday was all for ruin because I'm stuck "partying" with my mom, but I chose to view that day differently. It didn't need to be about celebrating my life and the fact that YAY! I was born 23 years ago. It was more about paying attention to the sacrifice and commitment my mom made for me 23 years and nine months ago. I know I didn't tell her this directly that day because she would have been the humble, gentle person she is and brought the attention back to me, but in the back of my mind as she excitingly watched the Jonas Brothers 3-D movie and putt-putted on the green with me, I was thanking her for everything, especially allowing me to spend my whole birthday with her. My mom made sure I felt loved on my birthday and I couldn't be more grateful that it was her love she was sharing with me. Thank you Mom.
Friday, February 27, 2009
first graders
For first graders, the little things are absolutely HUGE things. Someone stealing another person's eraser. Someone cutting in line. Someone making a face at someone else. And while all those acts are not nice to do in any situation at any age level (steal, cheat, make fun), once those acts are committed against a first grader it affects their entire world as if there's no hope in the end. It has been a tiring, interesting, and rewarding week of substituting in the first grade classroom I've come to know and love over the past couple of weeks. These children are precious, sweethearts but have baggage like everyone else that can hinder the day from flowing smoothly. They just need to be shown patience, care, and love as well as being given guidance, forgiveness, and encouragement. I'm thankful I could provide that for twenty-one little individuals this week. What they don't know is that they affected my heart just as much as I hope I affected theirs. My refrigerator is covered with pictures, drawings, and sweet notes the children gave me throughout the week. And like I've said to myself lately, hugs from first graders are the jam.
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
learning modalities
In my certification class tonight we covered the topic "learning modalities" which indicate the modes or means through whch people acquire information and demonstrate what they know. (Think: "what kind of learner am I?") While scrolling through the lists of charactertistics each type of learner possesses I was half-surprised, half-aware of what kind of learner I believe I am. While I can identify with all of the visual learner characteristics, I also found myself identifying with more than half of the auditory/verbal learner characteristics as well as more than half of the kinesthetic/tactile learners. Needless to say it was an encouraging moment to affirm how I learn best and to recall how those particular learning modalities have played out in my educational achievement and other personal growths.
Visual learners:
- are good with detail
- learn by seeing, watching demonstrations
- often remember whatever they have written down
- can recall the placement of words and pictures on a page
- like descriptive reading
- enjoy and learn from visual displays and colors
- recognize words by sight and people by face rather than name
- have a vivid imagination and think in pictures
- are deliberate problem solvers and plan solutions in advance
- facial expressions are a good indication of their emotions
Auditory/Verbal learners:
- enjoy listening but are always ready to talk
- like music, rap, poetry, rhyming words
- enjoy dialogues, skits and debates
- have auditory word attack skills and learn words phonetically
- talk to themselves, especially whem memorizing
- are distracted by sounds
- talk out problems and the pros and cons of a situation
- express emotion through changing in pitch, tone, and volume of voice
- are not detail persons, tend to be global thinkers
- learn through verbal instructions from others or themselves
Kinesthetic/Tactile learners:
- learn by hands-on experiences
- prefer direct involvement rather than being a spectator
- enjoy the performing arts and/or athletics
- like working with materials, machinery, and tools
- prefer actions/adventure stories and videos
- communicate feelings through body language
- experiment with ideas to see how they will work in the real world
- touch, feel, manipulate, and play with objects
- show emotions physically by jumping, hugging, applauding, etc.
- remember what they have done rather than what they have seen or read
So what kind of learner are you?
