Voice of Passion: The Other Side of Me

Sabrina, Aerial, McKenzie, Morgan and Mason (my five teenagers) address me as Mom aka Momma Storms with several adoptees. Over the years, my children have murmured a few other aliases in which I’m quite certain I have earned however, deemed inappropriate for public disclosure. To Steve, my husband, I am Andrea. Again, I’m certain I have earned additional names from him as well (some permissible and some not so beneficial). Extended family and friends call me Andi; any will suffice. I respond to many pronunciations. It’s nearing two years since I had lost the identity of who I am as me; not as a mom or wife, but as a woman with faith. My identity crisis was the product of loss in my reflection and by whose definition. The journey began and little did I realize the drive would be the ultimate road trip of my life.

I no longer recognized the woman I had become. On the surface, I had it all and did it all. Inside, I could not breathe. The silhouette of darkness suffocated my vocal chords while the intonation provoked a multitude of voices deliberating in my head. Confusion hindered my stride as I no longer could dance with rhythmic balance of truth; the lies had cadenced with harmony. I vanished into reverie at eighty miles an hour and sought a destination beyond the white picket fence of confinement. Metallic green blurs measured my vigorous effort to escape what felt to be death by submission. Silence screamed, “Let me out! Remember me?”

I was the renegade playing with fire and ice hoping the stiletto hadn’t pierced my heart beyond repair. Serenity was lost and my search for the state of euphoria became music to my ears. An open road and wheels driven by a free spirit with the accompaniment of a passenger of the highest power was the only place I found a hint of peace, a familiar place of solitude. As a child so many years ago the musical vibration would rest my dreary eyes as my body would melt with grace and submission to the well being of my soul, I could no longer hear the voices. In these moments I could feel me and love me. Unconditional love of my heart was unified and I could breathe. However, my vision held little relevance therefore the perception defined others often fogged my reflection and sent my free-spirited soul on many journeys beyond the parameters of what truth lay within my heart. Eventually, I became numb.

After several months facing remnants of traumatic events, the pain was too much for the masquerade of balls. I could no longer run, I could no longer hide and I certainly could no longer dance. The conviction was enough to remove the blinders of who I had been hiding. Although I could see, feel, breathe and walk, my voice had been tainted and the fear gave way for judgment. I was judged based on the unveiling mask of sins committed through years of battle. I lost my freedom and the right to appeal. The tongue can be a fire ready to devour any who cross the path of a woman scorned. My silence had been broken but not tamed; forgiveness is now the journey I seek.

A road of familiar paths traveled by my reflection, God’s perception, is the open road to forgiveness. Consideration of others perception is that of humility and unconditional love for not only me but for those who saw me when I did not. I am not deaf to truth nor am I blind to truth. Music may define the pace in which my heart beats but my eyes and ears are privy to one reflection of who I am.  I am SAM and SAM I am. Sam is the acronym of Sabrina, Aerial, Morgan, Mason and McKenzie, the seeds God entrusted me to care for, fertilize and water. There will come a time when harvesting is the witness to fruits worthy of repentance. Repentance leads the path to forgiveness. The reflection of who I am is by the grace, mercy and most of all truth set forth and defined by God, my father. My children are seeds that I have bore, truth in God’s word is the fertilizer I shall raise them with, honor and love will prune their hearts and their flight will be the harvest in which fruits will be evidence of my repentance. I am forgiven daily, a hundred times over, according to the way in which I forgive those who have pierced by heart and strong held my chords. My passion falls within the grace and mercy I seek by giving praise to the One who has pulled me out of the pit when wreckage was the only vision I had. I will praise Him in every storm and take refuge in the music that feeds my heart. I may fall but I will not break. I am unbreakable, silence is not.   

I am a woman who will play rough yet guide you through darkness with her eyes. I am a woman who loves to dance as if everyone is watching but cannot see. I am a woman of fire and ice. I am a woman who walks with the aroma of grace and breathes with a rhythmic fall to a bed of roses. I am a woman crippled by shattered dreams with an overwhelming fear of acceptance. I am a renegade on the journey to escape the law of conventional ways. Surrender or submission all begins within the heart, my heart has walls built with the mortar of pain and suffering however, by prayer I am a woman with wisdom by perseverance. I am a woman passionate after God’s heart, my reflection and not your perception.

A Dying Heart

Drifting and swaying as the eyes grow weary I cast upon my prayer list the request of returning home, where my heart remains. A place where judgment is tolerable and happiness blankets the fear of facing life burdens is a place in which only home can provide. Safety and security against dreary and weathered lines of age are the arms that catch this fallen heart. The return to childhood memories and a mother’s comforting reality check becomes the antibiotic required of home sickness.

An age old recipe, created among the ancestors, possessing vaporized steam, bouillon scents, a dash of salt and a hint of honey mixed in a small bowl while patience and love simmer hours within the paisley and flower printed crock pot warms the soul as laughter and orneriness awaits the remedy yielding a bulk of unconditional heart healing. Viruses linger among the ill as the shattered heart requires the gentle touch of a mom’s caress.

A walk down Viking Lane accompanied by the biggest fan provides reminiscence of whom and where dreams began. Once seen as jailhouse walls and confinement to life’s ambition, the school of Hard Knox trained and schooled the young to persevere with pride, gain victory within loss, hold steadfast to truth, live as if tomorrow was not promised, allow heartaches to mold love, sing as if the whole world wanted to hear, cruise with pouring rain and opened sunroofs, laugh with all and dream the impossible. The home of the Vikings, Huntington North High School is a stomping ground in which friendships, mentors, acquaintances, and even bullies defined the parameter of a foundational lifeline; a home where hearts were built.  My mom is my biggest fan, even today; twenty years post.

A small town comprised of corn fields, flat land, and farmers alike welcome the drifters as they cross mile markers lessoning the gap between years gone by and the very roots in which the drifter ran from. The roots of heritage, family, is the road I travel today in hopes of mending ties and finding the Viking within; a woman who lost sight of dreams once attainable. Though I ran years ago and sought out comfort in the wrong classrooms, I embrace the humility of reaping what I have sown and will never cease in praying for the one way road trip home but for now I will walk with my daughters with perseverance and the hopes they will see me as their biggest fan, the mom who gave it all up for their safety and security.

Home is where the heart is. Huntington, Indiana, a small northeastern town (my hometown), is the place where my heart remains. My heart is held by its residents; a mom whom has loved unconditionally, a sister whom carries my admiration, a step-father who diminishes the "step", a family of aunts, uncles, cousins and grandparents that fragrances the colors of my personality and the familiar faces and spirit of a Wal-Mart congregational reunion dwell within my veins and feed the oxygen needed to keep this heart from failing, until the next visit.

Reflection Piece on Blogging

Blogging to gain fluency, oh cool! For the first week maybe. There’s no doubt I have a passion for writing. The excitement of visiting old friends, pen and paper, was enough to ignore hurdles such as writer’s block and grammatically correct sentence structure (which I still suck at) but the initial fear of disclosure blogging would require was beyond most anxiety attacks experienced, thus far. Anonymity was not an option if I wanted to be judged and graded with all fairness involved, not to mention syllabus inclusion of warnings like “invading your own privacy”. Well, that just shot the excitement reunions typically bring; my writing had always been self-invading, therapy if you will. I desperately needed therapy, emotional release without edit or delete. 

