Life lessons build character, strengthen heart

Time. It changes things, and change reflects time’s nature.

This weekend brought many thoughts to the forefront of my mind… for some reason when family comes to visit it just happens.

I left the snug room in the apartment I share with Brandon and Steph last Thursday to drive home to Wartburg for the 4th of July holiday. Mom told me previously that she remodeled my butterfly covered bright blue bedroom, so it was no surprise to me when I came home and saw that it was now a neutral brown, black and teal colored room with a futon instead of my bed inside. It was expected.

I’ve had many changes in my life. I’ve had my ups, downs and breakdowns alongside moments of triumph.

And for some reason, great weeks are always followed by something looming… by utterly crappy emotions, experiences and moments that build character.

Right now, my character is treading a sea filled with tears. I am an emotional being.

Last week was amazing; I’ll just be honest. I worked out everyday, ate amazingly healthy even for me, and I even went shopping at Gap (c’mon, the sales are irresistible). Two nights ended in conversations with Lance lasting more than 30 minutes, the weather was perfect and it was a short week: July 4th fell on a Friday.

Plus, I saw numerous relatives that stayed at the house all weekend from Ohio.

It was nearly perfect. I was home, seeing family, on a very extended weekend.

But all good things come to an end.

An indescribable feeling of emptiness surrounds me when a full house suddenly decreases to three people in a matter of moments. Watching them drive away was like being punched in the gut and I realized… the perfect weekend was over, and I, too, would soon return to my work-filled routine.

In an attempt to bring back the feelings that once were only a matter of hours ago, I walked outside onto the lone porch and into the empty yard. I picked up the corn bags and started practicing my corn hole techniques, then moved on to ladder golf once my arms were sore. My parents came out to relax, and Dad and I played a few rounds of ladder golf. But something besides the laughter and babies, someone without imposable thumbs, was missing.

Peanut.

I remember when I first laid eyes on that dog. It was a chilly November night, and Lance and I had just left church and pulled in the driveway when something small and white in the headlights caught my attention.

At first, I thought it was a rabbit, but then after looking closer I realized it was a very skittish mix of Jack Russell Terrier and something else. He was only a pup and skinny as a rail. You could count the ribs on him.

My heart melted right away, and after countless attempts to pet him, Lance and I finally coaxed him to get close to us with some leftover fries. Dad at first wanted to pay him no attention, hoping he would go back home, if he had one at all. Mom had a way, though, and Dad too warmed up to him and eventually built a doghouse complete with carpet and heat for colder nights.

We named him Peanut for two reasons:

1. He peed a lot
2. He was hyper, like a nut. No other name suited him better…

Mom saw him first. He was under the back porch by a bush. Normally he would be roaming around the back yard sniffing his territory with Fido, our aging Chihuahua. Something about Peanut wasn’t right… Dad had to pull him out from his spot and immediately we knew a vet must intervene.

We drove over to Karns and waited to see the vet. He was puny; didn’t move hardly at all… peaceful, almost.

Tests were run and everything checked out O.K. We paid the bill and went on our way, thinking he would recover after some prescribed medication.

Apparently, we were wrong.

A pet’s death never comes easily, no matter how long he or she is with you. We grow attached, play with them and either congratulate or regurgitate at the sight of a prized trophy on the back doorstep. We yell when they run out into the road and comfort them when they’re afraid of thunderstorms. We love them unconditionally, and they love us back. They learn from us, and we learn from them.

It’s been over one year since I gave my valedictory at graduation. I wish I’d kept it; it kicked butt, basically. It covered all the bases and summed up our years in the Morgan County School System pretty well: touch on getting screwed over multiple times, quickly change subject to how that helped us adapt to change, ending with learning to embrace our changes ahead in life, and I even sprinkled some song lyrics here and there.

Looking back now, I realize that speech was mostly meant for me. I knew I wasn’t ready to change my way of life; I knew I wasn’t really ready for everything I once knew to be stripped away in a matter of months (I once tried, unsuccessfully, to drown myself when I was 10 after my oldest brother graduated high school and two months later my grandma passed away. I was afraid of the future, the unknown). Once I thought I’d adapted to what had changed then, something else came along and signaled to me that I was growing up — my bedroom changed, I’m working more than relaxing during the summer, it’s hard to cope with a pet of only eight months dying.

It doesn’t help that I’m also gaining a year this Wednesday (July 16).

Change sucks. As Ben Folds once wrote in his song Still Fighting It,

“everybody knows it sucks to grow up, but everybody does…and let me tell you what, the years go on and we’re still fighting it…”

No matter how old we get, no matter how “seasoned” we are, will be, or ever were, it seems that change is the biggest challenge for each human being, for each soul. Time and change go hand-in-hand; they’re in cahoots with each other. They resemble Siamese twins joined at the hip and are inseparable. It’s inevitable.

“…And life’s like an hourglass glued to the table.”

Such haunting words, yet they fit now.

We can’t re-wind life. What’s happened has happened, and there’s no changing it. All we can do is roll with the punches, adapt, learn and move on. That’s time, that’s change and that’s life.

