Heebie-Jeebie's

    There are a million smells, tastes, etc. that I love and could write about forever. Like my love for fresh rose petals, the smell makes you feel loved. Freshly picked lilacs in my bathroom; elicits the feeling of sitting on the porch on a warm summer night. The taste of brown sugar reminds me of childhood; helping my mother pull out warm gooey caramel rolls made from scratch; out of the oven. Instead I am going to brave through and tell about something I hate! 

     It's a texture that for some reason; maybe it's my ADD as it can make you extremely sensitive to textures and touch that this particular item drives me insane. Each time I feel it I want to climb the walls to get away from it. So if you ever see me hanging from a chandelier you will know why.  

    To the average person it is beautiful and delicate. It makes you feel classy and sexy. For some it provides a sense of comfort. It comes in many forms, from many lands, and its worth is determined by such. It is nature's elegant art form provided for our pleasure.  

     The velvety existence that entices most of you is what also distains me. Simply writing about this texture sends goose bumps racing up my arms, tingling every last hair on my head, ending with a shiver. It is silk, the once fabric that determined people's wealth. It is not only the flowing smoothness of silk that sends my body into panic mode. It can simply be the sight of the glimmering, lustrous fabric that sets me off. The thought of its softness when you run it across your skin makes me cringe. I once read it described as "a gentle breeze or fresh stream of water." That "it naturally and instantly warms to the touch, yet breathes and lets air pass through." Well not to me! It is my arch nemesis. I hate you silk!

 word count: 328

Battle Wounds

Scars are nothing more than stories imprinted on your body. They are not to be ashamed of, hidden, consumed with. For they are marks left behind for proof of our survival!

 My first scar

      The palm of my right hand tells of a summer filled with laughter, love, and fun. I was three and a half years old and I had the privilege of spending several weeks during the summer with my "Grandma Linda", she was the mother of my mother's best friend. I had adopted her as my Grandma; don't get me wrong I have two wonderful grandmothers but she too held a special place in my heart. It was scorching out in Miles City, Montana we needed quick relief. Her daughter Sherry worked at a hotel with a pool so I went with her to "beat the heat". Swimming brings out the thirst in someone; Sherry had given me an apple juice. At that time all juice came in glass bottles, I eagerly tried opening the juice. My hands were slippery and the juice tumbled out of my hands and onto the concrete patio. Glass flew everywhere including right into the palm of my hand. I was fine until I saw how much blood was pouring out of my hand. I am sure that I probably needed stitches but back then you didn't go to the hospital unless you were dying. It has been almost thirty years and I still have the scar. 

My second scar

      I had just gotten a brand new pair of jeans that day; for me it was a big deal as we were on a pretty fixed income. I was fifteen years old and was in the bathroom doing my hair getting ready to go out with friends. It was later in the evening and my parents were already in bed so I tried to be as quiet as I could. All the lights in the house were off so I headed for the front door with excitement. To my surprise my sister had a giant guinea pig cage blocking the path to freedom. I tripped over the cage and felt a sharp pain on my left inner thigh. I hobbled back to the bathroom to assess the damage. My brand new pants were not only covered in blood but had a giant rip along the knee. The cage had ripped open my new jeans and massacred the side of my leg right above the knee. It looked as if someone had taken a potato peeler to my leg several times. I was more devastated that my new jeans were ruined than my leg.

