"Didn't I just see you walk by?" Matthew asked.
I had just walked from the English building to Quick Snacks for a candy bar and back to the English building for class. When I walked in chomping on a Snickers, my classmates started drooling. Even though class was about to start, I asked the professor if I could run back and get candy bars for the seven of us unfortunate enough to have class all afternoon. Of course, he said yes. So back to Quick Snacks I ran and passed Matthew for the second time in five minutes.
Matthew: We have free Twix right here.
Katie: No thanks. They want Snickers and Kit Kats.
I walked away.
I turned around.
Katie: Wait, did you say free?
Matthew: Yes.
Katie: As in I don't have to buy them?
Jacob: You're an English major; what other definitions for the term "free" are there?
Yeah, yeah, yeah, mock me. It's cool. Everyone does it.
Free.
Surely there had to be some catch. Why would some college boys be sitting on a swing offering free candy bars? These weren't the unfun Fun Size candy bars either. These were normal-size candy bars. The kind next to the check out aisle at Wal-mart that we always begged our parents for and our parents always said no. Yeah, those. For free.
Free.
No charge. No catch.
What have you gotten for free today?
What have you given for free today?
Let me rephrase the question: What have you done today without expecting anything in return?
How have you given of your time? How have you given of your resources? How have you given of yourself?
Seriously.
What have you done today without expecting anything in return?
<>< Katie
Showing posts with label class. Show all posts
Showing posts with label class. Show all posts
Friday, April 15, 2011
Friday, February 18, 2011
Life Box
One of my friend's art expressions class had to fill a box with items to represent them. Any kind of box/container was accepted. One student used a guitar case; my friend used a shoe box. The then had to present the items in their box, explaining its representation, and talking about themselves for ten minutes.
In telling us about this project, I asked my friend what she put in her box.
"A guitar pick because I'm learning guitar. A flip flop because I'm from the beach. Pictures of my family and my best friends. A puzzle piece because I love puzzles. My favorite scarf because fashion is really important to me..."
She went on for a long time trying to remember all of the items in her box.
"Oh, and I put in a Book of Common Prayer because I couldn't put in a Bible," she said.
"Why couldn't you put in a Bible?" I figured maybe it was a class rule.
"It didn't fit."
I continued to listen patiently but inside my heart was breaking. We all pack our life box and realize God doesn't "fit" into the plan we've created. We take everything out, rearrange a little bit, and realize everything's not going to fit. Some thing's going to have to go. But what? We're attached to everything. Letting go of anything is a painful part of life. But, unfortunately, it's necessary. Sometimes God asks us to say good bye to hobbies, relationships, locations, traditions...
The question is: are you building your life box around Him or are you trying to fit Him in at the last second?
<>< Katie
PS: What would you put in your life box?
Mine: my Bible, my iPod (we'll pretend I have a working one), my Writer's Notebook, my purple Nalgene, my phone, some hand sanitizer (of course), lotion, the ring and cross necklace I wear daily, a glassblown cup, a scrapbook, and my passport (for journeys past and present), and a book to read all in a Louis M. Martini wine box to represent my cultural heritage.
In telling us about this project, I asked my friend what she put in her box.
"A guitar pick because I'm learning guitar. A flip flop because I'm from the beach. Pictures of my family and my best friends. A puzzle piece because I love puzzles. My favorite scarf because fashion is really important to me..."
She went on for a long time trying to remember all of the items in her box.
"Oh, and I put in a Book of Common Prayer because I couldn't put in a Bible," she said.
"Why couldn't you put in a Bible?" I figured maybe it was a class rule.
"It didn't fit."
I continued to listen patiently but inside my heart was breaking. We all pack our life box and realize God doesn't "fit" into the plan we've created. We take everything out, rearrange a little bit, and realize everything's not going to fit. Some thing's going to have to go. But what? We're attached to everything. Letting go of anything is a painful part of life. But, unfortunately, it's necessary. Sometimes God asks us to say good bye to hobbies, relationships, locations, traditions...
The question is: are you building your life box around Him or are you trying to fit Him in at the last second?
<>< Katie
PS: What would you put in your life box?
Mine: my Bible, my iPod (we'll pretend I have a working one), my Writer's Notebook, my purple Nalgene, my phone, some hand sanitizer (of course), lotion, the ring and cross necklace I wear daily, a glassblown cup, a scrapbook, and my passport (for journeys past and present), and a book to read all in a Louis M. Martini wine box to represent my cultural heritage.
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
Looking Like People
"Your characters talk and act like people, but they don't look like people," my fiction writing class told me last week. This constructive criticism has stuck in my head since then.
It's true: I rarely describe the physical features of my characters. Maybe it's because even though I'm a visual learned I struggle to describe real people much less made-up people. There are almost a million 5'4" girls with light brown hair. Maybe it's because I find writing physical description to be boring. "Her dyed red hair fell in her face covering her hazel eyes" lameness. Maybe it's because when I'm reading I envision the characters my own way and don't like being told I'm wrong.
"But we want to see the characters the way you see them," my professor told me.
My question is: Does it matter? If it's vital that a character has curly, dark brown hair looks like she jumped out of a Jane Austen novel, then, yes, of course I'll mention it. But does every character, or even the main character, need to be accompanied by a physical description?
Elizabeth says yes. Otherwise they're just voices.
Nikki says she's stop reading if they weren't described.
Without looking up from the book she was reading, Amy nodded.
I remember as a fourth grader reading The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe before watching the movie. Afterwards, the teacher asked us what we thought.
One student (I wish it was me...) said, "I liked the pictures in the book better."
I gave my protagonist strawberry blonde hair just to appease my classmates. But deep down inside I wonder. Does it matter to you if you know I'm so skinny I disappear if I turn sideways, my hands are so chapped they're bloody, and my not-quite-shoulder-length dirty blonde hair spends a majority of it's time in a three-quarters pony tail?
<>< Katie
It's true: I rarely describe the physical features of my characters. Maybe it's because even though I'm a visual learned I struggle to describe real people much less made-up people. There are almost a million 5'4" girls with light brown hair. Maybe it's because I find writing physical description to be boring. "Her dyed red hair fell in her face covering her hazel eyes" lameness. Maybe it's because when I'm reading I envision the characters my own way and don't like being told I'm wrong.
"But we want to see the characters the way you see them," my professor told me.
My question is: Does it matter? If it's vital that a character has curly, dark brown hair looks like she jumped out of a Jane Austen novel, then, yes, of course I'll mention it. But does every character, or even the main character, need to be accompanied by a physical description?
Elizabeth says yes. Otherwise they're just voices.
Nikki says she's stop reading if they weren't described.
Without looking up from the book she was reading, Amy nodded.
I remember as a fourth grader reading The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe before watching the movie. Afterwards, the teacher asked us what we thought.
One student (I wish it was me...) said, "I liked the pictures in the book better."
I gave my protagonist strawberry blonde hair just to appease my classmates. But deep down inside I wonder. Does it matter to you if you know I'm so skinny I disappear if I turn sideways, my hands are so chapped they're bloody, and my not-quite-shoulder-length dirty blonde hair spends a majority of it's time in a three-quarters pony tail?
<>< Katie
Friday, December 10, 2010
Peruvian Christmas Gifts
In my science class this semester, we've spent at least three lab periods watching awareness documentaries on global environmental problems. Sure, some days the professor feeds us popcorn or nutella and oranges but let's be honest: bor-ing.
On Monday the video we watched showed a shanty town in Peru. A mother and her three children, all wearing white, walked away from the camera and towards the town.
They didn’t carry water. They weren’t hauling belongings. They were just walking. The four of them strolled together as a family.
The youngest, a toddler, held her mother’s hand. A daughter a year older walked in front of them. A five year old ran around the slowly moving trio. He grabbed his youngest sister’s hand; she hesitated. Like a good mother, the woman noticed the change in speed. She looked down at her children and missed a step.
As she recovered her balance, I lost mine. It was as if God whispered, “Katie, they’re no different than you are.” They live in a shanty town with no water. They speak I language I don’t understand. But they are no different than us.
They are a mother, doing the best she can to provide for her children. They are children with big dreams just like mine. They are cherished by God just like I am.
Take them out of their Peruvian shanty town and one wouldn’t know they were poor. Except they are. That’s the difference between them and me.
I worry about whether or not I’ll have time to run to the grocery store to buy more gallons of water or if I’ll have to drink the metallic tap water. They worry about whether or not they’ll have any water. I worry about whether or not I’ll have to go to the TYME machine this week rather than whether or not money will cover what I need. I worry about whether or not the Christmas gifts I ordered will come on time. Not whether or not Christmas will be any different than any other day of the year.
My heart went out to this Peruvian family, and immediately I thought of Compassion and the impact they have had on these kinds of families worldwide.
My family sponsors a little girl in Columbia, Maria Jose. With our help she has access to education, medication, and the gospel.
If you can’t sponsor a child year round, maybe you can buy a Christmas gift for a child like my Peruvian children from the video. It’s a one-time gift that’s a lot more feasible for students on a tight budget.
Have $10 to buy a mosquito netting so a child does not have to worry about getting malaria?
Have $13 to spend on a soccer ball to child? Let me tell you, the kids I met in Guatemala were passionate about their futbol.
Have $16 to buy a chicken? Really, how often do you get to buy chickens?
