For a couple of days, I've been trying to post a link to an article on my friend Dawn's site, but this blogging stuff is new to me and I haven't yet been able to figure it out. So if I can't successfully get the link established here to this article, please check out Dawn's page and read "Mr. President, Please Attack Appalachia." It's pretty brilliant, if you ask me. But then again, I guess you didn't ask me. Just read it, ok?
Please Attack Appalachia
Friday, February 06, 2004
Things that keep us up at night...
There are strange things that keep my husband and I from being able to get a full night's sleep. Strange things other than our 18 month old daughter who unusually decided last night that the hour between 12:30 and 1:30 AM was play time. Not sure what triggered that one, because usually she is such a great sleeper!
Anyway, the latest debate in our household... or I guess I should say the latest pondering because we're really not debating it... is a brand name game. See if you can help us play.
We've been brainstorming all of the brand names that we know which are synonymous for the products that they represent. For example, people often use the word Coke generically to apply to all carbonated beverages. There are only a few others that we can think of right now, although last week we had several on the list and have forgotten them now. See what happens if you don't blog things out?!
Here's a start for the list, post what you can think of...
Coke, Kleenex, Tylenol
Anyway, the latest debate in our household... or I guess I should say the latest pondering because we're really not debating it... is a brand name game. See if you can help us play.
We've been brainstorming all of the brand names that we know which are synonymous for the products that they represent. For example, people often use the word Coke generically to apply to all carbonated beverages. There are only a few others that we can think of right now, although last week we had several on the list and have forgotten them now. See what happens if you don't blog things out?!
Here's a start for the list, post what you can think of...
Coke, Kleenex, Tylenol
Thursday, February 05, 2004
Do what you love... Be who you are...
So my dad is a simple sort of fellow. He certainly doesn't live a wild and crazy lifestyle. He keeps things relatively simple. No flashy clothes. No flashy cars (anymore). And no flashy women (no offense, ma). But, as the men his age begin collecting big screen TVs, my dad has a new passion. He has a new hobby. A new thrill that helps him be a little bit more of who he exactly is. My dad is collecting things. Now, what might a man collect? Some collect sports memorabilia, some media and electronic equipment, some stamps, some coins, some figurines (those little cars for grown men). My father has set the bar so much higher. He is collecting trucks. Trucks. Real trucks. Classic trucks to be precise. In the past 3 months my father has bought 2 - count 'em, 1, 2 1950s Chevy trucks, both off of eBay.
The first is a 1952 Chevy one ton truck with the wooden sides. It still has original blue paint and many other original features. If you've ever seen the Hidden Valley Ranch commercial, you'll know just what it looks like restored. Now it only runs 35 mph, but that really doesn't matter, does it? I must say that it's quite gorgeous and even though he and mom had to leave on the evening of Thanksgiving to drive pert near Colorado to pick it up, our entire family was excited for him.
However, none of us had any idea that it would lead to an addiction. This past weekend, my dad bought yet another truck. This one's a 1950 1/2 ton Chevy (forgive me if I'm wrong on the specs, dad), bright red and pretty spiffy looking if I do say so myself. At least he only has to drive a couple of hours to get this one in Evansville, IN.
No matter how much we tease him about it all, I must say I have to admire his zeal for what he loves. He's always loved classic vehicles and now, he's living the dream. He's doing what he loves to be a little bit more of who God made him to be. And with his free rebuild kit from good old Chevy (a marketing campaign to help promote and maintain the claims that Chevy trucks are the longest running vehicles out there), he's spending his time doing something he values to be worthwhile. Go dad.
That is not to say that my mother shouldn't delete my brother's eBay account (where all of the dealing is going down), but I'm happy to see my dad happy. It's cool. And that's all I have to say about that.
The first is a 1952 Chevy one ton truck with the wooden sides. It still has original blue paint and many other original features. If you've ever seen the Hidden Valley Ranch commercial, you'll know just what it looks like restored. Now it only runs 35 mph, but that really doesn't matter, does it? I must say that it's quite gorgeous and even though he and mom had to leave on the evening of Thanksgiving to drive pert near Colorado to pick it up, our entire family was excited for him.
However, none of us had any idea that it would lead to an addiction. This past weekend, my dad bought yet another truck. This one's a 1950 1/2 ton Chevy (forgive me if I'm wrong on the specs, dad), bright red and pretty spiffy looking if I do say so myself. At least he only has to drive a couple of hours to get this one in Evansville, IN.
