tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-53328846833489932512024-03-05T01:57:02.168-08:00Hello Kitty, Jane Austen, and a Girl Named KatieUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger25125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5332884683348993251.post-75143378843732748592013-09-18T14:51:00.002-07:002013-09-19T05:11:48.315-07:00My Reply to "6 Reasons to NOT Send Your Daughter to College" <div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<i>This post is a response I wrote to the article "6 Reasons to NOT Send Your Daughter to College. If you haven't read the original article and would like to, click on the link below: </i><a href="http://www.fixthefamily.com/blog/6-reasons-to-not-send-your-daughter-to-college" style="line-height: 150%;">http://www.fixthefamily.com/blog/6-reasons-to-not-send-your-daughter-to-college</a><br />
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Dear Mr. Alleman, </div>
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I want to thank you for
your thoughtful article titled “6 Reasons to NOT Send Your Daughter to
College.” As a part of the Christian community, you voice an opinion that is
strongly felt through many churches, even if it is not directly addressed. Many
churches are doing their part to make sure that this fundamentalist belief is
held on to, whether it is by not encouraging women to seek out a vocation
outside their own home, by making sure that the roles being a wife and mother
are constantly reiterated and praised, or by refusing to let women hold any type of leadership position in front of a congregation or at home.
Now, that’s not to say that all follow such admirable protocols as
this, but I have been to enough churches that it makes me wonder if I will ever
find one that will accept my person as it is. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWekBlPShyphenhyphenq9NkPQAY1VIR8mnJGkY9IJfEpK3hTq7BdkJ0ep6WaQ3AoZwxKX1qABEX8osQLC1D4ob4gD4p-5kWcrtxoopVIKH4khQ3ka5H1H8l1UbUf9Ow1qm9_vzd9tDKa_NbBx2oN3JP/s1600/942576_10201241669988184_146949881_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWekBlPShyphenhyphenq9NkPQAY1VIR8mnJGkY9IJfEpK3hTq7BdkJ0ep6WaQ3AoZwxKX1qABEX8osQLC1D4ob4gD4p-5kWcrtxoopVIKH4khQ3ka5H1H8l1UbUf9Ow1qm9_vzd9tDKa_NbBx2oN3JP/s320/942576_10201241669988184_146949881_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo Credit: Mark Zoccali</td></tr>
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<span style="line-height: 150%;">Because, unfortunately,
I am a woman who went to college.</span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 150%;">What is worse than being
a woman that went to college is I would like to say that I am a feminist.
And no, I am not one of those bra burning bitches as I have been so kindly called
in the past. I am a woman who believes in the opportunity for all women to have a choice, especially in the arena of career options. Now add these things all
together with the fact that I am a strong and faithful Christian, and you have
a real conundrum right there. How can a strong-willed, outspoken, educated feminist
be a practicing Christian?</span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 150%;">It certainly </span><span style="line-height: 24px;">isn't</span><span style="line-height: 150%;"> easy—let
me tell you that. Or should I get my husband to explain it to you?</span></div>
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Now, if this article had
merely been some backward, I’m-kicking-it-old-school-way of voicing your
opinion, I might not have cared as much. You want to let your eighteen year-old
daughter not attend college? Be my guest. Although, I would like to point out
that at the age of eighteen, your daughter has to right to make a choice as to
whether she continues her education or not, or do we still live in the nineteenth
century where dowries are real, and you might disinherit your child if she
makes one move you find disagreeable? No? I didn't think so. <br />
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So really, my problem isn’t
that fact that you have your own personal beliefs that help guide your
lifestyle. What matters more is the use of twisted theology to try and
make your point, a point that you really have no right to make since you are
not a woman. (But let me point out to anyone that reads this that you probably
think you’re credible enough because you are the head of your household, the
one who makes all the decisions.) </div>
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Your first postulate is
very interesting because what you don’t realize is that you have insulted your
own sex. Men are <i>lazy</i>? What a
horrible and stereotypical thing to say about yourself and others, and if men
in our society these days are so incredibly lazy, then who should pick up the
slack? Oh, I guess that would be a woman, but we can only sit on our
hands and wait until our husbands “man up” and start taking responsibility. I
am more likely to believe that there are many great men out there, who do work
diligently to provide for their family. I also believe that we live in a
society where two salaries are needed to be able to survive (and when I say
survive, I don’t mean being able to keep the lease on a Rolls Royce or
purchasing the new iPhone every year). So, why can’t a family be equally yoked
where both family members are helping provide some type of monetary income? </div>
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In your next point, you
make the temptation of pre-marital sex seem like the greatest sin of all. I
would like to point out that as Christians, we are not provided with a numeric
scale that rates which sin is worse than the other. Lying is a sin. Stealing is
a sin. Cheating is a sin. If helping our children avoid having sex is of
great importance, then we should be helping our children avoid ALL temptations (though
I believe the only solution we have to avoid sin is to stop breathing). </div>
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Now, I can’t argue your
next point: You don’t learn to be a wife and mother in college. You are
absolutely right. You do not take Cookery 101, The Art of Imitating Donna Reed,
or The Basics of Darning and Mending while you are working on a Bachelors, but
there are a lot of others lessons you learn in college that help <i>translate</i> into the role of being a wife
and mother. For instance, I am grateful for the fact that I didn’t have my mom
around to clean my clothes or pick up my room because I have learned the
importance of taking care of myself, of learning to be responsible. I also
learned effective communication skills and time management, built a strong work
ethic, and educated myself about handling my finances: all valuable in a
marriage or at least I find them valuable in mine. And I accomplished all that while reading Kenneth Burke and analyzing <i>Anna Karenina</i>. </div>
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<span style="line-height: 150%;">Though you make
your next point seem straightforward, what you’re really trying to say here is
that the parents have been brain-washed into thinking that college is the
only path in life for their daughter, and it doesn’t give her the opportunity
to become a mother, wife, and homeschooler. By now, I’m sure you think that I despise
the savvy homemaker, that I secretly hate the woman devoted to her home, but
you would be severely mistaken. I strongly support women who want to make a
career in being a stay-at-home mom. In some cases, it can make more sense to
stay at home, especially when costs like daycare use up the resources of one
spouse’s paycheck. But what I hate most about this point is that it doesn’t
consider how the cult of traditional marriage has its own pressures that make
you feel as though you have to prove yourself. In the past three months
of my own marriage, I’ve already felt the need to prove my excellent domestic
skills and my ability to produce offspring (not that it’s ANYONE’S business, so
do me a favor and don’t ask).</span></div>
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My next reply to your
fifth reason is short and sweet: if the idea of putting a kid through
college causes parents to use any type of birth control to prevent pregnancy,
than it’s your son’s fault, too, so maybe we should just stop educating
everyone and our problems would be solved. In turn, we would have nothing to do but make more
babies. </div>
<span style="line-height: 150%;"><br /></span>
<span style="line-height: 150%;">You make some additional, and </span><span style="line-height: 150%;">amended,</span><span style="line-height: 150%;"> points after this, ones that I don’t need to pick apart because the fallacy of
your rationalization should be clear by now. But let me close this note by
telling you what I do believe and what I hope for my daughter, if I should have
one, in the future. I truly believe that I am “fearfully and wonderfully made.”