Let some impoverished kids make Christmas cookies with baking supplies for $20.
Or $25 for vaccinations… you know, the ones that made us all scream as babies?
Educational supplies… I like books… only $30.
The list goes on and on. Prices range from $10 to $5,000... just in case you have that kind of money laying around, you know. Check out the catalogue!
Really everything helps. Every gift is cherished. Every life is touched. In the name of Jesus.
I can pray for the Peruvian family I saw in the documentary. I can thank God for them. And I can make a difference in the lives of similar families. Maybe I’ll even choose to believe my vaccines are keeping those children alive. My baking supplies are giving them family bonding time. My soccer ball is keeping that boy on the field playing rather than in the streets playing with drugs. Maybe my simple sacrifice will make more difference than I can even comprehend. With God’s hand, it does.
<>< Katie
On Monday the video we watched showed a shanty town in Peru. A mother and her three children, all wearing white, walked away from the camera and towards the town.
They didn’t carry water. They weren’t hauling belongings. They were just walking. The four of them strolled together as a family.
The youngest, a toddler, held her mother’s hand. A daughter a year older walked in front of them. A five year old ran around the slowly moving trio. He grabbed his youngest sister’s hand; she hesitated. Like a good mother, the woman noticed the change in speed. She looked down at her children and missed a step.
As she recovered her balance, I lost mine. It was as if God whispered, “Katie, they’re no different than you are.” They live in a shanty town with no water. They speak I language I don’t understand. But they are no different than us.
They are a mother, doing the best she can to provide for her children. They are children with big dreams just like mine. They are cherished by God just like I am.
Take them out of their Peruvian shanty town and one wouldn’t know they were poor. Except they are. That’s the difference between them and me.
I worry about whether or not I’ll have time to run to the grocery store to buy more gallons of water or if I’ll have to drink the metallic tap water. They worry about whether or not they’ll have any water. I worry about whether or not I’ll have to go to the TYME machine this week rather than whether or not money will cover what I need. I worry about whether or not the Christmas gifts I ordered will come on time. Not whether or not Christmas will be any different than any other day of the year.
My heart went out to this Peruvian family, and immediately I thought of Compassion and the impact they have had on these kinds of families worldwide.
My family sponsors a little girl in Columbia, Maria Jose. With our help she has access to education, medication, and the gospel.
If you can’t sponsor a child year round, maybe you can buy a Christmas gift for a child like my Peruvian children from the video. It’s a one-time gift that’s a lot more feasible for students on a tight budget.
Have $10 to buy a mosquito netting so a child does not have to worry about getting malaria?
Have $13 to spend on a soccer ball to child? Let me tell you, the kids I met in Guatemala were passionate about their futbol.
Have $16 to buy a chicken? Really, how often do you get to buy chickens?
Let some impoverished kids make Christmas cookies with baking supplies for $20.
Or $25 for vaccinations… you know, the ones that made us all scream as babies?
Educational supplies… I like books… only $30.
The list goes on and on. Prices range from $10 to $5,000... just in case you have that kind of money laying around, you know. Check out the catalogue!
Really everything helps. Every gift is cherished. Every life is touched. In the name of Jesus.
I can pray for the Peruvian family I saw in the documentary. I can thank God for them. And I can make a difference in the lives of similar families. Maybe I’ll even choose to believe my vaccines are keeping those children alive. My baking supplies are giving them family bonding time. My soccer ball is keeping that boy on the field playing rather than in the streets playing with drugs. Maybe my simple sacrifice will make more difference than I can even comprehend. With God’s hand, it does.
<>< Katie
Thursday, November 18, 2010
Perfect Timing
A few years ago at an outdoor music festival, I heard Peter Fuller (then the lead-singer of Newsboys) talk about God's perfect timing. In the middle of his statement about how perfect God's timing is, a train horn sounded in near proximity. The entire audience errupted in laughter. In his heavy Australian accent he looked at us and said, "A train interrupts my concert and you laugh?"
Well, God's perfect timing struck again and there was only nervous laughter.
I'd just gotten out of class at 10pm and was driving back to my apartment from the library. As I approached the stoplight I noticed a car cross the intersection and instinctively slowed down to stop at the white line. It was only then that I glanced up and noticed I had the green light. Maybe there was a malfunction? No, the other car definitely had a red light.
I made a quick glance around for:
Police officers. None. What are the odds?
Other cars. None. Thank goodness.
A green light. Go ahead.
At first, I didn't really think much of it. We all accidently run red lights from time to time. Not a big deal. Besides, it was late, and he probably got sick of waiting for the light to change. I was the only other car around. It wasn't until I was back in the safety of my apartment that I truly realized what had just happened.
Rewind. When I pulled out of my parking space, there was an exit to the left (the direction I needed to go) not far from where I was parked. Instead, I drove an extra thirty seconds, out of my way, to the right exit. Why? I don't know. I guess I just wasn't paying attention. It was 10pm! I'd just gotten out of my last class. Twelve hours earlier, I'd been dismissed from my first class of the day. Yes, one of those days.
It wasn't just because I was tired. It was because if I'd been to the stop light thirty second earlier... well, crash boom bash. We know this story. Been there done that. Unlike last time, this car wasn't starting from a stopped position. He was going and going fast. That could have been a really bad end to a long day.
I cannot take credit for avoiding that collision. I didn't do anything except absent-mindedly leave the parking lot. It was God who perfectly positioned and timed our cars for this to be only a "thanks, God" rather than a "help, God!"
Had any close calls lately? Whether you're aware of them or not, they've happened. Take a minute to thank Him for His perfect timing and arms of protection.
<>< Katie
Well, God's perfect timing struck again and there was only nervous laughter.
I'd just gotten out of class at 10pm and was driving back to my apartment from the library. As I approached the stoplight I noticed a car cross the intersection and instinctively slowed down to stop at the white line. It was only then that I glanced up and noticed I had the green light. Maybe there was a malfunction? No, the other car definitely had a red light.
I made a quick glance around for:
Police officers. None. What are the odds?
Other cars. None. Thank goodness.
A green light. Go ahead.
At first, I didn't really think much of it. We all accidently run red lights from time to time. Not a big deal. Besides, it was late, and he probably got sick of waiting for the light to change. I was the only other car around. It wasn't until I was back in the safety of my apartment that I truly realized what had just happened.
Rewind. When I pulled out of my parking space, there was an exit to the left (the direction I needed to go) not far from where I was parked. Instead, I drove an extra thirty seconds, out of my way, to the right exit. Why? I don't know. I guess I just wasn't paying attention. It was 10pm! I'd just gotten out of my last class. Twelve hours earlier, I'd been dismissed from my first class of the day. Yes, one of those days.
It wasn't just because I was tired. It was because if I'd been to the stop light thirty second earlier... well, crash boom bash. We know this story. Been there done that. Unlike last time, this car wasn't starting from a stopped position. He was going and going fast. That could have been a really bad end to a long day.
I cannot take credit for avoiding that collision. I didn't do anything except absent-mindedly leave the parking lot. It was God who perfectly positioned and timed our cars for this to be only a "thanks, God" rather than a "help, God!"
Had any close calls lately? Whether you're aware of them or not, they've happened. Take a minute to thank Him for His perfect timing and arms of protection.
<>< Katie
Saturday, August 21, 2010
The Gang's All Here
Well, summer is over. Even though classes don't start for another few days, I'm back at school. Most students aren't back yet, but all six of the girls in my apartment are back. (Jennifer, Nikki, Allyson, Amy, and Elizabeth) Despite our hectic pre-semester schedules, it's been great to be back together playing Banangrams, being sassed, Wii-ing, being sassed, cuddling, being sassed...
Oh, and the light switches have been fixed. Allelulia! No more being blinded because you, heaven forbid, rolled over in the middle of the night. Now if you sit still for fifteen minutes, which I can do thank you very much, the light goes off. Of the two, I prefer this (I think).
Another glitch in our brand new building is the lack of intenet. Since school is not in session, the computer lab are not open, so I have to butter up to a professor, yes, before school even starts, to check my email. I can survive without internet. Facebook can wait. Email's important, but anyone emailing me urgently right now will accept the "My internet's not connected yet" excuse. The blog, sorry friends, can survive a few days without me. Books, however, need to be ordered. At the beginning of last semester I talked about how I like brand new books and don't mind paying bookstore prices to not have to worry about the hassle. I stand by those opinions. However, this semester my schedule includes a stinky science class with a text book that costs almost a million dollars. A book I'm never going to use again and will not be able to sell. So I Amazoned it. (I just made "Amazon" a verb... it's English). Since I had to order that one online, there were a few others I ordered, too. Well, intended to order. The lack of internet put an impasse on my plan. I'm not making an online purchase from a public computer, sorry.
Periodically, I can get internet when sitting in a certain position on my roommate Jennifer's bed. Ever seen someone putting cell phone in the most bizarre of positions in order to get a signal? Yes, that's me with my computer. When I get Jennifer's Bed internet it's for about ten minutes and that's it for the entire day. This morning, I was starting to get cranky about the situation and stressed about the upcoming semester.