No matter how much we tease him about it all, I must say I have to admire his zeal for what he loves. He's always loved classic vehicles and now, he's living the dream. He's doing what he loves to be a little bit more of who God made him to be. And with his free rebuild kit from good old Chevy (a marketing campaign to help promote and maintain the claims that Chevy trucks are the longest running vehicles out there), he's spending his time doing something he values to be worthwhile. Go dad.
That is not to say that my mother shouldn't delete my brother's eBay account (where all of the dealing is going down), but I'm happy to see my dad happy. It's cool. And that's all I have to say about that.
Wednesday, February 04, 2004
On the female psyche and hair
After looking at some old wedding photos today belonging to some women that I know, I realized that the length of a woman's hair can often identify her position, age, and stage in life. While this is no great preponderance, it struck me significantly today.
It seems to me, that in their younger years (usually through high school), most girls seek to grow their hair out long. And then, as if a rite of passage, the summer before she heads off for college, one cuts it short (shoulder or chin length). Whether this is merely a convenience factor or a sign that she is putting away childish ways, I cannot guess. Halfway through college if a young lady has met a gentleman of her liking, she begins to grow her hair back out again, not so much for the gentleman as for the wedding pictures that she has already envisioned, though they are not engaged. And so a couple of years later, her glorious crown spills all around her shoulders, beautifully offset by bridal white, forever captured on film. In the early years of marriage, one maintains the mane (after all it was a lot of work to grow it out), only to find it's much more trouble than it's worth. And so as career or childbirth and motherhood quickly carry a woman into a new phase, so her hair also finds a new phase and place in the world. Her hair is cut short, most likely shorter than it ever has been before in order to accommodate her busy lifestyle. With many women it seems to get shorter and shorter as the years go by until we end up with the blue hair styled weekly or biweekly by some beauty school student who accidentally occasionally turns it purple.
The years march by, styles fade and return, and our hair line moves up and down. Split ends, perms, and color treatments mark the years and stages of our lives. And regardless of our inevitable purple-haired fate, we must remember one thing... at least we choose to change the length of our hair (and possibly the color). Many of our poor male counterparts are faced with not having that choice at all. And for this I am eternally grateful.
It seems to me, that in their younger years (usually through high school), most girls seek to grow their hair out long. And then, as if a rite of passage, the summer before she heads off for college, one cuts it short (shoulder or chin length). Whether this is merely a convenience factor or a sign that she is putting away childish ways, I cannot guess. Halfway through college if a young lady has met a gentleman of her liking, she begins to grow her hair back out again, not so much for the gentleman as for the wedding pictures that she has already envisioned, though they are not engaged. And so a couple of years later, her glorious crown spills all around her shoulders, beautifully offset by bridal white, forever captured on film. In the early years of marriage, one maintains the mane (after all it was a lot of work to grow it out), only to find it's much more trouble than it's worth. And so as career or childbirth and motherhood quickly carry a woman into a new phase, so her hair also finds a new phase and place in the world. Her hair is cut short, most likely shorter than it ever has been before in order to accommodate her busy lifestyle. With many women it seems to get shorter and shorter as the years go by until we end up with the blue hair styled weekly or biweekly by some beauty school student who accidentally occasionally turns it purple.
The years march by, styles fade and return, and our hair line moves up and down. Split ends, perms, and color treatments mark the years and stages of our lives. And regardless of our inevitable purple-haired fate, we must remember one thing... at least we choose to change the length of our hair (and possibly the color). Many of our poor male counterparts are faced with not having that choice at all. And for this I am eternally grateful.
Tuesday, February 03, 2004
A Book recommendation
Here's a little reading recommendation if you've got some extra time on your hands (like anyone does?!).
I recently finished Dava Sobel's Galileo's Daughter - an excellent read. It tracks the life of the scholar and star-gazing philosopher through his personal correspondence, mainly that of letters received from one of his two daughters, Suor Maria Celeste. This historical narrative is an unbelievably personal retelling of one man's story... one man who impacted all of human history. I had a very small knowledge base of the man and his merits (most of which I discovered to be fictional accounts rather than true history - i.e. the whole dropping cannon balls from the Leaning Tower of Pisa tale). Sobel neatly weaves the letters written to and from Galileo to tell his story. The lens of Galileo's personal life makes the scientific discoveries and principles that he established a little easier for a novice like myself to understand. This book was an easy read in short chapters, making it easy to pick up and put down.