Three weeks later, many hurdles cleared and many leaving scars, progress has been made; vocabulary bank expanded, awareness of audience upon the battlefront, and twenty-five (25) therapy sessions completed. Although therapy is considered as healing, regardless of which emotion was flowing during the hour (or 300 words), the victories fed the conquering while lessons from defeat fed the drive to persevere. I yearned for acceptance throughout this assignment and found comfort knowing there were eyes reading, I actually had an audience. Minimal comments were made throughout, source of discouragement on occasion; however the acceptance came from increasing “hits” on certain posts and from various areas, globally. They shared my fear; disclosure. Forty-nine “hits” in one day, now that is honor, one that often kept me from giving up.

Blogging has become a playground or a lab testing facility for me, as a writer. Tracking followers, disclosed or undisclosed, of writing styles and content is an asset I hope to define my strengths and weaknesses, those known and unknown. I suspect I’m not alone in this fear; Anne Lamott assures the journey of writing is far greater than a prize. This journey is far from over as it has been one of the best therapy sessions I have experienced, thus far. The desire to share my writings in hopes the reader could benefit are still strong and growing but expansion has also been made in that as well; large scale or small scale makes no difference now…if a smile, tear, or giggle produces from reading any of my writings, then I have succeeded, published or not.

Winding Roads, Dead End Trails...A Narrow Path Ahead (Ending)

The death of my grandma was the last trauma I could endure; no more façade of strength and courage nor the ability to continue showing my heart and its characteristics as I so enjoyed doing for 9 years. Those were the years I feared not to open my heart to many, but one in particular…my life was finally perfect (or so I thought). November 6, 2009 I was taken to the ER and released 4 hours later; many revelations came upon me that night. Too many to conjure up, chances of calm waters stirring in chaos is not one I care to surf right now. What I will disclose, or confess for that matter, my flight syndrome has always been a safety net I depend on. When all else fails, I am well past ready for take off! Sometimes, in this mixed up head of mine, I choose the wrong flight number, sometimes I do not but whatever the flight or destination at the time is my heart aching for someone to see me, just me…not the mom of five teens, or the woman who had 5 kids at 24 (all under 4), or the superwoman who ran a successful business, or a mom who started a Christian volleyball club, or a wife that continually learns submission, or a wife that wants to make everyone happy, but for once I would like to take this mask off and when I do take the mask off…here’s the scary part…I would like to be loved anyways. I don’t mean pretending to be a bestie or lover and then only to abandon me once again.

I’m told the best “cure” for getting through these things is this: Turn to our Heavenly Father, Pray, Fellowship with brothers and sisters, forgive yourself, place your burden upon Jesus and HE WILL LIFT YOU UP. During the happy years, the 9 of which I spoke of, I did just that. Maybe that is why God has chosen the past year to bring me to my knees. Now, I yearn to walk that same journey. I’m afraid to give it all I have. I know I am forgiven but do others know that? I need that acceptance again the unconditional love I felt from God. One thing I have learned is this, many will let you down in life, many will be friends you thought were true, many will hold your past against you, many will continue to do so. I’m afraid of the ones who could hurt me worse than anyone, the ones who spent the last year demanding that my “illness” was spiritually related. I have subsided to their truths in hope that maybe they are right. Maybe I am to blame; maybe just maybe I expect too much from the ones whom I thought knew me, just me. Baby step by baby step I test the waters, but the cage is full of wrath that belongs to God, not them. So I place the mask on and trust in God that he can still see my heart, know it is his, and pray one day, someday…someone will see just me, a little girl, a daughter who is doing the best she can to lean on Father #4.

Winding Roads, Dead End Trails...A Narrow Path Ahead

Winding roads and dead end trails became the paths I was accustomed to many years ago yet it wasn’t until my early thirties the discovery of flight syndrome became a daily battle of mine. Childhood friends, adolescent lovers and the façade of “besties” were definitive antecedents molding concrete walls while the guilt and burden chizzled the very muscle I was protecting. One may think confession is the tissue of healing and one may think what goes around comes around, like karma in tenth degree. The experience of both is yet another reason the shelling of my heart was essential as surely the next victim of my abandonment would stay for just enough time to gain full access; this pearl of mine was too precious and few were allowed. By the time my thirties came around, selfishness was a trait some would suggest however, they neglected to see the things produced by humility and silence; as it should be. Although I can’t remember the first time I exercised the flight syndrome, one particular moment in time I am able to vividly feel today at age 38.

For most, there comes a time in adulthood when the happiness of adolescence is too far gone to grasp, the fear of aging is quickly approaching and the identity crisis of who we are and what we have become outweighs the imagery of desire, passion and hope. Although most feel this devastation, not all can relate to the depths of which one can and does fall. For me, as usual, extreme measures were prevalent. Aside from the discovery of a 22 year old untreated depression, a relevant postpartum diagnosis, an 80lb loss in less than 8 months, severe panic attacks, another father down then a paternity test 18 years too late and the symptoms of peri-menopause shuttling in blurred vision, hot flashes and mood swings, I was just like the next person who experiences a mid-life crisis. The crisis when most will take a moment or two and regain their foothold, not me…too many expectations to uphold, it was not the time to fall or show the weakness stirring within. My children depended on me; the soft spot of a strict home. I yearned for their approval, still do.

Part A...

My Omelas and Yours?

A Respoinse to:

“The One Who Walk Away From Omelas”

By Ursula K. LeGuin

Intriguing, to say the least, was the antecedent feeding my strife to comprehend? In all honesty, my exhaustion of overload hindered my evocative nature of dissecting such literature therefore a battle within was prevalent as the deadline approached. The inner battles I face reside in the form of guilt, I hate guilt. I chose to persevere however victory is unknown or is it merely unseen?

Most obvious, Omelas is a place all humans can associate their minds and hearts to, however the location and identity of Omelas is left implicitly suggestive. Ursula leaves the reader with no limitations to the imagination yet reigns in the common grounds that feed all audiences; a place of belonging. Omelas possess characteristics of happiness and joy with minimal judgment of one’s source of peace and love. As diversity characterizes the human race, each of or inner desires may or may not be the same. Whether it be wishful thinking, a place of hope, a belief in something unseen, or a place we reside in now; Omelas is the portrayal of yours, mine and others sense of belonging.

Do you belong to a higher power leading your heart and soul to peace, joy and happiness or does the caged child toil within every battle? Who is the caged child to you? Is there forgiveness, judgment, mercy, compassion, love, or lack of any that dictate which side of the gates you belong? Do you go against the grain in bravery? What is the grain for you?

These are the questions I believe Ursula is enticing readers to explore; the answer she provides is that of belonging. I was impressed with the method in which she sought all beliefs which suggest multiple audiences.

I shall walk the narrow path in efforts to gain the freedom God promised through the sacrifice of His child. His promise shall guide my path and when the trumpets sound in the last days, I shall then enter the Golden Gates of my Omelas, Heaven. Until then, I shall not seek joy and happiness with things of this world nor be lured in by the flutes of Satan or the darkness of his eyes as he is blind to my inner most love for my Father.

One Year, Your Reflection: Our Heritage

Marianna Grayston Monsey

Ayear has passed and the memory of Marianna Grayston Monsey lingers within our hearts. Forever shepherding our daily walk, her unspoken lessons of what it means to be a woman of nobility rests upon our heritage and dwells within our steps. Her life is the example each of us are left with, a goal and desire to be more like the woman who taught selflessness and devotion as a wife, a mom, a daughter, a grandma and a friend. Courage and strength, characteristics Marianna embraced without complaint, were the foundation of survival we, The Grayston women, could only pray to achieve. Trials, loss, separation and solitude inhabited her daily routine as silence and submission were the commands that brought her inner joy. As children and grandchildren we often wondered why or how she could persevere with such eloquence and grace; the blindness of her breakdown was a mystery without solution until God's promise was knocking upon her life. Eminent truths were unveiled during the last months, weeks, days and to the last moment of goodbye. Her childlike demeanor and free-spirited journey humbled the hearts of Grayston women; through confession and realization a mother and a daughter broke the silence. Granddaughters witnessed the phenomenon; a life's journey by choice and not by lack of understanding or worldly acceptance but rather the faith and hope of our Father's will and promise. Marianna chose to share in the sufferings of Christ so that God's glory could be revealed in a manner we would never let go of.

Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.

1COR 13:4-7

Although Marianna had the right to anger easily, to envy other women and seek acceptance among worldly guidelines, she chose forgiveness. Marianna kept no record of wrongs and was patient each time the sin broke her heart or shattered her dreams. Her intelligence was a gift many would boast upon yet she reflected no delight in such pride. The kindness went against the grain of rudeness earned; she chose to rejoice and remain in hope, faith and trust of God's protection. Marianna Grayston Monsey persevered through a life many women today would deem as a lacking self worth and merely a weak woman trapped in a life of dictation. That is simply not the case. The choices made exemplify a portrait of a Proverbs 31 woman; a wife of noble character. Her self- worth was found by knowing the acceptance she had in our God; her reflection and not the perception of others. Although she had many dreams hindered by circumstances there were a few in which came true. She cherished the gifts of angels, fantasized of flying her free spirit and giggled at the orneriness of clandestine flights. We, the Grayston women, kneeled in prayer for a bittersweet request. The battle of cancer was over and bonds of unconditional love were mended and her heart, mind, body and soul could take no more suffering. She sacrificed all entitlements with honor, grace and mercy. Her dream of having wings was granted October 8, 2009.

Andrea L. Storms

10/8/2010                                                                        

It's almost a year...I miss you...I love you...you are here

A year is sneaking in, much has happened and all has not been lost.  The loss was severe. She loved the man unconditionally, without ridicule, submitting her desires to a man that had no respect for anyone than himself. Why did we all try to gain his acceptance? Its been a year and she holds my heart more now than ever. Her character has been the strength carried me through. It opened my eyes. I thought I saw the right path in those last few months, I thought I saw her want more, I thought I saw regret. What I did see was she began to realize she was not crazy, all of us loved her, we all wanted to know the Grayston history. She missed her family all those years. Did he ever let her see them? I don’t remember ever seeing the Grayston side, other than visiting many landmarks that laid their foundation, the beginning of Huntington. The Graystons were the one of the first families to settle. Isabella traveled many seas to reach Huntington. Did you know even back then the townspeople thought they were better and made many judgements on others. Is that the history of Huntington? Just weeks before Marianna’s death, I began to see much more. There was no doubt in me the story she told was true, of course I thought it to be “How could he not considering all this woman has submitted to?”…I was wrong, she saw him through His eyes. I have never seen anyone in that way. Her one on one was never broad casted nor was it declared but rather through the years instilled in the Grayston women, by example. Her life is a reflection of Him. Why did I not see it til then? I knew the heart was there and the gentle, kindred spirit. Judgement was never a trait she entertained, regardless of the overwhelming amount placed in front of her, or directed at her. She was judged daily, weekly, yearly and broke. She took refuge within, what appeared to be “crazy” factors, delusional words, off topic comments, historical lessons 101 that many did not follow, I did. My heart hurt for her all those years. I was afraid too. How did she do it? Brushing it off on a the “weakness” of women in her generation (boy was I wrong). There was not weakness, it was a product of finding acceptance where it mattered, in Him. She was a woman of grace, eloquence, nobility and what it means to truly love unconditionally. She has been gone a year now (in a few days) and although my heart hurts and wishes I could say just a few more things to her, I knew she had all she could take and so did He. It was her time, He gave her time to say goodbye without any distractions, no judgement, no ridicule, just time to be her….a woman whom she forgot existed, or was it us that forgot? It was  difficult to hear the second guessing of who she was and what was ok as that man took all she had with no remorse. Marianna, Grandma, I miss you! I miss hot and cold. I miss the nights of register heat. I miss the non chalant defenses we shared. I miss the stories we snuck in. I miss the times when I saw you. I hold onto those moments. I hold onto the years. Most of all, I hold on to the example you set for the Grayston women, unconditional love and the acceptance of one is the ticket. I have your strength, I have your will, I have your grace, I have your ability to submit, I have your love, I will never let go, I shall honor. I will see the only acceptance that matters. I will fulfill our shared dream. I pray I honor what you would want. I will break the silence, with respect. I will carry you in my heart now and always. I will let your example lead my journey. By the way….I know you are here. I feel your presence and your strength holding me. I miss you. With all I have.

Debt and Credit, Confident or Not? (CONCLUSION) (full response begins 2 posts prior)

Generally speaking, the article contained an overall accurate “surface” description of installment debt and revolving credit and the role it plays in everyday life, however, I found many areas of this article to be misleading by the omission of a few necessary details that would help the reader in conformity of its main objective: “How To Guides:” This is money we are talking about so if an organization is held to a position of monopoly and the general public places confidence, as defined by Merriam-Webster[1], then shouldn’t Yahoo!Finance provide a few more details when claiming definition to a commodity that is a “fact of life”?

Today’s economy is a reflection of similar circumstances and characteristics encompassing The Great Depression era yet with Baby Boomer’s as leader that will soon retire only to find instant gratification was passed on the their children who, along the way, lost the concept of where to gain self worth and now hindered so much that total avoidance of debt appears to be the best strategy in managing credit based on a false meaning of confidence. Statistics show, we, all generations, are experiencing yet another era of depression. This time around: cash purchases, large or small, possess limited feasibility (cash on hand has become nearly obsolete) and the ability to gain funds or purchasing power through installment debt or revolving line of credit, both in which are necessary instruments in today’s economy, has become nearly impossible. Era’s discussed within this essay have displayed a total avoidance of debt and credit as well as the rebellious proceeding generation embracing both debt and credit, responsibly beyond the means of their income yet molded the industry of financial planning It appears the economy is a reflection of several imprudent decisions on all levels (i.e. individuals, partnerships, corporate and government), including Yahoo!Finance.



References

Celent. (2003, December 4). The Baby Boomers Prepare for Retirement. Retrieved October 4, 2010, from Celent Reports: http://reports.celent.com/PressReleases/20031204/BabyBoomers.htm

Merriam-Webster, Incorporated. (2010, October 4). Confidence. Retrieved from Merriam Webster Dictionary: http://www.merriam-webster.com

Yahoo! Finance. (2010, October 4). Personal Finance How-To Guides: Yahoo! Finance. Retrieved from Yahoo! Finance: http://finance.yahoo.com




[1] Confidence: faith or belief that one will act in a right, proper, or effective way

Debt and Credit, Confident or Not? ....Continued (See One Post Prior)

Just as this retiring generation has molded the nation’s perception, acceptance and embracement regarding financial planning; these “Hippies” have also molded the nation’s desire, need and drive for instant gratification. Their rebellious years characterized by Woodstock festivities and free will/go with the flow mind sets have caused for the ‘Keeping up with the Jones’ cliché. The rebellion itch may have been the drive behind marketing the up side to revolving credit (aka open-ended credit) as such instant money availability allows for the façade of having more than what you actually earned; this concept appears to be where confidence in self and the future ability to pay comes in. Revolving credit such as Visa, MasterCard, and department store cards come in several colorful designs that can be a reflection of one’s personality and façade of confidence (mine is multi-colored tie dye). A revolving line of credit does have limits, ceiling versus sky if you will. Credit limits are based on payment history and income; these factors have an impact on the annual interest rates charged and the potential annual account fee charged to the consumer and calculated into one low monthly payment (the minimum payment of total balance) (Yahoo! Finance, 2010). Easy enough right? No way, not a chance, of it being that easy, as the annual rates are significantly higher than installment debt interest rates. Annual rates are at an all time high as many credit ratings are declining (confidence factor maybe?). Although appealing introductory rates are offered to new customers as well as an extending the same inducement in an effort to keep the good rated customers, eventually those introductory rates expire, leaving consumers in the position of good management skill application. Annual rates are noted to be 18% or higher (Yahoo! Finance, 2010). Math calculations indicate minimum monthly payments with no further usage (lack of balance increase) cause for the debtor to now spend more years paying for such convenience than that of either an installment debt or self discipline of delayed gratification.

