M: "Oh my goodness! Jonathan, look! A bunch of baby strawberries!!!"
J: "Baby strawberries?"
M: "You should eat one. Strawberries are best when they're babies like that."
J: "Why don't they have any seeds yet?
M: "Because they're babies. They'll get their seeds when they grow up."
Cue my 3 year-old chubbster punk of a kid brother taking a bite out of a small, bright red product of our back-yard family garden. I knowingly smiled as he chewed and swallowed. Then toppled over in hysterical laughter as he began to turn bright red, while his wide eyes became wet with tears in the middle of his tiny little fat face. As he "sprinted" (*Read as waddled) towards the house screaming/crying for my mom, I realized that my 6-year old self might have failed to think all the way through my seemingly harmless prank. You see, we didn't grow strawberries in our garden. We grew carrots, pumpkins, zucchinis, tomatoes, bell peppers, and a cornucopia of other vegetables; but no strawberries. And as my furious mother came running out of the house with a teary-eyed Jonathan in tow, the pit in my stomach suddenly gave way to pure fear as I realized I had absolutely failed to think through my little joke.
MOM: "MORGAN!! Did you trick Jonathan into eating a jalepeno?!?!?!"
M: "Yes mom." Gulp...
I remembered that story driving to school this morning when Red Hot Chili Peppers' Higher Ground came blasting through my car speakers as took one look at the freeway and decided to bypass the 101 altogether. And though I was driving North on Price, I was mentally transported back to mine and Jon's backyard days. When we were kids, we practically saw the sun rise and set from our tree house and would spend entire summers living in our make believe world of the day. I guess that day, we were pretending that I was an evil older sister whose sole purpose in life was to make her adorable 3-year old brother's mouth burn with the intense pain of a freshly picked jalepeno pepper. Hey, I'm not saying I'm proud of that particular moment in my childhood, but I like to refer to those moments now as "character building." And obviously, the little punk turned out okay. With Jonathan completing his first week at West Point and me starting my last semester at ASU, those days seem further away than ever. So today, I was particularly grateful for my sweet little trip back in time to homegrown gardens and well deserved spankings.
Thursday, August 18, 2011
Sunday, August 14, 2011
The Ex-Files, Ep. 3
It was about a month or so into my first semester of college and I had learned a few things...
1) 7:30am classes are ALWAYS a bad idea.
2) 7:30am classes in a foreign language are also not a good idea.
3) Sometimes a stomach ache is not a stomach ache, but acute appendicitis.
4) Dorm "quiet hours" are anything but quiet.
5) The Office was probably the funniest show on television.
6) Having a total stranger for a roommate, regardless of said roommate's sexual orientation, can make for some very interesting/uncomfortable moments.
Like I was saying, I had survived my first 6 seeks of college, despite a rogue organ and super weirdo for a roommate. I was hanging tough and feeling pretty good. Rachel (Remember, its spelled exactly like "Rachel," but pronounced "Rachelle") and I had learned how to avoid/live around each other and so far, things were still relatively normal. Ish.
One day I got back to the dorms to find her crying. She had just gotten off the phone with her mom, who had called to tell her that her grandfather had died. I started blurting out all of the "appropriate things" to say. After a very awkward hug (Hey, it seemed like the right thing to do "in the moment") she went to go hang out with her real friends and I started studying. *Read as looking through my Religions of the World text book while watching The Office.
A few days passed. There were some teary moments where she told me that he was her favorite grandfather and they were very close. But, all in all, things kept chuggin' right along.
Then, one evening I got home from having dinner at my mom's to find a large brown box on her bed. It had been opened and a bunch of old-ish looking "stuff" had been haphazardly strewn about her side of the room. I didn't really think anything of it and started working on a paper for my ENG105 class. After an hour or so, Rachel got back to the dorm, mumbled some greeting, and immediately went over to the box on her bed. Out of the corner of my eye I watched as she gingerly pulled out an old, over-sized green wind breaker, put it on and slowly zipped it up. Then she started sorting through an envelope of what appeared to be old photos. After a few minutes, she went over to her bag and pulled out a glad-ware dish. She carefully opened up the container and walked over to me.
R: "Look."
M: "Oh, grosse. What is THAT? Is it sand?"
R: "No. It's my grandfather."
M: "....Oh!!" Crap crap crap! Morgan, come ON, SAND??? "Wow....So he was cremated, huh?" Stupid, stupid, stupid girl.