Coldplay’s “Violet Hill” lets us know

This makes the third time in a row tonight that I’ve listened to Coldplay’s single “Violet Hill,” which preceded their latest title track, “Viva la Vida.”

And after reading the lyrics, I’m reminded of the plot in the 2003 movie Cold Mountain.  Two lovers meet and share one kiss before he leaves for war, only to come back for a few days to see his lover before dying, long enough to make love and carry on his family name.

How depressing.  It still lingers with me after 5 years.

“Violet Hill” bears the same story.  Bury me in honor/When I’m dead and hit the ground/A love back home unfolds… If you love me, why’d you let me go?

He doesn’t want to be fighting; he’d rather be home, with his love… I don’t want to be a soldier/Who the captain of some sinking ship/Would stow, far below…

It makes me wonder how many men fighting in Iraq feel the same way.  I know it’s a touchy subject with most, but it saddens me to think some men may be fighting against their own will, stripped away from those they love, die, and never know what could’ve been.

And I hope, they do it with honor.  If nothing else, with honor.  I respect you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

All I want, desire, hope for this country and world is peace.  Peace brings us together; love keeps us together.

Blue plates, cupcakes and tow-trucks mix horribly

Have you ever had one of those days? You know, the ones that you wonder what could possibly happen next, hoping all the while that things wouldn’t, couldn’t get any worse?

Today started off innocent enough. I drove from Wartburg to Knoxville this morning, battling traffic, or slow beat-up trucks doing 50 in a 55 rather, for a math final. Typical for Morgan County. Might I add there’s usually never a good time to pass?

Right, so I got to Pellissippi OK and (hopefully) aced the final and finished it around 11:30. That gave me just enough time to head over to Gay Street for WDVX’s Blue Plate Special. Today featured Miss Tess and my favorite, Christabel and the Johns.

Great music and great crowds gathered in the Knoxville Visitor’s Center make for a great warm, June afternoon with not a cloud in the sky (except for those nice white fluffy ones). Basically, it was just the perfect summer day and to make it even better, I had no set schedule to go by.

After Blue Plate was over and the DJ said his closing lines, I headed out for lunch at Tomato Head (all the talk of food made my stomach growl, plus I hadn’t had any real food to eat).

Upon arrival, I walked in the restaurant, ordered my Kepner melt with fruit and water to drink, then sat down at a table with a MetroPulse. After reading a good few articles and realizing people coming in after me got their food and all I had was a lemon-less water, I decided to see what was up (nicely, I might add). It seemed to be they forgot to make my lunch, but the nice lady offered me free dessert of my choice to make up for it. I’m not a stranger to sweets, so I accepted.

My food came (along with a free vegan coconut cupcake), and I went to Coffee and Chocolate for a drink to go with my newfound sunshine.

Afterwards, I walked back toward my car, tea and cupcake in hand (I would eat it at the Beacon while laying the paper out tonight). Only one problem…

Is that my car? I thought I parked…. there….. no…. couldn’t be… surely….

Holy….

Mother….

MY CAR IS GONE!

I am an emotional being that is very attached to my belongings (1. Car; 2. iPod inside car). Immediately I freaked out, but tried to keep myself calm while asking the ladies standing there if they’d seen a silver Focus, only failing by sobbing almost uncontrollably while big hot tears rolled out from under my sunglasses. One blessed woman asked if I’d parked in the first slot on the bridge we were looking at. I had. Apparently cops like to park there, too.

In my depression and unbelief, I also threw away my uneaten, untouched free cupcake.

Thankfully I knew my brother would be working at First Baptist Church in Knoxville that afternoon, so while on the phone with Mom (who helped tremendously) I made my way there…
…only to discover he’d already left. And doesn’t answer his phone.

So now let me paint this picture for you. Imagine yourself a young lady alone in Downtown Knoxville. Not too bad, nothing you can’t handle, right? OK, now imagine yourself a young lady alone in Downtown Knoxville with no transportation, no friends, no family, or no one to call on to take you to the KPD Impound lot to rescue your baby. At least, no one within an hour drive that will pick up the phone.

At this point I’m wishing I hadn’t thrown my cupcake away; at least it would’ve helped to make me feel better a little bit. I start telling myself that maybe some homeless guy found it… there’s a reason for everything.

At this point, I just want to be alone, so I find the most remote part of the church and lock myself in a bathroom. I slide down on the bathroom floor and just cry.

Just…. cry.

Then, I snap myself out of it, muster up some maturity, and head back out into the world. And you know what? Brandon does answer his phone sometimes and is kind enough to rescue his little sister… and the “baby.”

And you want to know what else? I finally had my cupcake — and I made it all by myself.

What would you ask the POTUS?

I was in Beta Club in high school, and yes, I was one of the dorky valedictorians keeping you from the cookouts after graduation ceremonies because I liked to write and give long-winded speeches about growing up, change and moving on. You’re welcome.

While I was in Beta Club, though, my now boyfriend (who wrote this story for the school’s website) talked me into running for secretary for the state’s Beta Club. I did, and I did pretty good and all until the second round of elections: question and answer.

