I enjoyed this story immensely. I've never been a huge fan of poetry. Mostly because I don't take the time to really let it speak to me. But I've always wondered what makes a good poet, and what makes a really great poet. As he talked about how she got her inspiration - like the random German sentence that was so beautiful, and it inspired her to write the poem about her bed flying. Like, that poem had nothing to do with anything. It was just really cool, and it's what came to her in her moment of inspiration.
It makes me sad to think about how what it is like for poets who are professionals and are expected to churn out poetry books and great work under pressure. She talked about how she couldn't just let something hit her...and then follow it. She had to be very structured. Which is why it was probably nice to get her writing cabin.
Still, what bothers me is that even though this is probably the best piece that will get me into the mind of a poet, there is still no way to know how she followed her inspiration to get to the words that went on the page. I guess that's why she's great and others are not...there is really no way to know.
Friday, April 30, 2010
When Daddy Comes Home - my response
This story hit me eerily close to home. My dad used to be a pastor. He is also very strong and proud. He was not quite like this man in terms of his ability to capture emotion, but he was definitely captivating. As I read, I tried to imagine what it would be like to take care of my dad as he got older and sicker. Honestly, if my mom wasn't around, I'm not even sure he would have the will to live...but that's for another day.
It was moving to hear how he spoke and the things he said too. For example, on one of his old sermon tapes, he said, "But if you stand with God when the chips are down...Jesus, keep me near the cross." As a Christian...and as someone who is going through a very hard time with a lot of pain right now, I whispered this prayer after I read it. Something about it...Jesus, keep me near the cross...just gets me.
It was moving to hear how he spoke and the things he said too. For example, on one of his old sermon tapes, he said, "But if you stand with God when the chips are down...Jesus, keep me near the cross." As a Christian...and as someone who is going through a very hard time with a lot of pain right now, I whispered this prayer after I read it. Something about it...Jesus, keep me near the cross...just gets me.
Rough Semester
In my last personal post of the semester, I just have to say, I'm so excited to graduate...but it has been a rough semester! I've been in pain since February, and it's only recently started to let up. I even had to take time off of work to get the pain under control! It's getting better now, thank goodness. I know that I can walk across the stage at graduation anyways. But sometimes I get so angry about it. Haven't I been through enough? After all of that cancer, and all of this time of driving back and forth to Verm for full time class, plus working full time. I've been exhausting myself trying to move forward with my life, and it seems like in the process, I didn't do myself any favors. Sometimes I wonder if I didn't bring this on myself by allowing myself to do too much. Either way, sans a few correspondence credits, I graduate in a week. It's almost surreal, but I cannot wait. Now I have to keep my confidence that I can do what I've set out to do...write like a mad woman for money! First job application to go out will be to a feature writing magazine in Nebraska. Cross your fingers for me!
Sunday, March 28, 2010
Against All Odds - my response
The first thing that came to me when I read this story was how blessed I am. I went to a school where there was no threat of violence, where the liaison police officer spent his time chatting with the front office and pulling people over on a nearby road where cars went just a little too fast. AP classes were abundant, and the only difference between those who took them and those who didn't was a bit of a superiority complex.
I was so scared that Cedric was going to die, and so excited when he didn't! It ended bitter-sweetly though, with him avoiding his mother's touch to hug the MIT letter to his chest. It just showed how much he sacrificed. That he had become so anti-social and so focused on his quest for going to MIT, that he withdrew from people, including his own mother, who also sacrificed for him. What if he ends up like the girl who went to George Washington University and had no social life? Though one advantage is that I bet MIT has a lot more anti-social people that GWU.
I'm rootin' for Cedric...and Phillip the gangster tap-dancer, for that matter! Makes me want to be a Michelle Pfeiffer in Dangerous Minds - motivate kids who haven't been motivated in their whole lives!
I really liked this story.