I believe that I a beloved child of Christ who has been given strong desires,
and I believe in passionately living them out. My desire is to be a great wife,
friend, daughter, co-worker, and, someday, mom. There might be a time in my
life where I give up work to stay home with my kids, and there might be a time
where I want to return to a job or go back to college, but I also believe that
my God would be proud of me no matter what choice I make, and I hope my
daughter knows that one day, as well. </span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5332884683348993251.post-49378921392231631282012-05-13T15:20:00.003-07:002012-05-13T15:20:45.067-07:00Bringing Out the Mom in MePlants inspire me to be a responsible, motherly creature even though their inspiration is only short term. I walk into nurseries that are budding with pansies, snapdragons, and roses and end up buying out half the store because my heart yearns to tend theses little plants and a beautiful garden. Last year on Mother's Day, I bought myself a Gerber Daisy because I thought it would be cute to tend a plant. I picked up a chocolate brown pot and potting soil to get this littler Gerber on its way, planted it, watered it for a couple days, and then tried to forget about it. What started out as tender love for a plant (I don't even like Gerber Daisies that much) turned into burning hate because of the extra responsibility it gave me. Instead of giving it tender words of love and showers of water, I gave my Gerber the stink eye, letting it dry up until it went to its final resting place. I learned my lesson: don't buy plants. <div>
<br /></div>
<div>
That was until <i>this </i>Mother's day. </div>
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<div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFIxMNQYvtY5GUulMgtsNsLAooiMxM3hAB85XotnebBMQIrsd846EIwMWfB92Y-DkGyQM__ksUaeEJFfpxxi15lxGRdETVzDm6mPo-wzaswPH_BvPRWq1zk4XN827whSYakSW7qBqCSrKm/s1600/sg051117candycorn200.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFIxMNQYvtY5GUulMgtsNsLAooiMxM3hAB85XotnebBMQIrsd846EIwMWfB92Y-DkGyQM__ksUaeEJFfpxxi15lxGRdETVzDm6mPo-wzaswPH_BvPRWq1zk4XN827whSYakSW7qBqCSrKm/s200/sg051117candycorn200.jpg" width="131" /></a>Now I will give myself a couple pats on the back because this time I didn't just buy a plant because I wanted to play homemaker over summer break. This time I bought only what I like--lavender and snapdragons. In addition to helping these plants thrive, I am going to try and dry the lavender and make lavender-infused honey. I'm taking this whole mother's day vibe to the next level this year.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Hopefully this whole let's-grow-plants-and-be-cool endeavor goes much better than my experience with my poor Gerber. I don't need to be sitting out the middle of my backyard glaring at my snapdragons and lavender because I need to water and weed around them. </div>
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I'll keep you posted on my "motherly" endeavors. </div>
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<br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5332884683348993251.post-6581055556180620332012-04-15T10:12:00.001-07:002012-04-15T17:07:43.479-07:00Mockingjay Fever: Learning to Educate Ourselves"This is going to be just like Twilight," was what one of my friends said the night before we went to go see <i>The Hunger Games</i>. Now, I am willing to admit that there is a lot of hype around the best-selling novel and the film adaption. However, comparing <i>The Hunger Games </i>to <i>Twilight </i>is a gross offense. Mainly because <i>The Hunger Games </i>is actually a decent book with substance to it. However, what <i>The Hunger Games </i>has done is brought into question the ethical nature of such a violent movie.<br />
<br />
Some family and friends that I talked to expressed concerns about the desensitizing effects that such as movie can have on a person: most importantly, young adolescents. Understanding their concerns about the film, I was also quick to respond by asking them if they had read the book or looked up a film synopsis.<br />
<br />
"No, I haven't."<br />
<br />
Bingo.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjkkkg2YxdYp5jPxRt_O-tO9AS709TJBEvwVI0X73vj9NZgylW6D_RsSydaVZ7ENjAZBntmafgt55A6BH5rVzhQallFzNaMwHNp0XKO0VArYOadKQmwXZfqKrPPoLiDFSjvPOtQzzxyggN/s1600/hunger_games_trilogy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="185" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjkkkg2YxdYp5jPxRt_O-tO9AS709TJBEvwVI0X73vj9NZgylW6D_RsSydaVZ7ENjAZBntmafgt55A6BH5rVzhQallFzNaMwHNp0XKO0VArYOadKQmwXZfqKrPPoLiDFSjvPOtQzzxyggN/s400/hunger_games_trilogy.jpg" width="400" /></a> Many times, people make rash assumptions or are easily persuaded by false, sensationalized information because they are too willing to rely on word of mouth, instead of grabbing a book or a computer to seek the truth themselves. Though I know that such censorship happens in both secular and religious groups, my personal experience is out of a Christian background, as I grew up in a Christian home. At my house, we weren't allowed to read books like <i>Harry Potter </i>and I could only read <i>Twilight</i> after I did some serious research on the novel (which, if you ask me, was a waste of my time in retrospect). Their reason for censoring my reading of books such as <i>Harry Potter </i>and <i>Twilight</i> was because of scripture condemning witchcraft (Galations 5: 19-21).<br />
<br />
While some may believe that my parents censoring me was a terrible transgression, there were more books that they did allow me to read rather than did not. Their concern was well meant, and what I learned from them is that I need to inform myself about what I am reading; that I need to be ethically concise of what I feed my mind. That's why I carefully read abstracts or research books before I read them.<br />
<br />
If you read <i>The Hunger Games</i>, you will find out that the novel is dystopian fiction that illustrates how a corrupt government enacts severe hegemony over the rest of the nation (the twelve districts). This government conducts the Hunger Games every year to keep the people of Panem from ever trying to revolt, again. The Hunger Games, in both the book and film, is not a good thing. No one rejoices over having to be a part of it, and the tragic deaths of the young tributes of Panem are not taking lightly. Their deaths are felt with deep sorrow.<br />
<br />
If anything, <i>The Hunger Games</i> calls us to question the world we are living in right now and the direction that we could take. The book and the novel beg us to be more thoughtful and considerate about our own lives and the lives of those around us. They show us what life could be like, including an atrocity like the Hunger Games: a world we wouldn't want to live in.<br />
<br />
For those who are wary of the series, I encourage you to take a minute and look up what <i>The Hunger Games </i>is all about. Make the decision for yourself after you have made an attempt to get a fuller understanding what this hype is all about.<br />
<br />
<br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5332884683348993251.post-78374418053482773462012-04-12T14:39:00.001-07:002012-04-12T14:39:46.612-07:00When Life Seems too LargeThere are some days when waking up in the morning is a pleasure, when trying to find clothes didn't turn into a year-long search with the only outcome a mismatched ensemble that reads neo-hipster because you haven't been able to wash your clothes in days. There were days where you were able to read Jane Austen without falling into a deep sleep because your body was exhausted. It's when you fall asleep to Jane Austen that you know something is desperately wrong with your life.<br />
<br />
Today has been <a href="http://youtu.be/E4bVHOwEdCg" target="_blank">one of those kinds of day</a> where not much seems to go right, but a whole lot of wrong seems to seep its way into everything. Incomplete homework, a dozen major projects piling up before your eyes, part-time jobs, scholarship positions, maintaining relationships, and yearning to be helpful to your loved ones when they are going through so much. I just left my last class to pick up a paper from another professor only to discover that my paper wasn't waiting there for me because of a silly mistake I made. A mistake so small (I said I would email my teacher about my grade, not pick my paper up from her) rendered me completely useless in my eyes. How could I have been so stupid?<br />
<br />
Walking back to my room I scolded myself for being so inadequate at, well, life. The more I thought about my troubles, I allowed myself to sink further. It wasn't just this day that was terrible, it was this week, this month, this semester. My life is so crammed with do's, I forgot to take a minute to congratulate myself on all the done's I had accomplished. My life is crazy: too crazy, if you ask me.<br />
<br />
And then again, maybe the problem isn't the life I have created for myself; maybe my problem is that I am ruthlessly hard on myself. Perhaps my days aren't filled with joy because I look at my reflection and say, "Do better! Try harder!" Maybe I need to start looking at myself and see all I have done instead of all I haven't accomplished; maybe I need to start realizing my own potential instead of looking at my past short-comings.<br />
<br />
Sometimes, life seems to large; sometimes, crawling under your covers seems better than facing the day ahead of you. But we have nothing to fear. Nothing is impossible for us because we are "fearfully and wonderfully made" (Psalm 139). The only thing stopping us from living out our lives to the fullest is ourselves. Don't be your own limitation, and don't be your harshest critic. There are already enough people in the world who have plenty to say about the steps we take in this world. It's time we let our own words hold us up, rather than push us down.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5332884683348993251.post-30410067080077998212012-02-27T16:23:00.003-08:002012-02-29T16:57:59.200-08:00On Getting Engaged: My love storyI probably should have posted this almost three months ago when one of the biggest parts of my life changed forever, but I didn't. Go me. Sometimes, I fail.<br />
