I am hoping to add to this section. It will start here with three accounts, but I want it to grow.
I like to smile at people when I am in public, and I like it when people smile back at me. This section is dedicated to people who show their pearly whites to strangers.
One person I worked with described that he had two smiles: one was a flirty smile and one was a nice—but professional—smile. He then told me that he would make sure that when buses went by—that were usually filled with elderly people—he would flash his big flirty smile at all the old women on board. I liked that and developed two smiles for myself.
My first smile is my normal smile. It usually shows my top row of teeth—about nine of them. My second smile is my old people smile (I don’t know how it got this name, but that is what it is). This smile forms a fuzzy rectangle shape with my lips and shows two rows of teeth, about 23 teeth in all. It is not conventional, but is still a smile.
Account One.
One day I was driving my car on a city street and was stopped at a red light. The traffic coming towards me had a green light and a green arrow, and so they began to move slowly. I saw an old man in a bright yellow VW Beatle. I dazzled him with my old person smile, not thinking about it because it has become somewhat common for me to do. While giving him this smile, we made eye contact. He then reciprocated my smile: he turned his head to look straight at me, stretched his lips back to their corners, and showed me as many teeth as possible as he drove past me one lane away in his bright VW Beatle. I laughed out loud. I know my smile is funny but I had never had it mirrored back to me, and in such a quick moment! His old face looking straight back at me as he zips along in his yellow beetle is a clear picture in my mind and makes me love that old man.
Account Two.
I was in the Holy City. We were walking around the Old Town in Jerusalem on the historic cobblestone to get to another holy site. Coming towards us was a Hasidic Jew. He was wearing his black pants, white shirt, black suit coat, and black hat. He had dark features, his dark brown curls tried to keep up to his fast past. As our trails neared we made eye contact and he offered me a smile that was as large as the western wall. This wasn’t a halfhearted smile of closed lips with corners that barely pointed to the heaves, This smile was one that took effort; the top lip had to separate from the bottom as the sides of his mouth pulled even further away from each other to form a gap that would display his top row of white teeth. It was sincere, contagious, and had to be duplicated. Instantly I told the corners of my mouth to pull out and up, directing them to point as far as they could above while insisting that my lips separated to allow a gap where my teeth could be seen.
He tread on, we continued to wander, and that thought of a shared smile in Israel is a warm memory of my travels.
Account Three.
I was holiday shopping. The store had many people roaming the aisles in search of gifts. I tire easily of shopping with so much competition and chaos. I was looking at some food items and saw a toddler sitting in the seat of a shopping cart and I’d guess that the child was younger than two years of age. The child looked at me and I at him. When making eye contact, I smiled my normal smile and at the same time I lowered my head, just slightly and my eyes widened. The child looked back at me for a few seconds and slowly, a smile grew on his face. It was a slow process. It was not an instantaneous recognition and counter smile. It was deliberate and was produced in slow measures. Soon after he had shown me his full smile of all his baby teeth, his father pushed him away, but I stood in the isle, and smiled at the cereal boxes.
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
Mimo
I changed the name of this blog. Mimo is a Czech word, a preposition. It means besides, by, past, or despite. I heard this often to describe neighboring towns: Long Beach is ‘mimo’ Seal Beach.
In a different context, I heard someone excuse themselves with an apology and say, “I was ‘mimo’”. This was, to me, amusing. I could completely relate to this idea. I know how I can be in a conversation and one aspect of it catches my attention, and I will skip behind the synapses in my mind to a new thought and eliminate the background noise, or, unfortunately, a conversation.
Sometimes I feel this way in general about myself; that I am close, but not quite in the same town. That’s okay; it’s petty good over here, too.
Thus, the new name of the blog has been created.
In a different context, I heard someone excuse themselves with an apology and say, “I was ‘mimo’”. This was, to me, amusing. I could completely relate to this idea. I know how I can be in a conversation and one aspect of it catches my attention, and I will skip behind the synapses in my mind to a new thought and eliminate the background noise, or, unfortunately, a conversation.
Sometimes I feel this way in general about myself; that I am close, but not quite in the same town. That’s okay; it’s petty good over here, too.
Thus, the new name of the blog has been created.
Friday, September 25, 2009
Quotes from one of my favorite days subbing; Junior High, English
Student: Are you a cool sub or a mean sub?
Miss Mariner: A mean sub
Student: Aww man!
Miss Mariner: No…She’s a cool sub, I’ve had her before.
[my heart could have melted]
Student: Miss Mariner?
Miss Mariner: Yes?
Student: Can I call you Debbie?
Miss Mariner: No!
Student: Awww.
Student: Miss Mariner, did you know this room has a ghost…
It’s the ghost of Miss Brown’s husband!
Student: Miss Mariner did you know Kobe Braynt?
Miss Mariner (showing a peace sign): Yeah, we are like this
Student: He’s my uncle.
Student: Are you writing my name down?
Miss Mariner: Should I be writing your name down?
Panic
Student: Did she leave you any special notes of students you need to watch out for?
Miss Mariner: Maybe….what’s your name?
Panic
Miss Mariner: A mean sub
Student: Aww man!
Miss Mariner: No…She’s a cool sub, I’ve had her before.
[my heart could have melted]
Student: Miss Mariner?
Miss Mariner: Yes?
Student: Can I call you Debbie?
Miss Mariner: No!
Student: Awww.
Student: Miss Mariner, did you know this room has a ghost…
It’s the ghost of Miss Brown’s husband!
Student: Miss Mariner did you know Kobe Braynt?
Miss Mariner (showing a peace sign): Yeah, we are like this
Student: He’s my uncle.
Student: Are you writing my name down?
Miss Mariner: Should I be writing your name down?
Panic
Student: Did she leave you any special notes of students you need to watch out for?
Miss Mariner: Maybe….what’s your name?
Panic
Things I think about
Should I really use a plate? If I am going to need to wipe down the counter after I eat/prepare my food, and if it is clean from before—why bother? If I use a plate and then wash it after I use it, but also wipe down the counter why not save a step and just slap my food straight on the counter? I can see how a plate may be less of a mess, like for food such as spaghetti, or on occasions when you need to cut your food on your plate but for everything else, why not save some steps?
Monday, September 7, 2009
The Sound
I had a dream a few weeks ago. I was at a place I knew to be the Jerusalem Study Abroad Student Center. I was on vacation and I could hear a slightly irritating sound in the center. We went outside and the sound became louder and more irritating. I looked around and found the noise: it was snowing (not usual Jerusalem weather) and people were crunching around in the ice. Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. The racket continued as we drove around looking at a few nearby sights.
