It has been almost two years since I was un-rooted and carved into what I am today. Today, I am a bookshelf who sits in a family room and stares at the same wall every single day. My books and magazines are completely removed from my shelves once a week for routine dusting and pinesol-ing, which is the biggest highlight of my life. I have been moved from one home to another only once, and am happy to lean against the wall I do today. While I truly enjoy the company of countless Martha Stewart Living magazines, and not to forget my favorite dweller; 101 Recipes for a Crock Pot, I often miss my fellow Canyon Oaks back home.
Home is in Mexico, a place I have not been for over two years. It was a hot summer day, when a man in a huge machine came and chopped me down, where I was then transported on a flatbed truck to somewhere in Southern California (my knowledge of human terms must appear utterly genius, but keep in mind that I do sit in front of a television all day long, and have gained a fair understanding of the human world). Once I arrived, another machine quickly removed all of my leaves and acorns; I felt naked. I was sanded and cut, dyed and polished, all before I made my way to my place of sale. IKEA was my home for only a few short weeks, until a nice girl named Mimi came and took me away, where I was then assembled at her new home in Downtown Scottsdale.
Mimi has taken such great care of me, and while I am grateful for her special attention to tidiness and cleanliness, I have been lonely and bored, and miss my Oaks back in Mexico. I hope and pray each time another book is stacked upon me, that I will become so cluttered and full, that she will have to go out and buy another bookshelf for my overflow. I often think about what kind of bookshelf it would be- another Oak possibly, or maybe a beautiful redwood from Northern California. Then I stop kidding myself, and remember that Mimi is just a poor college student, and that she probably cannot afford redwood. I would settle for anything though, even if it were just a metal side table nearby… any piece of furniture would be wonderful company. I have memorized all 101 recipes for a Crock Pot, and can recite the 35 Rules to Organization from Martha, but I am really just looking for somewhere to share with.
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Reflections on Readings
The two essays that I am especially interested in so far in the course would have to be The American Male at Age Ten by Susan Orlean, and one of the readings from this week- Afternoon of an American Boy.
Orleans piece drew me in with the way she included herself in the story. From beginning to end I really thought it was an excellent story. I enjoyed the way she opened it with “If Colin Duffy and I were to get married…” That is one way to grab the readers attention. I loved how she was a ten year old, just as Colin was. This piece really helped me write my paper last week- I actually wrote my paper, then rewrote it after reading over this again, and decided to incorporate myself as a character just as Orlean did, rather than just stating random facts.
I also enjoyed reading Afternoon of an American Boy from this weeks readings. The first three paragraphs were so extremely detailed, that it was as though I was watching a movie rather than reading from a book. Every detail was taken into consideration by the author- the setting, characters, his affiliation with the characters, and the time period was made obvious. This is something I need to work on in my papers- I have got to be more detailed, and paint a picture, just as E.B. White has with this story.
Orleans piece drew me in with the way she included herself in the story. From beginning to end I really thought it was an excellent story. I enjoyed the way she opened it with “If Colin Duffy and I were to get married…” That is one way to grab the readers attention. I loved how she was a ten year old, just as Colin was. This piece really helped me write my paper last week- I actually wrote my paper, then rewrote it after reading over this again, and decided to incorporate myself as a character just as Orlean did, rather than just stating random facts.
I also enjoyed reading Afternoon of an American Boy from this weeks readings. The first three paragraphs were so extremely detailed, that it was as though I was watching a movie rather than reading from a book. Every detail was taken into consideration by the author- the setting, characters, his affiliation with the characters, and the time period was made obvious. This is something I need to work on in my papers- I have got to be more detailed, and paint a picture, just as E.B. White has with this story.
Thursday, February 19, 2009
The Beat Goes On
My Mom was a young, budding teenager when she started the Sonny and Cher Fan Club way back in 1965. It is hard for me to imagine my own Mom, her hippie-self, blasting “I Got You Babe” while oo-ing and aw-ing over Sonny Bono, and having weekly lunches with Cher. But yes, I soon understood around the age of nine what it meant to be the President and founder of the Sonny and Cher Fan Club way back when…
… way back when fur vests on dudes were considered a.o.k… to a fourteen year old girl, I am sure the fur vest and mascara lined lashes were the hippest things in the whole wide American world. Nothing against Cher, because I was born and raised to think nothing but good thoughts about the later “Turn Back Time” diva, but it is still funny for me to sit down and really think about my mom sitting in her yellow formica kitchen, having lunch with Sonny and Cher.
When I look at photos of the three of them, there is one thing that sticks out amidst the fur and mascara- my Mothers metal filled mouth, and plastic cat-eyed glasses.
… way back when fur vests on dudes were considered a.o.k… to a fourteen year old girl, I am sure the fur vest and mascara lined lashes were the hippest things in the whole wide American world. Nothing against Cher, because I was born and raised to think nothing but good thoughts about the later “Turn Back Time” diva, but it is still funny for me to sit down and really think about my mom sitting in her yellow formica kitchen, having lunch with Sonny and Cher.