<div><br />
</div><div>But, seeing as there are definitely going to be posts about the wedding bells that will be chiming in the near future for me, I believe I should share this. </div><div><br />
</div><div>I'm engaged. And it's awesome. </div><div><br />
</div><div>It happened on December 20th, the perfect time of year for me because I am a Christmas fanatic. I love Christmas. And when I mean love, I mean the antithesis of <i>Christmas with the Kranks. </i> </div><div><br />
</div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBYW4tF68v9FDpM-LbUHbuGvAm7wOlnBdVed9b7ErH9cdIV43-T89wW35wxKOpQiM_Hmzv0pbE9JcOQFu5E6K75mQQmGHRVTthX8eSlQxGXV2YnAhdqfWPeAe7vDPVQ4hfkT6uobyNVvEp/s1600/DSCN6880+(3).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBYW4tF68v9FDpM-LbUHbuGvAm7wOlnBdVed9b7ErH9cdIV43-T89wW35wxKOpQiM_Hmzv0pbE9JcOQFu5E6K75mQQmGHRVTthX8eSlQxGXV2YnAhdqfWPeAe7vDPVQ4hfkT6uobyNVvEp/s320/DSCN6880+(3).jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My beautiful ring </td></tr>
</tbody></table><div>After a day full of worry, anticipation, nervousness, and a scene where I tried to pick the lock of Ben's (my fiance) glove-box for ten minutes, something incredible happened. He lead outside on his porch in his back yard, and when I got out there, written in Christmas lights, a sign read: "Will you marry me?" </div><div><br />
</div><div>I said yes. But that wasn't the best part. </div><div><br />
</div><div>When I walked into his house, greeted by the smiling faces of my fiance's parents, I saw my family come out from hiding after they had watched the whole episode unfold. I will never forget jumping for joy with my mom as she wrapped her arms around me, sharing in my excitement. I won't forget my sister's kisses on my cheeks as she poured out her congratulations. I won't forget my dad pulling me into his side and kissing my forehead like he has since I was a little girl, and I won't forget the squeeze of my grandmother's hand as she reaffirmed her pleasure in the whole event. And I'll never forget the happiness I saw in my and Ben's eyes that night. </div><div><br />
</div><div>There were a lot of years when I believed that I needed to focus truly on myself because I didn't think I was going to meet someone. There were many times where I laid at night asking my God why I felt like I would never be good enough in someone else's eyes. But now, looking back on it all, God was waiting for me to find the right man. And I couldn't be happier that my first love was meant for forever. </div><div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5332884683348993251.post-44178165453243993892012-02-25T12:41:00.000-08:002012-02-25T12:41:54.590-08:00And the Winner Is...Tomorrow night. Full of fashion. Full of laughter. Full of heartfelt moments that make you blubber. I am sucker for the Acadmey Awards.<br />
<br />
My pick to take all the awards? The Help.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://blogs.davenportlibrary.com/reference/wp-content/uploads/2011/08/helpmovie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://blogs.davenportlibrary.com/reference/wp-content/uploads/2011/08/helpmovie.jpg" width="196" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I have read the novel. I fell in love with the novel, and then, when movie came out this past summer, I fell in love with it even more. This is probably one of the best movies of the year. But hey, that's just my opinion. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I hope you are planning on bunker down with some popcorn--I'll probably be there with the homework that I was suppose to do on my winter break--and watch the magic happen. It's going to be a good night. </div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5332884683348993251.post-33541175547138683762012-02-21T06:23:00.000-08:002012-02-21T18:12:30.652-08:00The Power of Narrative: A Final look at the Sisterhood SeriesWalter Fisher once said that, "humans are essentially storytellers." We have the ability to share our lives with others, whether it is words written on a page or us vocally sharing them. Our lives are full of narratives strung together like a pearl necklace. We alter and change our lives with narratives. We find our beliefs and values in narratives.<br />
<br />
"Humans are essentially storytellers."<br />
<br />
Oh, how absolutely right he is.<br />
<br />
Now before people think that I am writing about a huge, philosophical moment in life, I will reveal that this is not what is happening. Rather, I just finally completed reading the final book in <i>The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants </i>series and therefore, must write my thoughts on my last experience with series I have cherished.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAz0xToJ-8E-4HY6NkP91KXq_74lkmdohNjDqg9UhyphenhyphenIHlm4FfkwKn3cWhkAtBYe34C1spH7wr6X6-szlG-qPSLYXukq1kaGbIE8l4wbxTi4q1uMheCMYH2G5fDezcuLJToOxpJSKyhh1oX/s1600/sisterhood.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAz0xToJ-8E-4HY6NkP91KXq_74lkmdohNjDqg9UhyphenhyphenIHlm4FfkwKn3cWhkAtBYe34C1spH7wr6X6-szlG-qPSLYXukq1kaGbIE8l4wbxTi4q1uMheCMYH2G5fDezcuLJToOxpJSKyhh1oX/s1600/sisterhood.jpg" /></a></div><b><u>Warning:</u> As a veracious reader and often self-ruiner of finding out what happened in books, I want to warn you that a vague spoiler is in here. So, if you have any intention of reading this book and spoilers bother you, I wouldn't continue. If that doesn't matter, keep on reading. </b><br />
<b><br />
</b><br />
I must speak unashamed and with a full awareness that some may find me crazy at how seriously I take my love of books . Therefore, before I speak of this momentous occasion in my reading career, I should probably explain to you just why I love books so much, why I hold them in my heart with a deep, enduring love.<br />
<br />
It was long ago, yet not so long ago that my eight grade teacher stood over me and handed me a Nicholas Sparks book. It had been a couple months after I had transfer schools, a couple months after I had given up making friends and probably a couple months after I had given up trying to fit in.<br />
<br />
"Read this," she said.<br />
<br />
And I did.<br />
<br />
It wasn't the first time I read a book, but it was a moment of awakening for me. A moment where I realized that they was a place that wasn't scary and unfamiliar, that bestowed upon me the best friends I could ever meet and that welcomed me in with love. I found that love between a hardcover, between a paperback, over a million pages of words. I found a home for myself. Years later, I found the most incredible part on my life in a book. My faith.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrcmQOgD2QlHi2URVoCIptU4aNUgUC-kXrl2UDL_Ek3_R0BqCo6Y0v53ksozEYPY1zyzS-a8lmEtyGziKxQ0wyB00ArgaQZaFunkjXqp10_L2Eb2Fqjq5a2xntrqP8McL3QK5FPbUdc6Es/s1600/sisterhood-everlasting_210.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrcmQOgD2QlHi2URVoCIptU4aNUgUC-kXrl2UDL_Ek3_R0BqCo6Y0v53ksozEYPY1zyzS-a8lmEtyGziKxQ0wyB00ArgaQZaFunkjXqp10_L2Eb2Fqjq5a2xntrqP8McL3QK5FPbUdc6Es/s320/sisterhood-everlasting_210.jpg" width="209" /></a></div><br />
That is why I love books. And that is why when I began the last <i>Sisterhood </i>book, I believed that it was one of the saddest days of my life because just like Carmen, Lena, and Bridget, I felt as though I was suffering the loss of my life-long September friend. But by the end of the novel I was so incredibly uplifted by the fullness and beauty that Ann Brashares brought to her series. As I sit and mull over the final novel in retrospect, I believe that she did the most brave act in her work: she made her story real. So real, my family caught me several times, sobbing like my life was over.<br />
<br />
But, its just a story.<br />
<br />
That's where I believe that Walter Fisher and the fictional writer meet. Here, at the crossroads of the innate need to share stories and our ability to recreate reality on the pages of a book magic happens. And its when stories that move us so much, to the point of tears or utter joy, that we know that something special has been caught. It's the beautiful transformations of human experience becoming inspired words, and they have the power to connect us in ways we never knew possible.<br />
<br />
This story of four girls and a pair of pants is important to me because these girls were my friends in high school. I hung out with them at lunch, in the hallways at break, during my study halls, and let them hunker down with me in the armchair in my room. They were always by my side. They kept me company for so many years, and I loved them dearly for that.<br />
<br />
So all of this culminates in me telling you to read the <i>Sisterhood </i>series. Let these girls sweep you up into their lives. They are ready to tell you the biggest of stories and you share their hearts with you. You won't regret it.<br />
<br />
I certainly didn't.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5332884683348993251.post-36533541183493980702011-12-25T07:56:00.000-08:002011-12-25T07:56:40.173-08:00Like a Winter SnowMerry Christmas all my blogging friends and readers!<br />
<br />
I can hardly believe that Christmas is actually here. I mean, I have been listening to Christmas music since September, scouting stores for the tiniest hint of Christmas decorations in the stores since October, flailing about all during November and vibrating during all of December. Now, all my months of dedication to waiting for this day will quickly come and go within a short period of twenty-four hours, but how wonderful this short amount of time will be.<br />