Let’s face it, the strictness and self control displayed by those sixty five and older is paying off for the parents of baby boomers. The era of a great depression and those who persevered (suicides were some of this nation’s highest rates) are now the positive statistical representation of poverty rates. Those of the depression era reflect plummeted rates of poverty and appear to have the well-founded financial stability (Celent, 2003). Their offspring, baby boomers, have critiqued, molded and overall made the good foundation of financial planning better however, left the management skills and self control issues a bit to be desired. Today’s active generation now struggles with confidence, trust and laziness. Yes, laziness. The revolving line of credit continues to feed impulse buying, purchasing large items that one can’t actually afford and proposes the lack of need to compare costs prior to buying therefore costing this generation more money, money that is being spent for instant gratification (LCD Flat Screen) instead of delayed gratification (investments that will provide for a desired lifestyle during the ‘Golden Years’). All generations are currently impacted by this generational transformation.

Confidence (in all forms) must be substantiated based on history in order to make decisions for the future; this is what the economy refers to as forecasting. The anticipation of future abilities derived by analyzation of all data applicable is the foundation for a reliable opinion of confidence (or lack thereof). In my opinion, the definition of credit presented by the article, “Man’s confidence in Himself”, is faulty (Yahoo! Finance, 2010). Historically speaking: keeping up with Jones’ has been the measurement of worth rather than looking at self to measure worth. Looking at “self” to define worth would mean analyzing the data applicable, substantiated history of income and the management skills to disperse funds wisely. How can there be “confidence in himself” if the analyzation process contains the wrong data? However, later in the article, my opinion is further supported by the first step to eliminating credit card debt, in which I do agree with; “begin to address it by honestly evaluating your spending habits. Examine your existing expenses to analyze how your money is spent. You will most likely be able to identify the problem areas…” (Yahoo! Finance, 2010).

CONCLUSION....coming tonight.... 

Debt and Credit, Confident or Not?

“Will that be debit or credit?”, says the cashier as the customer instinctively answers, “Credit please, I need the miles”. The harmonious nods indicate the camaraderie of a goal, desire and method of transportation. .Exchanging pen, plastic and carbon reinforce the agreement[1], as defined by Merriam-Webster. The kibitz exchanged has now been executed; both parties exit such chatter with a token of their common ground; the customer’s ability to view Monday Night Football on the latest LCD Flat Screen and the cashier with further assurance of job stability and hope of keeping up with the Jones’. After all, the John Hancock ensures confidence[2], right?

According to the article, Managing Debt and Credit, credit was once defined as “Man’s Confidence in Man”. But in fact, the definition of credit today is more like “Man’s Confidence in Himself” (aka having trust in your future ability to pay that debt) (Yahoo! Finance, 2010). Although the concept appears to be accurate, the actuality of today’s less than favorable economic conditions coupled with future conditions encompassing Baby Boomer statistics; confidence and credit adjoined in meaning could likely be a thing of the past. Parents of Baby Boomers represent a generation of The Great Depression in which paying cash for all purchases, even the big ones (homes and vehicles) was prevalent as well as a sign of noble and wise money managers. They worked hard, saved money and consistently made choices of never spending more than you earn. Essentially this could be viewed as total avoidance of debt and credit. So what happen to that?

The era of instant gratification, going with the flow and keeping up with the Jones’ became a way of life therefore debt and credit came down one’s confidence in himself. Baby boomer’s are primarily responsible for molding the benefits and downfalls of both installment debt and revolving credit. Installment debt refers to money borrowed for a specific period of time (aka maturity date) with payments being made at regular intervals to include both principle and interest. Depending on terms of the note (and the pool of funds the institution lending utilizes), interest can be paid at the front end or back end of the loan, most are front end therefore principal balances decline more in the final stages of the note. Competitive interest rates, average range of 5%-10%, are typically amortized over the life of the loan with fixed payments remaining constant. (Yahoo! Finance, 2010) Installment debt is widely recognized as the instrument in which homes, businesses, and cars are obtained (large ticket items) however, installment debts can also be small loans, secured or unsecured, utilized to either cover an unexpected expense when liquidity is minimal or a tool in which credit can be established and built on. Baby boomers recognized the higher rate of return by obtaining installment debts and the positive impact it has on a portfolio. Tax benefits freed additional monies to reinvest elsewhere such as the stock market, in which they molded as well. Those over 50 control four-fifths of the money invested in savings-and-loan associations and own two-thirds of all shares on the stock market (Celent, 2003).

 

 

TO BE CONTINUED.....

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[1] Agreement: a contract duly executed and legally binding

[2] Confidence: faith or belief that one will act in a right, proper, or effective way

Story Creation of Random Words and Meanings - (unedited)

Early evening and the walls are caving in. One course of homework complete, now on to Composition and the preparation of a five course meal has escaped realization for Samantha; a 38 year old college freshman , moderately successful business owner, wife to an overgrown 40 year old boy of two decades, and mom of five teenagers. Determined to pave the way of noble characteristics, Samantha cracks the solitary window of confinement allowing increased fenestration to circulate carbon dioxide, indeed a wise choice in efforts to rejuvenate the lost energy molecules her Chemistry homework so graciously borrowed. Slow movement, dazed eyes and the tranquilization that an absence of light inflicts diminished the hope of a second wind. Too tired to think, too knackered to function, she knew she could no longer fungo her way through this tunnel of darkness; the time had come to call upon her most qualified assistant: perseverance requires prayer.

Samantha’s submission, accompanied by the soft music of romance, invigorated a swaying motion of dance steps buried within her soul. Aroma lingered with scents of gooey marshmallows and dripping mocha chocolate encased by double cinnamon grahams that only a cool slithering  breeze could grasp from the adjacent parcel. The backdrop of a crackling bon fire and the kibitzing neighbors embellished Samantha’s ginormous desire to reminisce and two-step along the Table Rock Lake shores. Distant visions of shimmering water and butter crystals ionized by pure sunlight skims the surface of rippling waves sifting through her vibrant orange polish. Protrusion through sand granules and foamed white capped bubbles, the conveyance triggers the natural vibration a complimentary massage produces, the calamity of spirit becomes the fringe benefit Sam gains from submission. The child like innocence and the comfort felt within retrieval words are collectibles attached to her heart. “Sam! Come Home, Sam!”…

“Back to life, back to reality, back to life, back to reality”, serenades the cellular device as the sweet peas of Sam’s heart (aka Mikayla & Miria) initiated mobile to mobile drama, round one for the evening. Her twin daughter’s emotions were rising and the debate was ignited as Sam recollected a distinct morning conversation of Mom’s Taxi Service Schedule to begin at 7:30 p.m. not 7:00 p.m. Mikayla insisted such tardiness was solely the fault of Miria as Miria shifted blame to Dad, passive traits are prone to such burdens of involuntary targets. However, don’t be fooled. Good ‘ole passive Dad and the only son, Mikel, find comfort in their marathon training which has been successfully tailored, especially when the predominant factors include shared estrogen levels among five drama queens. The Boys’ adrenalin pumping speech goes a bit like this: “RUN like EBEN! RUN Mikel RUN! DON’t let those carnivores catch you! RUN like EBEN!” Meanwhile, as the bickering continues and no consideration is given to Mom’s fuming tendencies of ring side referee services, All EBEN could break loose! Instead of feeding among the carnivore attitudes, Sam chose utilization of the slow interval breathe in and breathe out stabilization method, then responded “Gotcha. I will arrive for pick up in T-18 minutes”. Click. The call was over. Mumbling and jumbling, Samantha’s outburst prevailed seconds later, “Shenanigans! I fell asleep during prayer!” Kibitzing out loud, her jibber jabbers gained momentum then yet another coping method unveiled it's identity...