I was so scared that Cedric was going to die, and so excited when he didn't! It ended bitter-sweetly though, with him avoiding his mother's touch to hug the MIT letter to his chest. It just showed how much he sacrificed. That he had become so anti-social and so focused on his quest for going to MIT, that he withdrew from people, including his own mother, who also sacrificed for him. What if he ends up like the girl who went to George Washington University and had no social life? Though one advantage is that I bet MIT has a lot more anti-social people that GWU.
I'm rootin' for Cedric...and Phillip the gangster tap-dancer, for that matter! Makes me want to be a Michelle Pfeiffer in Dangerous Minds - motivate kids who haven't been motivated in their whole lives!
I really liked this story.
Monday, March 22, 2010
How Five Lives Became One Horror... - my response
"There are no words. There are no words. There are no words."
I think that about sums it up when it comes to September 11. I will never forget what I was doing that day. I worked for Citibank in the collections department. It was my job to bother people for money, and today, I really didn't want to do it - though most days I really enjoyed my job. I was on the phone with a man who, all at once, yelled, "WOAH!" I asked him what was going on. He said a plane had hit one of the World Trade Center Towers. I had to orient myself to exactly what he was talking about. I didn't know much about New York City, but I did know about those towers. Then, the phone cut off, and everyone started standing up in their cubicle. Apparently, Citibank decided it would be best to not ask people for money on a a day of an unprecedented terror attack on the U.S. They told us to go home, we would have to take vacation. Nobody stopped to argue about the unfairness of being forced to take vacation. We simply wanted information. We all jammed into the small cafeteria. There were a couple of small televisions mounted on the wall. We watched until the second plane hit. Then we were finally shooed out and sent home. My eyes didn't leave the television for the duration of the day.
Hearing these stories about people who lived it. Who were close to it. It's really moving. Knowing that you'll never see your loved one again. Being on the phone with your husband, thinking this was probably the last time you'd ever hear his voice.
I have to be honest, this wasn't my favorite story about 9/11. I've read a few, and I've watched some documentaries where they connect the lives of some of the people who died. I'm not sure if it was the jumpiness of it - like I don't think they spent enough time on each chunk of a person's story before moving on to the next. I found myself being ready to be done reading with about a page left.
That's not to say that it wasn't very good still. It just didn't grab me. Sometimes there is no explanation as to why.
I think that about sums it up when it comes to September 11. I will never forget what I was doing that day. I worked for Citibank in the collections department. It was my job to bother people for money, and today, I really didn't want to do it - though most days I really enjoyed my job. I was on the phone with a man who, all at once, yelled, "WOAH!" I asked him what was going on. He said a plane had hit one of the World Trade Center Towers. I had to orient myself to exactly what he was talking about. I didn't know much about New York City, but I did know about those towers. Then, the phone cut off, and everyone started standing up in their cubicle. Apparently, Citibank decided it would be best to not ask people for money on a a day of an unprecedented terror attack on the U.S. They told us to go home, we would have to take vacation. Nobody stopped to argue about the unfairness of being forced to take vacation. We simply wanted information. We all jammed into the small cafeteria. There were a couple of small televisions mounted on the wall. We watched until the second plane hit. Then we were finally shooed out and sent home. My eyes didn't leave the television for the duration of the day.
Hearing these stories about people who lived it. Who were close to it. It's really moving. Knowing that you'll never see your loved one again. Being on the phone with your husband, thinking this was probably the last time you'd ever hear his voice.
I have to be honest, this wasn't my favorite story about 9/11. I've read a few, and I've watched some documentaries where they connect the lives of some of the people who died. I'm not sure if it was the jumpiness of it - like I don't think they spent enough time on each chunk of a person's story before moving on to the next. I found myself being ready to be done reading with about a page left.
That's not to say that it wasn't very good still. It just didn't grab me. Sometimes there is no explanation as to why.
Sunday, March 21, 2010
The Long Fall of One-Eleven Heavy - my response
This story spoke to me in many different ways. I had all sorts of feelings as I moved through it. First, I really like the author's use of commas. He had long sentences (usually), and he separated them with many many commas. It really gave the story a sense of choppiness, since when I read a comma, it's like a pause. But I think that's the point of this story. A sense of choppiness.