I only had a half hour, so I booted up my computer, plopped it on Jennifer's bed, and began to rant. "God, I can live without internet. I proved that several times this summer and again this week. However, I'm really starting to worry about this upcoming semester. If I could just order my books I'd feel a lot better." I checked my AOL email since it's my internet provider (since 1997!) but before I checked my school email and gmail, before I checked facebook, before I checked the blog (gasp!) I went to Amazon.
Finding the books was quick and easy. Checking out, no problem. I got decent deals and saved a lot of money. Life was good. I hit "Submit this purchase." It went. PAH! I closed amazon and typed "katieax.blogspot.com" into the navigation bar.
"Internet Explorer cannot display the page."
I was moderately annoyed and simultaneously moderately amused. I said I wanted internet to order books. I got internet to order books. I could not help but say, "Thank You, God." The blog. Facebook. Email. All were unnecessary distractions.
Twelve hours later, I'm using some friends for their internet to update my social media outlets, not for work. Life is good.
<>< Katie
Reason of the Day to Laugh at Katie:
I dropped my socks in the toilet. No, they weren't on my feet. Yes, the toilet was empty.
Oh, and the light switches have been fixed. Allelulia! No more being blinded because you, heaven forbid, rolled over in the middle of the night. Now if you sit still for fifteen minutes, which I can do thank you very much, the light goes off. Of the two, I prefer this (I think).
Another glitch in our brand new building is the lack of intenet. Since school is not in session, the computer lab are not open, so I have to butter up to a professor, yes, before school even starts, to check my email. I can survive without internet. Facebook can wait. Email's important, but anyone emailing me urgently right now will accept the "My internet's not connected yet" excuse. The blog, sorry friends, can survive a few days without me. Books, however, need to be ordered. At the beginning of last semester I talked about how I like brand new books and don't mind paying bookstore prices to not have to worry about the hassle. I stand by those opinions. However, this semester my schedule includes a stinky science class with a text book that costs almost a million dollars. A book I'm never going to use again and will not be able to sell. So I Amazoned it. (I just made "Amazon" a verb... it's English). Since I had to order that one online, there were a few others I ordered, too. Well, intended to order. The lack of internet put an impasse on my plan. I'm not making an online purchase from a public computer, sorry.
Periodically, I can get internet when sitting in a certain position on my roommate Jennifer's bed. Ever seen someone putting cell phone in the most bizarre of positions in order to get a signal? Yes, that's me with my computer. When I get Jennifer's Bed internet it's for about ten minutes and that's it for the entire day. This morning, I was starting to get cranky about the situation and stressed about the upcoming semester.
I only had a half hour, so I booted up my computer, plopped it on Jennifer's bed, and began to rant. "God, I can live without internet. I proved that several times this summer and again this week. However, I'm really starting to worry about this upcoming semester. If I could just order my books I'd feel a lot better." I checked my AOL email since it's my internet provider (since 1997!) but before I checked my school email and gmail, before I checked facebook, before I checked the blog (gasp!) I went to Amazon.
Finding the books was quick and easy. Checking out, no problem. I got decent deals and saved a lot of money. Life was good. I hit "Submit this purchase." It went. PAH! I closed amazon and typed "katieax.blogspot.com" into the navigation bar.
"Internet Explorer cannot display the page."
I was moderately annoyed and simultaneously moderately amused. I said I wanted internet to order books. I got internet to order books. I could not help but say, "Thank You, God." The blog. Facebook. Email. All were unnecessary distractions.
Twelve hours later, I'm using some friends for their internet to update my social media outlets, not for work. Life is good.
<>< Katie
Reason of the Day to Laugh at Katie:
I dropped my socks in the toilet. No, they weren't on my feet. Yes, the toilet was empty.
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
Campfire
Earlier this semester I read a blog about a little boy with burns that reminded me of my own burn story. The resonance hit me hard and after two days of dwelling finally I decided to take my own classic advice and "write about it." I've written about it a million times before, but it was time to do it again and a little differently.
On the first day of my Human Biology class the professor said, "This is the non-science majors class. I realize all of you are only here because you have to be. You're not science people and that's ok, but for me to remember that I'm going to think of you all as my father. My father was a poet. In my brain, you are all poets."
I remember thinking to myself, I'm not a poet, but I am closer to a poet than a scientist.
I'm still not a poet, but I wrote a poem explaining why I once told Andy I'm allergic to fire.
<>< Katie
"Campfire"On the first day of my Human Biology class the professor said, "This is the non-science majors class. I realize all of you are only here because you have to be. You're not science people and that's ok, but for me to remember that I'm going to think of you all as my father. My father was a poet. In my brain, you are all poets."
I remember thinking to myself, I'm not a poet, but I am closer to a poet than a scientist.
I'm still not a poet, but I wrote a poem explaining why I once told Andy I'm allergic to fire.
<>< Katie
She ran her fingers over
discolored imperfections on her forearms
before pulling down her sleeves to hide
the scars of a clumsy childhood.
She didn’t remember
tripping over the pesky shoelace,
the metal safety rim bruising her leg.
But all too well she remembered
failing to choke back the tears
as smoldering coals gripped her forearms,
the firm grasp on the back of her shirt,
her rescuer, her mother,
dragging her to the a perfectly-placed water pump,
as if it had been awaiting her misfortune.
She remembered the
pain as her skin burned,
embarrassment of her own misstep,
fear and unknown in the Emergency Room
the doctor poking incessantly asking if she felt it.
Yes. It hurt.
She remembered the rules
no pool, no sun.
A bird was told not to fly.
She tried to argue but
her voice had vanished,
the verdict not negotiable.
She remembered
devastation,
summer lasting an eternity
bandages over both arms,
trying in vain to dry one hand,
always refusing to explain why.
Years later the bandages are gone,
but the scars remain like
she tanned while wearing fishnets,
even if only for her to see
and still she avoids explaining.
Monday, May 10, 2010
Reading Day
Little secret: I am not athletic. Sometimes if I'm by myself I walk so fast that I'm winded by the time I get where I'm going, but that's the closest I ever get to running. Sports are not my strength. I played basketball in 5th grade and I got really good at catching the ball...with my nose. I spent enough nights at the eye doctor getting my glasses fixed that I realized the WMBA was not in my future. Fathers are supposed to teach their daughters how to throw and catch; somehow I missed that lesson. In seventh grade I took up tennis because I had a weapon against the ball. It wasn't long before I figured out my strongest spot on the tennis court was at the net because there's minimal running involved in a volley. I played for six years but then I graduated high school and now the most exercise I get is ten minutes on the Wii Fit. Knowing this about myself, I don't know why I ever thought this was a good idea.
Classes were cancelled on Friday, so we hosted our biannual kickball game. Last year the English department started a new tradition where we play kickball once a semester. For a year we played teams that basically boiled down to English Education vs. English Writing. Well, then the science department got jealous and in a cowardly way challenged us to kickball, calling themselves the superior department. If they were so superior I don't know why they needed to bring the math department with them in order to beat us but whatever. They won this past fall, and Friday was our opportunity to earn our ball back.
We had more players than they did, so some of our players didn't get to play in the field. Elizabeth and I took ones for the team and just kicked and cheered. My first two kicks I was out before making it to first base. My third kick I made it all the way to second but we already had two outs and the play at the first made three. My fourth kick I managed to eventually get all the way home scoring a point for the good guys. English won 16-12!
Sometime in the two minutes between when I got back to my apartment and when I was planning on getting in the shower, Chris called.
"Come play ultimate frisbee!"
Little known fact, it was one of my secret goals before graduating to play ultimate frisbee. It's kind of our school's favorite game, so I didn't think it would be right for me to graduate without playing. Even though I have one more year I figured now was as good a time as ever; plus, I was already sweaty. Oh, and still fighting this cold, minor detail.
"I'm not very good at frisbee," I told Chris.
"That's ok; I am," he said. Between the two of us we could be two average players.
I held my own and even touched the frisbee a few times. I didn't score, but Hannah (the girl I was guarding) didn't score either... except the first one which didn't count because it was part of warm ups. I really did enjoy myself and the "Oh, my gosh, I'm so out of shape and thirsty" feeling that I had for an hour. But I lived.
After getting cleaned up and eating Japanese for dinner, a few of us went to see a movie. It was 8:00 and I could have gone to be (mind you, I hadn't yet been awake for 12 hours that day). I almost made it all the way through the movie, too, but in the last ten minutes I made a mad-dash from the theater. Since I'm pretty prone to bloody noses, no one really thought anything of it. Nope, it's going to be a long time before I eat Japanese food again. :-( Other than for those few minutes, I feel fine; it's weird. Whatever. Although, more than that I'm more upset my no-puking streak has to start over at just shy of three years. Before that random stomach bug in the middle of July (who the heck gets sick in July? The kids I babysat...) it had been six and a half years. That's still my record. Oh, well. One day I will break it!
Happy Reading Day, Katie... next year you should stick to reading on Reading Day.
<>< Katie
Classes were cancelled on Friday, so we hosted our biannual kickball game. Last year the English department started a new tradition where we play kickball once a semester. For a year we played teams that basically boiled down to English Education vs. English Writing. Well, then the science department got jealous and in a cowardly way challenged us to kickball, calling themselves the superior department. If they were so superior I don't know why they needed to bring the math department with them in order to beat us but whatever. They won this past fall, and Friday was our opportunity to earn our ball back.