Although prayer time had been interrupted and a rude halt to a phenomenal dream became a bittersweet buttery illusion, Sam’s reality of fungoing throughout trials is now in season.

A "Snippet" from My "I Believe Essay"

Rocky roads don’t even touch the surface of our journey.

A more accurate description would be enormous boulders on a destructive path destined for the next 80 foot cliff. No exagerattion; our marriage has been nothing short of the extreme  sport of cliff diving. Fear intensified as each soaring dive lost the volume meant to break our falls, needless to say (but I’m going to anyways) a lot of bumps, bruises, scars, broken lives and shattered hearts were the reminents of a once fairy tale marriage many envied (and still do on occasion). Our most recent dive has been voted among our family to be the true definiton of our family motto: The Storms 7. Yes, pun is intended here.

Although we say it, sing it and…well…eventually live it; We Will Praise You in this Storm! Music is a meeting ground, a truce, a peace offering, if you will, for our dysfunctional family. God has provided the lyrics and song many times over as each of the Storms embrace His refuge in the midst of chaos. Casting Crowns, Acappella, Skillet and the divine memory of Watershed’s seranade of Make Me a Storm are the power tools God has utilized over 18 years of repairing the debris of lightening striking. We, the Storms 7, believe David, a king in the Old Testament days, sang it best in Psalms 46. His praises to God, in desparate times of need, have been the scriptural references for our family’s codependancy[1] of one another and more importantly; our dependancy on God. David’s song goes a little bit like this, “God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble. Therefore we will not fear… He makes wars cease to the ends of the earth; he breaks the bow and shatters the spear, he burns the shields with fire. "Be still, and know that I am God; I will be exalted among the nations, I will be exalted in the earth." My marriage has journeyed the trenches of many battlefields, created the vibration of thundering booms and witnessed the impact of our many storms. Being Still has never been our strong suit.Yes; ALL puns intended!

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[1] 1 COR 11:11-12 However, in the Lord, neither is woman independent of man, nor is man independent of woman. For as the woman originates from the man, so also the man has his birth through the woman; and all things originate from God.

Response to an I Believe Essay

Although growing up as woman of diverse race is not a reality I can empathize with, Women’s Rights movements have imposed such identity issues within my own life throughout the decades. In the younger years, my mom and grandma were instilling etiquette and mannerisms for the next session of Housewife 101; the clean house, perfectly maintained kitchen appuratice that produced delectable dinners at the hands of a world class chef submissive and the well behaved children responding only with a “Yes, M’am” and “No, Sir” respectful tone were the basics of such brutal training I endured all while observing the submissive wife of noble characteristics that would prompt top of the class graduation.

As the rights became more prevalent and accepted, these expectations were not discarded but rather multiplied with additional duties, supplying income. Keeping up with Jones’ the cliché that best describes the facade of perfect little family and the expectations placed on women to provide for the extra’s such as inviting landscape to the family game night beginning 30 minutes past rush hour, little Johnnie’s club team of All*Stars, and let’s not forget the Sunday morning dress clothes that elevate status among the righteous ones.

These are just a few generational changes that have impacted women’s identity in which I can relate with Phyllis Allen, author of Leaving Identity Issues to Other Folks. It was humbling to read as I felt guilty for having such identity issues, after all, I did not have skin color to define further acceptance. Although I agree with her mom’s advice to be the best you can be, I also believe there is more to it than that. I believe while being the best we can be, our measurement of success should come from our reflection and acceptance of Christ. For this reason, the essay was bittersweet; I could relate, yet I could not. I believe that is what drew my attention to her writing and experience yet walked away with a humbling gratitude for not being given anymore than I could have handled, judgment based on color.


http://thisibelieve.org/essay/26/ - Essay by Phyllis Allen, Leaving Identity Issues to Other Folks

The Beast...Leashed with Ball and Chain

Arguments happen, inevitable and a part of life, between many who love and many who don’t; why does the bickering become so loud and obnoxious? Health and Wellness would define the trivia as the health dimension of emotion, providing emotions are expressed correctly. Of course this leads to yet more questions: What is the correct emotion of anger? Or is it really anger? Is it a source of unhappiness? Sadly, I can’t answer these questions nor do I believe anyone else can. Each of us is created in the image of God and my understanding of His emotion regarding anger is wrath. Now granted, He tells us vengeance is His therefore such wrath also belongs to Him. He also tells us to not let the sun go down while angry or else the devil will gain a foothold. So He knows anger is a part of us and more questions arise…

When do we sleep? If the argument can’t be solved before the sun goes down and you find yourself in a circle of ongoing anger, if in fact it is anger, then you are headed for depression or anxiety that surely compromises health, as the lack of sleep and unsolved trial continues with each sun rise and sunset. Is it fair to say that righteous anger is not applicable to these situations? Someone may feel they have a righteous anger but that does not mean they view their self as better, perfect or even above another; it simply means they believe God has placed an answer within and the opponent can’t see. The credo one will claim is the foundation in which they take each step. Steps are not always seen by others; many times this is due to reverence for God’s instruction: don’t broadcast what the right hand is doing, if you “glory grab” on earth then you will have already received the reward. The way I understand this is simple, my acceptance comes from God and in my heart I know I’m walking with Him, not perfectly (no one does) so there is no need to broadcast the things I do for Him, regardless of others understanding.  Yes, I would like some recognition here and there because quite honestly its really hard to keep going without it…this may be where pride comes in, the exact opposite of humility. Don’t we all struggle with this?

If humility must play a part in the solution then righteous anger will fester long after the sun goes down, won’t it? What do we do with such emotion (again, is it actually anger?) Let’s pretend it isn’t anger at all…then what is it? Hurt feelings? A lack of self worth? In my case (at least in this stage of the journey), I believe it has everything to do with a caged animal. Anyone who has known me for any period of time would know I’m a prodigal son story over and over again. I’ve been one who fights with the free spirit dwelling within my veins and feeds the bloodstream with adrenalin that only a cage reinforced with steel, rebar, and concrete can remotely contain. It’s what my daughter and I like to refer to as “The Beast”. The Beast can be a source of strength when all seems lost and out of control. Many have tried to tame this beast, but the intellect of an animal is often underestimated. There have many times even I have tried to tame it, thinking God doesn’t like this animal. Come to find out, He does like it and has revealed the animal within, when leashed, can be a soldier for Christ that has no fear or consideration of “overload”. What happens when that leash feels like a ball and chain? This is where I am and no answers seem to be coming…

Square one: Is this anger? If so, is it righteous? If not, then how do I break free of the ball and chain that holds every limb of “The Beast”? Worse yet, what or who is the ball and chain? God, hold me in your hands, look into my heart, and reveal to me the answers I seek, no matter the humility I must face. Amen.

What if?