My third scar 

     I have been struggling with my weight my entire life. When I was 27 a doctor finally discovered I had thyroid cancer. I had one of two options, radioactive iodine or surgery. I opted for surgery as the iodine would have meant I could no longer breastfeed my son. The doctor reassured me every visit that thyroid cancer was the type of cancer you hoped for, it was simply an annoying cancer. When he opened me up he uncovered a scene he was unprepared for. I had hundreds of nodes in my neck, wrapped around my vocal cords stuck to everything. My thyroid was like sticky gum splattered all over the inside of my neck. They were successful in removing almost all of it except a small portion by my vocal cords which was too risky to remove. After a day in the hospital I wanted to go home to recover. He would call us with the results. The next night he phoned me from his cell phone and said he had to call me on his way home to share the results with me. He said when he opened me up and saw it he almost fell to his knees. He was unsure of what he was going to tell my husband as he was unsure of what my outcome might be. He had only seen this far advanced cancer one other time in his life. While removing the nodes he told the surgery staff I can't believe this cancer! He said he would have bet over a million dollars that it was cancer. The results were negative not even a precancerous cell. He had never seen a thyroid like that, which was not cancerous. The scar on my neck is proof that the Lord had answered our prayers.        

My last scar

     My last scar was earned on December 17, 2006. It is not a scar you can see from the outside. This scar is deeper than any other scar seen. It will be there for the rest of my life, and I cannot have it removed. It is a scar given only to members of a hidden club. It is in my heart and has changed it forever. Although I wish I would never have been given it, I am proud to have it.

Word count: 830

Mutual Devotion....

      It was the summer of 1987 and I was escaping the heat in our nice cool basement. This is where I knew that there was something greater out there; a feeling I have never had before. It was the first time I knew the feeling of true love. As I sat there in awe of him I couldn't help but play out what our entire life would be like together. He was stunningly handsome, had hair like a God, and a stomach you could wash clothes on. What attracted me first was his slight "bad boy" persona; the temptation of a forbidden fruit. As I grew to understand him he was actually tender, kind, and fueled by passion. He could easily sweep any woman off her feet.  

     He was a dancer; I could watch him dance every moment of my life. He danced with desire, purpose, and hunger. The love he had for dance was immeasurable; he danced because it was in his soul. How does someone go about professing their love to a man this spectacular??? Would I even be his type? What would he say? What if he didn't feel the same way about me? Would he even care to hear what I had to say? The eagerness of wanting to tell him was eating me inside; I had to find the best way to tell him. To tell him in a way he had no choice but to sit and listen to me; I know I would write it in a love letter! For those who don't know what that is, it's a handwritten, spilling of your guts, take a leap and go for it note. A lost art these days! 

      Checking the mail each day in anticipation of his reply was pure torture! Finally there it was, a letter addressed to me from him! I was sick to my stomach holding it in my hands. I ran to my bedroom, plopped down on the bed and starred at the envelope. I didn't know if I should open it, I wanted to but what if he laughed at me and told me I was crazy? I had to open it I had went this far already; my hands were shaking so much I almost ripped the letter in half trying to open the envelope. So my answer sat right in front of me.... the letter read: 

Dear Latrisha,

    Thank you greatly for the letter you sent to me. No one has ever said to me kinder words than you wrote. Unfortunately at this time in my life I cannot enter into a relationship with you. I am so sorry but I am already married. I feel so honored that I have made such an impact in your life. There are also many circumstances that would prevent us from having any type of relationship other than a friendship.....blah blah!

     Tears streamed down my face, I was crying so hysterically that I couldn't breathe. How could I experience my first love and my first heartbreak in the same summer? How could he not love me as much as I loved him? I was devoted to this man; I would have died for him! Anything he had asked of me I would have done. I would never have left him, never have chosen anyone over him. Never let my father speak ill of him! So what if he lived 1800 miles or so away from me, I was willing to relocate. What did it matter that he was 34 and I was only 8, I looked past the age difference! I know we had never met in "real" life but I knew him so well. Eventually I grew up and got over the pain but he will always have a piece of my heart.  

       So yes I have had unrequited love, with Patrick Swayze.