We had more players than they did, so some of our players didn't get to play in the field. Elizabeth and I took ones for the team and just kicked and cheered. My first two kicks I was out before making it to first base. My third kick I made it all the way to second but we already had two outs and the play at the first made three. My fourth kick I managed to eventually get all the way home scoring a point for the good guys. English won 16-12!
Sometime in the two minutes between when I got back to my apartment and when I was planning on getting in the shower, Chris called.
"Come play ultimate frisbee!"
Little known fact, it was one of my secret goals before graduating to play ultimate frisbee. It's kind of our school's favorite game, so I didn't think it would be right for me to graduate without playing. Even though I have one more year I figured now was as good a time as ever; plus, I was already sweaty. Oh, and still fighting this cold, minor detail.
"I'm not very good at frisbee," I told Chris.
"That's ok; I am," he said. Between the two of us we could be two average players.
I held my own and even touched the frisbee a few times. I didn't score, but Hannah (the girl I was guarding) didn't score either... except the first one which didn't count because it was part of warm ups. I really did enjoy myself and the "Oh, my gosh, I'm so out of shape and thirsty" feeling that I had for an hour. But I lived.
After getting cleaned up and eating Japanese for dinner, a few of us went to see a movie. It was 8:00 and I could have gone to be (mind you, I hadn't yet been awake for 12 hours that day). I almost made it all the way through the movie, too, but in the last ten minutes I made a mad-dash from the theater. Since I'm pretty prone to bloody noses, no one really thought anything of it. Nope, it's going to be a long time before I eat Japanese food again. :-( Other than for those few minutes, I feel fine; it's weird. Whatever. Although, more than that I'm more upset my no-puking streak has to start over at just shy of three years. Before that random stomach bug in the middle of July (who the heck gets sick in July? The kids I babysat...) it had been six and a half years. That's still my record. Oh, well. One day I will break it!
Happy Reading Day, Katie... next year you should stick to reading on Reading Day.
<>< Katie
Thursday, April 29, 2010
My life is awesome
Author's Note: All of the following is a collection of achronological stories that have all happened in the last two days. Minor creative liberties may have been taken but these stories are as true as I can put them to where a reader can understand without having actually been here. Please don't pity me. I am cranky, but I am not being sarcastic; my life is awesome. Enjoy. <>< K
My life is awesome
Katie: Guys, I just had another bloody nose.
Andy: I'm trained handle that.
Elizabeth: How many times do we have to tell you, Katie: stop getting punched in the face!
Katie: It was Allyson!
(side note: this is a whole lot funnier if you know Allyson because she'd never hurt a fly)
Allyson (butter knife in hand): Do you want me to cut off your nose? That would help!
Katie: Actually, I think that'd make it bleed a bit more.
Andy: Well, look at it this way: it would hurt and bleed a lot right away but then you'd never have to worry about it again!
Elizabeth: Yeah, 'cuz you'd be dead.
(insert big argument about whether or not it's possible to live after getting your nose chopped off with a butter knife)
My life is awesome
Nikki: Gah! Why don't I ever date my notes?
Katie: Because they're not male.
Nikki: I never send my notes in the mail.
My life is awesome
Katie: Is that your mom or Andy on the phone?
Elizabeth: Huh?
Katie: Is that your mom or Andy on the phone?
Elizabeth: I still can't understand Katie's man-voice.
Nikki: You mean Kenny's man-voice?
Elizabeth: Talk to me again when you sound normal.
Katie (in the most pitiful stuffy-nose voice I could make): Just because I don't have a sense of smell doesn't mean I don't have feelings!
My life is awesome
If you've never been in an ASL class it's hard to imagine twenty people sitting around in complete silence when no one has died. Please try to picture it for me. Oh, and we were watching a silent movie, so... well... we know what happens when videos are shown in class... Anyway, I was in desperate need of some Tylenol. This cold might kill me, my headache was not helping, and after watching 50 minutes of ASL storytelling on a small tv screen you'd be groping for Tylenol, too. I was trying to decide if it would have been socially acceptable to take it in the middle of class. Most classes I wouldn't have cared, but this one is completely silent, so all of my classmates will hear me unzip my personal pharmacy; the bottle rattle; plus, I dropped my Nalgene splash guard on the floor yesterday and haven't had time to wash it, so I'm going to make a noisy mess as I nearly drown myself trying to swallow the pesky pill; eventually I'll give up and the "crunch" will reverberate through the classroom as if we were in a tunnel. This was my very long internal debate. I finally decided I didn't care: I needed some Tylenol. So I uncrossed my legs and began to dig into my backpack, but before I got there I accidently kicked one of the desks in front of me. "That desk is going to fall and there is nothing I can do about it." It fell in slow motion and the clang rang through the previously silent classroom.
My. Life. Is. Awesome.
My life is awesome
Katie: Guys, I just had another bloody nose.
Andy: I'm trained handle that.
Elizabeth: How many times do we have to tell you, Katie: stop getting punched in the face!
Katie: It was Allyson!
(side note: this is a whole lot funnier if you know Allyson because she'd never hurt a fly)
Allyson (butter knife in hand): Do you want me to cut off your nose? That would help!
Katie: Actually, I think that'd make it bleed a bit more.
Andy: Well, look at it this way: it would hurt and bleed a lot right away but then you'd never have to worry about it again!
Elizabeth: Yeah, 'cuz you'd be dead.
(insert big argument about whether or not it's possible to live after getting your nose chopped off with a butter knife)
My life is awesome
Nikki: Gah! Why don't I ever date my notes?
Katie: Because they're not male.
Nikki: I never send my notes in the mail.
My life is awesome
Katie: Is that your mom or Andy on the phone?
Elizabeth: Huh?
Katie: Is that your mom or Andy on the phone?
Elizabeth: I still can't understand Katie's man-voice.
Nikki: You mean Kenny's man-voice?
Elizabeth: Talk to me again when you sound normal.
Katie (in the most pitiful stuffy-nose voice I could make): Just because I don't have a sense of smell doesn't mean I don't have feelings!
My life is awesome
If you've never been in an ASL class it's hard to imagine twenty people sitting around in complete silence when no one has died. Please try to picture it for me. Oh, and we were watching a silent movie, so... well... we know what happens when videos are shown in class... Anyway, I was in desperate need of some Tylenol. This cold might kill me, my headache was not helping, and after watching 50 minutes of ASL storytelling on a small tv screen you'd be groping for Tylenol, too. I was trying to decide if it would have been socially acceptable to take it in the middle of class. Most classes I wouldn't have cared, but this one is completely silent, so all of my classmates will hear me unzip my personal pharmacy; the bottle rattle; plus, I dropped my Nalgene splash guard on the floor yesterday and haven't had time to wash it, so I'm going to make a noisy mess as I nearly drown myself trying to swallow the pesky pill; eventually I'll give up and the "crunch" will reverberate through the classroom as if we were in a tunnel. This was my very long internal debate. I finally decided I didn't care: I needed some Tylenol. So I uncrossed my legs and began to dig into my backpack, but before I got there I accidently kicked one of the desks in front of me. "That desk is going to fall and there is nothing I can do about it." It fell in slow motion and the clang rang through the previously silent classroom.
My. Life. Is. Awesome.
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Burnt Popcorn
This week in my creative writing class we're been discussing point of view (pov) and tense. Personally, it's a bit basic because I know my preferred pov and tense. I know that if I'm writing creative non-fiction it's almost always in past tense, first person. Sure, the first person protagonist isn't always me but it's how I tend to write. My fiction pov of choice is bit more complicated. Almost always third person but beyond that I cannot/could not be more specific. Last week, I would have said omniscient. This week I'm not so sure. Senior year in high school, a classmate read one my writing assignments and commented, "This is written in third person limited. That's what Mrs. Martin said was the hardest to write, wasn't it?" I took that as a complement but brushed it off because, well, he wasn't the best student in our class. I regret not going back and investigating whether he was right in his judgment or not because now I'm quite a ways into a novel and I realized it's the wrong point of view. Sure, some parts can stay but most of it needs major revisions. I have my work cut out for me, and I realize this four days after spring break. Oh snap.
As a class exercise, I've rewritten this same scene multiple times from multiple povs.
<>< Katie
I first knew Chuck was over when I noticed his car in the parking lot as I walked back to my apartment as I late after class on Monday night. This meant I would not be accomplishing much in the hour and a half I had left of my day. As I walked up the stairs the smell of burnt popcorn was almost overwhelming. Of course, I wondered who did it, if the fire alarm had gone off, and how long the stench had had to clear. I turned the corner and had my answers before I pulled out my keys.
"Are we the ones who burnt the popcorn?" I asked as I walked through the open door. Bad choice. I regret opening my big mouth. Clearly the answer was yes. As soon as I made it through the foyer I saw Mandy curled up in a chair, her face buried in her knees. Chuck knelt beside her trying--and failing miserable--to console her.
"I set the fire alarm off," Mandy said looking up at me. Mascara and tears seemed to be hosting a marathon on her cheeks.
"Let me put my stuff down and I'll give you a hug," I said doing just that. When it comes to rectifying situations involving my roommates, a hug is always step one. Step two was biting my tongue and not complaining about the frigid temperature and awful odor.
"We were going to watch a movie, do you want to watch it, too?" Chuck offered.