<br />
Looking outside my living room window this morning, I noticed the gentle flutter of snowflakes dancing across the sky, announcing the birth of our Christ. It was a perfect way to begin this day, having a simple reminder that means so much. Even though this will be a day full of joy, laughter, and showing love for those we care about most, it is a day to rejoice because today marks the beginning of my own life. Today is the day to celebrate the Lord's birth and the birth of life through him. And, after peeking through the freezer for some snacks it seems as though we picked up a birthday cake for Jesus.<br />
<br />
So, among all the festivities today, remember to be thankful for what this day brings, for it brings new life. This is a day to celebrate life and the new life that Christ gives us.<br />
<br />
And the cake we get to eat because of it. :)<br />
<br />
Merry Christmas to all,<br />
<br />
Katie M.<br />
<br />
<br />
P.S. I'm also including a song sung by Audrey Assad and Chris Tomlin called <a href="http://youtu.be/xpHiAmL8-b0">"Winter Snow" </a> so check it out! :) Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5332884683348993251.post-41210490993831224152011-12-09T20:07:00.000-08:002011-12-09T20:07:00.945-08:00How to Deal<div class="MsoNormal">No this isn’t about a Mandy Moore film, and if you don’t know what I am talking about, well then shame on you. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">Here’s a visual for those still baffled by my reference. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVzLowxPdEt7cOfQlR05GR4neX2Y2b9j_r5MPyrwG5gBrL6UbP7bu-TQNqYqhKJ94QmTixppf3mY8X7ETaDjJAbt2gBIv_BefZb4TnvqYX6rYaJPk4XSfQiYKdomiuWN3RwtUgaeJs96Bo/s1600/how+to+deal.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVzLowxPdEt7cOfQlR05GR4neX2Y2b9j_r5MPyrwG5gBrL6UbP7bu-TQNqYqhKJ94QmTixppf3mY8X7ETaDjJAbt2gBIv_BefZb4TnvqYX6rYaJPk4XSfQiYKdomiuWN3RwtUgaeJs96Bo/s200/how+to+deal.jpg" width="133" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="apple-style-span">A week ago, I was sitting at the circulation of the desk, listening to Christmas music, creating the facade of working on homework. This was also the night that a good friend came to the front desk to visit me. Knowing me to be the bibliophile that I am, he asked me what I was currently reading. I held up my copy of John Updike’s short stories. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="apple-style-span">Now my friend is a deeply devoted Christian with a radical love for God. When he say what I was reading he asked me about the content and I was honest and told him how stories we were reading dealt with religious doubt and infidelity. He grimaced at my response. Then, ever so gently he asked me a question that I had not been able to answer for myself, let alone anyone else. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="apple-style-span">“How do you deal with it?” <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="apple-style-span">I replied with what I thought should be the perfect answer—and after saying it, I wondered if I really followed this myself. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="apple-style-span">“Well, its not always easy, but sometimes when I’m reading something really difficult I pull out my bible and read scripture to help comfort me.” <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="apple-style-span">This is not to say that I don’t do this, but I don’t think I do it as often as I should because there are many times when in those moments of reading harrowing literature that directly questions everything I believe in, sometimes, my Bible feels too heavy to pick up. Sometimes, I just want to rest in the tears and those struggles because they help me understand myself as a Christian. Sure it’s extremely difficult to know that some of my beloved authors had no faith, but I also grow from their perspectives, and sometimes I grow even stronger in my faith because they were brave enough to ask those questions. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="apple-style-span"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal">I'm in an interesting position as a lover of my faith and a lover of literature because there are times where it seems as though they cannot exist in tandem. Sometimes, reading literature troubles my heart, and it aches with the daunting questions that many authors have asked without receiving any answer. However, its in those moments of dread, fear, and sorrow that I am reminded that I am His and He is mine. It's in these moments that I realize that more than anything that all ,I yearn to be is the vessel for my faith, to write the fiction that will help expose my heart for God. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I don't think I could ask for anything better. </div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5332884683348993251.post-27500161194812284912011-10-27T14:36:00.000-07:002011-10-28T08:03:16.599-07:00Getting Lost in the Literary AbyssNaNoWriMo.<br />
<br />
Yep, you read that correctly.<br />
<br />
You are probably looking at this spastic collision of words and wondering what in the world I am going to write about. Some of you have probably decided that I'm a couple Crayolas short of a 96 pack.<br />
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<span style="font-weight: bold;">Na</span>tional <span style="font-weight: bold;">No</span>vel <b>Wri</b>ting <span style="font-weight: bold;">Mo</span>nth happens every year during the month of November. Writers from all over the world sign up to participate in a 30 days and nights of literary abandon (as the website states). What is this literary abandon I am speaking of?<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv8KOjzItL8drYocUS0eKQaUoS6MxIFg7Kgh1MUld934bOptK3lIrOTBDxeddNEY6eNtoMBofExQOOVjCXxHzRZNY7hR61N1R-JUUp8YFOcnafwc9r8w0yk4xwzLAV4VM3b0JMVjudxcdi/s1600/12km34.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv8KOjzItL8drYocUS0eKQaUoS6MxIFg7Kgh1MUld934bOptK3lIrOTBDxeddNEY6eNtoMBofExQOOVjCXxHzRZNY7hR61N1R-JUUp8YFOcnafwc9r8w0yk4xwzLAV4VM3b0JMVjudxcdi/s1600/12km34.jpg" /></a></div><br />
It's writing a novel. In 30 days. No less than 50,000 words.<br />
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This sounds like my kind of crazy.<br />
<br />
I am lucky enough to have comrades on my adventure. A couple of my friends that I go to college with are prepping for this month of literary craziness, as well. It's comforting to know that I might not be the only one with carpal tunnel, clothes soiled in ink, and consistent messy buns every day (flip hair over, gather it up, wrap hair with hair-tie. simple right?)<br />
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My next step is to finalize what I want to write my novel about. I have a couple thoughts, but ideas and thoughts of what you would like to see me write would be greatly appreciated. You can leave a comment on my blog or post it on my Facebook wall.<br />
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If you would like to join in on the month of literary abandon go to <a href="http://www.nanowrimo.org/">www.nanowrimo.org/</a><br />
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Happy Writing :)Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5332884683348993251.post-7109244869395699222011-10-08T19:19:00.000-07:002011-10-09T20:42:00.981-07:00And So We Carved Pumpkins<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></div><br />
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It may only be October 8th, but the next time I'm going to be home is probably Thanksgiving. Therefore, I took my Columbus Weekend Break to celebrate the fall in its fullest. I woke up early and headed out to the apple orchard with my mom, grandma and sister.Where there were 8 million people. Why am I surprised that an apple orchard during Columbus day weekend, on a day that was 75 degrees, was bustling full of people? I honestly don't know. People were walking in front of cars, elbowing each other to get to the front of the line and sitting on my lap so that they could take a picture of their kid next to a cornstalk. How festive.<br />
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So, I may not have been in the best mood. I will admit that I am sometimes adverse to large crowds. However, once my mother set a wonderfully delicious funnel cake in front of me, all of the world was right once more.<br />
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Then came the pumpkin carving. How do you celebrate the fall without pumpkin carving? You don't, so I conned my brother and sister into carving pumpkins tonight (it really wasn't that hard). However, this time the pumpkins didn't have silly faces that we enjoy cutting out when we were little. Now that were were much older, we took this art of carving a pumpkin seriously, and I had the best pumpkin ever.<br />
<a href="http://a7.sphotos.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-snc7/294394_2550103438659_1436046383_4133686_1153795590_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://a7.sphotos.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-snc7/294394_2550103438659_1436046383_4133686_1153795590_n.jpg" width="240" /></a><br />
The only pumpkin for me was Jane Austen. I think it turned out quite splendidly.<br />
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Now, I will finish my night by watching the new Jane Eyre because its the closest to scary as I'll ever get.<br />
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Happy Fall to everyone :)Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5332884683348993251.post-25063778463061650892011-10-07T11:46:00.000-07:002011-10-07T18:07:16.993-07:00How Many Books Have You Written?Alright, lets not be too shocked here. I can see it in your eyes already, the hurt and the disappointment I have caused . "Where have you been?", you say to me. "Why haven't you written anything?"<br />
