It is very unlikely that A. A. Milne had read Henry David Thoreau’s Transcendental writings or followed them when he was writing Winnie the Pooh and The House at Pooh Corner. It is also unlikely that Milne in writing simple stories for his son ever intended to create a guidebook for living the perfect Transcendental life. Winnie the Pooh is a character who is never exactly right, exactly wrong, or exactly sure of his stance on any level of existence(Arbaugh-Twitty 1). Pooh lives by simple means and by simple rules, and his lifestyle can be contrasted with the lifestyles of his friends Rabbit, Tigger, Piglet, Owl, and Eeyore. Winnie the Pooh is a Transcendentalist and is an impeccable example for anyone who wants to live a happy and harmonious life with him or herself and nature, free from needless worry and materialism.
Thoreau, just like Pooh, lived alone in the woods with quite a few friends not far but not overly close. He lived frugally; he ate only what he caught or grew for himself, built his own home, and spent his spare time walking about the forest and studying nature and gaining insight. Pooh never realizes that he is gaining insight, and he may not actually be doing so, but it doesn’t really matter because either way he is innocent and free from complication unlike his friends(Arbaugh-Twitty 1). Pooh is content as long as he visits his friends every so often, has food to eat, and something to hum to entertain himself. Pooh doesn’t worry about planting a garden and gaining materialistic success like his friend Rabbit, nor does he worry about the endless pursuit of useless knowledge like Owl, constant pessimism and depression like Eeyore, or Piglet’s nervous insecurity that comes from not having a grasp on his true self(Arbaugh-Twitty 1).
Confucius once said “to know that we know what we know and that we do not know what we do not know, that is true knowledge”(Thorough 9). Pooh is referred to as “A Bear of Very Little Brain”(Milne 50); and yet his clear and simple thought process gives his plans much more success than Rabbit’s and Owl’s more complicated ideas. Pooh doesn’t have much knowledge at all; however it is Pooh who usually ends up on top(Hoff, Pooh 16). When Eeyore loses his tail Pooh goes out and finds it. First he goes to Owl who babbles on about “customary procedure”(Milne 50) and confuses Pooh with his extensive knowledge of nothing. When Pooh finally goes outside to begin searching with Owl’s plan, he notices that Owl’s bell-rope is actually Eeyore’s tail. Pooh’s naive brilliance always seems to take him farther than Owl’s intelligent ignorance(Arbaugh-Twitty 2). Thoreau had strong dislike for people who have extensive knowledge and yet have no common sense to use it. Useless knowledge is like a luxury that has no place in the natural, spiritual, and intelligent world of the forest. Owl lives in luxurious knowledge, but his spirituality is no where near Pooh’s. Pooh is poor in knowledge but rich in wisdom. Owl is a member of what Thoreau calls “that seemingly wealthy but most terribly impoverished class of all”(Arbaugh-Twitty 14).
Eeyore’s knowledge is for the sake of complaining about something(Hoff, Pooh 16). He is a pessimist and is a constant dark cloud over everyone else’s sunny day. He is constantly pondering and contemplating and the only answers that he finds are negative. “Sometimes he [thinks] sadly to himself, ‘why?’ and sometimes he [thinks] ‘wherefore?’ and sometimes he [thinks] ‘inasmuch as which?’- and sometimes he [doesn’t] quite know what he [is] thinking about”(Milne 45). His constant dark depression is a direct result of his constant thinking about and questioning everything. Eeyore’s attitude toward life gets in the way of wisdom and happiness and prevents any sort of real accomplishment(Hoff, Pooh 16).
In The House at Pooh Corner Rabbit’s cousin Small gets lost and Rabbit spends a large amount of time coming up with search plans. Rabbit’s knowledge is for the sake of appearing clever(Hoff, Pooh 16). He is constantly planning clever and complicated plans, but his schemes never seem to do much good. Pooh comes up with a much simpler plan. His plan isn’t actually successful, but while daydreaming he inadvertently finds Small. Instead of wasting time thinking about the different ways of doing something Pooh just does it. This goes along perfectly with Thoreau’s idea that “[a person] should not play life, or study it merely..., but earnestly live it from beginning to end” (Hoff, Pooh 48). Pooh finds Small with no help from Rabbit’s extravagant planning. If the search had been left to Rabbit and his organization, Small might never have been found.
Pooh’s attitude toward life, like Thoreau’s, seems trivial, immature, and slightly unrealistic, but however childlike and simplistic it is, it is incredibly successful. While in the woods Thoreau and Pooh both live lives free of want. Their lives are full of simple joys, grand thoughts, and lots of friends. Some of Pooh’s friends can even be compared to Thoreau’s, and others can be compared to different groups in society. Owl, the great thinker and genius who never fully expresses himself is Ralph Waldo Emerson. Eeyore, the dark and pessimistic cloud over the peaceful forest who has given up on the world is Hawthorne or Melville(Arbaugh-Twitty 3). Rabbit is similar to the materialistic society which is constantly working and cannot even comprehend of simply doing nothing.
Piglet represents the people who are torn between the worlds of Pooh and Rabbit and are not quite sure where the ideal lies. Piglet is attracted to the natural and more spiritual world of Pooh but he also feels that he should be busy working like Rabbit. More than anything in the world Piglet wants to do what is right, but at the same time he longs for security which is only achieved by constant work and worry(Hoff, Piglet 26). Influenced by Owl’s brain and Eeyore’s pessimism Piglet is confused and a bit lost and ends up going back and forth between each world. Without the constant anxiety Piglet’s life could be the perfect combination of materialism that is necessary to survive in the modern day and the natural spirituality that is a part of every person(Arbaugh-Twitty 4). Piglet is able to embrace the fact that he is very small and use it for the good of others(Hoff, Piglet 50). He accepts that he is not quite as clever as Rabbit or Owl or as simple as Pooh. He simply tries to do the best that he can with what he has, living in a nice medium between the Transcendentalism of Pooh and the materialism of Rabbit.
Pooh never condemns anyone or anything and neither does Thoreau. Thoreau merely points out faults in society, says why he doesn’t agree with them, and offers an alternative solution. He teaches moderation, tolerance, and acceptance. Walden is not so much a handbook to living the perfect Transcendental life as it is a suggestion for an alternative to the materialistic lifestyle(Arbaugh-Twitty 5). Thoreau recognizes that this lifestyle is not for everyone, and the forest needs Rabbits and Owls and Eeyores just as much as it needs Poohs. Winnie the Pooh, like Thoreau, never condemns Rabbit, Owl, or Eeyore; he merely wonders why they are the way they are. He accepts them and their lifestyles and continues living his own life they way that he wants.
The parallels between Winnie the Pooh and Thoreau are unclear at times and yet somehow still strong. Henry David Thoreau’s Walden is timeless, still avidly read over a hundred years after it was written, just as is Winnie The Pooh. Transcendentalism is built upon nature, honesty, simplicity, and love and respect for the self and friends. No one is a closer representation of the Transcendental ideal than Winnie the Pooh(Arbaugh-Twitty 6). Pooh knows many truths that will never come from Owl’s or Rabbit’s brain simply because their minds are filled with self-absorption and materialism. Pooh and the Transcendentalists could change the world if only the Owls and Rabbits of the world would stop studying, working, and worrying long enough to think about what matters and listen to the innate truths that are lying in nature and hidden within the mind behind mounds of materialistic clutter.
12.06.2009
a literary criticism: My Papa's Waltz
Theodore Roethke’s “My Papa’s Waltz” describes the unique relationship between Roethke and his father. Theirs is a relationship combining love and fear—a young boy loves and longs for the approval of his father, but simultaneously cannot escape the harshness that is contained in his father’s love. “My Papa’s Waltz” is not about an innocent dance of a small child with his father, but neither is it an account of blatant child abuse. On the contrary, there is a careful line drawn between these two which is very much influenced by Roethke’s own childhood experiences.
The whiskey on your breath
Could make a small boy dizzy;
But I hung on like death:
Such waltzing was not easy (Roethke 451).
This first stanza contains several words with negative connotations, but the denotations of these words are not necessarily negative. The “whiskey on [his father’s] breath (ibid)” automatically raises suspicion because the link between alcohol and child abuse have recently become widely documented, but when the poem was written in 1948, the connection between these two was essentially unheard-of (Smith 4). At that time, to have a drink was considered completely normal, or perhaps even a sign of masculinity. Roethke couldn’t have possibly imagined writing to an audience that is conditioned to notice even the slightest signs of alcoholism. The whiskey is not what Roethke intended to use as negative in this stanza; instead, “dizzy (Roethke 451)” is intended to be negative. If the boy were made dizzy from dancing, then the word would have the playful meaning it usually has, but instead the dizziness is caused by the father’s breath, implying that the father must be very close to the boy’s face—perhaps yelling, or just speaking in a way that is intimidating.
Next, the word “death” is of course negative, but in the context of “[hanging] on like death (Roethke 451),” a negative connotation simply doesn’t make sense. If a person is scared of dying, then he will hang on “for dear life,” not “like death.” If a person hangs on “like death,” then it is a loose hold, probably relatively limp. A person hanging on “for death” is certainly not in fear of losing his life. The darker side enters with the word “such.” With the absence of the word “such,” the line “such dancing was not easy (Roethke 451)” loses its somber meaning. “Such” implies that Roethke and his father are not doing regular old dancing. This is a different kind of dancing—a more sinister kind of dancing that is rough and relatively frightening for the boy.
We romped until the pans
Slid from the kitchen shelf;
My mother’s countenance
Could not unfrown itself (Roethke 451).
Theodore Roethke grew up in Michigan, where his father and uncle owned a greenhouse business. Roethke worked alongside his father in the greenhouse from a young age, and for that reason had a very unique relationship with his father (ROSENTHAL 263). They enjoyed spending time together, but his father was often a bit “demanding, distant, and cold (Baechler 419).” The waltzing, according to the second stanza, is rowdy and rough. The father so roughly waltzes his son around the kitchen that pans slide off the shelf, and while the mother openly disapproves of the activity she does nothing to stop it. It seems that if the child were being abused, his mother would do something more than just frown.
Even though the mother doesn’t necessarily approve of the disruption of her kitchen, she also doesn’t want to disrupt the father-son bonding that the moment creates (Smith 3). The father has kind of a mixture of tenderness and brutality, and the boy Roethke is both joyful and afraid (ROSENTHAL 264). There might be some amount of apprehension in the mother’s mind, but not enough to make her stop what’s going on. Whatever tensions may be present, the central emotion in this poem is the love, however warped it may be, between the father and son (Baechler 419).
The hand that held my wrist
Was battered on one knuckle;
At every step you missed
My right ear scraped a buckle (Roethke 451).
The third stanza, without correct background information, is misleading as to Roethke’s intent. A hand that is “battered on one knuckle” probably implies that the person to whom the hand belongs is a tough and rowdy person, probably gets into fights fairly often and wouldn’t be opposed to occasionally beating his child or wife. For the average person, this stereotype is probably true, but that is not the case with this father, Otto Roethke. Otto Roethke was “a Prussian through and through (ROSENTHAL 264).” He was manly, strong, and firm. He worked hard every day in his very successful greenhouse business to provide for his family. He probably did have various bruises and scrapes, all from working outdoors. Theodore Roethke always viewed his father as “the man who made the flowers grow… the man who established law and enforced it (ROSENTHAL 264).” Otto Roethke was firm, certainly, but a child-beater he was not.
Theodore Roethke’s account of his “right ear [scraping] a buckle (Roethke 451)” is by no means proof of beating. Just about any person with a normal childhood can remember standing on the tops of his or her parent’s feet, who would then walk awkwardly around while the child clung to his parent’s hands or held fistfuls of his parent’s shirt. In such a position, the boy’s head would be waist-level, so that whenever the father “missed [a step](Roethke 451)” or lost his balance, the boy’s ear would “[scrape] a buckle” on his father’s belt(Smith 3). Although this moment of son waltzing with Papa is without a doubt a positive memory for Roethke, there is also something vaguely frightening about it. The whiskey breath, dizzying speed, the powerful father who cannot be criticized by the mother, and the noisy, beating “romp(Roethke 451)” of the waltz all combine to create an activity that is fun and exhilarating because it is somewhat frightening(Smith 4).
You beat time on my head
With a palm caked hard by dirt,
Then waltzed me off to bed
Still clinging to your shirt (Roethke 451).