What began as a convenient way to integrate homework and needed time with a daughter quickly became an inspiration to this "chicken" (aka writer). Movie time with Beanie, pencil in hand and paper clipped to the board, I embraced the romantic chick flick: Letters to Juliet. I was taking notes in preparation of response writing. Little did I know, this event would take on yet another way God has encouraged fear conquering. It wasn't but 5 minutes into the typical "What if" scenario of screenplay I realized I am a chicken! I have given up dreams and "what if"s all my life, simply because I tested the waters and received a less than desirable response, so I ran (tripping all the way, mind you).

Boy meets girl in adolescence, both part ways across seas, find new lovers, birth generations and 50 years later wonder "What if?" Well, not everyone gets that happy ever after and quite honestly I'm not too sure I believe in such dreams. The viewing of such fairy tails do feed the female need for tears, giggles, and wishful escape on that whoas me kind of day, evening or week where sweets and carbs are the only thing caressing the high levels of estrogen. In case you were wondering, no I only had chips and salsa, because the end table was filled with left over fajitas. Of course, when ooooos and awwws are all said and done, one leaves this fairy tell ending with a reality check, a hope that tomorrow will be better and I won't get on the scales as surely I didn't eat enough calories for increasing measurements; but just in case, I will not tempt the anger trigger of downward spiral special effects of the next WW?? (what one are we on?).

The twist was encouraging, to say the least. I have always enjoyed writing; utilizing it many times as therapy session 101, anger management 415, escape from reality, chore skipping excuse, and last but not least the practice for the same dream all "wanna be" writers transforming to published authors of great masterpieces....WAKE UP!....yes I know, it's a dream BUT "What if?"

Sophia, the main character whom believed in happy ever after love, was a fact checker. So you can imagine the assistance she was in the cliche of first love reuniting 50 years later scenario. Trips across Italy to find 1 of 74 Lorenzo's for the dear Claire, whom wrote an advice seeking letter at age 15 (as if she knew what love was...ha!) and stuck it behind a rock along Juliet's Wall in hopes of response, were the beginning realizations of Sophia's dream, writer to author...and what a story she would tell.

Of course she fell in love too and her lover, Charlie, didn't let her go because of the phenomenon they witnessed along the adventure of seeking long lost love for Claire and Lorenzo's happily ever after story. Wow! surprising I know. The flick had it's unique scenes and funnies worthy quoting, efforts of the obtaining the original goal, bonding with Beanie (Minnie Me).

Beanie (Sabrina as she corrects), is the daughter most like me.  Her cynicism protrudes in the cleverest of ways when the mood strikes however the faulty hope of happily ever after dampens the pillow occasionally and binge cover up of depression and anxiety overwhelm the mask of strength and courage of perseverance are just a few lovely traits she has inherited (but don't tell her that...she will deny it!). Our mother-daughter
time was as expected; cordial, comforting in its weird way, and full of walls covering the "thanks for taking time out mom" love. I will get through those walls I built for her. After all, I was her hero and heroes don't fail. The pedestal was high and so was the fall. Those walls are weakening each day and the mortar that bonds them crack each time she knows I know what she's thinking even when pride stands tall to defend. We have our glimpses of years prior and that is what both of us hold onto....the nights when all that mattered was when we both laid our heads together wishing and dreaming of happy ever after.

Our fall paints a colorful story however the travels before and after is the masterpiece God intends for my journey ahead, a writer reaching to share with dysfunctional families such as ours...and just maybe...What if?

Against the Grain and LOVIN' It!

Verbs, nouns, adverbs, semicolon, and periods, Oh my! Five colleges courses overwhelm my days yet I added another, The Writer’s Workbench. Encouragement embraced the mind as I released the “old school” ways of punctuation; at last I can be ME (with a few restrictions). Long sentences I shall conquer, commas will flow, explanation is a point and the period will stop the length. Going against the grain is a style I can run with. I must admit the reassurance minimized further learning however the anticipation for next class session threatens my sleep.

Anticipation to play on words is delightful to my ears and musical rhythm of a paragraph sets the pace and space of many stories to tell. Word territory and its relevance to my writing is a fear I must overcome. Procrastination expels forgiveness in the territory of repeating words as “ly” adverbs take a back seat. Semester goals: welcome the additional course with open arms, utilize obscure words while making them clear in context will provide for special attention and gain writer’s reputation, be descriptive with the simple and remember God is the potter and I am the clay just as I am the writer and the story I will shape.

Although my expansion of learning did not include blueprints or useful habits, I flirted with the subtopics as if they were the next delectable meal. The engine is started and the narrative opportunity entices my appetite to reveal characteristic traits suitable for a good book and midnight snack. Interesting enough my oddness will grow as I seek unique names and cities while keeping to my roots of intended purpose; gaining fluency, flow and encouraging constructive criticism.

The night approaches morning, assignment deadline approaches and the responses are not yet complete so I will leave you with the  non applicable cliché “Curiosity Kills the Cat”.

Jezebel Gets Euchred!

Ace, King, Queen, and both Bowers, she’s going Alone! There was a day when going 'alone' meant all tricks were hers for the lead; no stoppers to prevent the lay-down victory. Never scoring with anything but a 5 of diamonds and 5 of hearts, Euchre was the game and partners were the danger. Who would sit across from this Queen B? Was it tonight’s Joker or was it he who held the heart of this diamond in the rough? Partners in crime and lonely hearts alike innocuously kibitzed with the lock of the eyes, a gentle nudge to the arch, a brush to the flesh and a smile of approval. Judicious methods derived from fantasy, providing appetite to an aroused culprit, dare she submit to desires of her boiling flesh?  

Exhilaration produced by such mischievous gestures push the line of safety. Consequential verdicts and the perception of Jezebel may hinder the authentic motive within. Pondering the aftermath of failure and the burden to follow will catalyze the core of her bereavement as her facade of tricks and teases are imminent behaviors sheltering the shattered pieces of failed love and heartaches that remain forever. The Free-Spirit rebel aches to run alone; with the shot of a gun and cleats to the block, once again; it’s a false start.

Many partners later, the diamond has been cut, beveled and polished. The cards were dealt, trump was called and love reneged. Although hands were played and the game was loyal, lessons were observed and rules were bent.

• It’s not a good idea to call Clubs thinking the male suite will grant luck,

• Nor is it wise to rely on him as a partner for the very need of a Queen’s heart.

• Follow the Ace of Hearts as she will teach you how to

“CALL A SPADE A SPADE”!

As for all the cut, beveled, and polished diamonds…

YOU are the daughters of the Highest King and according to His rules of the game…you are the RAREST of jewels so don’t just let the kitty out or

You WILL Get Euchred!

Plain ole Freewriting

Here I go, 15 mins! So I just spent the last hour and half writing and writing and writing some more and it turned out to be therapy and not really anything I care to share. I want to but not now, maybe never it still hurts too bad to layout it there. go away go away go away go away...writing is thrapy for me, both good and bad.  I can get it out on paper and I feel way better afterwards, the problem is some of things I have to let go of I just cant share them...so when I find time to write (have to bc of Comp1 -- thank God for the blessing!!! I regained my outlet. However on nights like tonight when a writing is to be done every day and the most peaceful time of day is (wellllll almost midnight when the house is quiet and jsut before Aerial gets home)...if I do it earlier I more apt to put off other school work and loose myself in writing (therapy). Its not liek today was bad...it actually was good, typical but good. Then around 7-8ish, it settled in...nope cant say that wont say that hold it in not gunna do it oh God no no no no no!!! thank you thank you so this has turned into a cross between freewriting and backspacing (im not worthy and if anyone see's this there gunna laugh) heck to the no am I ready for yet another ridicule...got enough of those kind of demons lurking around, mostly in the form of friends, or atleast I thought they were.  I'm praying I know I hurt alot of people along the way but damn....ok humilty andrea humilty some have no clue none at all even those you truly believed knew you (&her). Its not like she has taken over like she did then....they really dont knnow me do they? no tears no tears no tears no tears...im ok im ok im ok ....much betterAerial is home so now I can love on her and who cares if its not 300 words tonight....grade is good I TIRED AND OUTTA HERE!!

