Having spent the better part of my day writing a critical literary analysis of "The Tale of Despereaux" I feel completely confident that I am an expert on literary projectile vomit. I'm not talking about Despereaux, who of course is the winner of the Newberry award, but of my own writing about said book. The assignment is for my Resources and Services for Children class. Much to my dismay, I realized (after the add/drop period) that I am NOT a fan of children's literature. Sure I read it myself when I was very young (I move to the YA section fairly young) and I read books to Danielle before we started our Trixie Belden tradition, but overall this is not my area, and I am NOT enjoying this class.
I understand the concept of narrative elements. I recognize a theme when I see one. I can discuss plot and setting and tone and point of view. I read the book. I took notes. I recognized each of these literary elements as a came across them and dutifully noted the page number in order to appropriately cite examples. In went into my brain in courses, the actual book, the required reviews, yet today as I tried to organize my paper into a cohesive analysis of Kate DiCamillo's novel, the information spread itself across the screen as "literary projectile vomit!"
What a horrible image, I know. But it feels appropriate. And the more I tried to clean up the mess the more atrocious the problem became. And then I realized my problem. It wasn't that I didn't understand the concept. The problem is that my brain processor is broken. My ability to take in multiple pieces of information and put them into a cohesive concept is gone. And I know what is to blame...Facebook. This is the fault of Facebook. Social networking has contaminated by over sized brain (medically not intellectually) with so much random stimuli that I have lost the ability to process things logically.
Every day I go in and check my energy levels, and view pictures of friends, and post any prophetic thoughts. Then I check the library's page, and return in messages, and go check my stamina, then click "like" for "People for Puppies" then upload a new profile pick, then go check plant some seeds, then go accept a gift, and on and on and on! There is no rhyme or reason to it. There is no need to sort through and synthesize the information in a consistent way. It jumps at you with red tags and notifications, and you can't focus on one thing without being interrupted by another.
So three lagging thoughts remain. 1) Is this really how I feel or am I just brain dead from Despereaux? and 2) Do I really believe this or is it just an excuse for crappy writing and 3) If 1 & 2 are correct, what am I going to do about it?
I'm not ready to give up my Facebook, but I do recognize that it is the biggest time sucker of my day! How I will deal with that remains to be seen. Regardless, I will end this post as I need to go check my crops, refill my energy, and find out what people REALLY think about me on "Get Revealed".
Sunday, February 6, 2011
Monday, January 10, 2011
What's Blooming - The October Rose
In October 2009, I went outside and much to my suprise, there was a lone rose on the rosebush at the corner of my house. Now this rosebush and I have had a contentious relationship at best. It was a gift from a gentleman on our first date many years ago. And I put it into the ground with little hope that it would survive. (I'm not very good with plants. I actually managed to "kill" a plastic plant once!) But survive it did! It flourished! The more I did to try to discourage it, the more vigorous it became. I had friends refer to it as the plant that ate the house as it continued to creep up my railings and then my roof.
I sawed it off at the very base hoping to dissuade it's aggressive nature. But months later when any logical plant with sense would have given up the fight against the impending winter, this bush, the bane of my horticultural existance, insisted on sassing me, by producing one lone, pink, beautiful, yet mocking, rose.
I thought about that rose a lot that day. And I likened it to a person; a woman, who is past her prime, but yet continues with dignity. Here is a poem that I wrote in honor of that stubborn beautiful rose. After you finish, take a moment to think of all of the strong "October Roses" in your life; the women who have suffered sickness and pain and loss, but yet continue to survive against the metaphorical winds in their lives. I can only hope that as my birthdays continue to pass throughout the years, I will one day be considered an October Rose.
October Rose
The harvest of her life has begun.
But the desire to bloom and be revered
Does not wane with the loss of fertility
It does not wane with the passing of the rich season.
Cold nights and autmn winds
Blow and press against the October Rose
Pressing her to give in
And let her season pass.
To relinquish her glory days.
Days of bright sun and warm rain
And soft breezes that gently wafted across her petals
Urging her to forget that she was once destined
For the center of the bouquet.
The frost against her skin
Urging her to gracefully let go
Of everything but the memory
Of what she was.
But the nature of the rose is to bloom
Against all of natures recommendations.
She fights against the coming winter
Bravely yearning for one final flowering
For the admirers of her garden.
For the beauty of the October Rose
Is not in the shade of her pink hue.
It is not in the softness of her petals
It is not in the scent of her perfume.