The fourth and final stanza contains the lines that confirm for many the abusive nature of “My Papa’s Waltz,” as well as the lines that confirm for many its innocence. Many make the assertion that to place the word “beat” in a narrative involving a child without question implies beating the child. This cannot, however, be true because of the direct object “time.” Roethke’s father was beating time, keeping rhythm, and certainly not beating his son. To ignore an intentionally placed direct object is entirely absurd. The father’s hand “caked hard by dirt” only further reinforces the fact that Otto Roethke was a hard-working, responsible, good father who only wanted to enjoy a little time with his son before sending him off to bed. He doesn’t even take time to clean up because he wants to enjoy a few minutes with his son doing something really fun. It’s almost time for bed, so the father does everything he can to get his son riled up rather than calmed down for sleep (Smith 2).
The father’s tight hold on his son’s wrists is mirrored by the son “clinging to [the father’s] shirt (Roethke 451),” giving the image of a fatherly power than can’t be resisted, but also a child that doesn’t want to resist (Smith 5). The father’s power is kept in check by his desire to maintain an intimacy with his son. In the same way that whiskey on the father’s breath would have been unimportant in 1948, the fact that he “[waltzes his son] off to bed (Roethke 451)” is even more noticeable as an extraordinary moment of connection (Smith 5). After beating his child, a father might carry him off to bed, and after being beaten, a child might cling to his father’s shirt; however, these two would more than likely not both occur. Both actions signify an attachment, but in the case of an unhealthy relationship although both might be attached, only one person needs to give signs of such attachment. For these reasons it is clear the father and son have just had a very fun and loving, though perhaps a bit frightening, experience.
While there is no evidence in “My Papa’s Waltz” to suggest actual beating, there are many details that suggest a kind of danger and a hint of underlying violence (Smith 5). Otto Roethke was an honest but rough man, and his relationship with his son was both tender and frightening. While Theodore Roethke’s father would never intentionally harm him, he did have a sort of tough love, and Roethke had an appreciation for his father’s violent affection. “My Papa’s Waltz” is a fantastic poem that effectively shows the fine line between actual danger and exhilarating terror.
The whiskey on your breath
Could make a small boy dizzy;
But I hung on like death:
Such waltzing was not easy (Roethke 451).
This first stanza contains several words with negative connotations, but the denotations of these words are not necessarily negative. The “whiskey on [his father’s] breath (ibid)” automatically raises suspicion because the link between alcohol and child abuse have recently become widely documented, but when the poem was written in 1948, the connection between these two was essentially unheard-of (Smith 4). At that time, to have a drink was considered completely normal, or perhaps even a sign of masculinity. Roethke couldn’t have possibly imagined writing to an audience that is conditioned to notice even the slightest signs of alcoholism. The whiskey is not what Roethke intended to use as negative in this stanza; instead, “dizzy (Roethke 451)” is intended to be negative. If the boy were made dizzy from dancing, then the word would have the playful meaning it usually has, but instead the dizziness is caused by the father’s breath, implying that the father must be very close to the boy’s face—perhaps yelling, or just speaking in a way that is intimidating.
Next, the word “death” is of course negative, but in the context of “[hanging] on like death (Roethke 451),” a negative connotation simply doesn’t make sense. If a person is scared of dying, then he will hang on “for dear life,” not “like death.” If a person hangs on “like death,” then it is a loose hold, probably relatively limp. A person hanging on “for death” is certainly not in fear of losing his life. The darker side enters with the word “such.” With the absence of the word “such,” the line “such dancing was not easy (Roethke 451)” loses its somber meaning. “Such” implies that Roethke and his father are not doing regular old dancing. This is a different kind of dancing—a more sinister kind of dancing that is rough and relatively frightening for the boy.
We romped until the pans
Slid from the kitchen shelf;
My mother’s countenance
Could not unfrown itself (Roethke 451).
Theodore Roethke grew up in Michigan, where his father and uncle owned a greenhouse business. Roethke worked alongside his father in the greenhouse from a young age, and for that reason had a very unique relationship with his father (ROSENTHAL 263). They enjoyed spending time together, but his father was often a bit “demanding, distant, and cold (Baechler 419).” The waltzing, according to the second stanza, is rowdy and rough. The father so roughly waltzes his son around the kitchen that pans slide off the shelf, and while the mother openly disapproves of the activity she does nothing to stop it. It seems that if the child were being abused, his mother would do something more than just frown.
Even though the mother doesn’t necessarily approve of the disruption of her kitchen, she also doesn’t want to disrupt the father-son bonding that the moment creates (Smith 3). The father has kind of a mixture of tenderness and brutality, and the boy Roethke is both joyful and afraid (ROSENTHAL 264). There might be some amount of apprehension in the mother’s mind, but not enough to make her stop what’s going on. Whatever tensions may be present, the central emotion in this poem is the love, however warped it may be, between the father and son (Baechler 419).
The hand that held my wrist
Was battered on one knuckle;
At every step you missed
My right ear scraped a buckle (Roethke 451).
The third stanza, without correct background information, is misleading as to Roethke’s intent. A hand that is “battered on one knuckle” probably implies that the person to whom the hand belongs is a tough and rowdy person, probably gets into fights fairly often and wouldn’t be opposed to occasionally beating his child or wife. For the average person, this stereotype is probably true, but that is not the case with this father, Otto Roethke. Otto Roethke was “a Prussian through and through (ROSENTHAL 264).” He was manly, strong, and firm. He worked hard every day in his very successful greenhouse business to provide for his family. He probably did have various bruises and scrapes, all from working outdoors. Theodore Roethke always viewed his father as “the man who made the flowers grow… the man who established law and enforced it (ROSENTHAL 264).” Otto Roethke was firm, certainly, but a child-beater he was not.
Theodore Roethke’s account of his “right ear [scraping] a buckle (Roethke 451)” is by no means proof of beating. Just about any person with a normal childhood can remember standing on the tops of his or her parent’s feet, who would then walk awkwardly around while the child clung to his parent’s hands or held fistfuls of his parent’s shirt. In such a position, the boy’s head would be waist-level, so that whenever the father “missed [a step](Roethke 451)” or lost his balance, the boy’s ear would “[scrape] a buckle” on his father’s belt(Smith 3). Although this moment of son waltzing with Papa is without a doubt a positive memory for Roethke, there is also something vaguely frightening about it. The whiskey breath, dizzying speed, the powerful father who cannot be criticized by the mother, and the noisy, beating “romp(Roethke 451)” of the waltz all combine to create an activity that is fun and exhilarating because it is somewhat frightening(Smith 4).
You beat time on my head
With a palm caked hard by dirt,
Then waltzed me off to bed
Still clinging to your shirt (Roethke 451).
The fourth and final stanza contains the lines that confirm for many the abusive nature of “My Papa’s Waltz,” as well as the lines that confirm for many its innocence. Many make the assertion that to place the word “beat” in a narrative involving a child without question implies beating the child. This cannot, however, be true because of the direct object “time.” Roethke’s father was beating time, keeping rhythm, and certainly not beating his son. To ignore an intentionally placed direct object is entirely absurd. The father’s hand “caked hard by dirt” only further reinforces the fact that Otto Roethke was a hard-working, responsible, good father who only wanted to enjoy a little time with his son before sending him off to bed. He doesn’t even take time to clean up because he wants to enjoy a few minutes with his son doing something really fun. It’s almost time for bed, so the father does everything he can to get his son riled up rather than calmed down for sleep (Smith 2).
The father’s tight hold on his son’s wrists is mirrored by the son “clinging to [the father’s] shirt (Roethke 451),” giving the image of a fatherly power than can’t be resisted, but also a child that doesn’t want to resist (Smith 5). The father’s power is kept in check by his desire to maintain an intimacy with his son. In the same way that whiskey on the father’s breath would have been unimportant in 1948, the fact that he “[waltzes his son] off to bed (Roethke 451)” is even more noticeable as an extraordinary moment of connection (Smith 5). After beating his child, a father might carry him off to bed, and after being beaten, a child might cling to his father’s shirt; however, these two would more than likely not both occur. Both actions signify an attachment, but in the case of an unhealthy relationship although both might be attached, only one person needs to give signs of such attachment. For these reasons it is clear the father and son have just had a very fun and loving, though perhaps a bit frightening, experience.
While there is no evidence in “My Papa’s Waltz” to suggest actual beating, there are many details that suggest a kind of danger and a hint of underlying violence (Smith 5). Otto Roethke was an honest but rough man, and his relationship with his son was both tender and frightening. While Theodore Roethke’s father would never intentionally harm him, he did have a sort of tough love, and Roethke had an appreciation for his father’s violent affection. “My Papa’s Waltz” is a fantastic poem that effectively shows the fine line between actual danger and exhilarating terror.
12.03.2009
it's been two years today
If there’s one person in the world who ever truly loved me, it was my Grampa. He loved me, and I knew it. I never doubted it. He thought I was great, smart, beautiful, and he loved my hugs. He always told me that I gave the best hugs in the world, and he told me I was the prettiest girl he ever saw. Grampy once asked that, if reincarnation existed, if I would wait for him to come back and grow up so that he could marry me, because I was just so beautiful. I never doubted any of his compliments, because he had no reason to lie to me. My parents could compliment me, but I’d always think that they had to say those things because I was their daughter. And with other people, no matter how much I wanted to believe them, I’d always think they that had some ulterior motives for complimenting me. But Grampy? He had six children, 13 grandchildren, five great-grandchildren, and countless friends… what possible reason could he have for going out of his way to give me a big head? None. He really thought the world of me, and I really thought the world of him.
Even without the compliments that followed, I used to love to give him hugs. He thought that I was the greatest hugger ever, but the fact of the matter is that I learned from the best. His hugs were strong and lasted for a good twenty seconds. He’d squeeze, he’d kiss my cheek, and hold on tight. He was so strong. Even when he was old and weak, his hugs were still strong. He always smelled good, like soap and old man’s cologne… not exactly a smell I would expect to enjoy, so maybe it was just a good smell because it was his. Everything about that man was filled with love. His voice, his smile. When he’d see me walk in the door, or when he came to visit and he saw me, his eyes and smile would light up, he’d be so excited to see me. “Sarah!” I wish you could hear his voice. So strong, deep, and loving. Shaky towards the end, but still full of life and love. If he was sitting, he’d instantly get up and come over to give me a big strong hug. Towards the end it’d be difficult for him to get up, but he’d do it. He’d always get up to hug me.
Yeah, I believe in Heaven. He’s there. He was a man of faith, of great faith, and now I have faith that he is with Jesus. He’s happy. He doesn’t hurt anymore. His head may still be bald, but it’s not covered with band-aids from having cancer scraped off. He no longer has scabs peeling and bleeding from his constant excruciating treatments. He doesn’t hurt anymore. He’s rejoicing in Heaven over his Savior, who he loved in life and loves now. The One who made him capable of loving me so much. I saw him when he was dying. I saw him when he couldn’t get up anymore, when he couldn’t smile and say my name.
It’s been a couple years, but I cry about him still, on occasion. I don’t cry because he died, but because I don’t know if I can wait another fifty or sixty years until I see him again. He was an incredible man and I’m thankful every day for all the time that I did have to spend with him. He hurt so much, and I’m glad, with every piece of myself, that he’s happy now; and I look forward to the day when I’ll see him again.
Even without the compliments that followed, I used to love to give him hugs. He thought that I was the greatest hugger ever, but the fact of the matter is that I learned from the best. His hugs were strong and lasted for a good twenty seconds. He’d squeeze, he’d kiss my cheek, and hold on tight. He was so strong. Even when he was old and weak, his hugs were still strong. He always smelled good, like soap and old man’s cologne… not exactly a smell I would expect to enjoy, so maybe it was just a good smell because it was his. Everything about that man was filled with love. His voice, his smile. When he’d see me walk in the door, or when he came to visit and he saw me, his eyes and smile would light up, he’d be so excited to see me. “Sarah!” I wish you could hear his voice. So strong, deep, and loving. Shaky towards the end, but still full of life and love. If he was sitting, he’d instantly get up and come over to give me a big strong hug. Towards the end it’d be difficult for him to get up, but he’d do it. He’d always get up to hug me.
Yeah, I believe in Heaven. He’s there. He was a man of faith, of great faith, and now I have faith that he is with Jesus. He’s happy. He doesn’t hurt anymore. His head may still be bald, but it’s not covered with band-aids from having cancer scraped off. He no longer has scabs peeling and bleeding from his constant excruciating treatments. He doesn’t hurt anymore. He’s rejoicing in Heaven over his Savior, who he loved in life and loves now. The One who made him capable of loving me so much. I saw him when he was dying. I saw him when he couldn’t get up anymore, when he couldn’t smile and say my name.