When I look at photos of the three of them, there is one thing that sticks out amidst the fur and mascara- my Mothers metal filled mouth, and plastic cat-eyed glasses.
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
A Buckin' Tuesday
I ride out at a barn way up Pima Road near Cave Creek three to four times a week. My trainers are Peter and Susan Witte who are a brother sister combo; of course at the age of ten when I first started riding with them I thought they were husband and wife. I discovered about a year later that Peter was indeed gay. Oh the things children are oblivious to. Who could blame me though? The two argued just as a normal married couple would who worked together, but no, I later realized it was normal brother sister banter, something they did very often…
“I’d like to see you try and get on him Susan,” Peter said to his sister just as I arrived for my Tuesday morning lesson. So I asked, “What’s this all about?” Peter responded quickly and explained that Susan did not think he was capable of riding the young colt so early in the spring, and that he was not quite settled into his new surroundings. Just as I thought, the two were in the middle of some huge disagreement, throwing around saddle pads and spurs, trying to explain who was right and who was wrong. “Well, what colt?” I asked. Susan responded with, “Oh, well, it’s the utterly immature Drako Afire baby that just arrived off the hauler from back east last week.” I knew just the horse they were talking about. After being around the horse for less than a week, I had already decided that the bay colt with its black main and tail was without a doubt green, but with Peters training abilities I thought he just might be able to get the job done and tell Susan off.
I love both Peter and Susan dearly, but Susan does tend to be overly dramatic quite often and thought maybe she was just overreacting about the situation. “Fine Peter, throw your old man rear up on that horse and just wait until you end up face down in the dirt!” Susan yelled across the barn aisle. The two are always so entertaining together, and anyone who knows them in the horseshow business would certainly agree.
So, after being saddled up for only about the third time ever, Peter grabbed the colts halter and led him out to the bull pen where he rides all of the babies, and carefully bridled. I went out to the middle of the ring with Peter to hold the horse while he got on, and Susan stood on the opposite side of the rail waiting for him to be thrown I am sure. Peter hopped up with no problem, and the horse moseyed off in one direction when Peter pulled it another; something that is very common during the first ride. It was actually going quite well, even though the two were just walking around in a circle. Then, much to Susan’s delight, something startled the colt in the bushes, and all hell broke loose. Peter held on tightly to the main as Drako tucked his head between his hocks and wildly kicked his back feet up in the air. The two did this uncontrollable dance for about fifteen seconds until Peter came unglued. “What the hell did I tell you, you idiot?” Susan yelled as she jumped over the railing. I ran to grab the horse to calm it, and brought it back to the barn while Susan helped Peter up to his feet. Susan happily asked, “Did you have a nice trip?” Covered in dirt, Peter replied “Yeah, see you next fall.”
“I’d like to see you try and get on him Susan,” Peter said to his sister just as I arrived for my Tuesday morning lesson. So I asked, “What’s this all about?” Peter responded quickly and explained that Susan did not think he was capable of riding the young colt so early in the spring, and that he was not quite settled into his new surroundings. Just as I thought, the two were in the middle of some huge disagreement, throwing around saddle pads and spurs, trying to explain who was right and who was wrong. “Well, what colt?” I asked. Susan responded with, “Oh, well, it’s the utterly immature Drako Afire baby that just arrived off the hauler from back east last week.” I knew just the horse they were talking about. After being around the horse for less than a week, I had already decided that the bay colt with its black main and tail was without a doubt green, but with Peters training abilities I thought he just might be able to get the job done and tell Susan off.
I love both Peter and Susan dearly, but Susan does tend to be overly dramatic quite often and thought maybe she was just overreacting about the situation. “Fine Peter, throw your old man rear up on that horse and just wait until you end up face down in the dirt!” Susan yelled across the barn aisle. The two are always so entertaining together, and anyone who knows them in the horseshow business would certainly agree.
So, after being saddled up for only about the third time ever, Peter grabbed the colts halter and led him out to the bull pen where he rides all of the babies, and carefully bridled. I went out to the middle of the ring with Peter to hold the horse while he got on, and Susan stood on the opposite side of the rail waiting for him to be thrown I am sure. Peter hopped up with no problem, and the horse moseyed off in one direction when Peter pulled it another; something that is very common during the first ride. It was actually going quite well, even though the two were just walking around in a circle. Then, much to Susan’s delight, something startled the colt in the bushes, and all hell broke loose. Peter held on tightly to the main as Drako tucked his head between his hocks and wildly kicked his back feet up in the air. The two did this uncontrollable dance for about fifteen seconds until Peter came unglued. “What the hell did I tell you, you idiot?” Susan yelled as she jumped over the railing. I ran to grab the horse to calm it, and brought it back to the barn while Susan helped Peter up to his feet. Susan happily asked, “Did you have a nice trip?” Covered in dirt, Peter replied “Yeah, see you next fall.”
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