I have decided to dedicate this blog entry to my Grandma Connie in honor of her birthday this week.
Grandma Connie you're the best
You get an A+ on the Grandma test
I appreciate all the things you do
I want you to know I love you too
When I was young and feeling ill
My mom would take me to my Grandma Will
I would lay on the couch all dang day
She'd make me feel better in a lot of ways
No matter if the weather is rain or shine
She always has a smile, that grandma of mine
My friends have noticed its plain for everyone to see
That Connie Will is always happy
That's why they call her Happy Grandma
However, she will lay down the law
Take care to never make her mad
I'm afraid the consequences are bad
If you ever want to eat like you're a king
Go ahead and give Grandma a ring
She's makes delicious food and amazing chili
It tastes so good it's almost silly
She remodeled her kitchen and it looks so nice
It turns out they had to paint twice
Because I scraped the chair on the wall
And ruined the job after all
I know she still loves me
That's how it'll always be
Here's to you Happy
Love, Me
Monday, October 20, 2008
Monday, October 13, 2008
So Much Trouble in the World
I believe that violence accomplishes nothing. I've never understood people who want to hurt other people. Ever since I was in middle school I have been watching people fight. I remember that sometimes I was afraid of my school because some hormone raging girl had decided she was going to "beat my ass" all because I looked at her funny. Why do people get so angry so easily? What is it that drives a person to physically hurt someone else?
A couple weeks ago my best friend and I went out to a nightclub called Beta to see one of our favorite DJ's. After we had our fill of the bass throbbing madness we left and walked to our car which was in a parking lot on 18th and Market street. Across the street from Beta is another club called Bash. This club is known for it's roughness and I wouldn't even want to go in there. As we made our way to our car one girl came out of Bash bragging to her friends about a fight she had just got in. This whole time there were two boys walking behind us that had also exited from Club Bash. As we entered the parking lot I turn around because I hear someone yelling, "Hey! Hey mother fucker!" I thought they were yelling at me but they were actually yelling at the two guys right behind us. The yelling boys ran across the street and started fighting the boys behind us. The only thing I could think about was how somebody had gotten shot and killed in that same parking lot only months prior to that night. I was scared. I hate watching people fight, and this was a particularly violent display. My friend and I hurried to my car and left as quickly as we could. I looked over my shoulder one last time and saw that one of the boys had taken off his belt that had metal studs on it and was whipping the boy that was walking behind me with it. What in the world could this boy have done to deserve a beating with a studded belt? What does anyone do in life that would be justified with a beating?
Some people are raised fighting. I've met people who got fighting lessons from their parents as children and were forced to practice with their siblings. Now, I can see why a parent would want their child to be able to defend themselves, but I'm afraid the wrong lesson is being learned here. Now these children assume that fighting will make them look superior and solve their problems. Now whenever there is confrontation the first thing this person is going to turn to is a fight. As a result fights happen every day for stupid reasons just so someone can feel like they showed someone else up.
Another thing I believe in is karma. I think this is probably why I've never been in a fight. People have made me angry before for sure, but I didn't seek satisfaction or revenge through violence. I can simply smile to myself and know that they will get theirs in life. Karma will get them eventually, and sometimes this can be in ways more painful than violence. Physically hurting someone is a waste of energy and time. It takes so much to hate someone let alone to want to hurt them. I think that everyone's energy could be spent in a million better ways.
A couple weeks ago my best friend and I went out to a nightclub called Beta to see one of our favorite DJ's. After we had our fill of the bass throbbing madness we left and walked to our car which was in a parking lot on 18th and Market street. Across the street from Beta is another club called Bash. This club is known for it's roughness and I wouldn't even want to go in there. As we made our way to our car one girl came out of Bash bragging to her friends about a fight she had just got in. This whole time there were two boys walking behind us that had also exited from Club Bash. As we entered the parking lot I turn around because I hear someone yelling, "Hey! Hey mother fucker!" I thought they were yelling at me but they were actually yelling at the two guys right behind us. The yelling boys ran across the street and started fighting the boys behind us. The only thing I could think about was how somebody had gotten shot and killed in that same parking lot only months prior to that night. I was scared. I hate watching people fight, and this was a particularly violent display. My friend and I hurried to my car and left as quickly as we could. I looked over my shoulder one last time and saw that one of the boys had taken off his belt that had metal studs on it and was whipping the boy that was walking behind me with it. What in the world could this boy have done to deserve a beating with a studded belt? What does anyone do in life that would be justified with a beating?
Some people are raised fighting. I've met people who got fighting lessons from their parents as children and were forced to practice with their siblings. Now, I can see why a parent would want their child to be able to defend themselves, but I'm afraid the wrong lesson is being learned here. Now these children assume that fighting will make them look superior and solve their problems. Now whenever there is confrontation the first thing this person is going to turn to is a fight. As a result fights happen every day for stupid reasons just so someone can feel like they showed someone else up.