It’s been a couple years, but I cry about him still, on occasion. I don’t cry because he died, but because I don’t know if I can wait another fifty or sixty years until I see him again. He was an incredible man and I’m thankful every day for all the time that I did have to spend with him. He hurt so much, and I’m glad, with every piece of myself, that he’s happy now; and I look forward to the day when I’ll see him again.
You didn't really think this one through, did you?
On my way home from Starbucks today I saw a bumper sticker on a car that said:
If you can read this, thank a teacher. If you're reading this in English, thank a solider.
At first glance I thought "okay, it's just somebody who loves America and likes to show off their patriotism." But then... wait... "that doesn't even make sense! At ALL!" English has been the language of the world for longer than America has even been a huge power. The British Empire spread English all over the rest of Europe and into Asia and Africa hundreds of years ago. English is going to be what things are written in...almost no matter what.
The last time that the world... or, okay, let's focus on America... was in "danger" of POSSIBLY being taken over by another country that would have led to the speaking of another language was about 60-70 years ago. World War II. Hitler's Nazi Germany has been the ONLY attempt to take over the world in such a way that could have potentially decreased the speaking of English. And... Mr. Bumper Sticker... in case you didn't notice, most of the people who stopped that from happening are dead. That was a long time ago. The ones who are still living are VETERANS, not SOLDIERS. SOLDIERS are currently fighting in the Middle East, against people who have absolutely no interest in forcing us to speak another language.
There have been disputes in the USA about whether street signs should be in English and Spanish, for the ever-growing Spanish-speaking minority (soon to be majority), but that hasn't even happened. Street signs may be kept English, but a Spanish speaker can totally choose to put a Spanish bumper sticker on his or her car. So... man with the silly bumper sticker... if you want me to thank a soldier that your bumper sticker is in English, is it because without some soldier YOU would have been raised as a member of the minority in the US? Mr. WASP? Really?
If you can read this, thank a teacher. If you're reading this in English, thank a solider.
At first glance I thought "okay, it's just somebody who loves America and likes to show off their patriotism." But then... wait... "that doesn't even make sense! At ALL!" English has been the language of the world for longer than America has even been a huge power. The British Empire spread English all over the rest of Europe and into Asia and Africa hundreds of years ago. English is going to be what things are written in...almost no matter what.
The last time that the world... or, okay, let's focus on America... was in "danger" of POSSIBLY being taken over by another country that would have led to the speaking of another language was about 60-70 years ago. World War II. Hitler's Nazi Germany has been the ONLY attempt to take over the world in such a way that could have potentially decreased the speaking of English. And... Mr. Bumper Sticker... in case you didn't notice, most of the people who stopped that from happening are dead. That was a long time ago. The ones who are still living are VETERANS, not SOLDIERS. SOLDIERS are currently fighting in the Middle East, against people who have absolutely no interest in forcing us to speak another language.
There have been disputes in the USA about whether street signs should be in English and Spanish, for the ever-growing Spanish-speaking minority (soon to be majority), but that hasn't even happened. Street signs may be kept English, but a Spanish speaker can totally choose to put a Spanish bumper sticker on his or her car. So... man with the silly bumper sticker... if you want me to thank a soldier that your bumper sticker is in English, is it because without some soldier YOU would have been raised as a member of the minority in the US? Mr. WASP? Really?
12.02.2009
To Circumcise or not to Circumcise- written Spring 2007
I’ve babysat and been a nanny for the past five or six years, so I’ve changed a lot of diapers and given a lot of baths in my day. It didn’t take me long to notice the difference in genitalia from baby boy to baby boy. Most are circumcised, but a substantial amount are not. Around the time that I noticed the physical difference and therefore realized what “circumcision” really is, I remembered all of the verses that I had read or learned in church or in Bible Class at the Christian school I went to- verses equating “the uncircumcised” with “the unholy.” I started, at a very young age, considering the options that I will one day have as a mother. To circumcise, or not to circumcise? Aside from the fact that God, in the Torah and the Bible, commands the Jewish People be circumcised (or the Muslim people in the Koran), what difference does it make, really?
There are very few people in the world who could make a logical case in favor of female circumcision, more commonly known as Female Genital Mutilation, but male circumcision was adopted into the world as a normal practice ages ago. When a baby boy is born, his parents decide his name, his place of residence, what he eats and drinks, what he wears, and whether or not he is circumcised. Circumcision goes back thousands of years to Ancient Egypt, and is typically an important part of the Jewish and Muslim faiths. In the United States in the early twentieth century, cleanliness became associated with wealth, and a circumcised penis was generally thought to be cleaner. At that time about twenty-five percent of men in the United States were circumcised. In the nineteen-thirties the military began requiring soldiers to be circumcised, and by the nineteen-forties and fifties, nearly all males in the United States were circumcised (Pantley).
If not for religious reasons or requirements for the military, the decision of whether or not to circumcise has often been based on what is considered “normal,” so that the boy will be like his father or like everyone else, to avoid embarrassment. In the mid-twentieth century, studies were commonly twisted to always show the positive elements of circumcision, and never the negative. Many parents thus circumcised their children for religious reasons, many for reasons based on skewed studies, and many parents circumcised their children because it was the normal, accepted thing to do. In recent decades, studies have shown pros and cons of infant circumcision, so now it is in the hands of the parents to decide which pros and which cons are most important. Thirty years ago, almost one-hundred percent of infant boys in the US were circumcised, but that number has decreased to only sixty percent, so favoritism of circumcision is clearly decreasing.
Historically, one of the largest arguments for circumcision was cleanliness. The foreskins of intact penises are susceptible to infections, and an eliminated foreskin will eliminate the problem. The other side of this argument is that simple hygiene just as easily eliminates the problem, and removing the foreskin is essentially expecting and accepting that the boy won’t grow up to have very high personal hygienic standards. It’s not hard to keep an intact penis clean; it just needs to be washed regularly, no different than any other body part.
Another argument in favor of circumcision is that uncircumcised men are three times more likely to get penile cancer than circumcised men (Natural Family Online), but this can easily be combated with studies that show the close relationship between penile cancer and sexual promiscuity. It is true that of the men with penile cancer, more are uncircumcised than circumcised, but most would never have been at risk for the disease if they had never engaged in promiscuous and unprotected activities. Many other diseases are like this, too; people are more susceptible to a disease because of something they can’t control, but the disease would never become an issue if they didn’t do something to prod it along. For example, my grandfather died of lung cancer caused by asbestos poisoning. It was a tragedy, but the asbestos never would have created cancer if my grandfather hadn’t willingly weakened his lungs by smoking cigarettes for many years.
A condition known as Phimosis is a rare but real reason for having a circumcision. When Phimosis is present it is impossible for the foreskin to retract, making infection of the foreskin extremely likely (MedicineNet). When Phimosis is present in an infant, a circumcision is performed and complications are usually avoided; however, when Phimosis happens as an adult, the circumcision procedure is much more painful and complications are much more likely. In the case of an adult who has developed Phimosis, perhaps his parents could be blamed for not circumcising him as an infant, but the condition is so uncommon that treating everyone for it as an infant would be overcautious at best.
Aside from the unlikely, there are no real medical reasons for removing the foreskin; and conversely, there are no real medical reasons not to remove the foreskin. Some parents choose not to have their sons circumcised because of the possibility of their sons retaining painful memories of their circumcisions, but modern medicine now allows for the use of painkillers. Claims have been made that the removal of the foreskin desensitizes the penis, making sexual activities less pleasurable, but studies have offered no proof of this. Some parents hesitate to make a life-changing decision without the consent of their infant, but circumcisions in later life can lead to complications, and making major decisions for an infant is the nature of parenthood.
With the millions of baby boys that are born daily, millions of decisions are constantly being made. To circumcise, or not to circumcise? I don’t know what I’ll do when I have kids. Thankfully, I have plenty of time to decide. Some parents should put more thought into a decision like whether or not to circumcise their son. Other parents should probably put less thought into it, since each option has both valid and invalid arguments. One thing’s for certain: I don’t want my son (in the locker-room setting) to be made fun of over something as insignificant as a foreskin (or lack thereof). Until the majority changes or ceases to matter, parents are probably going to keep having their sons circumcised… even if it makes no medical difference.
There are very few people in the world who could make a logical case in favor of female circumcision, more commonly known as Female Genital Mutilation, but male circumcision was adopted into the world as a normal practice ages ago. When a baby boy is born, his parents decide his name, his place of residence, what he eats and drinks, what he wears, and whether or not he is circumcised. Circumcision goes back thousands of years to Ancient Egypt, and is typically an important part of the Jewish and Muslim faiths. In the United States in the early twentieth century, cleanliness became associated with wealth, and a circumcised penis was generally thought to be cleaner. At that time about twenty-five percent of men in the United States were circumcised. In the nineteen-thirties the military began requiring soldiers to be circumcised, and by the nineteen-forties and fifties, nearly all males in the United States were circumcised (Pantley).
If not for religious reasons or requirements for the military, the decision of whether or not to circumcise has often been based on what is considered “normal,” so that the boy will be like his father or like everyone else, to avoid embarrassment. In the mid-twentieth century, studies were commonly twisted to always show the positive elements of circumcision, and never the negative. Many parents thus circumcised their children for religious reasons, many for reasons based on skewed studies, and many parents circumcised their children because it was the normal, accepted thing to do. In recent decades, studies have shown pros and cons of infant circumcision, so now it is in the hands of the parents to decide which pros and which cons are most important. Thirty years ago, almost one-hundred percent of infant boys in the US were circumcised, but that number has decreased to only sixty percent, so favoritism of circumcision is clearly decreasing.
Historically, one of the largest arguments for circumcision was cleanliness. The foreskins of intact penises are susceptible to infections, and an eliminated foreskin will eliminate the problem. The other side of this argument is that simple hygiene just as easily eliminates the problem, and removing the foreskin is essentially expecting and accepting that the boy won’t grow up to have very high personal hygienic standards. It’s not hard to keep an intact penis clean; it just needs to be washed regularly, no different than any other body part.
Another argument in favor of circumcision is that uncircumcised men are three times more likely to get penile cancer than circumcised men (Natural Family Online), but this can easily be combated with studies that show the close relationship between penile cancer and sexual promiscuity. It is true that of the men with penile cancer, more are uncircumcised than circumcised, but most would never have been at risk for the disease if they had never engaged in promiscuous and unprotected activities. Many other diseases are like this, too; people are more susceptible to a disease because of something they can’t control, but the disease would never become an issue if they didn’t do something to prod it along. For example, my grandfather died of lung cancer caused by asbestos poisoning. It was a tragedy, but the asbestos never would have created cancer if my grandfather hadn’t willingly weakened his lungs by smoking cigarettes for many years.
A condition known as Phimosis is a rare but real reason for having a circumcision. When Phimosis is present it is impossible for the foreskin to retract, making infection of the foreskin extremely likely (MedicineNet). When Phimosis is present in an infant, a circumcision is performed and complications are usually avoided; however, when Phimosis happens as an adult, the circumcision procedure is much more painful and complications are much more likely. In the case of an adult who has developed Phimosis, perhaps his parents could be blamed for not circumcising him as an infant, but the condition is so uncommon that treating everyone for it as an infant would be overcautious at best.
Aside from the unlikely, there are no real medical reasons for removing the foreskin; and conversely, there are no real medical reasons not to remove the foreskin. Some parents choose not to have their sons circumcised because of the possibility of their sons retaining painful memories of their circumcisions, but modern medicine now allows for the use of painkillers. Claims have been made that the removal of the foreskin desensitizes the penis, making sexual activities less pleasurable, but studies have offered no proof of this. Some parents hesitate to make a life-changing decision without the consent of their infant, but circumcisions in later life can lead to complications, and making major decisions for an infant is the nature of parenthood.
With the millions of baby boys that are born daily, millions of decisions are constantly being made. To circumcise, or not to circumcise? I don’t know what I’ll do when I have kids. Thankfully, I have plenty of time to decide. Some parents should put more thought into a decision like whether or not to circumcise their son. Other parents should probably put less thought into it, since each option has both valid and invalid arguments. One thing’s for certain: I don’t want my son (in the locker-room setting) to be made fun of over something as insignificant as a foreskin (or lack thereof). Until the majority changes or ceases to matter, parents are probably going to keep having their sons circumcised… even if it makes no medical difference.