Her beauty comes from her determined existence
From her hardy nature that ensures she will continue
To bloom
Against the harshness of a cold October wind.
I sawed it off at the very base hoping to dissuade it's aggressive nature. But months later when any logical plant with sense would have given up the fight against the impending winter, this bush, the bane of my horticultural existance, insisted on sassing me, by producing one lone, pink, beautiful, yet mocking, rose.
I thought about that rose a lot that day. And I likened it to a person; a woman, who is past her prime, but yet continues with dignity. Here is a poem that I wrote in honor of that stubborn beautiful rose. After you finish, take a moment to think of all of the strong "October Roses" in your life; the women who have suffered sickness and pain and loss, but yet continue to survive against the metaphorical winds in their lives. I can only hope that as my birthdays continue to pass throughout the years, I will one day be considered an October Rose.
October Rose
The harvest of her life has begun.
But the desire to bloom and be revered
Does not wane with the loss of fertility
It does not wane with the passing of the rich season.
Cold nights and autmn winds
Blow and press against the October Rose
Pressing her to give in
And let her season pass.
To relinquish her glory days.
Days of bright sun and warm rain
And soft breezes that gently wafted across her petals
Urging her to forget that she was once destined
For the center of the bouquet.
The frost against her skin
Urging her to gracefully let go
Of everything but the memory
Of what she was.
But the nature of the rose is to bloom
Against all of natures recommendations.
She fights against the coming winter
Bravely yearning for one final flowering
For the admirers of her garden.
For the beauty of the October Rose
Is not in the shade of her pink hue.
It is not in the softness of her petals
It is not in the scent of her perfume.
Her beauty comes from her determined existence
From her hardy nature that ensures she will continue
To bloom
Against the harshness of a cold October wind.
Sunday, June 20, 2010
Daddy's Day
Happy Daddy's Day to all of the daddies out there! I know that the appropriate name is Father's Day, but I always thought that "Father" seemed so distant, while "Daddy" more accurately sums up the safe and fun feeling of paternal love.
I lost my daddy almost three years ago. And strangely enough, today doesn't really make me miss him anymore than any other day. Because for me, this day is no different than any other. My father was, and will always remain, the greatest man that I have ever known...on Father's Day, and every other day of the year! And I try to celebrate him every day by remembering his great love of family, by laughing often-as was his habit, and by living my life in a way that would make him smile with pride.
I have many memories of my father's love, but there is one memory that stands out above all others. When I was about three or four, we went to visit a friend of Daddy's. This man had some baby chickens, and I fell in love with them. The man told me that if my dad could catch them, I could take them home with me. My next memory is of holding my newest pets in a small box, while my dad leaned against the bed of his blue Ford pickup. My eyes were drawn to his hand, which was bleeding from a vicious attack from the mother of the baby chicks. I remember looking at that stream of blood and thinking, "Wow! My Daddy loves me so much. He got hurt just to give my by baby chickens."
I am the person that I am because of my Daddy. And I will choose to live my life in a way that honors who he was and who he wanted me to be. I will laugh. I will love. I will give up security in order to reach for better things. I will play jokes. I will be sarcastic. And every day I will remember that I am my Daddy's daughter, and know, that today and every other day that, being his daughter is one of the greatest things to be.
I lost my daddy almost three years ago. And strangely enough, today doesn't really make me miss him anymore than any other day. Because for me, this day is no different than any other. My father was, and will always remain, the greatest man that I have ever known...on Father's Day, and every other day of the year! And I try to celebrate him every day by remembering his great love of family, by laughing often-as was his habit, and by living my life in a way that would make him smile with pride.
I have many memories of my father's love, but there is one memory that stands out above all others. When I was about three or four, we went to visit a friend of Daddy's. This man had some baby chickens, and I fell in love with them. The man told me that if my dad could catch them, I could take them home with me. My next memory is of holding my newest pets in a small box, while my dad leaned against the bed of his blue Ford pickup. My eyes were drawn to his hand, which was bleeding from a vicious attack from the mother of the baby chicks. I remember looking at that stream of blood and thinking, "Wow! My Daddy loves me so much. He got hurt just to give my by baby chickens."
I am the person that I am because of my Daddy. And I will choose to live my life in a way that honors who he was and who he wanted me to be. I will laugh. I will love. I will give up security in order to reach for better things. I will play jokes. I will be sarcastic. And every day I will remember that I am my Daddy's daughter, and know, that today and every other day that, being his daughter is one of the greatest things to be.