Who could think about a movie at a time like that? Sir, your girlfriend is clearly upset, our apartment will soon reach subzero temperatures, and I doubt the aroma of burnt-popcorn will ever dissipate, I wanted to say, but I didn't. Instead I ignored him.
"I don't want to watch that movie now," Mandy confessed quietly. I went into the bathroom and grabbed the air freshener. I could still hear them talking in the kitchen.
"Where'd you find that?" Chuck asked when I returned armed with Oust.
"My secret stash," I said covering up the burnt popcorn with strawberries and cream.
"Heidi, I wish you'd have been here," Mandy cried.
"Me, too," I said hugging her again. It was only half of a lie. I would have rather been here with Mandy and her fire alarm than taking notes in class at 10pm. I wish I had been here for her sake, not my own.
"I was here," Chuck interjected. I smiled at him. He's trying; he really is.
"Everyone knew it was my fault. I forced everyone out of the building," she groaned. Even my story about Emily burning popcorn during business hours and forcing an administrative building to evacuate didn't really help. It was time for Plan B: comic relief.
"Did you try waving the towel in front of the smoke detector?" I asked; she nodded.
"As soon as we stopped the alarm went off. I thought about blocking the detector, but I didn't think that would work," Chuck explained.
"Have you used a wet towel to clear the smell?" They doubted it would be beneficial, but I wanted to try anyway. At the very least, it might cheer Mandy up a bit. I put a fresh towel under the faucet, rang it out, and began to swirl it above my head.
Success! Well, I don't know if it really helped with the smell, but Liz smiled. In fact, I think I heard a giggle! And right then, that giggle was more important to me than the overwhelming burnt popcorn smell. Mission accomplished, Heidi. Well done.
Oh, but next time I try to cheer someone up with the helicopter-like towel maneuver, I might remember to close the blinds first. I think we had an audience in the parking lot.
As a class exercise, I've rewritten this same scene multiple times from multiple povs.
<>< Katie
I first knew Chuck was over when I noticed his car in the parking lot as I walked back to my apartment as I late after class on Monday night. This meant I would not be accomplishing much in the hour and a half I had left of my day. As I walked up the stairs the smell of burnt popcorn was almost overwhelming. Of course, I wondered who did it, if the fire alarm had gone off, and how long the stench had had to clear. I turned the corner and had my answers before I pulled out my keys.
"Are we the ones who burnt the popcorn?" I asked as I walked through the open door. Bad choice. I regret opening my big mouth. Clearly the answer was yes. As soon as I made it through the foyer I saw Mandy curled up in a chair, her face buried in her knees. Chuck knelt beside her trying--and failing miserable--to console her.
"I set the fire alarm off," Mandy said looking up at me. Mascara and tears seemed to be hosting a marathon on her cheeks.
"Let me put my stuff down and I'll give you a hug," I said doing just that. When it comes to rectifying situations involving my roommates, a hug is always step one. Step two was biting my tongue and not complaining about the frigid temperature and awful odor.
"We were going to watch a movie, do you want to watch it, too?" Chuck offered.
Who could think about a movie at a time like that? Sir, your girlfriend is clearly upset, our apartment will soon reach subzero temperatures, and I doubt the aroma of burnt-popcorn will ever dissipate, I wanted to say, but I didn't. Instead I ignored him.
"I don't want to watch that movie now," Mandy confessed quietly. I went into the bathroom and grabbed the air freshener. I could still hear them talking in the kitchen.
"Where'd you find that?" Chuck asked when I returned armed with Oust.
"My secret stash," I said covering up the burnt popcorn with strawberries and cream.
"Heidi, I wish you'd have been here," Mandy cried.
"Me, too," I said hugging her again. It was only half of a lie. I would have rather been here with Mandy and her fire alarm than taking notes in class at 10pm. I wish I had been here for her sake, not my own.
"I was here," Chuck interjected. I smiled at him. He's trying; he really is.
"Everyone knew it was my fault. I forced everyone out of the building," she groaned. Even my story about Emily burning popcorn during business hours and forcing an administrative building to evacuate didn't really help. It was time for Plan B: comic relief.
"Did you try waving the towel in front of the smoke detector?" I asked; she nodded.
"As soon as we stopped the alarm went off. I thought about blocking the detector, but I didn't think that would work," Chuck explained.
"Have you used a wet towel to clear the smell?" They doubted it would be beneficial, but I wanted to try anyway. At the very least, it might cheer Mandy up a bit. I put a fresh towel under the faucet, rang it out, and began to swirl it above my head.
Success! Well, I don't know if it really helped with the smell, but Liz smiled. In fact, I think I heard a giggle! And right then, that giggle was more important to me than the overwhelming burnt popcorn smell. Mission accomplished, Heidi. Well done.
Oh, but next time I try to cheer someone up with the helicopter-like towel maneuver, I might remember to close the blinds first. I think we had an audience in the parking lot.
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Part II: The Writer's Notebook
This is Part II of the "Katie's a Nerd" blog series. See Part I here.
"Why do you have a Day Book?" Roxy asked me yesterday as I tried to scribble down a few more notes for my blog prior to the start class.
"I'm a writer," I told her. I could tell from the confused look on her face that my answer was not satisfactory. From her terminology, I also knew which professor she had for her English general requirement classes therefore had a place to start with the explanation that would consume my remaining writing time.
A Day Book is a catch-all often used for classes. It includes homework, class exercises, free writing, notes, thoughts, ideas, and often handouts (thank you, glue stick). A Writer's Notebook is basically the same thing with a more intimidating name, less focus on classwork, and a little bit less glue. It's really easy to separate our English students by concentration and favorite professor based on the term used for the notebook clutched to their chest.
I wasn't a Writer's Notebook/ Day Book girl. The term didn't intimidate me, the lack of organization did. I love the organization of having separate places for different things and had a system. One binder for class, the PowerPoint for quotes, Word for story thoughts, the blog for God moments, and a small journal for the day's events. The thoughts of having all of those things combined together in one composition book concerned me. Imagine the mess! Then I glanced around my room and noticed the plethora of post-it notes strewn everywhere and decided something needed to change.
Enter my Writer's Notebook. I gave in and bought a composition book only because I finally found some that were college ruled! (Thanks, Office Depot). It lives in my back pack and is almost always with me. Whether I reach for it over a loose leaf sheet of paper is something I'm still working on, but I am improving. It is also the first thing I pack when I'm traveling. The first drafts of many of these blogs are hidden within its pages sitting side-by-side with thoughts that have yet to make an appearance in blog-world. It also contains great quotes and conversations, rough scenes from my novel, and sometimes my rants that cannot stay contained inside of me. For organization, I've tried to color-code my writing in pencil, black pen, and purple pen, but sometimes I forget which color means what. Sure, I still have a post-its everywhere, but I'm learning to enjoy the chaos of my Writer's Notebook.
This also leads to bedlam when the Writer's Notebook vanishes.
"OH MY GOSH!! I lost my Day Book," Keith ran into the caf screaming. Panic stuck. I guess he even sent text messages telling people to pray for him because it was like part of his life and been ripped from him.
"It'd be like if someone stole our blogs!" He said hitting me in the arm trying to put this catastrophe in perspective for me. I already understood, but there was no cutting him off. "Can you imagine if someone stole our blogs!"
"Katie's life would be over," Nikki teased. Maybe I'll hide her Writer's Notebook for a few hours and see how she likes it!
If you don't have a Writer's Notebook/ Day Book, get one. (And don't lose it, Keith). It doesn't have to be a college-ruled composition book. It can be a 10cent notebook Wal-mart sells right before school starts but know your spine will probably get messed up. It can be a fancy leather-bound book that's soft to the fingers but know those get expensive after one or two. Adapt these ideas (that I've already adapted once) and find something that works for you. But get a Writer's Notebook. Non-writers, I won't laugh (too hard) at you if you call yours a "Day Book."
Oh, and don't use a blog to catch your thoughts. I know, I'm writing to myself here. The chances of me accidentally destroying my blog is greater than losing my Writer's Notebook. I eat computers. Paper doesn't taste as good.
Remember those stories we talked about yesterday? Go break in your Writer's Notebook with some of them. :-)
Have you found Writers' Notebooks/ Day Books work for you? Are they practical for your life? Please let me know!
<>< Katie
PS: Happy birthday, Emily. :-)
"Why do you have a Day Book?" Roxy asked me yesterday as I tried to scribble down a few more notes for my blog prior to the start class.
"I'm a writer," I told her. I could tell from the confused look on her face that my answer was not satisfactory. From her terminology, I also knew which professor she had for her English general requirement classes therefore had a place to start with the explanation that would consume my remaining writing time.
A Day Book is a catch-all often used for classes. It includes homework, class exercises, free writing, notes, thoughts, ideas, and often handouts (thank you, glue stick). A Writer's Notebook is basically the same thing with a more intimidating name, less focus on classwork, and a little bit less glue. It's really easy to separate our English students by concentration and favorite professor based on the term used for the notebook clutched to their chest.
I wasn't a Writer's Notebook/ Day Book girl. The term didn't intimidate me, the lack of organization did. I love the organization of having separate places for different things and had a system. One binder for class, the PowerPoint for quotes, Word for story thoughts, the blog for God moments, and a small journal for the day's events. The thoughts of having all of those things combined together in one composition book concerned me. Imagine the mess! Then I glanced around my room and noticed the plethora of post-it notes strewn everywhere and decided something needed to change.