R: "Yeah. My mom sent him to me. I'm going to get a tattoo soon and I want him to be in it."
M: "Oh. That's nice! Like portrait of him or something?" Him??? And why the heck do you need ashes? Is it legal to even mail ashes?? How would you go about packaging something like ashes? And WHY are they still in front of my face??
R: "No. I found a tattoo artist here in Tempe that will put ashes in tattoo ink."
M: "...Wow! I have never heard of that. That sounds really...special!" This is the weirdest moment ever. And seriously, why is "he" STILL in front of my face???
R: "Yeah. You don't need a lot of ashes though. So today I kept him with me and was scattering him all over campus."
M: "..." Come on. Something! "Oh gosh, that's really nice....Um, where exactly did you take...erm...him?" Correction, THAT was the weirdest moment ever.
R: "All over. Outside the dance studio. Next to the MU. In the bushes outside out window. The secret garden. Anywhere that I thought he might like to go."
M: "Oh wow. That does sounds really, really nice." Mental note, never go to any of those places wearing sandals. Or in windy, or even potentially windy, conditions. Wow.
The next week, Rachel invited me and all of her other friends to go watch her get her tattoo. Unfortunately I was unable to attend the event. Shucks. But when I got back to the dorm she was of course, very excited over her new "ink" and asked if I wanted to see it. Now, I have watched my fair share of L.A. Ink and had a general idea about what RIP tats were about. And while I don't think I will ever get a commemorative tattoo honoring a loved one's life and passing, I was at least familiar with the concept. I was expecting maybe some symbol that represented how important her relationship with her grandfather was. Or maybe a portrait of him and her. Something sweet. Something normal. Something that wasn't even remotely similar to what she actually got permanently tattooed on her body. When Rachel lifted up her shirt and folder down the top part of her dancer pants, I found myself staring at a recently balmed pair of closed black and white hand cuffs. Strategically placed over her uterus. To symbolize the oppression she had overcome in her 18 years here on planet earth.
R: "Well? Isn't is awesome?!"
M: Never mind that OPEN handcuffs are usually representative of overcoming oppression. Never mind that it's exactly over your UTERUS. Never mind that IT HAS YOUR GRANDFATHER IN IT!!! Just...nevermind."Yep. Looks great!" Awesome.
1) 7:30am classes are ALWAYS a bad idea.
2) 7:30am classes in a foreign language are also not a good idea.
3) Sometimes a stomach ache is not a stomach ache, but acute appendicitis.
4) Dorm "quiet hours" are anything but quiet.
5) The Office was probably the funniest show on television.
6) Having a total stranger for a roommate, regardless of said roommate's sexual orientation, can make for some very interesting/uncomfortable moments.
Like I was saying, I had survived my first 6 seeks of college, despite a rogue organ and super weirdo for a roommate. I was hanging tough and feeling pretty good. Rachel (Remember, its spelled exactly like "Rachel," but pronounced "Rachelle") and I had learned how to avoid/live around each other and so far, things were still relatively normal. Ish.
One day I got back to the dorms to find her crying. She had just gotten off the phone with her mom, who had called to tell her that her grandfather had died. I started blurting out all of the "appropriate things" to say. After a very awkward hug (Hey, it seemed like the right thing to do "in the moment") she went to go hang out with her real friends and I started studying. *Read as looking through my Religions of the World text book while watching The Office.
A few days passed. There were some teary moments where she told me that he was her favorite grandfather and they were very close. But, all in all, things kept chuggin' right along.
Then, one evening I got home from having dinner at my mom's to find a large brown box on her bed. It had been opened and a bunch of old-ish looking "stuff" had been haphazardly strewn about her side of the room. I didn't really think anything of it and started working on a paper for my ENG105 class. After an hour or so, Rachel got back to the dorm, mumbled some greeting, and immediately went over to the box on her bed. Out of the corner of my eye I watched as she gingerly pulled out an old, over-sized green wind breaker, put it on and slowly zipped it up. Then she started sorting through an envelope of what appeared to be old photos. After a few minutes, she went over to her bag and pulled out a glad-ware dish. She carefully opened up the container and walked over to me.
R: "Look."
M: "Oh, grosse. What is THAT? Is it sand?"
R: "No. It's my grandfather."
M: "....Oh!!" Crap crap crap! Morgan, come ON, SAND??? "Wow....So he was cremated, huh?" Stupid, stupid, stupid girl.
R: "Yeah. My mom sent him to me. I'm going to get a tattoo soon and I want him to be in it."