Another thing I believe in is karma. I think this is probably why I've never been in a fight. People have made me angry before for sure, but I didn't seek satisfaction or revenge through violence. I can simply smile to myself and know that they will get theirs in life. Karma will get them eventually, and sometimes this can be in ways more painful than violence. Physically hurting someone is a waste of energy and time. It takes so much to hate someone let alone to want to hurt them. I think that everyone's energy could be spent in a million better ways.
Thursday, October 9, 2008
Happy Place
If life was like Peter Pan everybody would have a happy place. As I sit and think about the things that make me happy there is one certain thing that I have decided is my happy place.
I am taking a theater class at Red Rocks and through that class I have discovered exactly where my happy place is. I love to act. When I act I get to become someone else. All of my thoughts and purposes change. Who I am at that moment doesn't matter. My whole life is irrelevant because I am not me. I can forget about all of my worries and issues and just pretend they don't exist for a while. It's a wonderful escape.
I can't think of anything else that makes me feel the same way. I always want to have this in my life. To be a paid actor would be great but even if that never happens I'm always going to act.
Another great thing about that class is the people who are also involved in it. I really get the feeling that I can be myself and even act like someone else in front of them without judgment. Sure, a little constructive criticism is present but nobody is ever degraded. Not in that class.
This is defiantly my happy place.
I am taking a theater class at Red Rocks and through that class I have discovered exactly where my happy place is. I love to act. When I act I get to become someone else. All of my thoughts and purposes change. Who I am at that moment doesn't matter. My whole life is irrelevant because I am not me. I can forget about all of my worries and issues and just pretend they don't exist for a while. It's a wonderful escape.
I can't think of anything else that makes me feel the same way. I always want to have this in my life. To be a paid actor would be great but even if that never happens I'm always going to act.
Another great thing about that class is the people who are also involved in it. I really get the feeling that I can be myself and even act like someone else in front of them without judgment. Sure, a little constructive criticism is present but nobody is ever degraded. Not in that class.
This is defiantly my happy place.
Monday, October 6, 2008
My Lost Paradise
I'm sure you've heard the expression, "There's no place like home." I have heard it, and even used the expression myself but I think now that I have to disagree. There is one place I can think of that's better than home: Grandma's house. Back before I had a job or things to worry about I would love to spend my time at grandma's house.
Whether we just sat and played cards or watched day time TV, to me there was no better place to be.
Now some time has passed and I have grown into an adult with responsibilities and a full schedule. I no longer have time to sit and play cards or watch TV. Every day I wake up for work at 5:30 am. I go through my morning routine as I put on my makeup, do my hair, brush my teeth, have a cup of coffee, and I begin my day by driving down Sheridan to 6th. On my way to work I pass by a building for assisted living and every time I drive by this building my eyes flicker to the corner window on the fifth floor.
When my Great Grandmother inhabited that room you could see butterfly prisims hanging in the window in front of lacy white curtains from the street. If you were to go inside the building and take the elevator all the way to the top, turn left, left again then right you'd find yourself in front of Florence Will's apartment. Her door was always covered in cards that loved ones had sent her according to the time of year. She had a lot of loved ones because the brown door could never be seen. A collection of Christmas, Thanksgiving, Easter, or birthday cards masked the boring brown door year round. She also had plants outside her apartment I think just to further separate herself from the rest.
When you open the door and walk inside you see what ninety three years of life looks like in a single bedroom apartment. Crowded. You can see all parts of the apartment from anywhere in the apartment, because there were only two major walls that separated the bathroom and the bedroom. To the immediate right was the tiny kitchen. There was probably deviled eggs to be found in the refrigerator and there was always pancake mix. The coffee cups hung on the wall shoved onto the wooden hooks inches away from falling. Most of the time you'd find something rotten somewhere that she had forgotten about and left to be covered in mold. I learned to just throw things away when she wasn't looking.
It wasn't much but Grandma made it her own. She covered the walls with pictures of the love of her life, Bert. In the remaining spots you'd find butterflies, crosses and pictures of family that left little white wall to see. She had a tiny couch for guests to sit on that was squeezed between a bookcase full of photo albums and a tiny end table with a lamp set on top. You could find magnifying glasses in multiple locations. Only one magnifying glass would not be able to do the job. Grandma had to have things in groups of two or three. That's probably what added to the clutter. Grandma's chair was set up almost directly in front of the TV. She had to sit very close in order to be able to see her daily lineup of soaps and The Price is Right.
If you entered her tiny room you would find a closet overflowing with a plethora of church dresses and clothes. Her twin bed was in the middle of the room and was always made if she was not sleeping in it. On her dresser laid her earrings and her jewelry. That woman had so much jewelry that you could wear a different necklace of hers everyday for ninety years.
There are three major things I think of when I think of Grandma's apartment: pictures, jewelry and most important of all, the smell. The one thing that identified my grandmother the most was her smell. Youth Dew by Estee Lauder was her daily juice. Anything that you got from grandma would have that smell on it simply just from her touching it. As soon as you're even standing outside her apartment you could distinguish her smell. It wasn't a bad smell though, it was sweet, comforting and loving.