Enter my Writer's Notebook. I gave in and bought a composition book only because I finally found some that were college ruled! (Thanks, Office Depot). It lives in my back pack and is almost always with me. Whether I reach for it over a loose leaf sheet of paper is something I'm still working on, but I am improving. It is also the first thing I pack when I'm traveling. The first drafts of many of these blogs are hidden within its pages sitting side-by-side with thoughts that have yet to make an appearance in blog-world. It also contains great quotes and conversations, rough scenes from my novel, and sometimes my rants that cannot stay contained inside of me. For organization, I've tried to color-code my writing in pencil, black pen, and purple pen, but sometimes I forget which color means what. Sure, I still have a post-its everywhere, but I'm learning to enjoy the chaos of my Writer's Notebook.
This also leads to bedlam when the Writer's Notebook vanishes.
"OH MY GOSH!! I lost my Day Book," Keith ran into the caf screaming. Panic stuck. I guess he even sent text messages telling people to pray for him because it was like part of his life and been ripped from him.
"It'd be like if someone stole our blogs!" He said hitting me in the arm trying to put this catastrophe in perspective for me. I already understood, but there was no cutting him off. "Can you imagine if someone stole our blogs!"
"Katie's life would be over," Nikki teased. Maybe I'll hide her Writer's Notebook for a few hours and see how she likes it!
If you don't have a Writer's Notebook/ Day Book, get one. (And don't lose it, Keith). It doesn't have to be a college-ruled composition book. It can be a 10cent notebook Wal-mart sells right before school starts but know your spine will probably get messed up. It can be a fancy leather-bound book that's soft to the fingers but know those get expensive after one or two. Adapt these ideas (that I've already adapted once) and find something that works for you. But get a Writer's Notebook. Non-writers, I won't laugh (too hard) at you if you call yours a "Day Book."
Oh, and don't use a blog to catch your thoughts. I know, I'm writing to myself here. The chances of me accidentally destroying my blog is greater than losing my Writer's Notebook. I eat computers. Paper doesn't taste as good.
Remember those stories we talked about yesterday? Go break in your Writer's Notebook with some of them. :-)
Have you found Writers' Notebooks/ Day Books work for you? Are they practical for your life? Please let me know!
<>< Katie
PS: Happy birthday, Emily. :-)
Monday, February 15, 2010
Part I: Story Telling
This is Part I of a two-part blog series. Part II will be posted tomorrow.
"How many of you like to tell stories?" A professor asked one morning. Every hand in the room shot up. Of course, this is a creative writing class.
"How many of you like to hear stories?" Again, every hand went up.
"How many of you like to hear your parents or grandparents tell stories?" A bit hesitantly, the hands raised themselves into the air.
"Only the first time," Chelsea whispered to me. A little bit of laughter erupted from our side of the classroom. She'd voiced my exact thoughts. Only once do I really need to hear about how you walked to school everyday through the snow. Yes, I realize it was up-hill both ways.
However, there are some stories I don't mind hearing over and over again. Toddler Dad being brought home by the school girls because he had lost his clothes somewhere in the neighborhood (I like to think this was a recurring story and therefore truly happened as often as Dad tells it). Or how Mom's boyfriend took a flip off of the roof into a snowbank and a passer-by thought it was Grandpa.
I am blessed to have four grandparents and two parents, all healthy. Unfortunately, they're 900 miles away not telling me stories as we sit around and chat. Sometimes I miss that. Somedays I miss dinner being interrupted by a "Hey, did I ever tell you about the time our family cow followed me to school?" Yes, you have, only every day since I was old enough to remember but please tell it again!
As a writer, you never know when these stories are going to come in handy. Maybe they're the substance you need for a good poem, a great situation to plug into your novel, an amusing blog post, or even something to write about when you're suffering from writer's block. Recording and rewriting these stories in your Writer's Notebook is an excellent exercise.
What's a Writer's Notebook? That's tomorrow. See you then!
Go write about your family's classics,
<>< Katie
"How many of you like to tell stories?" A professor asked one morning. Every hand in the room shot up. Of course, this is a creative writing class.
"How many of you like to hear stories?" Again, every hand went up.
"How many of you like to hear your parents or grandparents tell stories?" A bit hesitantly, the hands raised themselves into the air.
"Only the first time," Chelsea whispered to me. A little bit of laughter erupted from our side of the classroom. She'd voiced my exact thoughts. Only once do I really need to hear about how you walked to school everyday through the snow. Yes, I realize it was up-hill both ways.
However, there are some stories I don't mind hearing over and over again. Toddler Dad being brought home by the school girls because he had lost his clothes somewhere in the neighborhood (I like to think this was a recurring story and therefore truly happened as often as Dad tells it). Or how Mom's boyfriend took a flip off of the roof into a snowbank and a passer-by thought it was Grandpa.
I am blessed to have four grandparents and two parents, all healthy. Unfortunately, they're 900 miles away not telling me stories as we sit around and chat. Sometimes I miss that. Somedays I miss dinner being interrupted by a "Hey, did I ever tell you about the time our family cow followed me to school?" Yes, you have, only every day since I was old enough to remember but please tell it again!
As a writer, you never know when these stories are going to come in handy. Maybe they're the substance you need for a good poem, a great situation to plug into your novel, an amusing blog post, or even something to write about when you're suffering from writer's block. Recording and rewriting these stories in your Writer's Notebook is an excellent exercise.
What's a Writer's Notebook? That's tomorrow. See you then!
Go write about your family's classics,
<>< Katie
Monday, January 25, 2010
Rushed Prayer
Katie
God
"Aloud"
For some unknown reason my friend Kevin thought it wise to tease me about updating my blog 3 to 4 times a day. First off, I have only updated three times in one day once (ok, maybe twice). Second, you should see some of the stuff I write and don't post! Third, blogging is the cool thing to do not having a blog and abandoning it for a month! Last yet most important, at least I didn't buy whitey tighties at Wal-mart while wearing a pink shirt...
Today's been a long day. I left my apartment 6 hours ago and haven't been back since. After this next meeting, I'll be able to run a back there for maybe an hour, leave for dinner, go back for another hour, and I have three hours of class tonight. It's been a busy day but this was perhaps my favorite fifteen minutes.
12:49
Prof, please let class out. I have to get lunch.
12:51
"Class dismissed."
Thank you! The race begins: you have nine minutes to get to the caf, find lunch, and get to the prayer room. Go!
12:54
Congratulations, you made it in the building. Six minutes. Good luck.
Please swipe cards faster, can't you tell I'm on a time limit here?
12:55
"Hi, Emily. Yes, I can do coffee tomorrow. Hi, Steven. I'm good, and you? Hola, Stephanie. Hey, Jeanie. What happened to your underwear, Quailman? Hi, Brittany. Hi, hi, hi..."
Gosh, darn it! Why do I have to be so friendly? Five minutes and an empty to-go box. Double time, Katie!
12:56
Pizza or rice? Pizza or rice? Who likes milk in a paper cup? Yuck! Do I want grape juice for breakfast and lunch? Well, milk is out, so grape juice it is. Please don't be out of grape juice. Do I want dessert? What do I want for dessert?
12:57
"Have a good day, Katie," David shouted across the caf. I looked up just long enough to wave to my normal lunch pals and give them a faint smile. Oh, how I wish I could stay to listen to Claire interpret David's argument to say married women are ugly. No time for that. Tight schedule.
12:58
Hey, Katie.
"What?" I asked aloud, my tone of voice really said, "In a rush, can't talk now." I was tripping up the back stairs of the chapel spilling grape juice up my straw and all over my face (don't ask me how that happened but it did).
I'll see be here when you get here.
Huh?
12:59
Flick off the shoes, I'm entering Holy Ground. Whew! I can breathe again! I made it: with one minute to spare.
1:01
Why'd you rush? I'm still here. Remember what we talked about in Guatemala about being late?
My campus is currently taking part in a 24/7 prayer campaign where we have someone praying for the campus and the world twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. I accidentally signed up for a time during my lunch hour instead of picking a time I was free (like now in the two o'clock hour). I'd encourage you to take some time out of your schedule today, this week and pray for your world. Your campus, your town, your state, your country, your world. It doesn't have to be an hour. You don't have to shove a pizza in your mouth as you pray, "Thank You, God, that I have food." But take a minute to pray today.
With love,
<>< Katie
God
"Aloud"
For some unknown reason my friend Kevin thought it wise to tease me about updating my blog 3 to 4 times a day. First off, I have only updated three times in one day once (ok, maybe twice). Second, you should see some of the stuff I write and don't post! Third, blogging is the cool thing to do not having a blog and abandoning it for a month! Last yet most important, at least I didn't buy whitey tighties at Wal-mart while wearing a pink shirt...
Today's been a long day. I left my apartment 6 hours ago and haven't been back since. After this next meeting, I'll be able to run a back there for maybe an hour, leave for dinner, go back for another hour, and I have three hours of class tonight. It's been a busy day but this was perhaps my favorite fifteen minutes.
12:49
Prof, please let class out. I have to get lunch.
12:51
"Class dismissed."
Thank you! The race begins: you have nine minutes to get to the caf, find lunch, and get to the prayer room. Go!