<br />
I might be giving myself a bigger ego than I actually should.<br />
<br />
For whatever reason there is, mostly ones that deal with a hectic life, I am back; I really am, and quite honestly I'm happy to be back. I've been trying to figure out a way to take the plunge back into writing after being on hiatus for so long. I mean, what do I say to those who haven't seen my posts in months?<br />
<br />
For those that wonder what happened during by absence (aka summer vacation), all I did was work forty hours a week, running to find PVC pipe fittings and coping saws. If I wasn't doing this, I was sleeping. Or thinking about the newspaper where I am currently Editor-in-Chief.<br />
<br />
When that gig ended, I packed up my belongings and headed back to good ol' Bobby Wes for junior year. From then on its been classes, work, homework, and working on the newspaper. That's my life in a nutshell.<br />
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(This is where I take the plunge and get right back into it, even if I'm only diving in a pool that's four feet deep.)<br />
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Many of you know, as most of my readers are aquaintences and friends, I am a book fiend. I can't live without books and I love to write. Well, I love to write blurbs that don't add up to anything.<br />
<br />
[Enter in enlightening situation]<br />
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The other day I was sitting in my Argumentation and Debate class which a wonderful friend and I were talking about how short I am. I can't even sit at the chair they place at the front desk of the library without having my feet dangle. My younger brother towers over me. (Please note that he is 6'3" and I am 5'4", but don't let that deter you from any sympathy for me.) My professor then turns around and explains how my shortness will help in the the long run because I will live a longer life. I replied, "Good, then I can write twelve more novels then most writers would."<br />
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The next question is so obvious. I mean how can you say this and not get this question back. But, there I am, sitting there and my professor asks, "How many books have you written?"<br />
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Now this didn't phase me one bit. Here I am, bosom friends with Anne Shirley, confidant to Elizabeth Bennett, chums with Georgia Nicholson, the fifth sister of the Traveling Pants, spouting off how I will win the Pulitzer Prize and I have the most brilliant answer to my endeavor and dream of writing a book.<br />
<br />
"I have a lot of ideas."<br />
<br />
Seriously?<br />
<br />
You would be correct in assuming that I wanted to fall in a hole.<br />
<br />
After class, I couldn't stop thinking about why, in fact, I haven't written anything yet. Beginnings of books, characterizations, poems, short stories, sure. But, a complete novel. Not even close.<br />
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Let's just say that this lit a fire under my plus-sized tush to actually start thinking about what I would write. And the same voice kept coming back to me; the same girl who has been talking in my head for about a half of a year. Don't worry; talking voices to a writer is essential, even if others think we are crazy.<br />
<br />
Which we are.<br />
<br />
Now, I am continuously writing down thoughts that come to my mind, scribbling out poems and ideas that I have, even if it is right through the middle of a discussion on St. Augustine. I didn't really do this, but its the thought that counts. I'm giving this whole writing a book thing a shot. Hopefully, it doesn't take me too long to get there.<br />
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There we are; I made the plunge and I didn't hit my head on the bottom. It may have been a bit chilly for the first couple minutes, but now I'm just wading through my words once again.<br />
<br />
Until next time...Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5332884683348993251.post-34760837527241461502011-06-07T12:26:00.000-07:002011-06-07T12:26:40.267-07:00I Was Made For Sunny DaysI have officially been home for one month. It only feels as though a week has passed. I couldn't believe when I saw June 7th glaring at me in the face today. Pretty soon I'll have my boxes packed up and I'll be heading back to the Rochester area for another fantastic year. But, for now, I think I will enjoy all the sleep I am getting and let the days of tomorrow drift into my unconsciousness. <br />
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It is also my day off and thank the Lord. I needed it. I need a break from plywood and screws. SEEING AS THERE ARE 8 BILLION DIFFERENT KINDS OUT THERE.<br />
<br />
Excuse me for the outburst. Its been building up for a while.<br />
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Now let's get down to business.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqzHfRVa_2UkuA8eSjGpcCIPobe5BMOgVGzrslnt8ctn_RYrUU3OxjM2ePDu6P5tz_fDyFkR0-_BAR4vC3LMmn3vmuoXBJsCs7woj2LGMKDHHVR8WXeZkEO07wfQwJ5DQbSLiTFnKAJbaH/s1600/raspberrylemonscone.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqzHfRVa_2UkuA8eSjGpcCIPobe5BMOgVGzrslnt8ctn_RYrUU3OxjM2ePDu6P5tz_fDyFkR0-_BAR4vC3LMmn3vmuoXBJsCs7woj2LGMKDHHVR8WXeZkEO07wfQwJ5DQbSLiTFnKAJbaH/s320/raspberrylemonscone.jpg" width="320" /></a>I made scones. Yes, I dared to write it. The most beautiful accessory to a cup of coffee or tea if I'm in the mood. Scones may be one of God's greatest gifts to us, all doughy and sweet and delicious. A few years ago I made lemon tarts and stuck a few raspberries on them and my taste buds sang a symphony of joy. They commended my on my impeccable taste. Ever since then I have been think of way to create that same delightful taste in a different way. And that is where making scone comes in. <br />
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<br />
You bet your bottom those scones turned out to be wonderfully delicious.<br />
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Raspberry scones with a lemon glaze. AMAZING!! I could sit there and eat the whole batch especially with a glass of iced coffee.<br />
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What was even better was that I spent the whole time listening to The Weepies while I sifted, kneaded, and stirred. It's probably why they turned out so well.<br />
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That's all for today. I'm off to finish a book and soak up the sun. Well, as soon as the tractor stops stirring up hay. I'm been eating mouthfuls since they started loading it up. Now I know how cows feel.<br />
<br />
Bye!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5332884683348993251.post-15442850553107847402011-05-31T09:43:00.001-07:002011-05-31T12:18:35.030-07:00Summer Lovin'I'm so neglectful. I knew this would happen. My first blog is my testament to this. And my job. And my downright laziness. I will admit it. I'm sopping up the days where I can sleep in and then spend my days out in the sun, toasty warm, my skin sun kissed and smelling like coconuts supplementing my existence with large amount of coffee. Life is good.<br />
<br />
It's time to book share again. I've been reading like crazy and summer lovin' every minute. Yes, I realize that's cliche. That's how I roll.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4KRVEgxZdT2gwJ1MqYpvah8aH-rF6xgBS0V9ZIxXj5vlOIM1lDqCyAfiEJTzD0zItG7QadOoS-DoY2J0EFFOWxc03oslq1kk8cVB1gx33zwmPiglQKfkui7KRNxIazTEmwUZ-vBYvRnH2/s1600/crisscrossl.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4KRVEgxZdT2gwJ1MqYpvah8aH-rF6xgBS0V9ZIxXj5vlOIM1lDqCyAfiEJTzD0zItG7QadOoS-DoY2J0EFFOWxc03oslq1kk8cVB1gx33zwmPiglQKfkui7KRNxIazTEmwUZ-vBYvRnH2/s320/crisscrossl.jpg" width="211" /></a><br />
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<i>She wished something would happen. </i> And it did. Fabulous! I love this book. Everyone is saying that the Newberry winning are going down the drain but apparently they missed this book, because this book is incredible. Perkins does a really fantastic job at styling her book and and she pairs it with funky pictures. It's the ultimate mix between a picture and chapter book for older kids. So good.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0zjdJZOXRnub-Pdn5VHw6cqWnRwtoZvH2kpIvkcJFE8gPG49xd3qciW1gUuPdNcDe20u7btH401NNn2lNm4mcarfPDlLh-07NWWiIDYQu72DCD9Uiec5Gsu6wS-cfv6FR332bXwxCn8E5/s1600/What-Happened-To-Goodbye.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0zjdJZOXRnub-Pdn5VHw6cqWnRwtoZvH2kpIvkcJFE8gPG49xd3qciW1gUuPdNcDe20u7btH401NNn2lNm4mcarfPDlLh-07NWWiIDYQu72DCD9Uiec5Gsu6wS-cfv6FR332bXwxCn8E5/s320/What-Happened-To-Goodbye.jpg" width="211" /></a><br />
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Sarah Dessen did it again. I love this woman. She really knows how to write a good story. If you haven't read a Sarah Dessen book yet, then do yourself a favor and good pick yourself up a copy of one of her books. You won't regret it.<br />
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What I really liked about this book is that Dessen really has a nice fresh take on a story. For me, her previous book <i>Along for the Ride</i> was a little blah, sorta a same old story that Dessen writes. But there seems to be a new maturity with Dessen's character, Mclean which I really like. You can tell her work is evolving.<br />
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Alright, I'm off to get back in the sun and back to reading. More to come soon.<br />
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Says the girl who is lazy.<br />