Most fascinating to me were the 'trials' that Galileo endured for his teaching and writings on the Copernican system. And I was struck by how firmly the church and greater society held so vehemently to what it knew to be 'true,' using Scripture to 'prove' it. It makes me ponder what 'truths' we hold on to today which will one day proved to be scientifically false. As well, I did not realize that Galileo made more contributions to the study of physics than he really did anything else. We always see him as the astronomer first, which he was certainly passionate about; however, he dabbled in many fields of study, including but not limited to, astronomy, physics, philosophy, mathematics, music, literature, and gardening.
The sweet father-daughter relationship that Galileo held with his cloistered oldest child was a mystery to me. I really did not even know that he had children at all, so it was beautiful to see their relationship play out its dimensions on the pages. Their relationship had such a great deal of intimacy, despite her confinement to her order and convent at San Matteo.
The book actually had a surprise finish to it, which is very difficult to pull off in a non-fiction work. It excited me so greatly that I'd love to share it with you, but I won't ruin it in the hopes that you'll decide to read it yourself. It's an enjoyable, luxury read that has me exploring Galileo Galilei in greater depth. I've now endeavored to read Galileo in Rome by Shea (Scientific historian) and Artigas (philosopher/priest). It retells Galileo's life through his six journeys to Rome. So far, it's comparable; however, not as smooth of a read.
"All truths are easy to understand once they are discovered; the point is to discover them." Galileo Galilei
I recently finished Dava Sobel's Galileo's Daughter - an excellent read. It tracks the life of the scholar and star-gazing philosopher through his personal correspondence, mainly that of letters received from one of his two daughters, Suor Maria Celeste. This historical narrative is an unbelievably personal retelling of one man's story... one man who impacted all of human history. I had a very small knowledge base of the man and his merits (most of which I discovered to be fictional accounts rather than true history - i.e. the whole dropping cannon balls from the Leaning Tower of Pisa tale). Sobel neatly weaves the letters written to and from Galileo to tell his story. The lens of Galileo's personal life makes the scientific discoveries and principles that he established a little easier for a novice like myself to understand. This book was an easy read in short chapters, making it easy to pick up and put down.
Most fascinating to me were the 'trials' that Galileo endured for his teaching and writings on the Copernican system. And I was struck by how firmly the church and greater society held so vehemently to what it knew to be 'true,' using Scripture to 'prove' it. It makes me ponder what 'truths' we hold on to today which will one day proved to be scientifically false. As well, I did not realize that Galileo made more contributions to the study of physics than he really did anything else. We always see him as the astronomer first, which he was certainly passionate about; however, he dabbled in many fields of study, including but not limited to, astronomy, physics, philosophy, mathematics, music, literature, and gardening.
The sweet father-daughter relationship that Galileo held with his cloistered oldest child was a mystery to me. I really did not even know that he had children at all, so it was beautiful to see their relationship play out its dimensions on the pages. Their relationship had such a great deal of intimacy, despite her confinement to her order and convent at San Matteo.
The book actually had a surprise finish to it, which is very difficult to pull off in a non-fiction work. It excited me so greatly that I'd love to share it with you, but I won't ruin it in the hopes that you'll decide to read it yourself. It's an enjoyable, luxury read that has me exploring Galileo Galilei in greater depth. I've now endeavored to read Galileo in Rome by Shea (Scientific historian) and Artigas (philosopher/priest). It retells Galileo's life through his six journeys to Rome. So far, it's comparable; however, not as smooth of a read.
"All truths are easy to understand once they are discovered; the point is to discover them." Galileo Galilei
Monday, February 02, 2004
My personal statement
Here's the personal statement that I recently used to apply to grad school.
All of my life, I’ve been telling stories. As a small child those stories were largely fictional. The lines between reality and fantasy faded away as I weaved tales that were believable to most adults. Places I had been, people I had met, things I had done – all were described with the greatest of detail. Holding audiences captive and sharing my “experiences” were two of my greatest ambitions. However, as I grew older, I put away childish ways and my fiction turned to fact. Welling up inside of me was a new and unusual passion to learn other people’s true stories. And once I learned them, I longed to share them and retell those stories. In short summary, that’s who I really am – a storyteller.
Obviously, one cannot have history without the word “story.” Throughout time, many mechanisms have been used to retell stories, both fact and fiction. One needn’t think long to recall tapestries like the Bayeux of the eleventh century, or even the cave markings of primal peoples. Incans used knots tied on ropes to retell their stories. From epic poetry and lyric song, to lithographs, woodcarvings, photographs, and even tattoos, men and women have long used many devices to retell stories. Even nature and the Divine tell us stories through the rings of a tree, soil deposits, and the stratification of rock. To me, none of these means is as strong as the written and spoken Word.