M: "Oh. That's nice! Like portrait of him or something?" Him??? And why the heck do you need ashes? Is it legal to even mail ashes?? How would you go about packaging something like ashes? And WHY are they still in front of my face??
R: "No. I found a tattoo artist here in Tempe that will put ashes in tattoo ink."
M: "...Wow! I have never heard of that. That sounds really...special!" This is the weirdest moment ever. And seriously, why is "he" STILL in front of my face???
R: "Yeah. You don't need a lot of ashes though. So today I kept him with me and was scattering him all over campus."
M: "..." Come on. Something! "Oh gosh, that's really nice....Um, where exactly did you take...erm...him?" Correction, THAT was the weirdest moment ever.
R: "All over. Outside the dance studio. Next to the MU. In the bushes outside out window. The secret garden. Anywhere that I thought he might like to go."
M: "Oh wow. That does sounds really, really nice." Mental note, never go to any of those places wearing sandals. Or in windy, or even potentially windy, conditions. Wow.
The next week, Rachel invited me and all of her other friends to go watch her get her tattoo. Unfortunately I was unable to attend the event. Shucks. But when I got back to the dorm she was of course, very excited over her new "ink" and asked if I wanted to see it. Now, I have watched my fair share of L.A. Ink and had a general idea about what RIP tats were about. And while I don't think I will ever get a commemorative tattoo honoring a loved one's life and passing, I was at least familiar with the concept. I was expecting maybe some symbol that represented how important her relationship with her grandfather was. Or maybe a portrait of him and her. Something sweet. Something normal. Something that wasn't even remotely similar to what she actually got permanently tattooed on her body. When Rachel lifted up her shirt and folder down the top part of her dancer pants, I found myself staring at a recently balmed pair of closed black and white hand cuffs. Strategically placed over her uterus. To symbolize the oppression she had overcome in her 18 years here on planet earth.
R: "Well? Isn't is awesome?!"
M: Never mind that OPEN handcuffs are usually representative of overcoming oppression. Never mind that it's exactly over your UTERUS. Never mind that IT HAS YOUR GRANDFATHER IN IT!!! Just...nevermind."Yep. Looks great!" Awesome.
Sunday, August 7, 2011
BR's: The Help & One Day
Ok, we're going to take a mini-break from my mini-series for a mini-book review. :-)
My two most recent NON-SCHOOL RELATED (aka...Fun with a capital F!) reads were The Help and One Day. While I wish I was one of those uber cool people who stumble upon books they want to read sifting through old books stores or over great cups of coffee with friends, most of my non-syllabi required reading begins with me. Sitting at Harkins. Watching previews for the next big major motion picture... Hear that? It's the lit. major in me cringing with shame/disgust. I blame it on my culture. And by "culture" I mean being white. (If you don't get this reference, you will need to take the next 4-7 minutes of your life - depending on your reading rate - and click here. I promise you will not regret it.)
Welcome back! So, here goes...
"Ever morning, until you dead in the ground, you gone have to make this decision. You gone have to ask yourself, "'Am I gone believe what them fools say about me today?'" - The Help
Hits:
- Stockett's writing style. It's fantastic! I was hooked after the first paragraph.
- The story itself, such a great glimpse into our country's not too distant past.
- The ending. I'm not going to say anything else about it, except that I was really happy when I finished that last page.
Misses:
- Nothing!! Absolutely would not change a thing about this book. :-)
Final Score: LOVE! Go read this book right now! You will not regret it. Yes, it deals with some very deep/intense issues, but it's a story that needs to be read and is definitely one of my favorite books of the year so far.
"You're gorgeous, you old hag, and if I could give you just one gift ever for the rest of your life it would be this. Confidence. It would be the gift of confidence. Either that or a scented candle" - One Day
Hits:
- I really enjoyed how he chose to tell this love story by only writing about a single day each year. I think writing this way could easily produce a fragmented story that would be more cause for a headache than enjoyment. But he does a superb job of keeping the story flowing.
- It makes you think! I couldn't help but wonder what my life story would look like if it were told for only a single day each year...probably pretty boring. :-)
Misses:
- The characters. I had a really difficult time relating to them and if you do decide to read this book, be prepared to be frustrated with the leading male, Dexter, for pretty much the entire time, with the exception of a few chapters.
Final Score: LIKE. It's an easy, creatively written book and I don't regret reading it at all. If you're in the mood for a sometimes-sweet but throroughly realistic love story, you will definitely enjoy it.
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