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Someone had to say it. Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5332884683348993251.post-11100808981160458332011-05-10T09:11:00.000-07:002011-05-10T13:52:37.677-07:00Hammers, and Wrenches, and Saws, OH MY!Today is my day off. I almost woke up with tears from the joy of not having to stand on my feet all day. Yesterday, around four in the afternoon, my feet were sending me all kinds of signs to sit down. I told my feet to shut up. In my head, not verbally. Then my feet sent shooting pains up my calves. They know how to play dirty. Anyways, my feet and I aren't on speaking terms but hopefully we can reconcile soon because I have to work tomorrow.<br />
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This is the part where you want to hear about my job.<br />
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Alright then, I will spill because you are all dying to know.<br />
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My dad laughed at me because I said that a customer was looking for a jacksaw. For those who are with me in having no idea what is in a hardware store, jacksaws don't exist.<br />
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But, jackhammers do.<br />
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So, that is how work went. I have a vague idea of what exists in the store and I'm a real expert when it comes to getting mulch. I am the mulch queen. They should make me a sash and tiara and dub me with a sword. They can call me Lady Alexandria of Mulch (part of the name of the town is Alexandria, so it seemed fitting). Other than that I am getting the hang of things. I know once I get everything down and get situated I will enjoy it much more.<br />
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Well, I am off to read, read, read because it is the reason for my existence, the reason I breathe, though that fact that I would turn blue if I didn't suck in some oxygen might play a part in my reasoning, as well.<br />
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Until next time...Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5332884683348993251.post-16232739781523591492011-05-06T06:20:00.000-07:002011-05-06T06:25:17.057-07:00Smart Women Thirst For KnowledgeIts over. I have made it through finals week (like there was ever a doubt about it). All I have left to do is pack up the rest of my room and say goodbye. I still can't believe that another year of college is done and over, just like that. Now, I am walking away with a little sorrow in my heart for those I will miss but the warm memories I made tucked in my front pocket.<br />
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Then next year its off to finishing my English Degree (I'll still have a year of college after that) and being the Editor in Chief for <i>The Beacon (</i>our college newspaper).<br />
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I'll still be around this summer, with my new job and my newly acquired pink hello kitty fishing pole, writing about all the happenings in my life and maybe a few fictitious accounts that I've come up with myself.<br />
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Therefore, I leave you with the parting words my wonderful professor gave me yesterday on my favorite cup of all.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUMfHXQ5xsvI4BofESBtUcYwMLeYjdhB5S4pEJube7R_YK-GiaRYz5z53ixIK6Vpdcx157EPjeWifjLUQ5ifkM_eoHGilPNgnHjYyR_9_9zATns1Iuke1YHQ5oUvJHhjgogQO9xpUFMrut/s1600/realwomen.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUMfHXQ5xsvI4BofESBtUcYwMLeYjdhB5S4pEJube7R_YK-GiaRYz5z53ixIK6Vpdcx157EPjeWifjLUQ5ifkM_eoHGilPNgnHjYyR_9_9zATns1Iuke1YHQ5oUvJHhjgogQO9xpUFMrut/s1600/realwomen.jpg" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">Coffee, anyone? :)</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5332884683348993251.post-55360616561100130372011-05-04T09:21:00.000-07:002011-05-06T06:23:15.619-07:00Finals WeekIt's the week that all college students dread. The week when you have seven essays due, five tests to study for, and three presentations to give. The week where you wear a paper bag over your face because you have had no sleep or time to take a shower. The week where Starbucks and Taco Bell go out of business because you buy out the whole stinkin' store. Well, its Tim Hortons around this area. We don't get a Starbucks. <br />
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I thought that my finals week was going to be relatively easy. Six essays and one test to study for sounds sounds like a piece of cake. Ha, I'm so silly sometimes. Although, I haven't had to resolve to wearing a paper bag over my face. Yet. <br />
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For all of you studying, I feel your pain. I understand where your coming from. I also have Keurig, so if you need some coffee, you know where to find me. :)<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgag46OVl3CqVrh0Kzl_8HHuG1OJOOpyrkl9FgCjCkbn4KqvVnSeedvgHmH8VEZIAWtE4hlIeS0x43sEr59i9UaRLbtNtvzA5TpDKUyIEvtaz_Vs4mTL-u_HBEvRqqpMtBlvLfeI4_Ll-5B/s1600/finals-week-finals-sleep-deprivation-demotivational-posters-1292453213.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="276" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgag46OVl3CqVrh0Kzl_8HHuG1OJOOpyrkl9FgCjCkbn4KqvVnSeedvgHmH8VEZIAWtE4hlIeS0x43sEr59i9UaRLbtNtvzA5TpDKUyIEvtaz_Vs4mTL-u_HBEvRqqpMtBlvLfeI4_Ll-5B/s320/finals-week-finals-sleep-deprivation-demotivational-posters-1292453213.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5332884683348993251.post-53991908348616167542011-04-30T10:51:00.000-07:002011-04-30T10:51:51.686-07:00I love garage salesYesterday, my sister Margaret and I went to a garage sale at a local church on campus. I had two dollars to spend, and it was spent well.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBuDYQJv39KB6msMu2dmhp8UfnRGOxbKG7jIkYhVb-UO0J1GEQQYfJoUCgxztGNkjFka-fV1c0TI0Fu7LiUj4MLkD7vXzs5DLlZj1DxKkPvZ2c5MLrmvqM5jZzQ0V2EE7qy30rHYR6sMqN/s1600/4ef0643d17ca4cc1909ca18eba5ce95c_7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBuDYQJv39KB6msMu2dmhp8UfnRGOxbKG7jIkYhVb-UO0J1GEQQYfJoUCgxztGNkjFka-fV1c0TI0Fu7LiUj4MLkD7vXzs5DLlZj1DxKkPvZ2c5MLrmvqM5jZzQ0V2EE7qy30rHYR6sMqN/s320/4ef0643d17ca4cc1909ca18eba5ce95c_7.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>The blue bottle with the sun is going to be my new vase and the yellow cup my new pencil holder! And I got both of these for the price of $0.50.<br />
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Then, I picked up two Magic Tree House books that used to be my favorite when I was younger. That is some good summer reading right there and it was only $1.00.<br />
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So all in all I spent $1.50 which means that I have fifty cents to go on a shopping spree.<br />
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I love being a college student :)Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5332884683348993251.post-47370289719598686322011-04-29T17:00:00.000-07:002011-04-29T17:00:33.346-07:00Keep On Lovin'I have been hurt by people that I love. I have been let down but those that I care deeply about. <br />
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After it happens a couple times, it feels as though you've gone numb. You don't care about others anymore because others didn't care about you. But what happens in the aftermath? We have two choices: we can give up and let ourselves be numb or we can forgive and gain something from the experiences of our lives. <br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>"God will strengthen you with his own great power so that you will not give up when troubles come, but you will be patient." (Colossians 1:11)</em></span><br />
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Life isn't always perfect and we can't expect the people around us to be either. I believe that there is a place that I can go where I will be strengthened. We can't put all our hope in others; think of how unfair that is to have all those expectations placed on your shoulders. However, what we can do is realize that there is a greater strength within ourselves that is much more powerful than anything a person can ever give us. <br />
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<em>"I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made." (Psalm 139:14)</em><br />
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What I am beginning to realize is that I find my strength in God when I learn to love myself as the wonderful creation he has made me. So many times, I go looking for love in others to make myself feel as though I am worthy in the world's eyes. They are many times when I feel low because I have no one around me, and while it is important to have relationships with others, we need to realize that our self-worth doesn't come from our relationships. It comes from within, everything that God has already given us to become the beautiful people we are meant to be. <br />
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<em>"Bear with each other and forgive whatever grievances you may have against one another. Forgive and the Lord forgives you." (Colossians 3:13)</em><br />
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One thing you can't forget, after getting past the hurt and finally learning to really love yourself is that you need to forgive others, because I guarantee you would want them to forgive you when you mess up. Forgiving those that you have loved and been hurt by means realizing that we as humans are not perfect. It also means that you realize that you cannot rest everything on one person because that isn't where we are suppose to rest everything upon. When you can do this, you'll find that loving isn't so hard to do and keep on doing. <br />