12.01.2009
Flying with Julia Doten
Much of my initial intrigue with Julia Doten, her mother, and her daughter stemmed about ten years ago when I met her daughter Ripley, who has been my best friend for many years. I believe that the most common response to “Hi, my name is Ripley” is simply “really?” My best friend’s name is Ripley Elizabeth Doten. When I asked Ripley, at the age of eight, where her name came from, she replied “it was my grandmother’s name.” That didn’t make sense. As unusual as a name like that is, it would have been exceedingly more unusual sixty years ago. Eventually the truth came out that although her grandmother was called Ripley, it was actually her middle name, taken from her own mother’s maiden name.
In the 1960s there were a grand total of twelve women aviation instructors in all of New England, and Ripley Miller was one of them. “Mom never let anyone tell her what to do,” says Julia. Ripley balanced the tasks of raising a family, working as a pilot, promoting women in aviation, and being a leader in the International Organization of Women Pilots. Julia clearly inherited her mother’s ambitious nature, for she has accomplished a number of things, including becoming a published author. In her book A Long White Scarf, Julia recounts the story of her mother’s life, combining it with personal childhood memories. She tells a brief story about her last encounter with her mother, “she opened her top drawer, and gave me a small box which contained a charm for my charm bracelet, engraved with my birth date from nine days ago. She explained that it had taken her a while to find the right one, and then have it engraved. I think I hugged her. Then she left for work” (Doten 130). Julia and her mother didn’t say goodbye.
Ripley worked delivering cargo out of Boston, and that night she never came home. Her plane went down over Boston Harbor, but it was several days before the plane and Ripley were found (Doten 131). Because of the days of searching, Julia and her siblings never really got a period of mourning. They didn’t want to cry while there was still hope, and by the time the search was over too much time had already passed. Julia went back to high school and on with life.
Julia says that when she was a little girl, she wanted to be a ballerina when she grew up. Next she wanted to be an archeologist, and then an architect. In high school, Julia took lots of drafting classes, feeling safe following in the tracks of her father’s civil engineering business. When she finished high school, she went to work for an insurance company, which wasn’t too gripping or thrilling, but it was a job. After a few years, Julia went out and got her Pilot’s License, knowing that her mother would have taught her to fly, had she been able to. She also has worked for her father’s civil engineering business, designing parts of houses, and parts of different locations around her hometown of Wilmington, MA. She tells me that, whether out of fear or comfort, it always seemed easiest to follow in her parents’ footsteps (Doten, Julia).
While it may have been easier to do what her parents had done, Julia has managed quite a few of her own accomplishments. She modeled occasionally, and after getting married went to Northern Essex Community College to study business. She is now a published author. Modeling and writing were and are her own things, separate from her parents. She says that writing the book about her mother was therapeutic; it was a way of putting all of those memories in order, and a way of dealing with emotions that had been left unexamined.
I have been told again and again by the younger Ripley about her mother Julia’s constant need to know where she is, all the time. To an eighteen year old girl this can be irritating, but there are reasons for what seems to Ripley to be paranoia. Julia never got a chance to say goodbye to her mother, and on top of that, her mother was missing for several days. In the constant coming and going of daily life, telling your family where you’re going and saying “goodbye” every time you leave the house can easily become a nuisance, but to Julia it’s extremely important. “Just say goodbye before you leave,” is all Julia asks.
“I asked God to never again let someone important to me die without saying goodbye” says Julia. This must have been racing through her head this past September when her brother told her “Dad crashed his plane and it’s really bad” (Doten, Julia). Julia’s father, my best friend’s grandfather, like his wife also an accomplished pilot, had crashed his plane. Julia says that for her, when a crisis happens, the only things to do are believe that everything will be alright, and keep busy. This must come from being a mother, I think. You have to keep smiling, if only for the sake of your children. She was right in believing that everything would be okay; he is okay. Ken Miller, her father, is alive and getting better daily, thanks in no small part to the constant care and attention from his daughter, affectionately known by him as “Julie.”
Julia’s mother, Ripley, worked in a highly male-dominated profession, and according to Julia, would never let anyone tell her what she could or couldn’t do. Ripley’s daughter, Julia, has continued her mother’s tradition. She wanted to be on the cover of a magazine, and she did it. She wanted to be a mother, and she did it. She wanted to write a book, and she did it. Julia Doten. A daughter, a model, a student, a civil engineer, an author, and the mother of my best friend. Through her life, Julia has been many different things to many different people, but perhaps the most important thing to consider is this: what does Julia Doten think of herself? She says “I think of myself as an artist.” She may not be as quite an accomplished pilot as her parents, but Julia has flown, even soared with everything she has set her mind to. It is clear to me that, whether in parenting, modeling, engineering, or writing, Julia has always made an effort to create something beautiful, and she has thus far been extremely successful.
In the 1960s there were a grand total of twelve women aviation instructors in all of New England, and Ripley Miller was one of them. “Mom never let anyone tell her what to do,” says Julia. Ripley balanced the tasks of raising a family, working as a pilot, promoting women in aviation, and being a leader in the International Organization of Women Pilots. Julia clearly inherited her mother’s ambitious nature, for she has accomplished a number of things, including becoming a published author. In her book A Long White Scarf, Julia recounts the story of her mother’s life, combining it with personal childhood memories. She tells a brief story about her last encounter with her mother, “she opened her top drawer, and gave me a small box which contained a charm for my charm bracelet, engraved with my birth date from nine days ago. She explained that it had taken her a while to find the right one, and then have it engraved. I think I hugged her. Then she left for work” (Doten 130). Julia and her mother didn’t say goodbye.
Ripley worked delivering cargo out of Boston, and that night she never came home. Her plane went down over Boston Harbor, but it was several days before the plane and Ripley were found (Doten 131). Because of the days of searching, Julia and her siblings never really got a period of mourning. They didn’t want to cry while there was still hope, and by the time the search was over too much time had already passed. Julia went back to high school and on with life.
Julia says that when she was a little girl, she wanted to be a ballerina when she grew up. Next she wanted to be an archeologist, and then an architect. In high school, Julia took lots of drafting classes, feeling safe following in the tracks of her father’s civil engineering business. When she finished high school, she went to work for an insurance company, which wasn’t too gripping or thrilling, but it was a job. After a few years, Julia went out and got her Pilot’s License, knowing that her mother would have taught her to fly, had she been able to. She also has worked for her father’s civil engineering business, designing parts of houses, and parts of different locations around her hometown of Wilmington, MA. She tells me that, whether out of fear or comfort, it always seemed easiest to follow in her parents’ footsteps (Doten, Julia).
While it may have been easier to do what her parents had done, Julia has managed quite a few of her own accomplishments. She modeled occasionally, and after getting married went to Northern Essex Community College to study business. She is now a published author. Modeling and writing were and are her own things, separate from her parents. She says that writing the book about her mother was therapeutic; it was a way of putting all of those memories in order, and a way of dealing with emotions that had been left unexamined.
I have been told again and again by the younger Ripley about her mother Julia’s constant need to know where she is, all the time. To an eighteen year old girl this can be irritating, but there are reasons for what seems to Ripley to be paranoia. Julia never got a chance to say goodbye to her mother, and on top of that, her mother was missing for several days. In the constant coming and going of daily life, telling your family where you’re going and saying “goodbye” every time you leave the house can easily become a nuisance, but to Julia it’s extremely important. “Just say goodbye before you leave,” is all Julia asks.
“I asked God to never again let someone important to me die without saying goodbye” says Julia. This must have been racing through her head this past September when her brother told her “Dad crashed his plane and it’s really bad” (Doten, Julia). Julia’s father, my best friend’s grandfather, like his wife also an accomplished pilot, had crashed his plane. Julia says that for her, when a crisis happens, the only things to do are believe that everything will be alright, and keep busy. This must come from being a mother, I think. You have to keep smiling, if only for the sake of your children. She was right in believing that everything would be okay; he is okay. Ken Miller, her father, is alive and getting better daily, thanks in no small part to the constant care and attention from his daughter, affectionately known by him as “Julie.”
Julia’s mother, Ripley, worked in a highly male-dominated profession, and according to Julia, would never let anyone tell her what she could or couldn’t do. Ripley’s daughter, Julia, has continued her mother’s tradition. She wanted to be on the cover of a magazine, and she did it. She wanted to be a mother, and she did it. She wanted to write a book, and she did it. Julia Doten. A daughter, a model, a student, a civil engineer, an author, and the mother of my best friend. Through her life, Julia has been many different things to many different people, but perhaps the most important thing to consider is this: what does Julia Doten think of herself? She says “I think of myself as an artist.” She may not be as quite an accomplished pilot as her parents, but Julia has flown, even soared with everything she has set her mind to. It is clear to me that, whether in parenting, modeling, engineering, or writing, Julia has always made an effort to create something beautiful, and she has thus far been extremely successful.
11.28.2009
Ice Cream- written Spring 2006
When there’s one single thing that is at least two-thirds of what you eat, see, and think about, it is safe to say that that one thing is a large part of your life. Having something like this might not always be a good thing, but it certainly can be. For me, ice cream is that thing. It’s not uncommon for me to eat ice cream three meals a day, nor is it uncommon for me to end my day by scrubbing chocolate ice cream and hot fudge off of my body. I’ve been told a few times that I smell like dairy products.
You laugh, but I am serious. I was never really big on ice cream for the majority of my life, to be quite honest. I liked it, but only the occasional vanilla cone. None of these nuts, chocolate chips or ridiculous flavors. That is until I got my first job at a local ice cream stand. I thought it would just be like any other job. I’d work; I’d be tired; I’d go home; and a week later I’d get a pay check, which I would then use to buy food and CDs. Never in my wildest dreams did I expect that ice cream would soon become one of my life’s greatest passions.
Let me give you the grand tour. In Freezer One we have the popular but interesting flavors. All the butters: Butterscotch, Butternut, Butter Almond. Then Mint Chocolate Chip and Mint Cookie. Cherry Chocolate Chip, Caramel Cashew Chip, Chocolate Almond, Chocolate Walnut, Frozen Pudding, Raspberry Chocolate Chip, Orange Pineapple, Banana, Pistachio Nut, and Peppermint Stick. Freezer Two contains the classics: several cans of Vanilla, Chocolate, Strawberry, and Coffee, Maple Walnut, Mocha Almond, Heathbar, and Coffee Heathbar. Freezer Three holds the strange flavors, the new flavors, the experimental flavors, the yogurts, the sherbets, and the sorbets: Chocolate Chocolate Chunk, German Chocolate Fudge, Malted Moo Crunch, Malted Milk Ball, Pumpkin, Gingersnap Molasses, Heavenly Mash, Sugar-free Maple Walnut, Sugar-free Vanilla, Black Raspberry Chocolate Chip Yogurt, Grasshopper Yogurt, Peanut Butter Fudge Ripple Yogurt, Raspberry Sherbet, Watermelon Sherbet, Lime Sorbet, and Strawberry-Kiwi Sorbet. Think that’s a lot of flavors? Keep in mind that my ice cream stand is only seasonal and only opened a few weeks ago, so without a doubt I’m forgetting a lot of flavors.
I sure hope you didn’t skim that list. It may have seemed repetitive and boring, but skipping over a flavor of ice cream is equivalent to skipping over a flavor of my life. Anyway, let me continue. The difference between Sherbet and Sorbet is interesting; while they are similar, both being fruity and lighter than ice cream, Sorbet is completely dairy-free. Sorbet can be eaten by people who simply like it, or by people who are lactose-intolerant. Diabetics or participants in the Atkins diet may think that they can’t eat ice cream, but this is not true. We have sugar-free ice cream! We also have low-fat and non-fat frozen yogurt, and unlike the yogurts at other places, ours actually tastes good. We truly have an ice cream for everyone. And for every ice cream there is a type of person. I’m typically not one for flavor stereotyping, but people do it to themselves. It has gotten to the point where quite often I see a person walking toward my window, and I can pinpoint exactly what flavor, size, and possible toppings they will get. Then they order, and I am satisfactorily correct.
Even the best and most exciting jobs usually have their dull moments, but that’s not the case at an ice cream stand. Scooping ice cream, I am never bored. When regular customers come, it’s exciting to watch and help them decide between their favorite flavors, and when new customers come in it’s fun to suggest flavors. When I make a suggestion, I’m always right. The person always loves it. I can tell what a person will like, at least after asking a few questions. I also love the challenge that ensues after having to say “I’m sorry, we’re all out of that today.” I either suggest a close substitute, or something completely different that I know the person will love.