We returned to the school and a few girls took me into the cafeteria. The noise here was the same. They explained to me that because of current food markets, all their food had to be brought with them. This involved planning menus in advance. They further explained that most mornings they have toast with cinnamon but unfortunately the cooks here often burn the toast. That sound! It was the same sound but now in the form of people scraping off their top layer of bread. Scrape! Scrape! Scrape! I looked around the cafeteria and saw the students, hunched over their trays, tuning up their breakfast, and producing horrible music.
This was the last part of my dream that I remembered before waking up. I woke up with the dream in my mind and thinking it to be odd. Until…that sound! I was awake in my dark bedroom at three in the morning and that sound scraped and crunched into my dozy confused mind. I sat a minute and listened for the sound….it was coming from the wall my bed rests against that is directly behind my head. Gophers! My basement bedroom was hearing the nocturnal burrowing of gophers in our garden! They were destroying our garden and raising havoc in my dreams!
I pushed my covers to the side and hazily stood up. I faced the wall and knocked at the epicenter. The sound of crunching snow continued in my room. I knocked louder. Silence. Four seconds later the sound of a person scraping burnt toast took control of my dark living quarters. I knocked again, with real intent, banging hard on the wall using both hands. Silence. I paused, smiled to myself, and fell back in bed. I was moving pillows around when the sound began again. I sighed, took the pillows by my head, and made them the bread of a face sandwich that muffled the sound of a gopher burrowing in my garden at three in the morning.
We returned to the school and a few girls took me into the cafeteria. The noise here was the same. They explained to me that because of current food markets, all their food had to be brought with them. This involved planning menus in advance. They further explained that most mornings they have toast with cinnamon but unfortunately the cooks here often burn the toast. That sound! It was the same sound but now in the form of people scraping off their top layer of bread. Scrape! Scrape! Scrape! I looked around the cafeteria and saw the students, hunched over their trays, tuning up their breakfast, and producing horrible music.
This was the last part of my dream that I remembered before waking up. I woke up with the dream in my mind and thinking it to be odd. Until…that sound! I was awake in my dark bedroom at three in the morning and that sound scraped and crunched into my dozy confused mind. I sat a minute and listened for the sound….it was coming from the wall my bed rests against that is directly behind my head. Gophers! My basement bedroom was hearing the nocturnal burrowing of gophers in our garden! They were destroying our garden and raising havoc in my dreams!
I pushed my covers to the side and hazily stood up. I faced the wall and knocked at the epicenter. The sound of crunching snow continued in my room. I knocked louder. Silence. Four seconds later the sound of a person scraping burnt toast took control of my dark living quarters. I knocked again, with real intent, banging hard on the wall using both hands. Silence. I paused, smiled to myself, and fell back in bed. I was moving pillows around when the sound began again. I sighed, took the pillows by my head, and made them the bread of a face sandwich that muffled the sound of a gopher burrowing in my garden at three in the morning.
Friday, August 28, 2009
Times this week when I looked ridiculous:
The time when I had just bought eleven plus bags of groceries and apartment supplies and had decided I did not want to carry the items in two trips from the parking lot behind my apartment, up the stairs, and into my living quarters. Instead, I decided to put most of the bags on one arm, a few on the other, and, with the arm that had less groceries, pick up the free 12 pack of kiwi strawberry soda I was given at the store. As such, I hobbled around my apartment building with a vast white wreath of goods that adorned my midsection. I say hobbled because it was heavy and I had to move slowly. As I proceeded up the stairs, I was too wide to walk up facing the stairs; I had to turn slightly and grapevine myself up and around the corners. While I was carefully maneuvering myself, my neighbor, on a smoking break, decided to be friendly and chatty. I am pleased we are becoming better acquainted and that he started the conversation this time. Maybe it helped that I looked ridiculous.
I needed a frying pan for cooking and wanted it for the immediate future so I could make crepes from the six eggs I had broken the day before when I had tried to push too many bags of groceries onto the counter and two bags did not cooperate (please see story above). I bought a frying pan and had not taken a bag in my efforts to not take bags when I don’t need them for my current task or for use at home. This meant that when I walked to my apartment that evening, I was carrying my purse and a frying pan. It was evening when I got close to my apartment and something startled me. I held my frying pan at attention until my nerves settled. A few seconds later my mind evaluated the last few moments of my life and passed judgment that I looked ridiculous.
I believe in the literal running of errands. That meant that today for my morning run I ran to the grocery store to pick up butter and salt so I could make crepes with the frying pan I had bought the day before (please see story above). I ran through the store—pretending I was on Supermarket Sweep—and found the butter and the salt. I proceeded to check out. The bagger asked if I wanted a bag; I politely declined (please see story above). I dashed out the store and began to wonder what I looked like. I was a girl in running clothes, jogging up Main Street, carrying a box of butter and a cylinder of salt. I pretended to pump the salt like people who run with weights but then I stopped because I looked ridiculous.
I am now sitting in my kitchen and typing out this these stories in between the flipping of crepes. I have a pretty good stack now, but I keep burning the second side because I am not paying full attention to the crepes. This is my last one; I am determined to time it right. I wait to flip it and quickly try to turn one side over. Well, too quickly. This crepe is a little thicker than the others and so he folds in half like a little taco shell. No! I try to pull his sides apart but he is slowly fusing together. This will not do! I try, again, to pull apart the half circle sides but he will not bend and the tips of my fingers burn from the heat of the crepe in the pan. The heat on my fingers causes me to pucker my lips and suck in the air around me doing an inverse whistle. Desperate times come; I take the pan, tip the side and watch the crepe fall onto the counter. I grab a fork and knife and rip the two parts aside, making three pieces of mutilated crepe. I drop the uncooked sides back on the skillet and watch the fragmented pieces begin to cook fully comprehending that I still look ridiculous.
I needed a frying pan for cooking and wanted it for the immediate future so I could make crepes from the six eggs I had broken the day before when I had tried to push too many bags of groceries onto the counter and two bags did not cooperate (please see story above). I bought a frying pan and had not taken a bag in my efforts to not take bags when I don’t need them for my current task or for use at home. This meant that when I walked to my apartment that evening, I was carrying my purse and a frying pan. It was evening when I got close to my apartment and something startled me. I held my frying pan at attention until my nerves settled. A few seconds later my mind evaluated the last few moments of my life and passed judgment that I looked ridiculous.