12:54
Congratulations, you made it in the building. Six minutes. Good luck.
Please swipe cards faster, can't you tell I'm on a time limit here?
12:55
"Hi, Emily. Yes, I can do coffee tomorrow. Hi, Steven. I'm good, and you? Hola, Stephanie. Hey, Jeanie. What happened to your underwear, Quailman? Hi, Brittany. Hi, hi, hi..."
Gosh, darn it! Why do I have to be so friendly? Five minutes and an empty to-go box. Double time, Katie!
12:56
Pizza or rice? Pizza or rice? Who likes milk in a paper cup? Yuck! Do I want grape juice for breakfast and lunch? Well, milk is out, so grape juice it is. Please don't be out of grape juice. Do I want dessert? What do I want for dessert?
12:57
"Have a good day, Katie," David shouted across the caf. I looked up just long enough to wave to my normal lunch pals and give them a faint smile. Oh, how I wish I could stay to listen to Claire interpret David's argument to say married women are ugly. No time for that. Tight schedule.
12:58
Hey, Katie.
"What?" I asked aloud, my tone of voice really said, "In a rush, can't talk now." I was tripping up the back stairs of the chapel spilling grape juice up my straw and all over my face (don't ask me how that happened but it did).
I'll see be here when you get here.
Huh?
12:59
Flick off the shoes, I'm entering Holy Ground. Whew! I can breathe again! I made it: with one minute to spare.
1:01
Why'd you rush? I'm still here. Remember what we talked about in Guatemala about being late?
My campus is currently taking part in a 24/7 prayer campaign where we have someone praying for the campus and the world twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. I accidentally signed up for a time during my lunch hour instead of picking a time I was free (like now in the two o'clock hour). I'd encourage you to take some time out of your schedule today, this week and pray for your world. Your campus, your town, your state, your country, your world. It doesn't have to be an hour. You don't have to shove a pizza in your mouth as you pray, "Thank You, God, that I have food." But take a minute to pray today.
With love,
<>< Katie
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
A Letter to You
Class prompt: Spend one hour right now responding to a letter you received from a friend who is struggling with the Christian faith. For the next hour, I cried, I prayed, I scribbled, and I erased. Ultimately, I didn't write this; God did. I am the pen; He is the writer. I tried to edit the grammar mistakes without recrafting sentences I don't like.
Feel free to put your name in when it says, "Friend."
In Christ,
<>< Katie
Dear Friend,
It saddens me to hear about your struggles regarding faith. First of all, I would like you to understand that I am praying for you as you go through this challenging time.
God adores you, Friend. Psalm 139 talks about how He knit you together before you were born. He's chosen you to be His creation, formed to be exactly who He wants you to be. Here's the kicker: He's not done yet. He's still working on you because you're a work in progress. He hasn't given up on you, so I'd encourage you not to give up on Him.
In your letter you talked about how to know God is real. You're right, it's hard when you can't run in to Him at Wal-mart. Not in a physical way, at least. However, just because you can't see and touch Him doesn't mean He isn't there. Personally, I find that to be the cool part: He's always there, even when I can't hear and feel Him. Sometimes He likes to be silent. I like to imagine He's watching and observing and just enjoying being with you. He's not gone. He hasn't moved at all, actually.
You mentioned one of the hardest parts about God is the whole prayer thing. You're right, sometimes it is like you're talking to wall. You talk and pray and pour over your words unsure what to say. Don't give up before you say anything at all. It's just like talking. Nothing special. No fancy words needed. In fact, you can completely eliminate all of the "thees," "thous," and "shalls," if you want. I mean, if you really love those kinds of words go ahead and keep going with them. My suggestion is a simple prayer Bob Lenz taught us back in 2004. Remember? "God, help. Amen." Simple. Yet profound. I also love the Lord's Prayer and it can be found in Matthew 6.
On Friday I was reminded of something cool. Christianity is potentially the only religion that offers forgiveness. Sure, you messed up. So have I. God knows our mess-ups. That's terrifying, right? I know. But it's also cool. Cool because He knows everything we've done but He still loves us. He's still forgiven us, still accepted us, still died for us. That's the beauty of grace and mercy. Mercy is God not giving us what we deserve (death because we've messed up). Grace is God giving us what we don't deserve (life, namely eternal life). My friend Ron explained it to me once like this: say you're outside playing and you get all muddy before running through the house and making a huge mess. Mercy is your mom not getting mad and punishing you. Grace is when she hands you a plate of cookies even though you made a big mess. She still loves you. God loves you through your skrew-ups and your questions.
Questions are good, my friend. Questions help us know people are thinking. Never be afraid to ask questions. The challenge is that sometimes we ask questions and don't get answers we want or worse don't get any answers at all.
Silence stings.
I've been there. Sitting in the silence waiting, wondering. However, I am learning to enjoy the silence. Learning to realize I don't need answers to all of my questions. If I knew everything about God then there would no longer be the need for faith. "Faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see" (Hebrews 11:1). We all memorized that verse in confirmation class way back in the day.
Back when we studied baptism, communion, the ten commandments, confirmation, etc. All of the things that you find challenging now. I suppose 8th grade as a long time ago. Have you been asking unanswered questions since then?
I will confess, I have. They're not all unanswered, of course, but a lot of them are still unanswered. Especially the "why" questions I don't anticipate those answers on this side of heaven. In fact, many of them I've written down and set aside as if to say, "I'm not dwelling on this anymore."
I've got to head to class and I want to get this in the mail before the post office closes. Can we get together to chat in person? I've love to hear more of your thoughts, questions, and uncertainties.
Until then, realize God loves you so much that He sent His Son to die for you. Have you ever had anyone die for you? What about Someone who died for you but didn't stay dead? Someone who knows your anxious thoughts and desires to soothe your fears? Someone who cares a lot about you.
Have you ever watched an engaged father play with his young child? Whether they play baseball or ride bikes or paint the house or just plain be together. The joy you see between the two of them sharing life together. That's the joy God wants in sharing life with you.
He loves you, Friend. With an immeasurable love that is beyond what we can fathom.
In the words of Max Lucado, "God thinks you're great."
And I do, too.
Love,
Katie
Feel free to put your name in when it says, "Friend."
In Christ,
<>< Katie
Dear Friend,
It saddens me to hear about your struggles regarding faith. First of all, I would like you to understand that I am praying for you as you go through this challenging time.
God adores you, Friend. Psalm 139 talks about how He knit you together before you were born. He's chosen you to be His creation, formed to be exactly who He wants you to be. Here's the kicker: He's not done yet. He's still working on you because you're a work in progress. He hasn't given up on you, so I'd encourage you not to give up on Him.
In your letter you talked about how to know God is real. You're right, it's hard when you can't run in to Him at Wal-mart. Not in a physical way, at least. However, just because you can't see and touch Him doesn't mean He isn't there. Personally, I find that to be the cool part: He's always there, even when I can't hear and feel Him. Sometimes He likes to be silent. I like to imagine He's watching and observing and just enjoying being with you. He's not gone. He hasn't moved at all, actually.
You mentioned one of the hardest parts about God is the whole prayer thing. You're right, sometimes it is like you're talking to wall. You talk and pray and pour over your words unsure what to say. Don't give up before you say anything at all. It's just like talking. Nothing special. No fancy words needed. In fact, you can completely eliminate all of the "thees," "thous," and "shalls," if you want. I mean, if you really love those kinds of words go ahead and keep going with them. My suggestion is a simple prayer Bob Lenz taught us back in 2004. Remember? "God, help. Amen." Simple. Yet profound. I also love the Lord's Prayer and it can be found in Matthew 6.
On Friday I was reminded of something cool. Christianity is potentially the only religion that offers forgiveness. Sure, you messed up. So have I. God knows our mess-ups. That's terrifying, right? I know. But it's also cool. Cool because He knows everything we've done but He still loves us. He's still forgiven us, still accepted us, still died for us. That's the beauty of grace and mercy. Mercy is God not giving us what we deserve (death because we've messed up). Grace is God giving us what we don't deserve (life, namely eternal life). My friend Ron explained it to me once like this: say you're outside playing and you get all muddy before running through the house and making a huge mess. Mercy is your mom not getting mad and punishing you. Grace is when she hands you a plate of cookies even though you made a big mess. She still loves you. God loves you through your skrew-ups and your questions.
Questions are good, my friend. Questions help us know people are thinking. Never be afraid to ask questions. The challenge is that sometimes we ask questions and don't get answers we want or worse don't get any answers at all.
Silence stings.
I've been there. Sitting in the silence waiting, wondering. However, I am learning to enjoy the silence. Learning to realize I don't need answers to all of my questions. If I knew everything about God then there would no longer be the need for faith. "Faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see" (Hebrews 11:1). We all memorized that verse in confirmation class way back in the day.
Back when we studied baptism, communion, the ten commandments, confirmation, etc. All of the things that you find challenging now. I suppose 8th grade as a long time ago. Have you been asking unanswered questions since then?
I will confess, I have. They're not all unanswered, of course, but a lot of them are still unanswered. Especially the "why" questions I don't anticipate those answers on this side of heaven. In fact, many of them I've written down and set aside as if to say, "I'm not dwelling on this anymore."
I've got to head to class and I want to get this in the mail before the post office closes. Can we get together to chat in person? I've love to hear more of your thoughts, questions, and uncertainties.