Since everyone loves ice cream, I’ve come across a wide variety of people in my day. I get people from all over the world, and it’s so interesting trying to understand a flavor of ice cream that might be hard to pronounce, topped off with some foreign accent. An entire family once came to my window, and each person asked for “berry” ice cream, and it was up to me to figure out whether that meant Strawberry, Black Raspberry, Raspberry Chocolate Chip, or Black Raspberry Chocolate Chip Yogurt. No matter the struggle of deciding on or understanding a flavor of ice cream, the smiles always come. Well, not always. A man once asked for “a small Buttercrunch in a cone.” I said “do you mind if I put it in a cup with a cone on top? The Buttercrunch is always very soft, and it will melt all over you if it’s in a cone.” He said “no, I want it in a cone.” So, I gave it to him in a cone, all drippy. Ten minutes later, he barged up to my window, covered in ice cream, demanding “this is ridiculous. I asked for my ice cream in a cone, not on my shirt.” I would have liked to have said “you can’t say I didn’t warn you,” but the customer is always right. I apologized and got him a new cone, this time with a cup as well. He walked off in an angry huff. Some people are just impossible to please.
The excitement of working at my ice cream stand doesn’t always come from the customers. Customers don’t always come, even in the summer, due to this thing known as precipitation. Whether it be rain or snow, wetness falling from the sky destroys people’s desire for ice cream. On one such day, my fellow scoopers and I found ourselves on the verge of boredom. We played cards, came up with a list of ridiculous alternate names for ice cream flavors, made action figures out of spoons, and the manager bought us all Chinese food. What’s better than wearing an apron and a baseball hat, eating ice cream and Lo Mein, and hanging out with your pals? Not much, I say.
The people I work with are wonderful, full of character, and are a constant source of hilarity. Frazer is everyone’s favorite. He’s about a hundred feet tall, and weighs about ten pounds. He trips over everything, is exceedingly personable, and has made close friends with a couple eighty-something year-old women who regularly come to get ice cream. “Fraz,” for short, is lovable and lanky. Then there’s Dave, who has been an employee for the past twelve years. He’s in his late twenties, graduated from an ivy-league college ages ago, and still lives with his parents. Most people in his position would be embarrassed to work with high school and young college students, but he thrives on teenage gossip. If you want to know the latest info, Dave’s the place to go. He gets the same thrill spreading rumors as a fourteen year-old girl. Next is Marsha, the day-time manager. She’s in her late fifties, and thrives off of cleanliness and order. It didn’t take me long to figure out that on Marsha’s shift, I’d better be scrubbing something at all times. All of the managers are middle-aged and have worked in the ice cream business for decades… except for Cindy. She was promoted to manager in her senior year of high school, and this was the cause of much controversy. She’s really nice, helpful, efficient, and knowledgeable about all things relevant to ice cream. I work with a wide variety of wonderful people; it would be near impossible to describe them all.
What’s your favorite flavor of ice cream? Actually, let me tell you. Usually it’s not hard to tell. And if it’s not obvious, I can probably tell you a lot about your personality from simply knowing what ice cream you like. Undecided customers like to ask what my favorite flavor is, in hopes that it will be something they will like. I have no favorite flavor. I am a connoisseur. For every flavor there is a season, and for every season there is a flavor. Really, I like every flavor. During the summer my freezer is a mess. Container upon container of different ice cream flavors are stacked everywhere- with no reason or particular order. My parents and three brothers, although not quite as diverse in their ice cream taste as I, love it quite a bit as well, and the containers that I bring home turn into a free-for-all. When we have guests over for dinner, it is always interesting watching them choose the flavor or flavors of ice cream that they would like for dessert. I believe I recall a time that we were able to offer twelve different flavors to an unsuspecting guest, who of course was quite pleased, although perhaps a bit overwhelmed.
Working at an ice cream stand, in addition to encouraging my passion for ice cream, has also helped me to perfect many skills that are useful for life. I make pretty much the best Banana Split you will ever eat. And my frappes? Incredible. (That’s right, I said Frappe, not Milkshake. No, they’re not the same thing. A Milkshake doesn’t have any ice cream in it- it’s just flavored milk. We’re in New England.) Sundaes are delicious, but not as delicious as a Doubledae, a Banana Split, or a Special(a Banana Split without the banana), for the simple reason that in a Sundae you only get one flavor and one topping. A Doubledae includes two and two, and a Banana Split and Special three and three. Also, the larger portions tend to be more rewarding. After eating a disgustingly enormous amount of ice cream, you simply feel like you’ve done a good job.
What? You think ice cream is fattening? Nonsense. It’s all in how you do it. My boss has been working at that ice cream stand and eating ice cream like it’s nobody’s business for who knows how long, and she’s one of the thinnest and most attractive middle-aged women I know. In addition, I have not a single co-worker who is obese or even overweight. We all eat ice cream; the only difference is that we also live healthy lifestyles. Sure, there are overweight people who eat a lot of ice cream, but there are also overweight people who like to watch TV, and the television certainly didn’t increase their body fat.
I think everyone should eat ice cream. It makes you happy. I’ve seen more smiling faces while serving ice cream than I saw in Disneyland, and that’s supposed to be the most magical and happy place in the world. Ice cream is great. Every flavor is great, every topping is great. Ice cream has taught me about people, and has taught me in an enormous way to appreciate life and all its many flavors.
You laugh, but I am serious. I was never really big on ice cream for the majority of my life, to be quite honest. I liked it, but only the occasional vanilla cone. None of these nuts, chocolate chips or ridiculous flavors. That is until I got my first job at a local ice cream stand. I thought it would just be like any other job. I’d work; I’d be tired; I’d go home; and a week later I’d get a pay check, which I would then use to buy food and CDs. Never in my wildest dreams did I expect that ice cream would soon become one of my life’s greatest passions.
Let me give you the grand tour. In Freezer One we have the popular but interesting flavors. All the butters: Butterscotch, Butternut, Butter Almond. Then Mint Chocolate Chip and Mint Cookie. Cherry Chocolate Chip, Caramel Cashew Chip, Chocolate Almond, Chocolate Walnut, Frozen Pudding, Raspberry Chocolate Chip, Orange Pineapple, Banana, Pistachio Nut, and Peppermint Stick. Freezer Two contains the classics: several cans of Vanilla, Chocolate, Strawberry, and Coffee, Maple Walnut, Mocha Almond, Heathbar, and Coffee Heathbar. Freezer Three holds the strange flavors, the new flavors, the experimental flavors, the yogurts, the sherbets, and the sorbets: Chocolate Chocolate Chunk, German Chocolate Fudge, Malted Moo Crunch, Malted Milk Ball, Pumpkin, Gingersnap Molasses, Heavenly Mash, Sugar-free Maple Walnut, Sugar-free Vanilla, Black Raspberry Chocolate Chip Yogurt, Grasshopper Yogurt, Peanut Butter Fudge Ripple Yogurt, Raspberry Sherbet, Watermelon Sherbet, Lime Sorbet, and Strawberry-Kiwi Sorbet. Think that’s a lot of flavors? Keep in mind that my ice cream stand is only seasonal and only opened a few weeks ago, so without a doubt I’m forgetting a lot of flavors.
I sure hope you didn’t skim that list. It may have seemed repetitive and boring, but skipping over a flavor of ice cream is equivalent to skipping over a flavor of my life. Anyway, let me continue. The difference between Sherbet and Sorbet is interesting; while they are similar, both being fruity and lighter than ice cream, Sorbet is completely dairy-free. Sorbet can be eaten by people who simply like it, or by people who are lactose-intolerant. Diabetics or participants in the Atkins diet may think that they can’t eat ice cream, but this is not true. We have sugar-free ice cream! We also have low-fat and non-fat frozen yogurt, and unlike the yogurts at other places, ours actually tastes good. We truly have an ice cream for everyone. And for every ice cream there is a type of person. I’m typically not one for flavor stereotyping, but people do it to themselves. It has gotten to the point where quite often I see a person walking toward my window, and I can pinpoint exactly what flavor, size, and possible toppings they will get. Then they order, and I am satisfactorily correct.
Even the best and most exciting jobs usually have their dull moments, but that’s not the case at an ice cream stand. Scooping ice cream, I am never bored. When regular customers come, it’s exciting to watch and help them decide between their favorite flavors, and when new customers come in it’s fun to suggest flavors. When I make a suggestion, I’m always right. The person always loves it. I can tell what a person will like, at least after asking a few questions. I also love the challenge that ensues after having to say “I’m sorry, we’re all out of that today.” I either suggest a close substitute, or something completely different that I know the person will love.
Since everyone loves ice cream, I’ve come across a wide variety of people in my day. I get people from all over the world, and it’s so interesting trying to understand a flavor of ice cream that might be hard to pronounce, topped off with some foreign accent. An entire family once came to my window, and each person asked for “berry” ice cream, and it was up to me to figure out whether that meant Strawberry, Black Raspberry, Raspberry Chocolate Chip, or Black Raspberry Chocolate Chip Yogurt. No matter the struggle of deciding on or understanding a flavor of ice cream, the smiles always come. Well, not always. A man once asked for “a small Buttercrunch in a cone.” I said “do you mind if I put it in a cup with a cone on top? The Buttercrunch is always very soft, and it will melt all over you if it’s in a cone.” He said “no, I want it in a cone.” So, I gave it to him in a cone, all drippy. Ten minutes later, he barged up to my window, covered in ice cream, demanding “this is ridiculous. I asked for my ice cream in a cone, not on my shirt.” I would have liked to have said “you can’t say I didn’t warn you,” but the customer is always right. I apologized and got him a new cone, this time with a cup as well. He walked off in an angry huff. Some people are just impossible to please.
The excitement of working at my ice cream stand doesn’t always come from the customers. Customers don’t always come, even in the summer, due to this thing known as precipitation. Whether it be rain or snow, wetness falling from the sky destroys people’s desire for ice cream. On one such day, my fellow scoopers and I found ourselves on the verge of boredom. We played cards, came up with a list of ridiculous alternate names for ice cream flavors, made action figures out of spoons, and the manager bought us all Chinese food. What’s better than wearing an apron and a baseball hat, eating ice cream and Lo Mein, and hanging out with your pals? Not much, I say.
The people I work with are wonderful, full of character, and are a constant source of hilarity. Frazer is everyone’s favorite. He’s about a hundred feet tall, and weighs about ten pounds. He trips over everything, is exceedingly personable, and has made close friends with a couple eighty-something year-old women who regularly come to get ice cream. “Fraz,” for short, is lovable and lanky. Then there’s Dave, who has been an employee for the past twelve years. He’s in his late twenties, graduated from an ivy-league college ages ago, and still lives with his parents. Most people in his position would be embarrassed to work with high school and young college students, but he thrives on teenage gossip. If you want to know the latest info, Dave’s the place to go. He gets the same thrill spreading rumors as a fourteen year-old girl. Next is Marsha, the day-time manager. She’s in her late fifties, and thrives off of cleanliness and order. It didn’t take me long to figure out that on Marsha’s shift, I’d better be scrubbing something at all times. All of the managers are middle-aged and have worked in the ice cream business for decades… except for Cindy. She was promoted to manager in her senior year of high school, and this was the cause of much controversy. She’s really nice, helpful, efficient, and knowledgeable about all things relevant to ice cream. I work with a wide variety of wonderful people; it would be near impossible to describe them all.
What’s your favorite flavor of ice cream? Actually, let me tell you. Usually it’s not hard to tell. And if it’s not obvious, I can probably tell you a lot about your personality from simply knowing what ice cream you like. Undecided customers like to ask what my favorite flavor is, in hopes that it will be something they will like. I have no favorite flavor. I am a connoisseur. For every flavor there is a season, and for every season there is a flavor. Really, I like every flavor. During the summer my freezer is a mess. Container upon container of different ice cream flavors are stacked everywhere- with no reason or particular order. My parents and three brothers, although not quite as diverse in their ice cream taste as I, love it quite a bit as well, and the containers that I bring home turn into a free-for-all. When we have guests over for dinner, it is always interesting watching them choose the flavor or flavors of ice cream that they would like for dessert. I believe I recall a time that we were able to offer twelve different flavors to an unsuspecting guest, who of course was quite pleased, although perhaps a bit overwhelmed.