I believe in the literal running of errands. That meant that today for my morning run I ran to the grocery store to pick up butter and salt so I could make crepes with the frying pan I had bought the day before (please see story above). I ran through the store—pretending I was on Supermarket Sweep—and found the butter and the salt. I proceeded to check out. The bagger asked if I wanted a bag; I politely declined (please see story above). I dashed out the store and began to wonder what I looked like. I was a girl in running clothes, jogging up Main Street, carrying a box of butter and a cylinder of salt. I pretended to pump the salt like people who run with weights but then I stopped because I looked ridiculous.
I am now sitting in my kitchen and typing out this these stories in between the flipping of crepes. I have a pretty good stack now, but I keep burning the second side because I am not paying full attention to the crepes. This is my last one; I am determined to time it right. I wait to flip it and quickly try to turn one side over. Well, too quickly. This crepe is a little thicker than the others and so he folds in half like a little taco shell. No! I try to pull his sides apart but he is slowly fusing together. This will not do! I try, again, to pull apart the half circle sides but he will not bend and the tips of my fingers burn from the heat of the crepe in the pan. The heat on my fingers causes me to pucker my lips and suck in the air around me doing an inverse whistle. Desperate times come; I take the pan, tip the side and watch the crepe fall onto the counter. I grab a fork and knife and rip the two parts aside, making three pieces of mutilated crepe. I drop the uncooked sides back on the skillet and watch the fragmented pieces begin to cook fully comprehending that I still look ridiculous.
The Unsavory List
A few weeks ago I had an odd dream. I had forgotten all the details until today. I was sorting papers and came across some quickly written notes. After reading the first few bullets, I had refreshed myself with this dream that has intrigued me in my waking hours.
I found myself at a setting I knew to be school—I believe it was college. We were involved in an Armageddon war of good vs. evil. I—luckily—was on the good side and was anxiously engaged in the success of goodness and virtue. I remember walking around the school reading signs and watching others as we all pretend to live normal lives. The strategy of the evil side was through media. They worked to distract people. They made music, television, movies, and entertainment cheap. With cheap media and instruments to access it, they toiled to have people constantly distracted by these items and entertainment. My dream had a feeling of noise being all around me with images and requests consistently grabbing my attention.
Both sides worked to petition people to join their side. My friend and I received a special assignment to become spies and gather information about the evil side’s recruiting efforts. We began our work and met with an evildoer who showed us a small room that had a set up that could be compared to a blood drive. At the front entrance you were given some forms to read and then you had a personal interview—it was personal in the sense that it is just you and the interviewer but not in the sense that it was private; everyone could see you talking with the interviewer. In this evil recruitment room we could see all the people reading papers and then, because it was a small room, you could overhear bits of the conversation between the evil recruiter and the potential evildoer.
As we walked in we were handed a stack of papers. I looked down at the sheet and was surprised to see my name printed at the top. The sheet looked liked something a person would print off the internet. The sheet contained my name and then a list of all the unruly things I had done in my life. They were usually short statements and were written from an observer’s point of view.
As I read through the items mentioned, I felt like the list had been compiled by people with whom I had made daily interaction (people from high school, coworkers, etc). I realized that these people would get on this website, write an anonymous statement about the wicked acts I had performed, and then link the statement to my name. The list was accurate. They were things I had remembered doing and that were regrettable to me at my current age and maturity in life. I read the several sheets and was embarrassed that others had noticed these unsavory moments of my past.
I looked around the room and examined the people that were going through the recruitment process. What astonished me was that I knew some of the people in the room. There was a person from high school, someone I had worked with, Mickey Mouse (odd, I know, but it is a dream), and other random acquaintances among the nameless—to me—people. I was disappointed that they were there and had decided to join the evil team. There was also a deep sadness. I was sad that they had felt alone and that no one had reached out to them in kindness. It was distressing that the only association for them where they felt a belonging was with evil.
My friend’s full name was called to be interviewed and I began to be nervous for him. I could hear him talking to the interviewer. I knew he would be able to defend himself and be strong, but I felt weakened and was nervous for my interview. I was still strong in my cause for goodness, but I had lost confidence in the interview I was about to be put through. My friend was still at the beginning of his interview when I woke up.
I found myself at a setting I knew to be school—I believe it was college. We were involved in an Armageddon war of good vs. evil. I—luckily—was on the good side and was anxiously engaged in the success of goodness and virtue. I remember walking around the school reading signs and watching others as we all pretend to live normal lives. The strategy of the evil side was through media. They worked to distract people. They made music, television, movies, and entertainment cheap. With cheap media and instruments to access it, they toiled to have people constantly distracted by these items and entertainment. My dream had a feeling of noise being all around me with images and requests consistently grabbing my attention.
Both sides worked to petition people to join their side. My friend and I received a special assignment to become spies and gather information about the evil side’s recruiting efforts. We began our work and met with an evildoer who showed us a small room that had a set up that could be compared to a blood drive. At the front entrance you were given some forms to read and then you had a personal interview—it was personal in the sense that it is just you and the interviewer but not in the sense that it was private; everyone could see you talking with the interviewer. In this evil recruitment room we could see all the people reading papers and then, because it was a small room, you could overhear bits of the conversation between the evil recruiter and the potential evildoer.
As we walked in we were handed a stack of papers. I looked down at the sheet and was surprised to see my name printed at the top. The sheet looked liked something a person would print off the internet. The sheet contained my name and then a list of all the unruly things I had done in my life. They were usually short statements and were written from an observer’s point of view.
As I read through the items mentioned, I felt like the list had been compiled by people with whom I had made daily interaction (people from high school, coworkers, etc). I realized that these people would get on this website, write an anonymous statement about the wicked acts I had performed, and then link the statement to my name. The list was accurate. They were things I had remembered doing and that were regrettable to me at my current age and maturity in life. I read the several sheets and was embarrassed that others had noticed these unsavory moments of my past.
I looked around the room and examined the people that were going through the recruitment process. What astonished me was that I knew some of the people in the room. There was a person from high school, someone I had worked with, Mickey Mouse (odd, I know, but it is a dream), and other random acquaintances among the nameless—to me—people. I was disappointed that they were there and had decided to join the evil team. There was also a deep sadness. I was sad that they had felt alone and that no one had reached out to them in kindness. It was distressing that the only association for them where they felt a belonging was with evil.
My friend’s full name was called to be interviewed and I began to be nervous for him. I could hear him talking to the interviewer. I knew he would be able to defend himself and be strong, but I felt weakened and was nervous for my interview. I was still strong in my cause for goodness, but I had lost confidence in the interview I was about to be put through. My friend was still at the beginning of his interview when I woke up.
Studying for the GRE
I know a job I would be good at. Groups that give standardized tests can hire me to take their tests and report the answer I get so that they can use my wrong answers as one of the options for their A through E choices. I know the difficulties of making up wrong answers—let me help!