Until then, realize God loves you so much that He sent His Son to die for you. Have you ever had anyone die for you? What about Someone who died for you but didn't stay dead? Someone who knows your anxious thoughts and desires to soothe your fears? Someone who cares a lot about you.
Have you ever watched an engaged father play with his young child? Whether they play baseball or ride bikes or paint the house or just plain be together. The joy you see between the two of them sharing life together. That's the joy God wants in sharing life with you.
He loves you, Friend. With an immeasurable love that is beyond what we can fathom.
In the words of Max Lucado, "God thinks you're great."
And I do, too.
Love,
Katie
Monday, January 18, 2010
Exercise
Gosh, I love Mondays. Hear the sarcasm. My first class starts at 9am and my last class ends at 9:50pm. Yes, please pray fr me on Mondays especially. This is relational exercise in patience.
I knew it was going to be a weird day in my ASL class this morning. We were talking about different shapes and the professor signed, "KNOW MEDICAL DOCTOR SERVE HAMBURGER CIRCLE IN BOX." Huh? Must have zoned out because that didn't make sense. Yeah, it was "McDonalds" not "Doctor." Both signed "MD" with one on the back of the hand and the other on the inside of the wrist. Oops. Wrong me. Mental exercise.
This afternoon, I was sitting in my hammock reading about poetry. My favorite thing. More sarcasm. It's no wonder I couldn't focus. So, I looked across my room and noticed my bike. Let's go for a bike ride! Ladies and gentlemen, it is JANUARY and I went for a bike ride without my jacket. The terrain here is different than I'm used to and I'm completely out of shape, but even my short bike ride was enough to get some exercise, clear my brain, and enjoy the wonderful weather.
One of my suitemates is currently taking violin for the first time. Back in the day, I used to play viola. Not well, mind you, but I played never the less. Everyone took a turn trying to play her violin and everyone sounded awful. Sorry, girls. When it was my turn, I played an old simple song I remembered and jaws dropped. I remind you, I am not a good violist, but it was great to have a stringed instrument in my hands again. Excellent exercise for my fingers and my brain.
Part one of my Christmas present arrived in the mail today, our Wii. I call it the "you and your suitemates aren't good enough at killing time" gift. It was later followed by a Wii Fit, the "you need to lose weight" aspect of the gift. Huh? The Wii Fit isn't here yet but my shoulder hurts from bowling and tennis. More physical exercise.
However, the most challenging exercise happened in my night class. This is the first time we've met, but the professor has had all of us as his students previously. Prior to even handing out the syllabus, he stated a vague situation and gave us an hour to respond to it privately. This was an excellent writing exercise in my religion class, and I might post what I wrote tomorrow. Really, it was a masked-exercise in discovering Christology. However, it was hard! An emotional and spiritual battle. At the end of class, the professor apologized for "any tear and sweat this may have caused." It caused both. Spiritual and emotional exercise.
Are you in shape? Relationally? Emotionally? Physically? Mentally? Most importantly, spiritually?
<>< Katie
PS: Yes, I realize this was kind of a "I had peanut butter on my bagel instead of cream cheese" post and no one really cares, but it was just a very interesting day and I think you should hear about it. I tried to tie it together. Oh, and I don't really believe the Wii Fit joke aspect of the Christmas present, by the way.
I knew it was going to be a weird day in my ASL class this morning. We were talking about different shapes and the professor signed, "KNOW MEDICAL DOCTOR SERVE HAMBURGER CIRCLE IN BOX." Huh? Must have zoned out because that didn't make sense. Yeah, it was "McDonalds" not "Doctor." Both signed "MD" with one on the back of the hand and the other on the inside of the wrist. Oops. Wrong me. Mental exercise.
This afternoon, I was sitting in my hammock reading about poetry. My favorite thing. More sarcasm. It's no wonder I couldn't focus. So, I looked across my room and noticed my bike. Let's go for a bike ride! Ladies and gentlemen, it is JANUARY and I went for a bike ride without my jacket. The terrain here is different than I'm used to and I'm completely out of shape, but even my short bike ride was enough to get some exercise, clear my brain, and enjoy the wonderful weather.
One of my suitemates is currently taking violin for the first time. Back in the day, I used to play viola. Not well, mind you, but I played never the less. Everyone took a turn trying to play her violin and everyone sounded awful. Sorry, girls. When it was my turn, I played an old simple song I remembered and jaws dropped. I remind you, I am not a good violist, but it was great to have a stringed instrument in my hands again. Excellent exercise for my fingers and my brain.
Part one of my Christmas present arrived in the mail today, our Wii. I call it the "you and your suitemates aren't good enough at killing time" gift. It was later followed by a Wii Fit, the "you need to lose weight" aspect of the gift. Huh? The Wii Fit isn't here yet but my shoulder hurts from bowling and tennis. More physical exercise.
However, the most challenging exercise happened in my night class. This is the first time we've met, but the professor has had all of us as his students previously. Prior to even handing out the syllabus, he stated a vague situation and gave us an hour to respond to it privately. This was an excellent writing exercise in my religion class, and I might post what I wrote tomorrow. Really, it was a masked-exercise in discovering Christology. However, it was hard! An emotional and spiritual battle. At the end of class, the professor apologized for "any tear and sweat this may have caused." It caused both. Spiritual and emotional exercise.
Are you in shape? Relationally? Emotionally? Physically? Mentally? Most importantly, spiritually?
<>< Katie
PS: Yes, I realize this was kind of a "I had peanut butter on my bagel instead of cream cheese" post and no one really cares, but it was just a very interesting day and I think you should hear about it. I tried to tie it together. Oh, and I don't really believe the Wii Fit joke aspect of the Christmas present, by the way.
Thursday, December 11, 2008
Adventures from the Flying Cesspool
Dear Fellow Compansions on This Flying Cesspool,
For the strangers who keep giving me the once-over, yes, I'm talking to you. No, you don't know me.
To the woman on the loud speaker, shut up.
To the man driving the golf-cart, I don't care how many times you offer me a ride. I have three hours and am able-bodied. I am good to go, thank you.
To the man complaining about his son, maybe we should trade books. You read Disconnect by Chap Clark and I'll read "Parents apparently don't play a role in their children's upbringing" that you've got your nose stuck in.
To the woman sitting in front of me, I don't care how many times you slam your body into the chair, it doesn't come back any further. In fact, those are my knees you're hitting. It hurts me just as much as it hurts you.
To the woman who can't get on this flight, I'm sorry the flight is full. Maybe next time it would be a good idea to book ahead of time.
To the woman with the small child, ever considered a sedative? (For yourself or the child)
To the man yawning while walking on the moving walkway, don't walk. It saves energy. Don't yawn, I've been up since 6:45am (in a different time zone), and I have four hours until I even get home. Twelve hours ago, I was finishing class for the day. My grades for that class are already posted. Should we compare long days?
To whoever thought it was smart to put flashing lights at the end of the moving walkway, you idiot. I'm very glad I don't have a photosensitive epilepsy.
To the people with the wheelchair on the moving walk-way, that was quite hilarious.
To the grounds crew who can't properly close the cargo door, thanks for delaying us 45 minutes. Just close it, let the pilot lie and say it's closed and move on. Whatever you do... DON'T CALL... Maintenance!
To the pilot who had the nerve to tell me we were flying right over my final destination, just let me off this darn plane! Give me a parachute, get me close, and we'll be good to go!
To everyone else who has caught my eye, thank you for your amusement.
Have a great day, here or wherever your final destination may be!
<>< Katie
For the strangers who keep giving me the once-over, yes, I'm talking to you. No, you don't know me.
To the woman on the loud speaker, shut up.
To the man driving the golf-cart, I don't care how many times you offer me a ride. I have three hours and am able-bodied. I am good to go, thank you.
To the man complaining about his son, maybe we should trade books. You read Disconnect by Chap Clark and I'll read "Parents apparently don't play a role in their children's upbringing" that you've got your nose stuck in.
To the woman sitting in front of me, I don't care how many times you slam your body into the chair, it doesn't come back any further. In fact, those are my knees you're hitting. It hurts me just as much as it hurts you.
To the woman who can't get on this flight, I'm sorry the flight is full. Maybe next time it would be a good idea to book ahead of time.
To the woman with the small child, ever considered a sedative? (For yourself or the child)
To the man yawning while walking on the moving walkway, don't walk. It saves energy. Don't yawn, I've been up since 6:45am (in a different time zone), and I have four hours until I even get home. Twelve hours ago, I was finishing class for the day. My grades for that class are already posted. Should we compare long days?
To whoever thought it was smart to put flashing lights at the end of the moving walkway, you idiot. I'm very glad I don't have a photosensitive epilepsy.
To the people with the wheelchair on the moving walk-way, that was quite hilarious.
To the grounds crew who can't properly close the cargo door, thanks for delaying us 45 minutes. Just close it, let the pilot lie and say it's closed and move on. Whatever you do... DON'T CALL... Maintenance!
To the pilot who had the nerve to tell me we were flying right over my final destination, just let me off this darn plane! Give me a parachute, get me close, and we'll be good to go!
To everyone else who has caught my eye, thank you for your amusement.
Have a great day, here or wherever your final destination may be!
<>< Katie
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)