 Word count: 644

 

English Blog 3

The question I chose was; respond to; literature's moral value is determined by the "character of the person writing it and his skill in writing and the character of the person reading it and his skill in reading."
I agree with his Orson Card's view on this; we can only write what we can relate to in some way. It's impossible to write about the pain of heart break and make it believable if we have never experienced heart break and felt it was painful. Writing is painting a picture with words; for many unskilled persons of fine art we look at a painting and think "what the heck is that" Where others that are knowledgeable simply look at it and can feel the artists emotions and intent. Romeo and Juliet is one of the most well known playwrights of a love story. However it is filled with evil and the main characters die. Some may see it as violent and horrific, yet over time it has been explained to us so many times we see past that and feel the love between Romeo and Juliet; because we have become skilled in it. To some hard rock is a bunch of screaming and ear piercing noise (ME), where others know the story inside the lyrics and can relate to the song.



How does a work reflect the character and skill of both the writer and reader?
A work is a piece of the writer, a small glimpse of their soul. It shows their imagination, sensitivity, intelligence, and their talent. Most often there is a character that reflects the author. Readers often find a character in a work that they can relate to, they understand them and feel as if they are experiencing everything right along with them. Sometimes the character is good sometimes it may be evil. The point of fiction is to have conflict, with out conflict their is no victory.

Word count:322

English Blog 2

My entire adolescence and into early adulthood I kept a diary. I would feel guilty when it had been days since my last entry; however once I married I stopped writing. I am not sure if I stopped because I was in fear he would find it and read it, because I never had the time, I no longer had exciting and juicy secret adventures in my life, or simply that I now had someone to share everything with. Growing up I was a total book nerd, I wanted books for my birthday, Christmas, and my favorite time of year was the book fair. We also had the very exciting bookmobile; I know some of you may be too young for that. Once I became a mother of more than two children my reading experiences have been limited to cook books, magazines, newspapers, and the vast amount of children's books we have accumulated. "Kiss me I'm Perfect" counts as reading doesn't it; especially if I have read it 300 times?

Growing up I had a secret hatred for English, don't get me wrong there were aspects in which I craved for more of. For instance spelling; I was a three time State Spelling Bee Champion; I despise when others use incorrect grammar and I loved writing essays and poetry. My enemy was conjunctions, prepositions, interjections, and whether to use a comma, colon, or semicolon. To me it was as useless as Algebra is to everyday life now. Amazingly I always earned an A in English! My English teachers were unlike any other teachers, they were always kind, patient, and had a love for teaching that flowed from every pore of their being. They had such a softness about that them that set them apart from other instructors. My civics teacher locked us out of the room if we were late and taught by fear and intimidation.

I think the first time I really enjoyed writing was when one of my 8th grade English teachers submitted a Haiku I had written to be published. From then on I had many writings published, my greatest accomplishment was being published in "Who's Who among American High School Students", I actually earned a scholarship from that essay.

word count:373

English Blog 1

Let me start by introducing myself. I am 32 years old (but don't really feel that old today). I have been married about 11 years. I have four sons ages 15, 10,7, and one that celebrates in Heaven and he would be 5; I also have a daughter that is almost three. I moved to Vernal roughly eight years ago from Colorado and honestly I hate the weather here. Although I love the small town for my children I think Utah is a desolate, dry, waste of space. I miss the culture, climate, landscape, and variety of activities in Colorado. But I am here to stay for good, because my son is buried here.

I am in college because I am a nerd, I love school. I like to learn, honestly I just like receiving A's. I am going to college so I can be something when I grow up. Mostly an example for my children; how can I demand a college education if I never finished mine. About three and a half years ago my husband suffered a disabling injury, this changed the course of our lives forever. At the time I had just started a new job working at Head Start and I loved it. He since enrolled in College through the Voc Rehab program and let's tell the truth I was jealous of him. After two years of working at Head Start I had developed a love/hate relationship there and decided to go through the Voc Rehab program and see if I could qualify to be sent to college. Here I am a year later and in my second year of college. Yea for me I have something wrong enough with me for Voc Rehab to help me!

I am majoring in Social Work and hope to receive my Master's Degree. Although I want to take a different approach than the standard fix it and file it approach our system has today. I want to prevent problems; I want to create a program that will help troubled teens before they enter the system, to help teen mothers before they become statistics, I want to help them build a future before they change it forever.


Word Count: 367