Working at an ice cream stand, in addition to encouraging my passion for ice cream, has also helped me to perfect many skills that are useful for life. I make pretty much the best Banana Split you will ever eat. And my frappes? Incredible. (That’s right, I said Frappe, not Milkshake. No, they’re not the same thing. A Milkshake doesn’t have any ice cream in it- it’s just flavored milk. We’re in New England.) Sundaes are delicious, but not as delicious as a Doubledae, a Banana Split, or a Special(a Banana Split without the banana), for the simple reason that in a Sundae you only get one flavor and one topping. A Doubledae includes two and two, and a Banana Split and Special three and three. Also, the larger portions tend to be more rewarding. After eating a disgustingly enormous amount of ice cream, you simply feel like you’ve done a good job.
What? You think ice cream is fattening? Nonsense. It’s all in how you do it. My boss has been working at that ice cream stand and eating ice cream like it’s nobody’s business for who knows how long, and she’s one of the thinnest and most attractive middle-aged women I know. In addition, I have not a single co-worker who is obese or even overweight. We all eat ice cream; the only difference is that we also live healthy lifestyles. Sure, there are overweight people who eat a lot of ice cream, but there are also overweight people who like to watch TV, and the television certainly didn’t increase their body fat.
I think everyone should eat ice cream. It makes you happy. I’ve seen more smiling faces while serving ice cream than I saw in Disneyland, and that’s supposed to be the most magical and happy place in the world. Ice cream is great. Every flavor is great, every topping is great. Ice cream has taught me about people, and has taught me in an enormous way to appreciate life and all its many flavors.
what's coming
I'm going to post a series of essays that have been written by me. They will have nothing to do with each other, some will be informative, some will be silly, some will be boring, probably. Enjoy.
11.26.2009
Today is Thanksgiving.
Hello, Blog. Long time no see.
I am tired. Turkey has that effect. Although, chemically speaking, isn't it just overeating that makes us sleepy? I didn't really overeat. I ate the correct amount, but am sleepy because I haven't really moved all day and I ate a lot of sugar (PIE) and then I played word games for endless hours. I miss my brother Robbie. I ate black olives alone today... well, not quite alone, but usually he and I eat copious amounts and others just nibble. Today it was just I eating the copious amounts. I hope he had some black olives in AZ.
Ramble ramble.
Cleaned my room the other day. It's pretty exciting. I need to clean my car. I needed to clean my room worse than I needed to clean my car, if you can believe that. If you've seen my car. You're more likely to have seen my car than my room, anyway. Whoever YOU are. No one reads this. Maybe someone. Maybe.
A good chunk of Christmas shopping is done, and for that I am quite proud of myself. I love karaoke. It's a new discovery of mine. Another new discovery, even though it seemed obvious to me, is that eighties pop songs are huge crowd-pleasers.
Never speed on the Lowell Connector. I've gotten two tickets in the past month. Appealed them both. Haven't heard back from either. So maybe neither of them were received and now there's a warrant out for my arrest for unpaid speeding tickets. I kind of hope so. It'd be exciting.
I am exhausted. Need to change my sheets so my grandmother can sleep in my bed...and then I get to sleep in the weird not-quite-a-bed thing.
I am tired. Turkey has that effect. Although, chemically speaking, isn't it just overeating that makes us sleepy? I didn't really overeat. I ate the correct amount, but am sleepy because I haven't really moved all day and I ate a lot of sugar (PIE) and then I played word games for endless hours. I miss my brother Robbie. I ate black olives alone today... well, not quite alone, but usually he and I eat copious amounts and others just nibble. Today it was just I eating the copious amounts. I hope he had some black olives in AZ.
Ramble ramble.
Cleaned my room the other day. It's pretty exciting. I need to clean my car. I needed to clean my room worse than I needed to clean my car, if you can believe that. If you've seen my car. You're more likely to have seen my car than my room, anyway. Whoever YOU are. No one reads this. Maybe someone. Maybe.
A good chunk of Christmas shopping is done, and for that I am quite proud of myself. I love karaoke. It's a new discovery of mine. Another new discovery, even though it seemed obvious to me, is that eighties pop songs are huge crowd-pleasers.
Never speed on the Lowell Connector. I've gotten two tickets in the past month. Appealed them both. Haven't heard back from either. So maybe neither of them were received and now there's a warrant out for my arrest for unpaid speeding tickets. I kind of hope so. It'd be exciting.
I am exhausted. Need to change my sheets so my grandmother can sleep in my bed...and then I get to sleep in the weird not-quite-a-bed thing.
7.05.2009
on the road again
It has been quite a while since my last post! I'm sure no one minds, since judging by the amount of comments I have received on this blog, no one reads it. But that's okay! I still enjoy it.
Today I'm embarking with Brianne on our very first ROAD TRIP! Our itinerary is as follows:
Today: Houdini Museum, Woodstock Museum, spend the night in Scranton. Take pictures with the WELCOME TO SCRANTON sign.
Monday: Visit Jim Thorpe. Go to Gettysburg. Eat chili dogs (Brianne doesn't know about this yet). Go on ghost tour.
Tuesday: Baltimore with Brianne's college room mate. Sleep in a house. Who knows what today could hold!
Wednesday: Philadelphia! Visit Pez Dispenser Museum, hang out with my high school friend who recently moved and became a grown-up. Wait... I am a grown up.
Thursday: Drive to Rhode Island. Visit Thaeje. Sleep on a couch.
Friday: Plimoth Plantation? Back to MA!
I'll attempt to tell good stories throughout the next week. Hopefully someone reads this thing!
Today I'm embarking with Brianne on our very first ROAD TRIP! Our itinerary is as follows:
Today: Houdini Museum, Woodstock Museum, spend the night in Scranton. Take pictures with the WELCOME TO SCRANTON sign.
Monday: Visit Jim Thorpe. Go to Gettysburg. Eat chili dogs (Brianne doesn't know about this yet). Go on ghost tour.
Tuesday: Baltimore with Brianne's college room mate. Sleep in a house. Who knows what today could hold!
Wednesday: Philadelphia! Visit Pez Dispenser Museum, hang out with my high school friend who recently moved and became a grown-up. Wait... I am a grown up.
Thursday: Drive to Rhode Island. Visit Thaeje. Sleep on a couch.
Friday: Plimoth Plantation? Back to MA!
I'll attempt to tell good stories throughout the next week. Hopefully someone reads this thing!
4.10.2009
there and back again
I got home from Haiti two nights ago. Culture shock set in immediately.
When we arrived at the airport, we were greeted by one of the translators we had last year. "Sarah! Jessica! I didn't know you were coming!" Teams from the US and Canada show up at this place weekly, if not more often. The fact that he (and others) remembered not only my face, but my name, is incredible. I wasn't lied to when I was told that these people would never forget me.
One of the days I was working at the hospital I was talking to a woman who I also knew from last year. She asked me what I do for work at home. I was about to answer her, when it occurred to me, "she's probably never heard of Starbucks." So I said "I work at a coffee shop... have you ever heard of Starbucks?" I got a blank stare and a "no." If someone had ever asked me "do you think there are people in the world who've never heard of Starbucks?" the answer would obviously be "yes." But no one's ever asked me that question. I've never thought about it. It's a strange thing to think about, no?
I could talk on and on about the poverty, but it's unnecessary. I'll tell you about it if you ask me. It's depressing. And what's even more depressing is being back in the US. Watching people live so extravagantly, get so upset about things that don't matter at all... all while I have friends who are living in poverty. I mean, the people I know are better off than most others. They have jobs, are educated or being educated, they have places to live, and most have families. Well, the orphans don't have families. But they have each other. But they're all skin and bones. They clean their plates (when they are given meals). They have little clothing, and even less of other things that we take for granted. Like electricity, running water, internet, clean water. We walked past this water source where people bathe, do their laundry, and get their drinking water. It's all from the same place. And then we walked down a ways, and I noticed a dead pig lying in the water. Can you imagine living like that? That's reality. It's not the way the majority of the world lives, and it's certainly not the way we live, but there are real, live, loving, caring, intelligent, educated human beings out there who live like this from day to day.
Oops. I talked about the poverty. That's what happens... I try not to, because I know it disengages people's interest, and it always comes off as sounding demeaning. I'm sorry. I don't mean to. I've just seen and experienced things, and when you ask me to tell you about it I don't know how to respond. Do you want "it was a really great trip. I had a really nice time." or do you want "three days ago I was holding and hugging and feeding de-worming medication to hungry orphans with no pants or underwear, with bloated bellies and orange hair from malnutrition. So now it's really depressing and emotionally grueling to try to appease customers who are yelling at me because I ran out of chocolate chips for their Venti Java Chip Frappuccino." You know? People don't want to hear that. But it's true.
I wish people would say "I want to politely inquire about your trip, but if you speak more than one sentence in response my eyes will instantly glaze over with disinterest."
When we arrived at the airport, we were greeted by one of the translators we had last year. "Sarah! Jessica! I didn't know you were coming!" Teams from the US and Canada show up at this place weekly, if not more often. The fact that he (and others) remembered not only my face, but my name, is incredible. I wasn't lied to when I was told that these people would never forget me.
One of the days I was working at the hospital I was talking to a woman who I also knew from last year. She asked me what I do for work at home. I was about to answer her, when it occurred to me, "she's probably never heard of Starbucks." So I said "I work at a coffee shop... have you ever heard of Starbucks?" I got a blank stare and a "no." If someone had ever asked me "do you think there are people in the world who've never heard of Starbucks?" the answer would obviously be "yes." But no one's ever asked me that question. I've never thought about it. It's a strange thing to think about, no?
I could talk on and on about the poverty, but it's unnecessary. I'll tell you about it if you ask me. It's depressing. And what's even more depressing is being back in the US. Watching people live so extravagantly, get so upset about things that don't matter at all... all while I have friends who are living in poverty. I mean, the people I know are better off than most others. They have jobs, are educated or being educated, they have places to live, and most have families. Well, the orphans don't have families. But they have each other. But they're all skin and bones. They clean their plates (when they are given meals). They have little clothing, and even less of other things that we take for granted. Like electricity, running water, internet, clean water. We walked past this water source where people bathe, do their laundry, and get their drinking water. It's all from the same place. And then we walked down a ways, and I noticed a dead pig lying in the water. Can you imagine living like that? That's reality. It's not the way the majority of the world lives, and it's certainly not the way we live, but there are real, live, loving, caring, intelligent, educated human beings out there who live like this from day to day.
Oops. I talked about the poverty. That's what happens... I try not to, because I know it disengages people's interest, and it always comes off as sounding demeaning. I'm sorry. I don't mean to. I've just seen and experienced things, and when you ask me to tell you about it I don't know how to respond. Do you want "it was a really great trip. I had a really nice time." or do you want "three days ago I was holding and hugging and feeding de-worming medication to hungry orphans with no pants or underwear, with bloated bellies and orange hair from malnutrition. So now it's really depressing and emotionally grueling to try to appease customers who are yelling at me because I ran out of chocolate chips for their Venti Java Chip Frappuccino." You know? People don't want to hear that. But it's true.
I wish people would say "I want to politely inquire about your trip, but if you speak more than one sentence in response my eyes will instantly glaze over with disinterest."
3.31.2009
oh boy
This past weekend didn't go exactly as I had planned, but it was still lovely. Instead of fasting for about two days as I had planned, I fasted for about 12 hours. I think I accomplished all that I had planned on, and even a little more. I spent Friday afternoon walking around Walden Pond (the weather was BEAUTIFUL), stopping as often as I felt to sit, look, think, write, meditate, pray. It didn't take me long to realize that instead of starving myself for a second day, it would be much more meaningful and fulfilling to spend some time with my family. So I spent Saturday morning making jewelry with my mom, grandmother, aunts, and Suzie, and I spent Saturday night feasting on sushi with Spence. On Sunday, after packing all of the donations that we're taking to Haiti, I went to church and then out to a ridiculous restaurant with Rob and Suzie. About a month ago I won a $100 gift certificate on the radio to Masa, and I decided to take them. We had a really fun time, and I don't think I've ever eaten a meal nearly as expensive as that one.
Last night I spent a much-needed night out with Ripley and Michael. Ripley had a gift certificate to Denny's, so we went. I'd never been to Denny's before! It seemed to me to just be IHOP, but with different colored tables, and a slightly more trendy music selection. It was so good to hang out with them... I can't believe how lucky I am to have them for friends, and to have had them for so long.
Well, tomorrow I leave for Haiti. I'm a little nervous all of a sudden, probably more about the fact that I haven't started packing than anything else. I guess I should go do that...
Last night I spent a much-needed night out with Ripley and Michael. Ripley had a gift certificate to Denny's, so we went. I'd never been to Denny's before! It seemed to me to just be IHOP, but with different colored tables, and a slightly more trendy music selection. It was so good to hang out with them... I can't believe how lucky I am to have them for friends, and to have had them for so long.