Sunday, June 7, 2009
The Ride
I was riding a tandem bike, waiting for my sister and her fiancé to come and return it to the rental shop. I had not been on a bike in a long time. I think I took a ride on a friend’s bike last summer, just around the quad.
I remember a fall I had when I was nine or ten. We were on vacation in beach town called Cayucus. I was riding my bike down a gravel hill. It was steep with loose rocks. Not far down it, I lost control. I remember getting up, stiff with gravel in my hands, a bleeding knee, and an injured bike. I don’t remember exactly what was wrong. Bent handles? Wobbly wheel? I don’t remember. What I do remember was slowly walking my bike home in a strange town and bleeding.
The couple hadn’t arrived and I was tired of circling the little community where my sister lives. I had seen many people ride without hands, why not me? I tried a few times and wasn’t able to keep steady. I was able to do it for a few seconds, but not long enough to satisfy my personal quest. I tried again; the handle turned right quickly, the wheel followed, and I tried to correct the error. Too late. I fell. My left hand hit the road, my right knee took the support for the rest of my body, and I tumbled like a sock in the dryer to the ground. I figured I wasn’t too hurt, and started trying to convince myself of such. You’re okay. I looked at my hand. A little gravel stuck to my palm, but no damage. My knee: a little scratched, not bleeding. I wanted to get out of the road and as I picked up the bike I began to feel ill. My head started to thump to my heartbeat, my stomach began to churn, and my eyes started to play tricks on me. My mind kicked into emergency mode and started cooing positive thoughts to myself. You’ re doing fine. You didn’t fall that far or fast. Just get the bike to the sidewalk and lay down in the grass. I untangled the bike ruble, picked up my double seater, and pushed the bike toward the sidewalk. I gave a push and steered the bike for the gutter when my vision started to blur black on the edges. Okay. Mel. Calm down. You are fine. You are not hurt. Go lay down. The black spread; soon the dark was more than the light. I could see the curb through a small box opening. This spreading black haze is not new to me; it has happened a few times right before I have fainted. Mel, you are at the curb. Lean the bike against the sidewalk and lay down in the grass. I slowly let the bike down, and stayed low, plunging myself to the grass. I rolled onto my back and let my feet move to a comfortable position. I closed my eyes and let out a slow breath. I opened my eyes. My black fuzzy border had disappeared but I suddenly felt like I was going to throw up. Melly. You are okay. You fell, you got up, and now you are on the grass. You are fine. I still felt sick and started to look around: grass and bushes. People were walking around, none acted like they saw me fall or asked if I was okay—for which I was relieved. You are okay. I am just going to just lay here for a minute. I still felt sick. If I throw up, where will I do it? You will not throw up, you are okay. Give yourself a minute. I looked around. I did not feel like crawling up to the bushes. I did want to throw up here; too many people live here, that is gross for everyone.Melanee, calm down. You are fine. I laid in the grass, still feeling ill. I was glad no one had seen me. See, you are fine. Just relax. I let my arms swing out wide while I paced a slow breath. I started to feel less ill. You’re good. I closed my eyes. The sickness I was feeling left me in slow waves. I started to feel fine. After a few minutes my ill feeling was gone but was replaced with confusion. Why did I get so sick? Does it really scare me that much?
Now, a few hours later, I am still surprised at my reaction to falling off a bike. I don’t have that reaction falling in sports, water skiing, or snow skiing--why on a bike? Maybe it was combined with something else that I can’t pinpoint. It was odd. I had fun on the bike—the weather was good, I was getting exercise, and I could get places quickly. This week I am going to go for another bike ride. I will not be scared of riding a bike.
I remember a fall I had when I was nine or ten. We were on vacation in beach town called Cayucus. I was riding my bike down a gravel hill. It was steep with loose rocks. Not far down it, I lost control. I remember getting up, stiff with gravel in my hands, a bleeding knee, and an injured bike. I don’t remember exactly what was wrong. Bent handles? Wobbly wheel? I don’t remember. What I do remember was slowly walking my bike home in a strange town and bleeding.
The couple hadn’t arrived and I was tired of circling the little community where my sister lives. I had seen many people ride without hands, why not me? I tried a few times and wasn’t able to keep steady. I was able to do it for a few seconds, but not long enough to satisfy my personal quest. I tried again; the handle turned right quickly, the wheel followed, and I tried to correct the error. Too late. I fell. My left hand hit the road, my right knee took the support for the rest of my body, and I tumbled like a sock in the dryer to the ground. I figured I wasn’t too hurt, and started trying to convince myself of such. You’re okay. I looked at my hand. A little gravel stuck to my palm, but no damage. My knee: a little scratched, not bleeding. I wanted to get out of the road and as I picked up the bike I began to feel ill. My head started to thump to my heartbeat, my stomach began to churn, and my eyes started to play tricks on me. My mind kicked into emergency mode and started cooing positive thoughts to myself. You’ re doing fine. You didn’t fall that far or fast. Just get the bike to the sidewalk and lay down in the grass. I untangled the bike ruble, picked up my double seater, and pushed the bike toward the sidewalk. I gave a push and steered the bike for the gutter when my vision started to blur black on the edges. Okay. Mel. Calm down. You are fine. You are not hurt. Go lay down. The black spread; soon the dark was more than the light. I could see the curb through a small box opening. This spreading black haze is not new to me; it has happened a few times right before I have fainted. Mel, you are at the curb. Lean the bike against the sidewalk and lay down in the grass. I slowly let the bike down, and stayed low, plunging myself to the grass. I rolled onto my back and let my feet move to a comfortable position. I closed my eyes and let out a slow breath. I opened my eyes. My black fuzzy border had disappeared but I suddenly felt like I was going to throw up. Melly. You are okay. You fell, you got up, and now you are on the grass. You are fine. I still felt sick and started to look around: grass and bushes. People were walking around, none acted like they saw me fall or asked if I was okay—for which I was relieved. You are okay. I am just going to just lay here for a minute. I still felt sick. If I throw up, where will I do it? You will not throw up, you are okay. Give yourself a minute. I looked around. I did not feel like crawling up to the bushes. I did want to throw up here; too many people live here, that is gross for everyone.Melanee, calm down. You are fine. I laid in the grass, still feeling ill. I was glad no one had seen me. See, you are fine. Just relax. I let my arms swing out wide while I paced a slow breath. I started to feel less ill. You’re good. I closed my eyes. The sickness I was feeling left me in slow waves. I started to feel fine. After a few minutes my ill feeling was gone but was replaced with confusion. Why did I get so sick? Does it really scare me that much?