Finance or Politics? WARNING! I'm fired up :)

A recent Personal Finance assignment included research regarding the "sweeping changes" (aka new regulations governing credit card companies). I chose to focus on one of eight changes.  A fellow classmate's post ignited my desire to dig deeper...

On the surface, the change of lowering the limits, is appealing to the eye and can display the hint of "hey they care about my credit rating" when in all actuality; they DON'T! The sweeping change (or at least this bullet point) makes it appear as a sincere way to "help”. This very issue has impacted my family’s income, as it depends on the consumer’s ability to purchase homes or refinance mortgages (most of which to consolidate debt). Although the change may appear as an encouragement and accountability of finances, in essence its damaging, maybe even more so than bankruptcy. What really happens is they are increasing your debt to income ratio.

This ratio is the benchmark for credit approval among all lenders.  The ratio is calculated based on factors beyond income and debt such as (but not limited to): the “inline” percentages seen on your credit report. For example: the credit limit is lowered and the balance remains unaltered, causing for a higher percentage of credit use. This inline percentage, as I like to refer to it as, essentially impacts your A, B, C or D rating. This “rating” or “score” is a significant factor determining the details of your debt which is then placed in the equation of debt divided by income (aka debt to income ratio). In essence, on paper, the credit card companies and their notorious lack of disclosure, have just decreased your ability to gain affordable insurance, limited your options for providing transportation for your family, and, most disturbing, have made it nearly impossible to finance or refinance a mortgage.

Most of us would agree that, for the most part, these items are “needs” however; in the nation’s current financial crisis, many Americans can’t afford these “needs” and quite honestly feel as if they are “luxuries”. These limitations are largely due to yet another set of regulations and guidelines that directly impact what is considered acceptable ratios (I will save that fiasco for a later post). Education is a must! Are the credit card companies offering a lower balance along with lowering limits? Are they giving you the choice to lower your limit or is it “automatic”? Better yet, are they properly informing the consumer how to effectively make this decision? Have they educated the cardholder how this one decision has an enormous impact for several years to come? I didn't’t see this “sweeping change” as something it very well could be, a great beginning to America’s debt recovery. Although I may seem pessimistic on this matter, I do see it as a positive step, just lacking education and disclosure which are necessary components in making sound decisions for you and your family’s financial goals (aka financial plan).

This "helping hand" will cripple the very core of the government's solution(s) to rejuvenating the economy (i.e. housing industry and insurance availability). Seems to me, Obama has neglected yet another key factor in rejuvenating the economy as this law change is counter-productive, beneath the surface that is. Food for thought: What is the point of enticing mortgage interest rates if no one can qualify?

Flirting with Chemistry

The urge to skip Chemistry class devoured what little ambition I had left, at least for anything other than writing or reading! I'm addicted to this long lost love of "shitty first drafts"! This can't be good as procrastination of other classes becomes the product of my addiction.  Eighteen years ago I let go of a passion; one that aroused chills, transformed cocoons to butterflies (tummy tingles that is) and the hint of ecstasy only foreplay can do for the bloodstream.  The love affair gradually diminished the year a new love bombarded life as I knew it; the gift I prayed for was arriving.  My Angel; my baby girl; my Aerial Lee gave breathe to the poetry I once wrote. She became my story; my love; my life just as my writing once did. To nurture this cocoon with my adolescent meaning of unconditional love became a lifelong thank  you for one answered prayer. The least I could do was give up my own desires. Eighteen years later, transformation has taken place; it's time for her to fly! Release the beautiful butterfly, she must write her own story now and I must return to mine....that's where Chemistry class comes in.  

Returning to college with a redefined meaning of my first passionate love and the changed concept of ecstasy a pen and paper would provide in finding my inner most desires are now the driving forces to survive six semesters of foreplay. Having a passion for something, such as writing for me, can easily turn to an addiction.  Aside from embracing "shitty first drafts" and writer's block syndrome, the urge to gain fluency is an excuse I'm allowing to justify procrastination, that can't be good! Conquering procrastination must be first and foremost in my line of thinking so I came up with a test trial solution today.

Chemistry! I'm convinced the class is the devil in disguise.  Equations, elements, notations, beta, alpha atomic mass, alloys are just the beginning arrows Satan throws my direction.  Fight or Flight? There is no choice; I must fight! So what if Chemistry translates to an F on my high school transcript, I can't allow the arrow of self defeat be the stumbling block hindering a goal oriented 3.75 college transcript.  Assignment at hand: pick one element on the periodic table, answer multiple questions requiring ample research and let's not forget the electron configuration. Not to mention we must read all classmate's research, which is to be placed in sentence format.  How some can have a passion or love for this mind eraser of a class is beyond me. Well, until today, I had absolutely no desire but rather a "have to succeed" drive when approaching such fusion (yes, pun intended!). Then it hit me and I found myself FLIRTING! Can you believe it? I even possessed the guilt of such tease factors. Adulterating my relationship with writing, how dare I!

Solution to the equation: I wrote a story about Arsenic. Intertwined love for writing with this new found flirtatious attitude towards Chemistry could be a whole new level of ecstasy and foreplay. Oh wait, I was trying to solve procrastination, well at least I solved for X this time around.

A State of Euphoria

No way was this a Monday, I've been tricked! Too many snooze taps, slow percolating coffee, grouchy individual Storms' and a mountain of work left over from the Friday celebration are the foundational blocks of a normal Monday, right? I must journal this one like the cliché' says "write this one in the books"! So here I am bragging on my less than Manic Monday. 

Coffee was just perfect; hot, black and ready when my “dogs” hit the ground.  Steve's initiative of bedside service followed the silenced alarm just moments before the 8 a.m. setting while that itself was soothing. No high screech annoyance introducing headache one.  The clear path of morning relief broken only by a few shoes and miscellaneous knick knacks (evidence of Kenzie's OCD kitchen arrangement) was a sign today was not Monday. Although 300 minutes prior my head was filled with chemical equations and delirious freewriting, my bones were not jello"ized" nor were my eyes taking on evidence of an "all nighter"; my mind was pleasantly in sync with my heart, full of love and gratitude for those who stuck by me when all had been lost for several Mondays, month after month.

Hour one: filled with sweet nothings, coffee, peaceful awakenings of the last two hoodlums and the smile I missed for so long. I often wonder if she realizes the depths of truth of her ability to lighten a room just by walking In. The twinkle was just enough to carry me into euphoria, days when peer pressure was not the object of thievery and guilt was not the blanket to catch her tears. Today, Morgan had yet another moment of welcoming me into her heart, once again. For the next 40 minutes her and I shared an iPod cast of His word instructing us how to effectively break the cycle of “trie hard, do good, fail”, God was speaking; we listened with all our hearts.

The continuous bragging of my less than Manic Monday may be ineffective and allow those many thoughts outsiders have had over the years as they look at our family, they must live in a dream world.  No we really don’t, it’s actually quite the opposite.  We have nightmares after nightmares but the faith we carry, the trusting of His will in the midst of uncertainty is what makes all this seem like a dream, a state of euphoria.