I have a profound sense of sadness when the author described the man with the blue-eyed daughter and what he thought about when his daughter died. How he had done everything for her, invested so much in her. He had "stitched" together this life that was now 24 and about to take a job. And now she is gone. How deep would your loss be when you thought about not just this person whom you loved so deeply, but about how much you had given up for the life of this person - and now it's all just gone. I don't blame him for losing it.
As with the man described above, I like how he really invests in every aspect of the story - the town near which the plane crashed, some of the people on the plane and those they were leaving behind, the pilot and his wife, the medical examiner. It's like, every semi-important character had some kind of background - some more than others - but it really gave the story depth to know the stories of each of these people.
I've noticed a theme with many of the stories we read. Many have a thread that weaves throughout each of them. Something that is repetitive and brings the reader back to square one so the reader doesn't go spiraling off and miss the point. In the story about that woman's death in surgery, it was the "pop, pop, pop." In this story, it was the green lighthouse. The author brought it up frequently throughout the story. Like, here is home base. Come back to it and don't get lost in the sorrow. It really symbolizes an anchor for the people in the story, the people out to sea, fishing out dead bodies. For the people who were trying to find the town, or for those who lived in it. This lighthouse was where everything began, it was the identity of this town.
And for this story, it is also the identity. When everything else has changed - so many people dead, so many lives touched - the lighthouse remains. It was there before, it was there throughout, and it is there after. It almost gives the feeling that life does go on, despite great tragedy, some things remain the same, and there is a sense of comfort in that.
I have a profound sense of sadness when the author described the man with the blue-eyed daughter and what he thought about when his daughter died. How he had done everything for her, invested so much in her. He had "stitched" together this life that was now 24 and about to take a job. And now she is gone. How deep would your loss be when you thought about not just this person whom you loved so deeply, but about how much you had given up for the life of this person - and now it's all just gone. I don't blame him for losing it.
As with the man described above, I like how he really invests in every aspect of the story - the town near which the plane crashed, some of the people on the plane and those they were leaving behind, the pilot and his wife, the medical examiner. It's like, every semi-important character had some kind of background - some more than others - but it really gave the story depth to know the stories of each of these people.
I've noticed a theme with many of the stories we read. Many have a thread that weaves throughout each of them. Something that is repetitive and brings the reader back to square one so the reader doesn't go spiraling off and miss the point. In the story about that woman's death in surgery, it was the "pop, pop, pop." In this story, it was the green lighthouse. The author brought it up frequently throughout the story. Like, here is home base. Come back to it and don't get lost in the sorrow. It really symbolizes an anchor for the people in the story, the people out to sea, fishing out dead bodies. For the people who were trying to find the town, or for those who lived in it. This lighthouse was where everything began, it was the identity of this town.
And for this story, it is also the identity. When everything else has changed - so many people dead, so many lives touched - the lighthouse remains. It was there before, it was there throughout, and it is there after. It almost gives the feeling that life does go on, despite great tragedy, some things remain the same, and there is a sense of comfort in that.
Thursday, March 18, 2010
Personal commentary - Graduation
This has been a stressful week. An unusually high number of people have asked me how much time until graduation. I answer, "seven weeks." It rolls off my tongue like it's no big deal, but in my head, a deluge of to-do's flows over me, threatening to drown me. I have so much to do. Not only do i have all of these final projects for my classes, but I have to plan my graduation party (when you're older, your mother doesn't do it all for you anymore, you have to do some of it yourself), get invites out, finish up my correspondence classes which I am, of course, behind on, so that's overwhelming. Then there is all of the pain I've been in - my feet, my legs, my right shoulder, my migraines. The migraines are just a nasty sinus infection. Well praise the Lord because if there were one more thing on my list of things, I would probably jump.
But then I think about graduating. I sit back and I picture myself walking with my classmates, all in a row. Watching everyone's names get called, watching them shake the president's hand. I think that when my name is called, it will be exactly the same in my head. My name will be called, and I will come out of myself and watch as I shake the president's hand, tears welling up, smiling for the camera, flipping my tassel, listening to my family hoot and holler.