Visual learners:
- are good with detail
- learn by seeing, watching demonstrations
- often remember whatever they have written down
- can recall the placement of words and pictures on a page
- like descriptive reading
- enjoy and learn from visual displays and colors
- recognize words by sight and people by face rather than name
- have a vivid imagination and think in pictures
- are deliberate problem solvers and plan solutions in advance
- facial expressions are a good indication of their emotions
Auditory/Verbal learners:
- enjoy listening but are always ready to talk
- like music, rap, poetry, rhyming words
- enjoy dialogues, skits and debates
- have auditory word attack skills and learn words phonetically
- talk to themselves, especially whem memorizing
- are distracted by sounds
- talk out problems and the pros and cons of a situation
- express emotion through changing in pitch, tone, and volume of voice
- are not detail persons, tend to be global thinkers
- learn through verbal instructions from others or themselves
Kinesthetic/Tactile learners:
- learn by hands-on experiences
- prefer direct involvement rather than being a spectator
- enjoy the performing arts and/or athletics
- like working with materials, machinery, and tools
- prefer actions/adventure stories and videos
- communicate feelings through body language
- experiment with ideas to see how they will work in the real world
- touch, feel, manipulate, and play with objects
- show emotions physically by jumping, hugging, applauding, etc.
- remember what they have done rather than what they have seen or read
So what kind of learner are you?
Monday, February 23, 2009
happy hour
a small watermelon slush from Sonic during Happy Hour: $0.64
two quarters, a dime, and four pennies.
chump change for a delicious treat.
oh, the little things.
two quarters, a dime, and four pennies.
chump change for a delicious treat.
oh, the little things.
Sunday, February 22, 2009
bench
There is a bench in the Fort Worth Botanic Gardens that I've come to love. In the past I have found myself visiting this bench whenever I've needed to clear my head, be away from distractions, and just feel the wind's breeze. Every time I've frequented this bench I bring along a hummus, bell pepper, and avocado sandwich from Which-Wich as well as the most current book I'm reading. This past week while visiting friends in Fort Worth, I took advantage of visiting this bench again. It was one of the most calming afternoons I've had in a long time. The sun warmed my skin from the chill of the wind and the trickle of the water nearby was a soothing soundtrack. I rested on that bench for a few hours flipping page after page of my book losing all track of time. Every now and then I'd be startled by the rustle of leaves as a curious squirrel searched for his snack. But before looking back down to the book in my hands I reveled in that break to look around at my garden surroundings. I remembered being whisked away one afternoon in the month of September when I was treated to the most memorable scavenger hunt designed especially for me by my love. We ventured to the Rose Garden where a blanket, flowers, wine, and other delights were waiting for us. I could remember the feelings I had in those few hours and what that experience led to by the end of the night: saying "I love you" for the first time and committing ourselves to something incredible. Sitting on that bench I could look around me and see images of my past pass me by, and while it stung my heart knowing those times had ended, I was thankful I could be reminded of such a treasured moment. I plan on visiting that bench again in a few weeks when I venture back to Fort Worth for a weekend. That bench is my little piece of heaven.
Saturday, February 21, 2009
the beginning ...
A few days ago I was waiting at a stoplight reflecting on life as usual when it dawned on me once again that I take the little things fore-granted. I focus on "me, myself, and I" way too much causing me to bypass all the beauty that exists around me. The little things that help each one of us seem to make it through one more day of hurt are just waiting for us to pay attention to them. Without asking for anything in return the little things offer themselves to us by providing that glimmer of hope and joy we need to take that next step and breathe that next breath. All we have to do is open our eyes. Open them wide enough to allow the most unexpected gifts entrance into our lives to shatter our pain and expand our hearts. So I've taken it upon myself to actively embrace the little things and celebrate them for touching me in ways I can't currently imagine. I'm not sure how often I'll write, but I'm excited to know that I now have a place to pour out words of admiration and appreciation for the little things.
I find it amazing how much a song can reflect everything you're feeling and/or wanting to say. When I stumble across one of those songs that speaks words straight from my own soul, I cling to it tightly and press the replay button until I fall asleep. Current song of my soul: "Fix You" by Coldplay
- - -
My driver side-view mirror is constantly a home for a spider or two. I'm not sure why but there often seems to be an intricate web forming from my windshield wipers to the mirror to my door handle. I'm not the biggest fan of spiders so I instinctively swat the web away each time it appears. Yet I wonder when I swat those webs away if I'm actually dismissing my own Charlotte.I find it amazing how much a song can reflect everything you're feeling and/or wanting to say. When I stumble across one of those songs that speaks words straight from my own soul, I cling to it tightly and press the replay button until I fall asleep. Current song of my soul: "Fix You" by Coldplay
- - -
What are the little things you've noticed lately?
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