Well, tomorrow I leave for Haiti. I'm a little nervous all of a sudden, probably more about the fact that I haven't started packing than anything else. I guess I should go do that...
3.27.2009
natural segregation?
This morning as I waited at LGH to get blood drawn, I noticed something very odd. The way the waiting room is set up is there is a big room, which is separated into smaller room-type things with chairs set up in U shapes, which a row of large fake plants separating each U. The chair U closest to the room that everyone is waiting to get into also has a TV, but none of the others do. This is the section that I naturally walked to. I mean, it was closest to where I wanted to end up, it had a TV, and something about it just seemed... natural. Of course, I didn't think that through, it's just where I automatically went.
Then, after sitting for about ten minutes, I began to realize that the waiting room was separated into racial groups. I was sitting in a U of chairs entirely filled with Caucasian people, the one next door had Black and Latino people, and the one next to that had people of Asian descent. I noticed this, and it disturbed me... why are people doing this? Why does it just happen, with no noticeable intent? Why did I also subconsiously follow the masses?
A woman sitting in the U beside the one I was in had her name called. It wasn't her turn yet, but she was next. As I saw her walking over towards us, I thought "this is good, she's going to sit down. This whole thing was just in my head." But, she didn't sit down. She stood, just outside of our little section. Maybe it was just because she knew she'd have to get up again soon? I hope so.
Then, after sitting for about ten minutes, I began to realize that the waiting room was separated into racial groups. I was sitting in a U of chairs entirely filled with Caucasian people, the one next door had Black and Latino people, and the one next to that had people of Asian descent. I noticed this, and it disturbed me... why are people doing this? Why does it just happen, with no noticeable intent? Why did I also subconsiously follow the masses?
A woman sitting in the U beside the one I was in had her name called. It wasn't her turn yet, but she was next. As I saw her walking over towards us, I thought "this is good, she's going to sit down. This whole thing was just in my head." But, she didn't sit down. She stood, just outside of our little section. Maybe it was just because she knew she'd have to get up again soon? I hope so.
3.23.2009
hungry
So, I'm probably going to do a 40 hour fast this weekend. I'm leaving for Haiti in 9 days. When I went last June, the thing I struggled with the most was going out into villages, playing with and showering love on kids and adults who were starving, telling them about Jesus (which I do think is incredibly important), and then leaving them... and going back to our house and eating like kings. Sure, sometimes we'd give the kids a tootsie roll, but for someone who maybe gets one meal a day? Not so helpful. Maybe even harmful.
We aren't fed so well just for fun... there is a purpose for it. We're Americans who are used to eating three meals a day, who have traveled a great distance to a country with rampant disease to work in not so great conditions for very long hours. The fact is, we need our sustenance if we're going to work efficiently. But knowing that didn't make me feel any less guilty. I knew I had to eat, but I couldn't help but think about all the people I'd seen who could use the food so much more than I could.
So, I've decided to fast. The purpose is to pray, meditate, and prepare for my trip both mentally and spiritually. I want to take time to prepare, but also to get the whole guilt thing out of my system. By fasting I will hopefully be able to relate better instead of just having guilt and pity that is completely foreign and unintelligible. I considered 3 days, because it's a nice round number. I considered 30 hours, because I've done 30 hours before. I decided that 3 days, taking my body size into consideration, is too long. It's also important that I be able to do this while not working, since being hungry and at work will not be conducive to what I am trying to achieve. 30 hours is simply not long enough. So, 40 hours, modeled after the 40 days that Jesus fasted, is my conclusion. Long enough to experience hunger, short enough not to lose scary amounts of weight, and conveniently, I have this whole weekend off of work.
So, there's my plan. I'm getting ready to be hungry.
We aren't fed so well just for fun... there is a purpose for it. We're Americans who are used to eating three meals a day, who have traveled a great distance to a country with rampant disease to work in not so great conditions for very long hours. The fact is, we need our sustenance if we're going to work efficiently. But knowing that didn't make me feel any less guilty. I knew I had to eat, but I couldn't help but think about all the people I'd seen who could use the food so much more than I could.
So, I've decided to fast. The purpose is to pray, meditate, and prepare for my trip both mentally and spiritually. I want to take time to prepare, but also to get the whole guilt thing out of my system. By fasting I will hopefully be able to relate better instead of just having guilt and pity that is completely foreign and unintelligible. I considered 3 days, because it's a nice round number. I considered 30 hours, because I've done 30 hours before. I decided that 3 days, taking my body size into consideration, is too long. It's also important that I be able to do this while not working, since being hungry and at work will not be conducive to what I am trying to achieve. 30 hours is simply not long enough. So, 40 hours, modeled after the 40 days that Jesus fasted, is my conclusion. Long enough to experience hunger, short enough not to lose scary amounts of weight, and conveniently, I have this whole weekend off of work.
So, there's my plan. I'm getting ready to be hungry.
3.20.2009
Obama and Special Olympics
You may have heard, and if you haven't already, I'm sure you will hear all about a comment that Barack Obama made the other day, comparing his lack of bowling skills to the Special Olympics. He's had to publicly apologize for it, and of course people are in an uproar.
Seriously?
Anyone who knows me at all, knows that I am not exactly an Obama supporter. I have said some pretty awful things about him in my day. But... really? The Special Olympics were created so that disabled people can compete in their own version of the Olympics... the original version of which they'd never stand a chance. The whole point is that because of mental or physical handicaps, they are unable to come anywhere near the level at which Olympic games are played. So, Obama was saying that he is incapable of bowling like a normal person. Is that so wrong? He made a joke. I laughed.
Seriously?
Anyone who knows me at all, knows that I am not exactly an Obama supporter. I have said some pretty awful things about him in my day. But... really? The Special Olympics were created so that disabled people can compete in their own version of the Olympics... the original version of which they'd never stand a chance. The whole point is that because of mental or physical handicaps, they are unable to come anywhere near the level at which Olympic games are played. So, Obama was saying that he is incapable of bowling like a normal person. Is that so wrong? He made a joke. I laughed.
3.16.2009
things to come
Hiii. I'm sitting here listening to showtunes, wondering what this week will hold. I need to apply to college, but let's face it, I'm terrified. I tried three different schools already and none of them "were right" (at the time, anyway). What if I talk this up so much, tell everyone how great it is that I've finally figured out what I'm going to do with my life, and then... I don't get into nursing school? Or what if I get in, start going, and then immediately hit the same wall I've hit three times already, the feeling of "this just isn't for me." I know one thing, and that's that I can't work in food service for the rest of my life. Something has to change, and in order for that change to occur I have to get off my behind and get a degree. Is it just sheer laziness that's kept me from that point so far? Laziness, cowardice, lying to myself. It's probably one or all of those.
Well. I'm going to Haiti in 16 days. I'm going to do as much nursing type things as I can while I'm there, and assuming I still don't lose my control and pass out or throw up, I'm going to consider it a sign that that's what I should be doing. I should probably fill out an application, or at least get my transcripts ready to go before then. I could totally see myself just putting it off until I miss a date, and then just use that as an excuse for putting it off another semester. One thing that I am excited for about going back to school... is that I will once again be in a place where it's not horribly intimidating to audition for a show. I want to be on stage again. It's been waaay too long, especially considering that it used to be what I thought I was going to do with my life. Soon, I'll try it again.
Well. I'm going to Haiti in 16 days. I'm going to do as much nursing type things as I can while I'm there, and assuming I still don't lose my control and pass out or throw up, I'm going to consider it a sign that that's what I should be doing. I should probably fill out an application, or at least get my transcripts ready to go before then. I could totally see myself just putting it off until I miss a date, and then just use that as an excuse for putting it off another semester. One thing that I am excited for about going back to school... is that I will once again be in a place where it's not horribly intimidating to audition for a show. I want to be on stage again. It's been waaay too long, especially considering that it used to be what I thought I was going to do with my life. Soon, I'll try it again.
3.14.2009
Facebook is actually EVIL.
Did you know that a few weeks ago Facebook, with very little warning, changed their policies, so now they actually OWN all of your photos. They can do whatever they want, whenever they want, with every single picture that you or one of your friends uploads. How crazy is that? I mean, I guess that as long as you have nothing to hide, you should have nothing to worry about, but honestly... we shouldn't have to worry about things like that.
Furthermore, think about how much this website controls each of our lives. Now we all have it on our cellphones, whether it's by texting the site, or just by using the internet on our cellphones. This website is actually attached to many of us at the hand. It is certainly attached to most of us at the mind, since it guides our lives in a way that, a few years ago, no one would have thought possible. That may sound silly, to say that "facebook guides our lives;" but, think about it. What's the first thing you do when you get home? For me and for most people I know, it is go to your computer, and check facebook. See if we have any wall posts or photo comments, or anything else. See if your friend played his move in your Scrabble game. You know.
And no matter what Facebook does to anger us, we keep using it. Think about all the changes that have happened, in 2005 Facebook went from a college-only networking site to allowing high school students in. College students eveywhere were enraged. It "took the legitimacy out of it." If they thought that was bad, "legitimacy" was really lost when Facebook decided to open its doors to people everywhere, whether students or otherwise. Back in 2006 it became what many of us called "stalkerbook," with newsfeed tellings us everything that was happening with our friends everywhere. I remember countless counter "groups" trying to convince the creators to go back to how it used to be. And now in the last year or so, it seems like new changes happen every month or so. And I'm talking major changes, in the way things look, things you can do, things you can't do, and things that Facebook can do with YOUR stuff. And how do we react? We make groups.
See what I mean? We're fighting fire with fire. Facebook LOVES it when we create angry groups, threatening to leave the site if they don't undo what they've done. No one's leaving. Facebook knows that. We'll never leave, because we're addicted. We're all stuck in this abusive Facebook relationship, and it's very complicated. Facebook does what it wants, makes us angry, steals our information, gossips about us, does all sorts of heartless, inappropriate things to us. But because we're all addicted to that little rush we get when we see "+ Friend Request!" or "-- wrote on your Wall." We're addicted to feeling like stars, knowing that all of our Facebook "Friends," just as addicted and unable to stop as we are, probably spend countless time staring at our photos or reading our self-descriptions.
I'm an addict. That's the first step, right? I want my life back. I want to quit Facebook.
Furthermore, think about how much this website controls each of our lives. Now we all have it on our cellphones, whether it's by texting the site, or just by using the internet on our cellphones. This website is actually attached to many of us at the hand. It is certainly attached to most of us at the mind, since it guides our lives in a way that, a few years ago, no one would have thought possible. That may sound silly, to say that "facebook guides our lives;" but, think about it. What's the first thing you do when you get home? For me and for most people I know, it is go to your computer, and check facebook. See if we have any wall posts or photo comments, or anything else. See if your friend played his move in your Scrabble game. You know.
And no matter what Facebook does to anger us, we keep using it. Think about all the changes that have happened, in 2005 Facebook went from a college-only networking site to allowing high school students in. College students eveywhere were enraged. It "took the legitimacy out of it." If they thought that was bad, "legitimacy" was really lost when Facebook decided to open its doors to people everywhere, whether students or otherwise. Back in 2006 it became what many of us called "stalkerbook," with newsfeed tellings us everything that was happening with our friends everywhere. I remember countless counter "groups" trying to convince the creators to go back to how it used to be. And now in the last year or so, it seems like new changes happen every month or so. And I'm talking major changes, in the way things look, things you can do, things you can't do, and things that Facebook can do with YOUR stuff. And how do we react? We make groups.
See what I mean? We're fighting fire with fire. Facebook LOVES it when we create angry groups, threatening to leave the site if they don't undo what they've done. No one's leaving. Facebook knows that. We'll never leave, because we're addicted. We're all stuck in this abusive Facebook relationship, and it's very complicated. Facebook does what it wants, makes us angry, steals our information, gossips about us, does all sorts of heartless, inappropriate things to us. But because we're all addicted to that little rush we get when we see "+ Friend Request!" or "-- wrote on your Wall." We're addicted to feeling like stars, knowing that all of our Facebook "Friends," just as addicted and unable to stop as we are, probably spend countless time staring at our photos or reading our self-descriptions.
I'm an addict. That's the first step, right? I want my life back. I want to quit Facebook.
3.05.2009
so much to do
Next Friday is the Coffee House that I've been attempting to plan for the past couple months. I'm nervous because it feels like nothing is ready... I have five acts, possibly an MC, possibly food, and probably coffee. I have a sound guy, too, assuming he can get there in time after work. GAH.