Saturday, June 19, 2010
Young Love
I miss the conviction of young love, the unshakable knowledge that your love is true, the lightness of a relationship, that lacks the baggage that is the equivalent of an overseas trip! But I mainly miss the certainty that the person that you are with is "the one," and that because you love each other, nothing else matters.
We laugh, those of us who remember feeling this way. We shake our heads because we remember those exact words coming out of our mouths, as the elders in our life cautioned us to take things slowly.
I like to think that I'm the cool mom, but because it is written in the parent handbook that we must give "the speech," I do what I must! "Take it slow," yada yada, "You are too young," yada yada, then I throw in a couple "you don't really know what love is," and suddenly the position of least understanding parent in the world, previously held by my parents, is now firmly a part of MY parental resume!
Back think, things were simple, when love was simply enough. But now we roll our eyes and tell the youngsters that they should take it slow, that they are too young, and of course, they listen to us as well as we listened to our elders. And this is exactly the way it should be. Love is a lesson that can't be learned second hand. The pain and loss of our first love can't be avoided through wise advice, and in fact, shouldn't be avoided at all!
So tonight, I'm grateful for the blind love and the devastating loss of my first love, and all of the loves and losses that came after. Because I know that I had to go through all of THAT to get to this. And THIS, for all of its difficulties, is pretty darn awesome!!
We laugh, those of us who remember feeling this way. We shake our heads because we remember those exact words coming out of our mouths, as the elders in our life cautioned us to take things slowly.
I like to think that I'm the cool mom, but because it is written in the parent handbook that we must give "the speech," I do what I must! "Take it slow," yada yada, "You are too young," yada yada, then I throw in a couple "you don't really know what love is," and suddenly the position of least understanding parent in the world, previously held by my parents, is now firmly a part of MY parental resume!
Back think, things were simple, when love was simply enough. But now we roll our eyes and tell the youngsters that they should take it slow, that they are too young, and of course, they listen to us as well as we listened to our elders. And this is exactly the way it should be. Love is a lesson that can't be learned second hand. The pain and loss of our first love can't be avoided through wise advice, and in fact, shouldn't be avoided at all!
So tonight, I'm grateful for the blind love and the devastating loss of my first love, and all of the loves and losses that came after. Because I know that I had to go through all of THAT to get to this. And THIS, for all of its difficulties, is pretty darn awesome!!
Friday, June 18, 2010
I am not a cook!
Contrary to the name of my blog, "I am not a cook!" Please forgive my cheap play on Nixon's famous claim, but I just couldn't resist!
The name of my blog comes from an episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, where Buffy is telling Angel that she isn't done baking yet, meaning that she is not yet a finished product...not yet who she is meant to be. And that is how I feel about myself. I'm not yet who I'm meant to be.
At 35, I'm at an age where most people are pretty settled in their lives, and I was. Settled that is, for the most part. But I didn't feel that I was done baking...that for some reason my chips weren't quite gooey enough. Ok, I think that I have taken the cookie/baking metaphor as far as it will go, but the point is that I still have things to do.
So last week, on the day that my daughter graduated from high school, I did the unthinkable in such a difficult economy. I quit my job of 14 years. Wow! I still can't believe that I did it! So now my plan is to finish out the month at my job as Interim Registrar, and then to begin the next chapter of my life.
This new chapter will involve many new challenges but hopefully some fun and maybe, just maybe, a little excitement. So this blog will hopefully be a manifestation and a chronicle of my new "baking" experience...not to be confused with my half-baked experience, which is another blog post altogether.
The name of my blog comes from an episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, where Buffy is telling Angel that she isn't done baking yet, meaning that she is not yet a finished product...not yet who she is meant to be. And that is how I feel about myself. I'm not yet who I'm meant to be.
At 35, I'm at an age where most people are pretty settled in their lives, and I was. Settled that is, for the most part. But I didn't feel that I was done baking...that for some reason my chips weren't quite gooey enough. Ok, I think that I have taken the cookie/baking metaphor as far as it will go, but the point is that I still have things to do.
So last week, on the day that my daughter graduated from high school, I did the unthinkable in such a difficult economy. I quit my job of 14 years. Wow! I still can't believe that I did it! So now my plan is to finish out the month at my job as Interim Registrar, and then to begin the next chapter of my life.
This new chapter will involve many new challenges but hopefully some fun and maybe, just maybe, a little excitement. So this blog will hopefully be a manifestation and a chronicle of my new "baking" experience...not to be confused with my half-baked experience, which is another blog post altogether.
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