Now, a few hours later, I am still surprised at my reaction to falling off a bike. I don’t have that reaction falling in sports, water skiing, or snow skiing--why on a bike? Maybe it was combined with something else that I can’t pinpoint. It was odd. I had fun on the bike—the weather was good, I was getting exercise, and I could get places quickly. This week I am going to go for another bike ride. I will not be scared of riding a bike.
Thursday, May 7, 2009
School Days
All of my subbing this week was done at elementary schools. They require a lot of energy—especially the two days of PE—but I hear some funny things:
After a day of PE, I was walking into the school from the field during afternoon recess. The excitement of the day was the goat that had been grazing in one of the neighboring back yards, but clearly it was also a confusing sight for some of the suburban kids. As I entered the main doors, I heard a young kid, probably 2nd grade, rush a yard duty and say in an excited voice, “Teacher! By the fence is a dog with horns”!
The first graders were filling out a book about their moms for Mother’s Day. Here are some of my favorites:
When I am good, it makes my mom as happy as:
No School
My mom is as smart as:
ME!
My mom is as funny as:
1. a Dinosaur
2.a Black Jewish Clown
My favorite quote, however, came on the way to lunch. One particularly outgoing first grader was swinging his arms and flashed his charming smile to the kindergarteners while he chirped to them, “Next year you are going to be first graders like us”!
The little blonde kindergartener with the spiked hair and a backpack swiveling off his shoulders yelled his response back with a battle cry that could rally together a battle-worn army: “NO! WE’RE NEVER GOING TO BE FIRST GRADERS”!
My charismatic first grader kept smiling, fluttered his eyes, and continued on his way to lunch not correcting his younger friend but probably knowing that they would figure it out soon enough
After a day of PE, I was walking into the school from the field during afternoon recess. The excitement of the day was the goat that had been grazing in one of the neighboring back yards, but clearly it was also a confusing sight for some of the suburban kids. As I entered the main doors, I heard a young kid, probably 2nd grade, rush a yard duty and say in an excited voice, “Teacher! By the fence is a dog with horns”!
The first graders were filling out a book about their moms for Mother’s Day. Here are some of my favorites:
When I am good, it makes my mom as happy as:
No School
My mom is as smart as:
ME!
My mom is as funny as:
1. a Dinosaur
2.a Black Jewish Clown
My favorite quote, however, came on the way to lunch. One particularly outgoing first grader was swinging his arms and flashed his charming smile to the kindergarteners while he chirped to them, “Next year you are going to be first graders like us”!
The little blonde kindergartener with the spiked hair and a backpack swiveling off his shoulders yelled his response back with a battle cry that could rally together a battle-worn army: “NO! WE’RE NEVER GOING TO BE FIRST GRADERS”!
My charismatic first grader kept smiling, fluttered his eyes, and continued on his way to lunch not correcting his younger friend but probably knowing that they would figure it out soon enough
An Angry Elf
Mel: You’re an angry elf
Kel: You cannot call someone an angry elf if they are taller than you!
Mel: So if there are two elves talking to each other and one is shorter than the other one, he can’t call the other one an elf?
Kel: No! Do I need to make this specific? You, Melanee, cannot call anyone taller than you an elf.
Kel: You cannot call someone an angry elf if they are taller than you!
Mel: So if there are two elves talking to each other and one is shorter than the other one, he can’t call the other one an elf?
Kel: No! Do I need to make this specific? You, Melanee, cannot call anyone taller than you an elf.
Sunday, April 26, 2009
A good ol' country girl
Most of my friends who see me on a somewhat regular basis know that I have a wide variety of clothes. I have become a bit more conservative in my dress than from my high school days, but I still have quite a few ensembles that I can put together.
I recently was at a class that offers tips for getting a job and didn’t think too much about what I was wearing: boot cut jeans, a pink striped shirt, and cowboy boots. Well, I didn’t think to much about it at the beginning.
We had a task where we went through a mock interview. We were video taped and afterwards, as a class, we discussed what went well and what needed to be worked on. After my video the class, four middle-aged men and two middle-aged women, offered their suggestions and compliments. After a discussion one of the men raised his hand and said,
“You need to sit up, you’re a good ol’ cowgirl; sit up!”
I smiled; I had noticed that I had been slouching, but I was amused that my outfit—probably just the boots—had prompted an ideal of how I should be. Well, the smile was mostly because I have always wanted to be mistaken as a cowgirl. I’m going to have to wear my cowboy boots more often.
I recently was at a class that offers tips for getting a job and didn’t think too much about what I was wearing: boot cut jeans, a pink striped shirt, and cowboy boots. Well, I didn’t think to much about it at the beginning.
We had a task where we went through a mock interview. We were video taped and afterwards, as a class, we discussed what went well and what needed to be worked on. After my video the class, four middle-aged men and two middle-aged women, offered their suggestions and compliments. After a discussion one of the men raised his hand and said,
“You need to sit up, you’re a good ol’ cowgirl; sit up!”
I smiled; I had noticed that I had been slouching, but I was amused that my outfit—probably just the boots—had prompted an ideal of how I should be. Well, the smile was mostly because I have always wanted to be mistaken as a cowgirl. I’m going to have to wear my cowboy boots more often.
You Stink
Today I went to the same church meeting as the rest of my family. I was sitting in between my mother and brother, Kelvin. About 45 minutes into the service, Kelvin was bored and decided he needed something else to do. He found a pad of paper in my dad’s scripture case and wrote a note which he promptly held out to show me:
You smell.
I looked at his note and instantly realized something I could contribute to his note. He had left a little space after his s so I got a pencil out of my purse—because he wouldn’t let me use the pen he had already taken out of my purse—and added one letter to his note:
You is mell.
Maybe the speakers from Southern Utah inspired it, but I was pleased with myself. He then crossed out the entire thing and wrote:
You stink.
“There. Try to do something with that.”
You smell.
I looked at his note and instantly realized something I could contribute to his note. He had left a little space after his s so I got a pencil out of my purse—because he wouldn’t let me use the pen he had already taken out of my purse—and added one letter to his note:
You is mell.
Maybe the speakers from Southern Utah inspired it, but I was pleased with myself. He then crossed out the entire thing and wrote:
You stink.
“There. Try to do something with that.”
Sunday, March 15, 2009
blue-green
I substitute taught for a Kindergarten class. It was a good leap into the world of subbing. I came home tired but happy to have had an opportunity to work.