Grandma's battle with cancer began in 2005 and it would end in July 2006. Her decision to live out the rest of her days without treatment marked that it was time to separate all her possessions among her grandchildren. As she sorted through a lifetime of saved treasures she picked out one stuffed animal from her room for each of us. She took her last bottle of Youth Dew and sprayed the stuffed toys and then sealed them in a zip lock bag. She told us this way we could always sneak smells of her even after she was gone. It was the best way she could preserve her aroma.
If you were to go now to that building and take that same elevator to the same floor and walk to that same apartment I'm sure you wouldn't find cards on the door. After we had cleaned out her apartment someone else moved into her space and made it their own. The sweet smell that once drifted under the crack of the door is no longer emitted from that room. I didn't fully understand that Grandma was gone until I gazed into her empty apartment one last time after we had finally moved all her things out of it. The blank white walls and empty rooms revealed that this paradise that I once loved and found so much comfort in had vanished.
However, thanks to Grandma's consideration, comfort is only a zip lock baggie away if life ever gets old and I need some Youth Dew.
Whether we just sat and played cards or watched day time TV, to me there was no better place to be.
Now some time has passed and I have grown into an adult with responsibilities and a full schedule. I no longer have time to sit and play cards or watch TV. Every day I wake up for work at 5:30 am. I go through my morning routine as I put on my makeup, do my hair, brush my teeth, have a cup of coffee, and I begin my day by driving down Sheridan to 6th. On my way to work I pass by a building for assisted living and every time I drive by this building my eyes flicker to the corner window on the fifth floor.
When my Great Grandmother inhabited that room you could see butterfly prisims hanging in the window in front of lacy white curtains from the street. If you were to go inside the building and take the elevator all the way to the top, turn left, left again then right you'd find yourself in front of Florence Will's apartment. Her door was always covered in cards that loved ones had sent her according to the time of year. She had a lot of loved ones because the brown door could never be seen. A collection of Christmas, Thanksgiving, Easter, or birthday cards masked the boring brown door year round. She also had plants outside her apartment I think just to further separate herself from the rest.
When you open the door and walk inside you see what ninety three years of life looks like in a single bedroom apartment. Crowded. You can see all parts of the apartment from anywhere in the apartment, because there were only two major walls that separated the bathroom and the bedroom. To the immediate right was the tiny kitchen. There was probably deviled eggs to be found in the refrigerator and there was always pancake mix. The coffee cups hung on the wall shoved onto the wooden hooks inches away from falling. Most of the time you'd find something rotten somewhere that she had forgotten about and left to be covered in mold. I learned to just throw things away when she wasn't looking.
It wasn't much but Grandma made it her own. She covered the walls with pictures of the love of her life, Bert. In the remaining spots you'd find butterflies, crosses and pictures of family that left little white wall to see. She had a tiny couch for guests to sit on that was squeezed between a bookcase full of photo albums and a tiny end table with a lamp set on top. You could find magnifying glasses in multiple locations. Only one magnifying glass would not be able to do the job. Grandma had to have things in groups of two or three. That's probably what added to the clutter. Grandma's chair was set up almost directly in front of the TV. She had to sit very close in order to be able to see her daily lineup of soaps and The Price is Right.
If you entered her tiny room you would find a closet overflowing with a plethora of church dresses and clothes. Her twin bed was in the middle of the room and was always made if she was not sleeping in it. On her dresser laid her earrings and her jewelry. That woman had so much jewelry that you could wear a different necklace of hers everyday for ninety years.
There are three major things I think of when I think of Grandma's apartment: pictures, jewelry and most important of all, the smell. The one thing that identified my grandmother the most was her smell. Youth Dew by Estee Lauder was her daily juice. Anything that you got from grandma would have that smell on it simply just from her touching it. As soon as you're even standing outside her apartment you could distinguish her smell. It wasn't a bad smell though, it was sweet, comforting and loving.
Grandma's battle with cancer began in 2005 and it would end in July 2006. Her decision to live out the rest of her days without treatment marked that it was time to separate all her possessions among her grandchildren. As she sorted through a lifetime of saved treasures she picked out one stuffed animal from her room for each of us. She took her last bottle of Youth Dew and sprayed the stuffed toys and then sealed them in a zip lock bag. She told us this way we could always sneak smells of her even after she was gone. It was the best way she could preserve her aroma.
If you were to go now to that building and take that same elevator to the same floor and walk to that same apartment I'm sure you wouldn't find cards on the door. After we had cleaned out her apartment someone else moved into her space and made it their own. The sweet smell that once drifted under the crack of the door is no longer emitted from that room. I didn't fully understand that Grandma was gone until I gazed into her empty apartment one last time after we had finally moved all her things out of it. The blank white walls and empty rooms revealed that this paradise that I once loved and found so much comfort in had vanished.
However, thanks to Grandma's consideration, comfort is only a zip lock baggie away if life ever gets old and I need some Youth Dew.
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