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This is a lesson that I have learned today. That everyone around me can't be my crutch. We need to love others for who they are and love ourselves for who we are. That's good enough. God believes your good enough. And that's all that matters. <br />
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-KatieUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5332884683348993251.post-90374069296896175302011-04-28T08:57:00.000-07:002011-04-28T08:57:18.400-07:00The Semester That Never EndsI have a week and a half left of college before I can bust open a can of bubbly (soda, people! honestly....) and say "Bon Voyage!" to my second year of college. As for now, I am reading books and writing essays. What a wonderful life. So, being the veracious readers that you are, here are a couple books that I am reading and am more than willing to share with you.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtxotI7R4qtC5TsL-yZyZ7f102xGmzVFi6pBI1vZmgtMVgh7mZfqeRNmB3GsTHaH4RhQ8LHlB4PwpGQZs885ruGxO0iZh5cb4srVfnQTMzMSLVm0gGdoMxiA1d92jGRwfePA6mtT62AwSU/s1600/earth.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtxotI7R4qtC5TsL-yZyZ7f102xGmzVFi6pBI1vZmgtMVgh7mZfqeRNmB3GsTHaH4RhQ8LHlB4PwpGQZs885ruGxO0iZh5cb4srVfnQTMzMSLVm0gGdoMxiA1d92jGRwfePA6mtT62AwSU/s320/earth.jpg" width="222" /></a></div>The first time I read this book was my freshman year of high school. I love this book with all my heart, and it helped me, being the fabulous plus-sized lady that I am, love myself for who I was. It's hysterically funny, and you will be wishing that Virginia Shreves was your best friend by the end of this book.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiM_9SGnxNeE0_QvBUscC5QWfAWYl_JSP-zGTp982-famwoVMtTT5IKEdqsGgpYuJzfZjwt_C93OfNE4v_3wN5gQ_cBQWKnEOfGRXAdgdnPMusTAiXa25ppyCDKR6M5Q5cQVMYi8GPd-d6/s1600/the+kid+table.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiM_9SGnxNeE0_QvBUscC5QWfAWYl_JSP-zGTp982-famwoVMtTT5IKEdqsGgpYuJzfZjwt_C93OfNE4v_3wN5gQ_cBQWKnEOfGRXAdgdnPMusTAiXa25ppyCDKR6M5Q5cQVMYi8GPd-d6/s1600/the+kid+table.jpg" /></a><br />
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<br />
My mother just bought me this book for Easter because she is so brilliantly smart and knows that best gift to get me is a book. She also asked me what I wanted and I told her to go find this. Nevertheless! I also liked this book as well. Andrea Seigel has wonderful humor and it gives a wonderful perspective on family relationships.<br />
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Happy Reading to you all! :)Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5332884683348993251.post-77961234741384686742011-04-18T18:37:00.000-07:002011-04-18T18:37:28.092-07:00It's time to shareI'm so excited for my easter break coming up. I really need this one. While I'm taking a break from homework, I wanted to share a piece of poetry that I just wrote for my creative writing class. I hope you enjoy it and let me know what you think. Comments always make me smile :)<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><b>I Remember, Mama</b></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">I remember twirling with the Rosas, Mama</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>each of us rising up from the earth</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>my petticoats spread out in full bloom</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>just like my flowery friends</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">I remember how I hurt you, Mama</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>stealing my petticoats from the closet</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>knowing they were meant for Sunday</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>knowing he would be mad</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">I remember the anger that night, Mama</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>watching you fall towards me in synchronized grace</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>with the white rubble of a broken wall</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>guilt rose up within me</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">I remember how he cried, Mama</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>limp in your lap while he begged for absolution</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>you folded your arms around him </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>and he pushed you down, Mama</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>and you sunk back into the ground</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">I remember running through the fields, Mama</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>surrounded by bright crimson Castillejas</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>strangling everything around them</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>pushing them back and killing them</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">I remember looking at the purple neck, Mama</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Daddy had painted it</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>shoving his fingers into your soft flesh</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>pushing you down</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">I remember picking flowers that day, Mama</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>each delicate blossom begging for its life</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>while we ripped them from their roots</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>we took them from the earth</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">I remember when he called, Mama</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>you pleading with him one last time</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>while he scream through the phone</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>ripping you from your roots</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">I tried to push up through the ground, Mama</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>just like our flowers did</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>but I couldn’t</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>our flowers were limp in their glass shell</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>their blossoms withered and black</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">I remember watching the snow fall, Mama<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>each flake a frozen droplet </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>that had fallen from your face</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>piling in heaps everywhere</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">I remember feeling so lonely, Mama</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>running everywhere </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>looking for the only friends I had</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>wishing to see they faces</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">I remember brushing your tears away, Mama</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>my little companions frozen </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>into skeletons of what had been</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>and I screamed in agony</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">I remember falling into your tears, Mama</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>you and me falling in synchronized grace</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I wanted your tears</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>to swallow me up</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>and let me rot into the earth</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">I remember how spring finally came, Mama</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I sat upon the window sill</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>waiting</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>to rise up from the earth</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">I remember that you grab my hand, Mama</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>begging me to come</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>but I couldn’t </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I hadn’t risen </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">I remember you picking me up, Mama</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>my tears soaking your dress</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>that was covered in flowers </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>while you dragged me from my perch</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">I remember you setting me down, Mama</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>letting my toes sink into the earth</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>pulling my hands away from your skirt </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>while you pushed me forward</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">I remember that’s when I saw them, Mama</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>the Liliums were everywhere</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>smiling at me, </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>They wanted me to rise</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"> </span>Oh, how I wanted to rise, Mama</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">I remember the tears falling down my face, Mama</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>sprinkling down like