For one of the activities the kindergarteners were paired with a third grader who helped them color a picture of a rainbow and then to fill in a poem:
Rainbow Riches
They say at the rainbow’s end
A pot of gold you’ll find.
But I wish that pot was filled with
____________________________
and that they were all mine.
The example had “money” written in the blank and then displayed quickly colored green rectangles poking out of a black pot. When the children came up to me to staple the pictures, I would ask them what they put in their pot, and they would flip to the last page and show me their desired bounty. A few stood out to me including:
1. pickles
2. teeth (This one was really funny to me. Maybe they associate teeth with money because they can put it under their pillow for the tooth fairy.)
3. cake with gold (This seemed like it was a compromise. I can picture the kindergartener wanting a cake and the third grader, seeing this as an opportunity to wish for anything, convincing the kindergartener to do a cake decorated with gold)
4. potatoes
A few other highlights from the day included:
-A kindergartener and third grader asked me to spell turquoise. I stalled and told them to look on a crayon. The crayon ended up saying ‘blue-green’. I am nervous about spelling but I told myself to suck it up; they are kindergarteners and third graders. So I started, “Er…T,” and then I thought for just a half second, “U-R-Q-U-O-I-S-E.” Yay! Good job, self!
-In the afternoon session I had a girl who wanted me to supervise her every move. This was not possible because I was supervising an entire class. Some of her tablemates informed me as I did a walk by to help them write their numbers that she did not have any erasers on her pencils because she ate them. I nodded, and smiled a little, then continued around the room to help others. A few minutes later I heard a high-pitched shriek from the other side of the room, “Teacher! Monica is eating her eraser!” I turn around to see that she had taken a neighbor’s pencil and was nibbling the delectable pink tip. I then found myself walking over there, grabbing her hand and saying in a stern voice, “Monica! Stop eating your eraser!” I thought this was funny/unusual but actually, I am finding it is fairly normal. In a few other classes I’ve been to I have found other eraser eaters.
-At the end of the morning session I was walking the Kindergarteners out to meet their rides home. They hit the outdoors and then ran around the corner to their busses and moms. A minute later a little light haired boy in a red striped sweater came running back, threw his arms out wide, hugged my legs, and then ran back around the corner out of sight. I loved it. And I love kindergarteners.
* Mel’s note: I looked up turquoise just now on a spelling bee list (for grades 4 and up into high school). They ranked l the words by difficulty into brackets by letters of the alphabet, A-T; turquoise was listed as an “S” difficulty. I guess I have that going for me.
For one of the activities the kindergarteners were paired with a third grader who helped them color a picture of a rainbow and then to fill in a poem:
Rainbow Riches
They say at the rainbow’s end
A pot of gold you’ll find.
But I wish that pot was filled with
____________________________
and that they were all mine.
The example had “money” written in the blank and then displayed quickly colored green rectangles poking out of a black pot. When the children came up to me to staple the pictures, I would ask them what they put in their pot, and they would flip to the last page and show me their desired bounty. A few stood out to me including:
1. pickles
2. teeth (This one was really funny to me. Maybe they associate teeth with money because they can put it under their pillow for the tooth fairy.)
3. cake with gold (This seemed like it was a compromise. I can picture the kindergartener wanting a cake and the third grader, seeing this as an opportunity to wish for anything, convincing the kindergartener to do a cake decorated with gold)
4. potatoes
A few other highlights from the day included:
-A kindergartener and third grader asked me to spell turquoise. I stalled and told them to look on a crayon. The crayon ended up saying ‘blue-green’. I am nervous about spelling but I told myself to suck it up; they are kindergarteners and third graders. So I started, “Er…T,” and then I thought for just a half second, “U-R-Q-U-O-I-S-E.” Yay! Good job, self!
-In the afternoon session I had a girl who wanted me to supervise her every move. This was not possible because I was supervising an entire class. Some of her tablemates informed me as I did a walk by to help them write their numbers that she did not have any erasers on her pencils because she ate them. I nodded, and smiled a little, then continued around the room to help others. A few minutes later I heard a high-pitched shriek from the other side of the room, “Teacher! Monica is eating her eraser!” I turn around to see that she had taken a neighbor’s pencil and was nibbling the delectable pink tip. I then found myself walking over there, grabbing her hand and saying in a stern voice, “Monica! Stop eating your eraser!” I thought this was funny/unusual but actually, I am finding it is fairly normal. In a few other classes I’ve been to I have found other eraser eaters.
-At the end of the morning session I was walking the Kindergarteners out to meet their rides home. They hit the outdoors and then ran around the corner to their busses and moms. A minute later a little light haired boy in a red striped sweater came running back, threw his arms out wide, hugged my legs, and then ran back around the corner out of sight. I loved it. And I love kindergarteners.
* Mel’s note: I looked up turquoise just now on a spelling bee list (for grades 4 and up into high school). They ranked l the words by difficulty into brackets by letters of the alphabet, A-T; turquoise was listed as an “S” difficulty. I guess I have that going for me.
The Airline Gene
My mother’s side of the family has a genetic inclination towards working for the airline industry. My grandfather wanted to be a pilot and introduced the world of travel to my grandmother. She discovered her love of travel and began to work for United Airlines; making it easier for her family to explore many cities and countries. My mother grew up with the idea of the world being an airport away and now works for JetBlue airlines, allowing my family to travel a bit easier.
Since I am looking for work, I have that natural, genetic inclination to look for work with the airlines. This decision is made with careful consideration of where different hubs are located, where the best flight coverage is, and which airlines are not already represented by a cousin or different family member. This criteria lead to a few airlines, the best choice being Delta [Delta has a flight that is beautiful to me—nonstop from Salt Lake City to Prague, that is reason enough to work for them].
My mom and I decided that Delta would be an incredible airline to work for--solely on flight benefits. Knowing just a little bit about flight benefits I asked my mom about the different perks that are offered by a few major airlines. For United and JetBlue benefits: spouses, children (who are under 21), and the parents of the employee fly free*. This is stanby flying and so you play with the risks of not getting on the flight, having to sleep in airports, using odd connections, and spending lots of time in airports. An interesting aspect to me is that parents fly free for a few of the major airlines.
The hampster in my mind that runs on the thought-producing plastic wheel started going double speed and I was struck with brilliance. The airline job is not extremely attractive as full time work at the low salary most employees are played. However, because there are benefits for my parents if I work for Delta, I realized a second incentive that could encourage for me to work for Delta.
“Mom? How much would YOU pay me to work for Delta?”