I'm going to Haiti in less than a month. I still have to get all my vaccines... I just made an appointment at a travel clinic, and I am SO thankful that there wasn't a three month wait list or something, like there was when I need vaccinations last year. I still need to mail out my support letters for my trip. I thought I was going to be able to pay for this trip on my own, but it's looking more and more like I'll need some help. So little time..
A trip to Ireland is being planned for June with Ripley. Money is... so costly. But travel is... so incredible. I really hope this trip works out.
This weekend I'm babysitting for my little cousins. I can't wait to see them and play with them, but, let's face it. There are things that I seriously need to get done.
SO LITTLE TIME.
I'm going to Haiti in less than a month. I still have to get all my vaccines... I just made an appointment at a travel clinic, and I am SO thankful that there wasn't a three month wait list or something, like there was when I need vaccinations last year. I still need to mail out my support letters for my trip. I thought I was going to be able to pay for this trip on my own, but it's looking more and more like I'll need some help. So little time..
A trip to Ireland is being planned for June with Ripley. Money is... so costly. But travel is... so incredible. I really hope this trip works out.
This weekend I'm babysitting for my little cousins. I can't wait to see them and play with them, but, let's face it. There are things that I seriously need to get done.
SO LITTLE TIME.
2.27.2009
some air stories
In the Phoenix Airport, I went to Starbucks... as per usual. Airport Starbucks' are generally not corporate owned, instead they're "licensed locations..." which basically just means that they don't get health insurance, and I can't get my discount. So the Starbucks at PHX looked unusually spiffy, so I decided to ask "is this a licensed location, or are you corporate owned?" The guy behind the counter must get asked that question a hundred times a day, because he knowingly shook his head and apologized. He asked me where I worked, I told him Boston, and he continued to chat while making my drink... and then he gave me a discount. Ain't that sweet? Even Starbucks employees who aren't really Starbucks employees know where it's at.
On the plane, it was super super sunny because we were above the clouds... which were super super thick. My favorite quote of the trip was when a mom told a little boy to look out the window at the clouds, and he said "woah, that is puffy." For some reason... it took most of my strength to keep from not bursting out in laughter at his comment.
On the plane, it was super super sunny because we were above the clouds... which were super super thick. My favorite quote of the trip was when a mom told a little boy to look out the window at the clouds, and he said "woah, that is puffy." For some reason... it took most of my strength to keep from not bursting out in laughter at his comment.
2.18.2009
Coraline
Who knew that Coraline was 3D? I sure didn't. It was a very exciting surprise when I got to the theater and was handed some pretty BA 3D glasses. It really worked too; those glasses work wonders. You know, 3D glasses don't just work in movies, if you wear them in real life everything's 3D too. It's INSANE.
...That joke never gets old.
Anyway, Coraline was a pretty sweet movie. I did not intend to see it, so I was pleasantly impressed. It's certainly not a children's movie, as it was advertised. It was terrifying on many levels, and many moments left the audience wondering aloud what the hell was going on. Who in their right mind comes up with the idea of a spider/needle woman who kidnaps and murders children by convincing them to sew buttons into their eyes, thereby stealing their souls forever? No one, I don't think.
An incredibly crafted movie could only go up in my opinion when I recognized the voice of John Linnell, the lead singer for They Might be Giants. He was the voice of "The Other Father" and wrote and performed a song for the movie. It's quite a catchy tune.
...That joke never gets old.
Anyway, Coraline was a pretty sweet movie. I did not intend to see it, so I was pleasantly impressed. It's certainly not a children's movie, as it was advertised. It was terrifying on many levels, and many moments left the audience wondering aloud what the hell was going on. Who in their right mind comes up with the idea of a spider/needle woman who kidnaps and murders children by convincing them to sew buttons into their eyes, thereby stealing their souls forever? No one, I don't think.
An incredibly crafted movie could only go up in my opinion when I recognized the voice of John Linnell, the lead singer for They Might be Giants. He was the voice of "The Other Father" and wrote and performed a song for the movie. It's quite a catchy tune.
2.15.2009
<3 Day
I've been completely single and unattached for a little over a year now, and in that short time I've already begun to develop a reputation as one of those angry, bitter people who hates Valentine's Day. It's probably because I spent the prior week telling everyone I spoke with "I hate that day," "no, I'm doing nothing," "no, I have no plans," and "I'm trying not to think about it." The truth is I love Valentine's Day. I love love, and there is little I enjoy more than contrived reasons to make romantic gestures and eat cheap chocolate.
Now that I think about it, I realize I've never actually spent Valentine's Day with someone. All of the years I had a boyfriend it fell during the week, and that doesn't work when you're living far away from each other and going to school. My junior year in high school my boyfriend sent me a dozen red roses. I loved it, but my mom freaked out. "Red means passionate love! You're sixteen!" Yes Mom, and he loves me. We were so young. The next two years I had a different boyfriend, one who majorly lacked in the whole department of treating me like a princess. He lived at school, so he had an excuse to not do anything major. I think we must have done something on the weekend before or after, but it made such a big impression on me that I remember completely nothing.
These past two Valentine's Days I've spent working, trying to keep my mind off of the fact that no one wants me. It's National Singles Awareness Day, and that's what I hate. I have nothing against happy couples showering each other in adoration, and I hope I eventually get to participate in it. What I hate is being made painfully aware of my own... well, I could say just single-ness, but is that all there is to it? I'm not sure about everyone, but I think for most people, at least myself, being single for an extended period of time suggests some sort of defect or fault. It's like there's something wrong with me that makes me uninteresting or undateable.
My best friend since the third grade came to visit me at work yesterday. He brought me a bag full of candy. I don't know if he realized how much he pulled me out of the thoughts I was spouting in the previous paragraph. I'm the only one of my friends who doesn't even have a love interest, and most have an actual relationship. But he listened to me when I vented my frustration and sadness, and unhappiness about that particular day. And even if he took the candy from his mother and the bag and Valentines from his sister, which is a valid possibility, I still have a friend who thought of me and decided to cheer up my day. And as little of a gesture as it may have been... it did cheer up my day. Thanks Michael.
Anyway, after work I went home, watched A Walk to Remember, bawled my eyes out (just like I do every time I watch that movie), and ate myself into a chocolate oblivion. I was satisfied.
Now that I think about it, I realize I've never actually spent Valentine's Day with someone. All of the years I had a boyfriend it fell during the week, and that doesn't work when you're living far away from each other and going to school. My junior year in high school my boyfriend sent me a dozen red roses. I loved it, but my mom freaked out. "Red means passionate love! You're sixteen!" Yes Mom, and he loves me. We were so young. The next two years I had a different boyfriend, one who majorly lacked in the whole department of treating me like a princess. He lived at school, so he had an excuse to not do anything major. I think we must have done something on the weekend before or after, but it made such a big impression on me that I remember completely nothing.
These past two Valentine's Days I've spent working, trying to keep my mind off of the fact that no one wants me. It's National Singles Awareness Day, and that's what I hate. I have nothing against happy couples showering each other in adoration, and I hope I eventually get to participate in it. What I hate is being made painfully aware of my own... well, I could say just single-ness, but is that all there is to it? I'm not sure about everyone, but I think for most people, at least myself, being single for an extended period of time suggests some sort of defect or fault. It's like there's something wrong with me that makes me uninteresting or undateable.
My best friend since the third grade came to visit me at work yesterday. He brought me a bag full of candy. I don't know if he realized how much he pulled me out of the thoughts I was spouting in the previous paragraph. I'm the only one of my friends who doesn't even have a love interest, and most have an actual relationship. But he listened to me when I vented my frustration and sadness, and unhappiness about that particular day. And even if he took the candy from his mother and the bag and Valentines from his sister, which is a valid possibility, I still have a friend who thought of me and decided to cheer up my day. And as little of a gesture as it may have been... it did cheer up my day. Thanks Michael.
Anyway, after work I went home, watched A Walk to Remember, bawled my eyes out (just like I do every time I watch that movie), and ate myself into a chocolate oblivion. I was satisfied.
1.31.2009
1.29.2009
1.18.2009
middle-school vampires
Last night I went to see Let the Right One In. It's a skillfully crafted movie about a twelve year old boy who inadvertently falls in love with a vampire has been at that same age... for a while. The film is horrifyingly gruesome but incredibly heartwarming... complete with necks being snapped, limbs being torn and thrown, a little girl gushing blood from all facial extremities... but also a prepubescent boy and girl begin to "go steady," share in their first (bloody) first kiss, and teach each other how to get along in a world so hard to understand.
"The Right One" is a Swedish film. I always wonder after seeing movies with subtitles how much more I would have enjoyed it if I were able to watch and understand it in its original tongue. I mean, even my favorite American movies just would not be the same without being able to understand tones of voice and different inflections... for me, those things are very often what make or break a movie. So it's always fascinating when I thoroughly enjoy a movie even when all I can do is read the dialogue silently.
"The Right One" is a Swedish film. I always wonder after seeing movies with subtitles how much more I would have enjoyed it if I were able to watch and understand it in its original tongue. I mean, even my favorite American movies just would not be the same without being able to understand tones of voice and different inflections... for me, those things are very often what make or break a movie. So it's always fascinating when I thoroughly enjoy a movie even when all I can do is read the dialogue silently.
1.14.2009
plans for 2009
Oh hi! I haven't really told anyone this yet, and I probably won't, at least not until I've actually sent in an application, but... my current plan is to return to UML in September 2009 as an English major with a concentration in Writing. I could only put it off for so long, but I guess that was always what I would inevitably do. I'm out of practice writing, I need to take some classes at the very least for the sake of getting back into the swing of things!
Also, I'm probably going to go to California in February or March, and I'm going to Haiti in April. Hopefully Europe will come sometime in the Summer. There's still time to figure that one out.
I started reading Dracula about a month ago, and I still haven't finished. I read half of it within a week, and then I just put it down and haven't picked it up again. I feel kind of guilty about it. It's just not exciting. Sorry, Dad.
Also, I'm probably going to go to California in February or March, and I'm going to Haiti in April. Hopefully Europe will come sometime in the Summer. There's still time to figure that one out.
I started reading Dracula about a month ago, and I still haven't finished. I read half of it within a week, and then I just put it down and haven't picked it up again. I feel kind of guilty about it. It's just not exciting. Sorry, Dad.
1.10.2009
1.02.2009
happy new year!
It's 2009! It's so weird to think that it was nine whole years ago that the whole Y2K thing took place... remember that?? Everyone was so freaked out about what was going to happen... and here we are, nine years later.
I've experienced a LOT of changes in the past year. I had an infinite number of good times, a bunch of bad ones, but came out of the bad ones stronger and smarter. I graduated from Middlesex, worked a lot, got my heart broken a couple times, made friends, lost friends, strengthened friendships, and learned SO much. It may not have been the easiest or most pleasant year yet, but it was certainly an educational experience and I'm glad I lived through it.
Now for this year... I have high hopes. I hope to do some travel, cling tight to my friends, and... shh... don't tell anyone. Maybe I'll go back to school. I kind of realized that the people who say "it's okay, college isn't for everyone" are flat-out lying and hoping that by encouraging me to stay out of school, they will in turn increase their own chances at getting a high-paid job. I may not ever enjoy college, but I think it's something I might have to get through in order to be a normal and respectable... and well-paid adult. I'm going to see Kenny Chesney on August 15! I am possibly going back to Haiti in April, and hopefully I'll be headed to CA before then.
I hope it's a good year. We shall see.
I've experienced a LOT of changes in the past year. I had an infinite number of good times, a bunch of bad ones, but came out of the bad ones stronger and smarter. I graduated from Middlesex, worked a lot, got my heart broken a couple times, made friends, lost friends, strengthened friendships, and learned SO much. It may not have been the easiest or most pleasant year yet, but it was certainly an educational experience and I'm glad I lived through it.
Now for this year... I have high hopes. I hope to do some travel, cling tight to my friends, and... shh... don't tell anyone. Maybe I'll go back to school. I kind of realized that the people who say "it's okay, college isn't for everyone" are flat-out lying and hoping that by encouraging me to stay out of school, they will in turn increase their own chances at getting a high-paid job. I may not ever enjoy college, but I think it's something I might have to get through in order to be a normal and respectable... and well-paid adult. I'm going to see Kenny Chesney on August 15! I am possibly going back to Haiti in April, and hopefully I'll be headed to CA before then.
I hope it's a good year. We shall see.
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