Two months from now, I will go to my class reunion. Many of the people who were so cool in highschool are married with hot husbands, finishing up their graduate degrees - Libby's going into dentistry, Emily just got placed for her residency at the University of Wisconsin-Madison. One of my best friend's is a hot-shot bankruptcy lawyer in Minneapolis, and her husband is the same. They're saving up to pay cash for a house. Who needs a mortgage? My friend Kari has a baby and a great husband and is about to build a house on top of a hill overlooking Rapid City. Carrie and Sonja, two of my closest highschool friends, are married with beautiful homes. Carrie likes to rock-climb, Sonja likes to scrapbook.
I don't like to do anything that doesn't involve school or work. My favorite tv shows are backed up for 18 episodes on my DVR. I'm sitting here, waiting for my dishes to soak because it's been so long since I've had time to do them, that they're getting kind of crusty. I have like 65 pounds to lose and I just knew I would have it off by my class reunion. Well, that is in less than 4 months, and if you do the math, it wouldn't even be possible. And that would require me to make weight loss a priority. This takes time. Time I don't have because when I'm not working hard at school or driving to and from Vermillion, I'm working full time overnights.
So I will go, chubby and single, newly diploma'd, pain in my feet as I mingle with others, scars all over my chest and back and in my lungs from the cancer that took so many years from me. I will smile and have fun. I will giggle with the newly married girls that had it made in highschool and still have it made now when they announce that they're six weeks along. I will dance to the bad 90's music that made its mark on my years of highschool. I will laugh heartily with my friends. I will probably drink a little more than I should considering I must be careful with my overworked liver.
Ten years. What has happened to those years. So much. Without them, I would be a shell of my current self, so I don't regret a single minute - even if my most recent catheter scar will distract everyone at the party from the cute dress I painstakingly picked out. Dammit.
But then I think about graduating. I sit back and I picture myself walking with my classmates, all in a row. Watching everyone's names get called, watching them shake the president's hand. I think that when my name is called, it will be exactly the same in my head. My name will be called, and I will come out of myself and watch as I shake the president's hand, tears welling up, smiling for the camera, flipping my tassel, listening to my family hoot and holler.
Two months from now, I will go to my class reunion. Many of the people who were so cool in highschool are married with hot husbands, finishing up their graduate degrees - Libby's going into dentistry, Emily just got placed for her residency at the University of Wisconsin-Madison. One of my best friend's is a hot-shot bankruptcy lawyer in Minneapolis, and her husband is the same. They're saving up to pay cash for a house. Who needs a mortgage? My friend Kari has a baby and a great husband and is about to build a house on top of a hill overlooking Rapid City. Carrie and Sonja, two of my closest highschool friends, are married with beautiful homes. Carrie likes to rock-climb, Sonja likes to scrapbook.
I don't like to do anything that doesn't involve school or work. My favorite tv shows are backed up for 18 episodes on my DVR. I'm sitting here, waiting for my dishes to soak because it's been so long since I've had time to do them, that they're getting kind of crusty. I have like 65 pounds to lose and I just knew I would have it off by my class reunion. Well, that is in less than 4 months, and if you do the math, it wouldn't even be possible. And that would require me to make weight loss a priority. This takes time. Time I don't have because when I'm not working hard at school or driving to and from Vermillion, I'm working full time overnights.
So I will go, chubby and single, newly diploma'd, pain in my feet as I mingle with others, scars all over my chest and back and in my lungs from the cancer that took so many years from me. I will smile and have fun. I will giggle with the newly married girls that had it made in highschool and still have it made now when they announce that they're six weeks along. I will dance to the bad 90's music that made its mark on my years of highschool. I will laugh heartily with my friends. I will probably drink a little more than I should considering I must be careful with my overworked liver.
Ten years. What has happened to those years. So much. Without them, I would be a shell of my current self, so I don't regret a single minute - even if my most recent catheter scar will distract everyone at the party from the cute dress I painstakingly picked out. Dammit.
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