*Mel's note: When I say free, I mean that they don’t have to pay the full flight price but there are airport and country fees
Since I am looking for work, I have that natural, genetic inclination to look for work with the airlines. This decision is made with careful consideration of where different hubs are located, where the best flight coverage is, and which airlines are not already represented by a cousin or different family member. This criteria lead to a few airlines, the best choice being Delta [Delta has a flight that is beautiful to me—nonstop from Salt Lake City to Prague, that is reason enough to work for them].
My mom and I decided that Delta would be an incredible airline to work for--solely on flight benefits. Knowing just a little bit about flight benefits I asked my mom about the different perks that are offered by a few major airlines. For United and JetBlue benefits: spouses, children (who are under 21), and the parents of the employee fly free*. This is stanby flying and so you play with the risks of not getting on the flight, having to sleep in airports, using odd connections, and spending lots of time in airports. An interesting aspect to me is that parents fly free for a few of the major airlines.
The hampster in my mind that runs on the thought-producing plastic wheel started going double speed and I was struck with brilliance. The airline job is not extremely attractive as full time work at the low salary most employees are played. However, because there are benefits for my parents if I work for Delta, I realized a second incentive that could encourage for me to work for Delta.
“Mom? How much would YOU pay me to work for Delta?”
*Mel's note: When I say free, I mean that they don’t have to pay the full flight price but there are airport and country fees
Fortune Cookie
My friend Katie and I were at a Chinese New Year party. They had some traditional foods and had also provided fortune cookies. I hadn’t gotten a cookie yet but Katie had pulled one from the glass dish and was telling me of her dislike for advice cookies—the cookies that tell you good things to do vs. cookies that have a fortune in them. I saw her put pressure on both ends of the cookie and then heard the familiar popping sound accompanied by the twisting of the paper out of its edible tomb. She read her fortune and then walked over to me, folding the thin fortune in half and putting it in my pocket.
“I want you,” she said in a serious tone, “to think about this very carefully”. I nodded, intrigued, and promised I would read it later in solemnity.
On the way home I felt for my pocket and pulled out the folded fortune. I moved towards the light and read the fortune:
VERY SOON A FRIEND WILL SURPRISE YOU WITH A GIFT
“I want you,” she said in a serious tone, “to think about this very carefully”. I nodded, intrigued, and promised I would read it later in solemnity.
On the way home I felt for my pocket and pulled out the folded fortune. I moved towards the light and read the fortune:
VERY SOON A FRIEND WILL SURPRISE YOU WITH A GIFT
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
Sneaking Ice Cream
Kelvin was upset a few days ago when my mom asked me if I wanted an ice cream bar. Kelvin was annoyed because he wanted the entire confidential stash all for his own enjoyment. They had bought ice cream the day before at the store and it was hidden on the bottom shelf of the freezer behind the bags of frozen beef and vegetables. I told Kelvin I had already known about the hidden loot from the evening before and had planned to follow house policy of whatever is in the fridge is for eating.
He looked at me, clearly amazed that I already knew his secret—it had been less than twenty-four hours! I hate leaving the poor lad in suspense so I told him in my sweetest voice, “Kelvin. I know you are the youngest child and haven’t lived with other siblings in your recent life, but there are tricks that will make it possible for you to sneak ice cream. The dead give away is trash. If you are going to eat an ice cream bar, put the wrapper underneath a layer of trash. If you leave your wrapper on top, that will be the first thing that is seen and then everyone else will know your secret”.
Kelvin nodded in awe of being taught by one so wise, “Oh…that’s smart”. I was surprised; Kelvin seemed reflective with this new piece of knowledge and admitted his own blunder. He then added a characteristically Kelvin comment, “Just don’t tell dad”.
He looked at me, clearly amazed that I already knew his secret—it had been less than twenty-four hours! I hate leaving the poor lad in suspense so I told him in my sweetest voice, “Kelvin. I know you are the youngest child and haven’t lived with other siblings in your recent life, but there are tricks that will make it possible for you to sneak ice cream. The dead give away is trash. If you are going to eat an ice cream bar, put the wrapper underneath a layer of trash. If you leave your wrapper on top, that will be the first thing that is seen and then everyone else will know your secret”.
Kelvin nodded in awe of being taught by one so wise, “Oh…that’s smart”. I was surprised; Kelvin seemed reflective with this new piece of knowledge and admitted his own blunder. He then added a characteristically Kelvin comment, “Just don’t tell dad”.
Using dad's car
The other day we got a fresh wave of snow. It snowed all day and into the late afternoon. I had a commitment that evening and my father insisted that I take his all wheel drive vehicle. I told him I didn’t want to drive his car—it makes me nervous. He assured me I’d be fine and that if anything happened he’d just be really mad at me. I thanked him for his concern and he offered to show me how his vehicle worked before I left. Once I was ready I ran up to him and said, “Okay, I’m ready for my crash course!” He started walking towards the garage and said, “Crash course is not the name I want to use for this”.
Friday, January 30, 2009
Potpourri
I was really tired when I went to bed last night. It was fortunate that I put on a sweater and an extra blanket because the air around me was cool when I woke up. I stayed in bed for a few minutes and tried to make a plan for the day’s activities. As I pondered, I saw a shadow approach on my bedroom door.
My mom came in slowly, saw that I was awake, apologized, and asked me how my day had been. She then told me not to be alarmed that when I went upstairs all the doors would be open: gas had leaked in the garage and she had gotten up at four in the morning and cleaned it all up. It is still winter in Utah—we just got snow two days ago—and so that was why it was cooler in my bedroom. She told me I could close them when I got upstairs and that the smell was probably gone by now.
I lingered in bed a little longer and then sprung out in search for socks to keep me warm in my new colder environment. It was noticeably nippy in the house and as I went upstairs, I realized the scene in front of me was quite different than I had pictured. The two doors at the west side of the house that lead to the snow-covered porch were wide open (okay, this I did expect). However, what I did not expect was for the ceiling fan to be turned on full throttle, making a loud noise and circulating the cold, snowy air. The other surprise was to see 15 candles lit on our kitchen counter. Mom had found all of our candles: the large ivory candle with potpourri in the wax, the stout forest green one used for Halloween jack-o-lanterns, the small designed table candles given as gifts, and even all the tiny luminaria candles that were dropped in brown paper sacks layered with sand to light our driveways for Christmas. All these candles burned their scents and filled the room with a soft holiday smell (well, except for the little luminaria candles, I don’t really know why those were lit).