Freewriting Exercise (2) - response to readings (15 mins)

What a long day no week this has been! Finally I sit down to my favorite subject, writing. Do I finally get the time to write? Woot Woot! Oh yea this isn’t facebook so I better try to write logically and gramaaticalitly correct well that’s not going to happen at 2 am.  Refreshing my memoriy on the I believe essays, noneed for refreshing on my favorite, Shitty first drafts.  Seems that;s the story of my life shitty first drafts however now I can actually take comfort in it and know Im not alone and there is hope for me yet LOL. A funny thing about it I didn’t even realize until half way through I was reading Anne LaMott again! How exciting, I still have yet to find a book of hers ok well I haven’t made the time. Hopefully I will this week. Then there is the Pizza dude. Double spaced again! Dang it. Word and today’s way of typing is a bit different than the 80s of course the 80s werethe bomb, music!! We tipped the pizza guys back then but ya know I really thought of the corealtion the writer made until my later years, the responsible years. Id have to say I agree with the overall “training” concept yet didn’t care for the article. Grown Up Barbie, well now that is a headline! Took my attention right away and Ifound myself wondering if she gave up the dream and feeling abit bummed at the thought of it, no don’t loose your free spirit! But a happy ending and a great synopisi of Barbie and the impact one mattel toy can have on a person.  That wasn’t the jist of it but it was a cool twist to seeking and finding happiness in loving what you do and looking at it through others eyes, how it benefits them.  Dang did it again! Always go to the funeral was a hard one to read yet intriguing as well. It brought back the memoires of my Grandmas funeral just about a year ago. She must have attended a lot of funerals, because the overwhelming amount of people that came through! Amazing, I always knew she was awesome but the last few months were phenomenon after phenomon. She always gave herself for everyone else. I liked the way the writer said that her real battle each day was doing good versus doing nothing. What a concept all should live by.  Always go to the funeral touched my heart beyond the written words. It takes practice! Yes it does and Im finding that to be very true in this class, shitty first drafts, continuing to write each day gaining fluency and freewriting how fun but why do I have to post it I really don’t want anyone to see these “crappy: first drafts…I have been cussing to much maybe that is why I the other article was my first reading, nah oh who I am kidding yes! It was a reason for me to be able to say or whisper shit! Just about the creping deadlines of homework eww another badword right now as I was late of 2 assignments and bombed a quiz in Chemistry! URG! That class is going to be the death of please attend my funeral, Im a bit scared I have pissed too many people off in my life that quite honestly Im afraid of being alone. Well it’s a good thing the timer just went off because I was about to have a whoas me party!

591

My Creedo, Our Marriage

Marriage is a product of codependency, a good marriage that is.  As a codependent wife; I take pride in the delectable dinners that fill the overgrown “teen” tummy and the sheepish smiles and batting of eyes that accomplish the “honey do list” in a timelier manner than last year’s gutter cleaning.  Of course, as a codependent  husband; my “better” half enjoys the Tim the Tool Man approach to opening pickle jars and solving the equation of clogged drains (Child A + Child B x CDE laughter = Disaster 7)!  Mind you, five of the seven factors possess the X chromosome and quite aware the “scape goat” Mother Nature can bring to dodging punishment. Sanity is accomplished by depending on one another. 

Marriage is the mirror image of God’s intended relationship with His people and His promise land.  The Israelites were rebellious and repeatedly attempting victory on their own while God gave them wisdom to defeat their enemies; often, they did not listen and many perished. They were to be dependent on God and codependent of one another as His people. When they failed the instruction, hearts hardened. This is much like marriage in today’s society. We take vows of instruction and perish when our hearts harden.  

There are moments, even years, when codependent existence intertwines with external forces neither one care to share as such confession will surely dim the light of reflection between us.  Fortunately, our years of self reliance end up right back where God intended, codependent!

Behind the Screen Audience

To know your audience you must ask questions. No matter the atmosphere, the fear of looking stupid prompts a “follow the leader” mind set, as a sigh of relief calms the heart rate when the first post includes “favorite”. The predominant factor of the remaining questions was just that; “What is your favorite….?” In my world, it left the intellectual questions representing bravery and honesty to dig into the audience by seeking more than a canned answer. The entire assignment was enlightening. ENG 101‑W06 classmates share common generalized interests such as social circles where family is first, found memories of family that impact our favorites, an environmental awareness of creation among us, and the desire to escape whenever time allows (for most of us that is simply a dream).   

My opinion of the discussion board atmosphere lies between the lines primarily due to various factors encompassing someone’s life, such as: busy family schedules causing for short responses, an overall consistency of who was in the top 5 to post early & respond early, and who started off strong but ended weak on their responses and sadly who chose not to respond to the “tardy” student. 

It has been my experience in life that the tardy student often has quite the insight if given a chance to redeem. I found myself reading this student’s post a few different times with that same fear of “looking stupid” for being the one to initiate inclusion. I also wasn’t the first one to respond yet humbly followed days later. As crazy as it may seem, I was testing this hypothesis.  Sadly, I observed no one had followed the brave lead of one classmate. Analyzing an audience from behind the screen is difficult as the “body language” makes it nearly impossible to conclude reliable opinions. I then furthered my research by paying attention to the tardy student’s responses, as I expected her validating my original opinion, insightful and intellectual. Although I didn’t share some of the same opinions or favorites, I found myself growing in my writing skills. 

What I mean is this: I analyzed my audience deeper than I originally began, much like others, starting off strong and fizzling out. This student opened my eyes to my own self audience (if that’s even a real word). Classmates seem to attract like cliques, even behind a screen, myself included. I tend to stay within a comfort zone aiming to please by molding my answer to acceptance among my peers. Needless to say I have learned the hard way over the years that it’s better to listen than speak. I sought out the ones that shared some of my same beliefs or similar interests and feared not the openness for discussion. However I found the true enjoyment by reading between the lines and testing my opinion(s). Further testing included my response of a politically incorrect line of work as my favorite job; I came out of a comfort zone and invaded my own privacy, contrary to Ms. A’s advice.  This was a post where “reply to reply” was evident.  Coming out of a comfort zone is the best way to learn and analyze your surroundings.  In this case, I should have listened.     

What are our comfort zones? Some do not touch on emotional topics or responses while others seek the common ground of impact. I noticed this “follow the lead” experiment more prevalent in the question, “Who is your Hero?”  The responses reflected high percentage sentimental aspects; leaving little room for anything but a politically correct answer, one who had empathy. Those that didn’t share the same kind of experience were answering short and sweet with no indications of comic book characters like most kid like hearts would be inclined to say. The kid-like hearts were prevalent in questions like “What is your favorite cereal?” or “What is your favorite T.V. Show?” as many included things like marshmallows and comedy. Releasing laughter is often referred to as an emotion more easily expressed in children.  This reiterates the brilliant selection our instructor imposed as writing groups were formed; a variation of talent, different styles of writing, weakness countering strengths and just enough common grounds to pose unity while stepping out of a comfort zone for learning. 

Writing is about knowing your audience, selecting a topic of interest and creating a thesis, otherwise referred to as the rhetorical triangle.  My fellow classmates are perfect.  There is enough diversity to hold interest however walls of fear could hinder our writing to the correct audience.  We all seem to have an interest in writing, share similar busy schedules that limit our ability to analyze body language of our audience and the initial excitement of an assignment with the ending fizzle of procrastination.  I believe this leaves a great responsibility on the writers to capture the attention quickly yet knowing when the posts are too short to gather valuable information or too long to read effectively. 

I noticed that most (classmates) started off responding to everyone and as the week progressed and life demands restricted fulfillment of our desire to obtain extra credit as well as feeding our audience and caused for the “give up” mode which behind a screen can seem inconsiderate.  Let’s face it; in today’s method of communication of behind a screen, the right way to express a sheepish, apologetic face is to text the correct smiley face with a hint of blush.  Now that wouldn’t go over well with the grade or would it?