What a joy it is to invite a reader or listener in and hope they are equally intrigued by “other people’s stories.” It’s not the study of period philosophies, political movements, scientific discoveries, theological debates, or even military maneuvers that drives me in the context of history. Rather, it is how all of these forces (and many other motivating factors) work together to influence individuals. Such incidences form whom an individual really is – why they eat what they eat, leisure how they leisure, teach what they teach, and even believe what they believe. To me, this is history. The history of an individual, while it does not fill in every blank of an era, speaks volumes for society.
And so, the time has come in which I can no longer ignore the passion that burns within me to tell stories. I feel to better equip myself in such a process of “telling and retelling,” I need to seek out a Masters in History. I long to learn, research, further and develop my passion in order to make unknown voices heard and history come alive for other learners. My ultimate desire would be for those learners to become storytellers themselves, or, at bare minimum, to be let into another’s world to more greatly understand and empathize with an individual’s plight. I recognize the need to further hone my writing skills and have a desire to one day publish written works. Specifically, I wish to use my master’s degree to help me begin to narrow the vast field of choices available to one who holds such a degree and has a passion for teaching others of history. I also have a desire to pursue a Ph. D. in this field. I would take great pleasure in teaching on a collegiate level if the doors open allowing me to do so; however, even the mere personal accomplishment of study would be gratifying to me.
My story is what makes me who I am. Pursuing a master’s degree allows me to understand other people and who they are through learning and retelling their stories.
All of my life, I’ve been telling stories. As a small child those stories were largely fictional. The lines between reality and fantasy faded away as I weaved tales that were believable to most adults. Places I had been, people I had met, things I had done – all were described with the greatest of detail. Holding audiences captive and sharing my “experiences” were two of my greatest ambitions. However, as I grew older, I put away childish ways and my fiction turned to fact. Welling up inside of me was a new and unusual passion to learn other people’s true stories. And once I learned them, I longed to share them and retell those stories. In short summary, that’s who I really am – a storyteller.
Obviously, one cannot have history without the word “story.” Throughout time, many mechanisms have been used to retell stories, both fact and fiction. One needn’t think long to recall tapestries like the Bayeux of the eleventh century, or even the cave markings of primal peoples. Incans used knots tied on ropes to retell their stories. From epic poetry and lyric song, to lithographs, woodcarvings, photographs, and even tattoos, men and women have long used many devices to retell stories. Even nature and the Divine tell us stories through the rings of a tree, soil deposits, and the stratification of rock. To me, none of these means is as strong as the written and spoken Word.
What a joy it is to invite a reader or listener in and hope they are equally intrigued by “other people’s stories.” It’s not the study of period philosophies, political movements, scientific discoveries, theological debates, or even military maneuvers that drives me in the context of history. Rather, it is how all of these forces (and many other motivating factors) work together to influence individuals. Such incidences form whom an individual really is – why they eat what they eat, leisure how they leisure, teach what they teach, and even believe what they believe. To me, this is history. The history of an individual, while it does not fill in every blank of an era, speaks volumes for society.
And so, the time has come in which I can no longer ignore the passion that burns within me to tell stories. I feel to better equip myself in such a process of “telling and retelling,” I need to seek out a Masters in History. I long to learn, research, further and develop my passion in order to make unknown voices heard and history come alive for other learners. My ultimate desire would be for those learners to become storytellers themselves, or, at bare minimum, to be let into another’s world to more greatly understand and empathize with an individual’s plight. I recognize the need to further hone my writing skills and have a desire to one day publish written works. Specifically, I wish to use my master’s degree to help me begin to narrow the vast field of choices available to one who holds such a degree and has a passion for teaching others of history. I also have a desire to pursue a Ph. D. in this field. I would take great pleasure in teaching on a collegiate level if the doors open allowing me to do so; however, even the mere personal accomplishment of study would be gratifying to me.
My story is what makes me who I am. Pursuing a master’s degree allows me to understand other people and who they are through learning and retelling their stories.
An applesauce sort of day...
I have applesauce in my hair. It's a normal day for me and I have applesauce in my hair. Not that I always have applesauce in my hair, but just that today I do. You see, I am known to many people through many different titles. I carry the title daughter, wife, friend, wonder woman wanna be, and the newest, most recently birthed title of mommy. Being "mommy" means that you sometimes have applesauce in your hair. It means that occasionally you give up the pleasure of showering for the quiet of an hour. It means that life slows down when it snows. It means that giggles enrich the quailty of your day. It means that a hug and a kiss can leave you feeling warm inside for hours. It means that once naptime is over, life is back to normal again. And no matter how hard you try, you can't imagine life when you weren't mommy.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