The entire scene was appreciated by all my senses, well, besides taste:
1. Smell: perfumed flower and spice
2. Hearing: constant rhythm of a ceiling fan
3. Touch: ceiling fan propelling cold winter air on me as I stood in my living room
4. Sight: Open doors, circling ceiling fan, a group of random candles all burning together
It felt like an awkward part in a movie just after a séance when all the doors open up and machinery goes amuck. Except this was in the daytime and I didn’t see any ghost. That is actually a really good thing. I think if I had seen something weird I would have passed out—I can’t handle scary stuff.
*Mel’s note: Potpourri turned out to be very difficult for me to spell. After I figured it out I was curious of its etymology. It is French and literally means rotten pot. I enjoyed that.
My mom came in slowly, saw that I was awake, apologized, and asked me how my day had been. She then told me not to be alarmed that when I went upstairs all the doors would be open: gas had leaked in the garage and she had gotten up at four in the morning and cleaned it all up. It is still winter in Utah—we just got snow two days ago—and so that was why it was cooler in my bedroom. She told me I could close them when I got upstairs and that the smell was probably gone by now.
I lingered in bed a little longer and then sprung out in search for socks to keep me warm in my new colder environment. It was noticeably nippy in the house and as I went upstairs, I realized the scene in front of me was quite different than I had pictured. The two doors at the west side of the house that lead to the snow-covered porch were wide open (okay, this I did expect). However, what I did not expect was for the ceiling fan to be turned on full throttle, making a loud noise and circulating the cold, snowy air. The other surprise was to see 15 candles lit on our kitchen counter. Mom had found all of our candles: the large ivory candle with potpourri in the wax, the stout forest green one used for Halloween jack-o-lanterns, the small designed table candles given as gifts, and even all the tiny luminaria candles that were dropped in brown paper sacks layered with sand to light our driveways for Christmas. All these candles burned their scents and filled the room with a soft holiday smell (well, except for the little luminaria candles, I don’t really know why those were lit).
The entire scene was appreciated by all my senses, well, besides taste:
1. Smell: perfumed flower and spice
2. Hearing: constant rhythm of a ceiling fan
3. Touch: ceiling fan propelling cold winter air on me as I stood in my living room
4. Sight: Open doors, circling ceiling fan, a group of random candles all burning together
It felt like an awkward part in a movie just after a séance when all the doors open up and machinery goes amuck. Except this was in the daytime and I didn’t see any ghost. That is actually a really good thing. I think if I had seen something weird I would have passed out—I can’t handle scary stuff.
*Mel’s note: Potpourri turned out to be very difficult for me to spell. After I figured it out I was curious of its etymology. It is French and literally means rotten pot. I enjoyed that.
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Enjoying School Supplies
Today I went to a class with my mom. It was in the middle of the day and most of the people who go to it are retired or work at home. I realized when I got there that I wasn’t the only person who showed up with their mother; in fact, there were at least twelve or more people in attendance that were having an afternoon with their mom. However, out of these twelve or more, I was the only person older than four.
I was going through old binders and notebooks from high school. I threw out most things that I found but I was impressed that at one time in my life I knew all the organs and muscles in my body, how to solve trig problems, and that I could make arguments about character development in the book Of Mice and Men. I’m sure it is still in my mind. I bet if I started a serious study of any of those subjects, these basic principles would come back, good as new. That was a tangent from what I really was impressed by: an old binder. I found a yellow spiral-bound notebook. The first page had notes I had written about cancer and as I flipped through I discovered that only the first four pages had writing on them. However, all those pages and all the blank pages preceding my notes on different diseases had a picture drawn on the upper right hand side. The picture was of a snowboarder who, depending on which page you opened it to, was snowboarding and doing a flip off a jump. If you turned the binder and flipped through the pages really fast, you would discover, as did I, that this was a little cartoon that I could watch. I was entertained and loved my brother Louie just a little bit more.
My other brother, Kelvin, asked me if I annoy him because I like to get a rise out of him. The truth of that is yes and no. Yes I like to get a rise out of him but no because most of the time it is too easy. It doesn’t take much to set him off, especially when he is tired. They are cheap thrills at best. He told me then that I:
1. Was annoying
2. Needed to get some hobbies
3. Needed some friends
While he was correct about these items, his message was discounted because
1. His tone
2. The fact he was laying on the couch and watching reruns of old shows which he would continue doing all afternoon
3. He’s Kelvin
He ended up taking a nap and waking up to be a lot nicer. So nice, in fact, he only made fun of me once or twice that evening.
*Mel’s Note: I give Kelvin a hard time and I write down the dumb stuff he says, but really he is pretty fun and I like hanging out with him
I was going through old binders and notebooks from high school. I threw out most things that I found but I was impressed that at one time in my life I knew all the organs and muscles in my body, how to solve trig problems, and that I could make arguments about character development in the book Of Mice and Men. I’m sure it is still in my mind. I bet if I started a serious study of any of those subjects, these basic principles would come back, good as new. That was a tangent from what I really was impressed by: an old binder. I found a yellow spiral-bound notebook. The first page had notes I had written about cancer and as I flipped through I discovered that only the first four pages had writing on them. However, all those pages and all the blank pages preceding my notes on different diseases had a picture drawn on the upper right hand side. The picture was of a snowboarder who, depending on which page you opened it to, was snowboarding and doing a flip off a jump. If you turned the binder and flipped through the pages really fast, you would discover, as did I, that this was a little cartoon that I could watch. I was entertained and loved my brother Louie just a little bit more.
My other brother, Kelvin, asked me if I annoy him because I like to get a rise out of him. The truth of that is yes and no. Yes I like to get a rise out of him but no because most of the time it is too easy. It doesn’t take much to set him off, especially when he is tired. They are cheap thrills at best. He told me then that I:
1. Was annoying
2. Needed to get some hobbies
3. Needed some friends
While he was correct about these items, his message was discounted because
1. His tone
2. The fact he was laying on the couch and watching reruns of old shows which he would continue doing all afternoon
3. He’s Kelvin
He ended up taking a nap and waking up to be a lot nicer. So nice, in fact, he only made fun of me once or twice that evening.
*Mel’s Note: I give Kelvin a hard time and I write down the dumb stuff he says, but really he is pretty fun and I like hanging out with him
Home Adventures
It is time to start a blog. My days are so boring, I thought I’d share the pain and write about them for other people to read so they can feel good about their current situations in life. I am at home looking for a job. My parents are good enough to let me bum around at home, and I am thankful for their kindness towards me. With time I will find somewhere good to work, but in the meantime, I will get to know my family better while I live at home. I imagine these will be adventures that happen during the day and that I write about in order that I do constructive activities with my time at night. I’m not too worried about what I write because my family will probably never read this. Well, besides my mom. But she’s pretty saintly so she won’t be too embarrassed.
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