heavenly rain</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>watering the Liliums pushing up in the earth</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>telling them to rise </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">I remember how those tears made me feel, Mama</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>they sprinkled down on me</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>watering my soul</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>whispering to me </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>They wanted me to rise, Mama</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">Then you grabbed my hand, Mama</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I looked at you </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>you were watering your soul too</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I knew you wanted to rise</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"> </span>Oh, how I wanted you to rise, Mama</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">Now I know, Mama</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>there was something deep within myself</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>bursting through the earth </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>unfolding into new life</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"> </span>and I rose</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"> </span>I rose with you, Mama</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5332884683348993251.post-32901618068948286022011-04-10T11:43:00.000-07:002011-04-10T15:23:19.093-07:00All My Plus Sized LadiesI am a proud plus sized lady. Not that it has always been that way. I have had my struggles. My Anger. My comfort food bonanza when I am mad about my size which is quite ironic. Obviously. But, through the roller coaster of emotions, the tears, and the the conflict within myself, I always emerge with a little bit more wisdom and a kick butt outfit.<br />
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One of the things that I find hard, being the plus sized woman that I am, is that it can be difficult to find stylish clothing. However, all my plus sized ladies, do not fear! I have found a safe haven- a place where I can giggle with insane happiness because the clothes are so beautiful and make me look like the goddess I was born to be.<br />
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Forever21 is now carrying plus sized clothing and have been doing so for a short time. I have been shopping at Forever21 since high school, when I was small enough to be able to wear a large, which is the biggest size they normally go up to. Now as a college student, not only I have gained knowledge but a couple of extra pounds, as well. I use the word couple loosely. Very loosely... so loose my pants would fall off.<br />
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Ahem, TMI.<br />
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So, the good news!<br />
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I have found a place to completely redo my wardrobe at a completely affordable price and I am ecstatic. Allow me to share some of my good finds with you.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfFnaM0LiuuzDqO0MFy0fs9pEtYojDxDx07LuoWLyipqQ6eCb59X8aq9XX0kv89Vx66MCWOiQkt4Rup9NrK7UK9QE1cAz1A1ctlQxch_CZUj9-GPio1MDdfVblmH0AwCl81-oSHvEKAI5T/s1600/formaldress.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfFnaM0LiuuzDqO0MFy0fs9pEtYojDxDx07LuoWLyipqQ6eCb59X8aq9XX0kv89Vx66MCWOiQkt4Rup9NrK7UK9QE1cAz1A1ctlQxch_CZUj9-GPio1MDdfVblmH0AwCl81-oSHvEKAI5T/s320/formaldress.jpg" width="262" /></a></div><div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> Cute, right?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">But wait, it gets better...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5HjPr2J50uXq_LBz2qUbtpDR6-VyFG2a5wwacyQDPVkOn672wFX6A38FCaKM8SRGR3tVY120h27vkuFRLrGVHUkfvoHfu2hAwtRyVr6kmb0cKQYlzjsDju3ME3tgqikIivIUMFv7yCHG6/s1600/floralshorts.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5HjPr2J50uXq_LBz2qUbtpDR6-VyFG2a5wwacyQDPVkOn672wFX6A38FCaKM8SRGR3tVY120h27vkuFRLrGVHUkfvoHfu2hAwtRyVr6kmb0cKQYlzjsDju3ME3tgqikIivIUMFv7yCHG6/s320/floralshorts.jpg" width="262" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Yea, they are fabulous. So fabulous that I am wearing them as I type this little blurp. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Well, that is it for now. I have six books to read for classes this week and while I am an avid reader, I'm not too sure I'm digging all the page flips I'll be participating in this week. </div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5332884683348993251.post-78774202012621955362011-04-04T13:41:00.000-07:002011-04-04T13:45:26.715-07:00I Work Hard for the Money<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">As college students, we pay out the wazoo for our education. Some is covered by the government, some if its covered by scholarships, and some of it is covered out of the wads of cash in your pocket. Ha. Brilliant. Last time I looked in my pocket, all I had was a gum wrapper and beeswax lip balm. Therefore, I need a job. Hence the reason why I work at a library during the school year. However, when the second semester comes to an end and the college tells me to scat, the dough stops. No more nights of racing through the stacks looking for "the book," the one that will change your research paper forever. No more searching for articles that don't exist. I will miss putting the books back, though. I would alway come out with a good five books I would check out. But I digress. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Anyways. College = need for money, which I don't really have. Money, that is. Therefore, I need a summer job. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">I got one. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Drum roll, please.....</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">I am working in a hardware store. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Yep, I did not write that by mistake. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">I will spend my summer working with my dad at a hardware store as a cashier. My dad called me the other day to talk about said job and he told me that I would have to take quizzes so that I could learn what they sell in a hardware store. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">"Dad, I know what a hammer looks like." </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">My Dad's rebuttal was that while it was a start, I wouldn't be able to talk about 19th century Victorian Literature with the customers. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">I told him I was going to start a Jane Austen Book Club in the warehouse. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">So, my worries are over. I have a job. It should be quite interesting, watching the girl in skinny jeans and converse shoes run around looking for nails and whatnot. </div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5332884683348993251.post-89878697732848325792011-04-03T11:16:00.000-07:002011-10-19T21:04:57.368-07:00The Duct Tape of All Duct TapesYoung people seem to have an incredible fascination with duct tape, and why not? It's durable, it patches up anything, and it comes in almost any design you want.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Literally.<br />
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This was one of the gifts I got from my boyfriend for our one year anniversary. I mean what says I love you more than Hello Kitty duct tape?<br />
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I am ecstatic that I now have the means to tape my whole world with Hello Kitty. Notebook covers, boxes, splitting folders, my walls now all have the ability to be Hello Kitty-fied. Well, except the walls. I don't think housing or my roommate would be to happy with me.<br />
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I hope you all have a great Sunday. I'm off to finally get some laundry done.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5332884683348993251.post-48061751180662441802011-04-01T06:52:00.000-07:002011-04-01T17:42:36.435-07:00The Art of BloggingI have tried blogging before. I have tried to share my thoughts with the Internet world numerous times. Somehow, the burning desire (though I'm not really sure it's this intense) to let the world peek into my brain has been blown out. It must have been my mother. Blowing out my flame, that is. She says I have more productive things to do or that the dishwasher needs to be unloaded. When I have my own house the dishwasher will serve two purposes: to wash the dishes and to be a make-shift cabinet for all my housewares. Talk about brilliant thinking. That's why I go to college.<br />
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And, that's why I can blog now without being told I'm not productive or worry about the stinking dishes. Instead, I sit in class or at my job most of the day. When I'm not doing said activities, I am doing scholarly work such as working on a Beatrix Potter research paper or trying to understand the violence being used in journalism. Let me tell you, it doesn't get much better than that. Well, sleep would be better because I don't get any. The bags under my eyes look like they went on a shopping spree.<br />
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I also started a blog today because my good friend Sam told me she started a blog. Fifteen minutes ago. Since I am on a Facebook fast right now, I was feeling a little left out on the Internet. So, I am setting out to blog once more. Buckle in folks. This adventure is about to begin.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1