Graf #4 Reaction

Are you kidding me this is what John wanted me to write about? He wants my reaction to his advice to student writers? I don't want to critique the teacher. I can barely critique people I know! Is this assignment going to be easy? I can tell you the assignment was hard to decipher but reactions are easy, so here it is. One idea that seems to stand out to me says, a topic that seems lame to everyone but the writer, really, it might not interest you, but it is my topic. I feel like this idea would give me a complex about having my creative juices stomped out by my own thoughts of worry as to whether someone is going to find my idea lame. If you don't want to read about it, by all means, stop! If I have to worry about how someone else will feel about my work, how will I ever be creative? My writing self esteem is already in the tank. I don't like to read and to have to write to express myself just sends me into a tail spin! I would much rather express myself in photographs, behind the lens, that's where I am safe. I'm sure I can get through it though as I am reminded, Stephen King almost failed English and look what a writer he turned out to be.

Graf #3 Inventory/ Inventory Graf

Here is a list of the curio cabinet 65"high by 28" wide that sits in one of my spare rooms

• very faded dried bridal bouquet of purple roses tied with a silver metallic bow

• a cake topper with a Cinderella carriage open on the top surrounded by dried purple roses

• two glasses with sliver stems that form a heart

• two  votive glasses filled with purple and silver candies

• a 8" marble cross with iridescent white paint

• a dusty black velvet box that a jeweled encrusted tiara sets upon

• a warped candle shaped like a three tiered wedding cake slightly melted on one side

• a large purple pillow surrounded by white lace with a glass slipper sitting atop

• small white heart shaped pillow with lace surround and two silk purple roses attached

• a silver pen in a purple square pen holder

• two large tapered candles in sterling silver candle holders

• one large pillar candle with and wedding invitation attached in the middle surrounded by silk roses

• a large silver knife and heart shaped silver serving spatula

• the top of this cabinet has a layer of dust adored with an oval shaped mirror

A marriage that took place at some point in this persons life carries a deep meaning. I don't know if it was this person's wedding or that of one of their children. I doubt someone would keep this much memorabilia from a friends wedding. I can tell the color theme of the wedding was a deep purple and a silver or gray color. Assuming from Cinderella carriage cake top and the footman's pillow this bride felt she was a princess. I wonder, did she also arrive at the wedding in a pumpkin coach? Why are there no pictures of the bride and groom in this cabinet? Who holds on to all this stuff? Do you suppose there are underlying  hoarding issues? Is this person someone would may have finally experienced the wedding of their life and doesn't want to forget one detail of this cabinet full of treasures? What will happen to this treasure box of things when this person dies? Will anyone remember it was "the wedding" of weddings, like this person? Is their married life based on the cabinet of treasures? I would hope for them they learn to make new memories each day and I need to find this person a trash bag, the roses are turning into dust. 

Graf # 2 Worst Teacher Ever

In 1981, I was pregnant and fifteen years old you can imagine that left my presence being wanted at the local high school less than desirable. I was an apparent freak of nature because I wanted to continue my education, my pregnancy was not an accident it was an on purpose and there where no other girls like me in our school of 120 teenagers. Truly I was a unique individual but after all I am so named. My purpose was not to cause a riff nor was I looking for any special treatment. I just wanted to finish out my freshman year at school. My baby belly was showing and in June I was in the end of my second trimester. I had about two weeks of finals before school was out for the summer. I certainly was not a fashion diva in school and on this particular day I wore a hand me down maternity top, out of sheer necessity, to school with the word BABY across the front of it. At this point my pregnancy was not a secret, this was just a shirt that accommodated my ever growing belly and I was quite comfortable stating the obvious. I will never forget the horror of having my name announced over the intercom, when I was called to the office. During the long walk down the short hallway that day a million things went through my mind. This was my first time to the office in my school career. I took a deep breath and opened the big wooden door and sat down while I waited for further instructions. It was then I was told the principal wanted to have a word with me. I nearly fainted in my chair. Although the principal was a family friend, this certainly wasn't going to be a social visit. My stomach flipped, my knees shook but I managed to stand and continue into his office. When I got there he simply said,"one of your teachers has a problem with the shirt you are wearing and you need to change your shirt." I didn't have a wardrobe at school nor, at this point, did I have any friends who were my size who could lend me a different shirt. I knew I would have to go home. As I sat outside the office waiting for my mother to come get me, my thoughts of anger were going deeper all the time. Did the principal just call me into his office and dismiss me from school all because one of my right winged teachers felt I was promoting that it was okay for teens to get pregnant?! She was a very stern woman, who I didn't have a class with. I didn't know her personally but apparently my BABY shirt offended her. When my mother arrived she quietly had a few words with the principal. On the ride home she shared with me what she said and I felt so vindicated. The jist of it was if Mrs. Strout was offended by my shirt Mrs. Strout should have gone home because I was there to learn not teach. The ridiculous judgement, from that teacher directed toward me was unfounded and not warranted.I certainly am not one to promote anyone to be like me. I prefer my originality and my name says that about me. On a side note, I did finish out my freshman year, I graduated a year early with home school, and once all my children were raised, I went back to school which is where I am now, studying to be an RN.

Graf #1 Hands

By now, my hands were just about 11 weeks new. They developed about the 5 week my mother was pregnant with me. I'm sure, by this time, 47 years ago, I had figured out to wiggle and move them about in my liquid environment I was calling home. I may even have sucked on my thumb at that time, although it would never be a habit I would practice after being born. I'm sure as I cried out after being born, that cold January morning in 1966, one of the first actions of my mother would be to place her index finger into my soft newborn hand to offer some sort of comfort for just enduring one of the most traumatic experiences as a human being, that of birth. Although I would grow to realize the security of my mother's physical touch would not always be there to protect me but for the time being, it was soothing. One of those realizations is one of the earliest memories I have, I was being picked on for a small freckle on my right hand, between index and middle finger. Looking back on it now, the boy that made fun of this minuscule dot of pigment on my hand had more freckles on his face than I did on my entire body at the age of 5. However, at that moment I felt as I was the only person in the world with a freckle and I was mortified. He told me that it would continue to grow, like a beanstalk in the children's fable we had just been read. I would have to duck in and out of buildings because it would grow to be 50 feet tall! I wouldn't be able to hide it from prying eyes and everyone would see it and laugh at me. I remember my heart racing as he told me this terrible falsehood and I felt a lump in the back of my throat, my eyes welted with tears. I ran as fast as I could to my mother, and told her all that had been told to me. She then did something I have never forgotten. She took my small five year old hand in hers, kissed it and said, "mine doesn't seem to have grown like that, I have the same freckle in the same spot." With that, my mind had been put to ease by my mother's touch. We share the same freckle to this day. I find myself looking at it every now and again for reassurance in tough times. When the physical touch of my mother is not there, but I can sense her presence and once again feel that sense of  "it's going to be okay". I realize this assignment was to describe my hands and what I see, I must tell you that is the first thing I see on my dominant hand each time I look at it, and nothing else about my hand inspired me to write, like that one lonely freckle.

ENG 101

First step, to set up a blogspot. I did have to create a gmail email, but it wasn't so painful that it kept me from  trying. Well let's see what is up next!