Before the question and answer session, before standing on stage once more in front of thousands of people (we’re talking ALL Beta Clubs from the state of Tennessee here), those in charge let us look at each question to gather our thoughts and come up with an answer for each one. I had great answers for all of them… but one…

And that’s the one I drew out of the hat.
The question? “If you could ask the POTUS one question, what would it be?”

Naturally, plenty of controversial questions popped into my head. Questions like “Why are we in Iraq?” and “Why not help people in Africa instead?” or “Why don’t you do something about global warming?” immediately came to my mind, but of course I’m running for a state office and want votes, so I figured none of the above would be a safe option.

I opted for a safe, harmless question that ultimately cost me the election in an uncontroversial way: “What’s your favorite flavor of ice cream?” My defense? I like knowing stupid stuff like that about people, because I like to connect with others. I’m a fun person.

I was (and still am) blonde. And a former cheerleader on top of that.
And my campaign was, “Red, White and Blonde/Expect more, elect Moore” with “Not just another dumb blonde,” printed on the front of each shirt. Fitting, no?

Whatever. I didn’t want the office anyway. Too much responsibility and stuffy-ness for my taste.

If I could go back and do it over again, I’d have better answers. Questions like, “How many lives will it take for you to pull out of Iraq completely?” “How do you plan on *helping to lower gas prices?” and “Do you realize how bad America looks in the global eye?” would be great choices, and by now most may agree with me on that.

So, I ask you, what would you ask the President of the United States? And why?

**Note:  Re-worded after reader comment.  Thanks!

Warning: Post contains a possible controversial issue

***Disclaimer: I in no way know EVERYTHING about the national debt, and what I do know is very little. So, while reading this, take it with a grain of salt. I’m basically ranting and trying to wrap my mind around such a huge sum of money. Thanks.***

First and foremost, I would like to thank President Bush for the lovely national debt estimated to be ALMOST 10 TRILLION DOLLARS by 2 a.m. this morning.

Thanks.
Oh, by the way, what did you do with all of that? Presidential campaigns? The Iraq War? Oh, and why are we over there again? Oh, yeah, to press our beliefs on them to maybe make their lives better because the American way is the best way, right? O.K. As long as we’re clear on that issue.

Oh, and how is that going to be PAID OFF? How do you PAY OFF TEN TRILLION DOLLARS??
Just wondering.

As if the average American citizen isn’t poor enough, as if we’re not already heading for a recession, as if a good portion of the population doesn’t depend on overpriced gas (and where to find the cheapest gas for a gallon), bread, milk, future rent, college education (but can you really put a price on education?), etc.

Nah, we, the American citizens, can pay it off. Don’t worry, George. We’ve got your back, because we have that much money to throw around.

Now, that I have that part out of the way, here are some stats to glare at:
If my source is right, every day $1.59 million has been added since September 2007.
That calculates to:

• $66,250 an hour…
• $1,104.16 a minute…
• …and $18.40 a second.

According to a letter to the editor in Vanity Fair’s last issue regarding Bush’s $3.1 trillion budget, if a person gave another $100 million a day and told him or her to spend every penny until the entire $3 trillion was spent, it would take that person 82 years to spend all of that money. Now, let’s take it down to giving the lucky one $1 million a day. Then, it would take that person over eight thousand years to completely spend $3 trillion.

I have a hard time spending $200 a day, even when I can afford it (but given $100 million a day I’ll guarantee you I’ll find a way to spend it somehow.).

So, thank you President Bush, echoing Graydon Carter, editor of Vanity Fair, for leaving the Oval Office “much like a toddler would leave a dirty diaper.” At least you left one thing Americans cherish somewhat pristine and untouched, the Patriot Act aside: freedom of speech and press.

Thank you.

Two years, one too many lost

Did you hear about the woman that stayed in the bathroom for so long her skin grew to the toilet seat?
No, really, here’s the link: http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/23595533/

Can you say ridiculous?

Alright, so this isn’t exactly the most timely manner to write about this, I’m well aware. But come on, I’m a busy kid. Writing a blog on this subject isn’t exactly at the top of my to-do list… if I have one… I’ll have to check it…

Hopefully this isn’t too much for you guys, but the reason I’m writing on this particular subject is because I just returned from the loo after being in there at least an hour. Facebook made it bearable, but two years? Really?

Think of all the things you would miss! All the sunsets, sunrises, long walks, movies, manicures, shopping, job experiences, education, basic hygiene, dates, weddings, births would be gone, ripped away by Father Time. And you can’t get back a second of your life, let alone two years of it.

Think back over the past two years of your life. What did you do? What did you accomplish? Who came in or left from your life? What changes happened? How many jobs did you go through? Cars did you wreck? Countries or other states you visited? Goals you met?

Two years is a lot of time. A lot of time to waste, but a lot of time to get busy living… or get busy dying. I’d rather live, if that’s OK. I’m pretty sure it is, unless God would rather take me, and that’d be fine too.

Thinking back over the past two years of my life, I realize that I’ve accomplished plenty of things not many do in two years time. For example, I finally visited New York City TWICE! That’s something I never dreamed of doing until after college! I saw Lance sing in Carnegie Hall, graduated from high school as one of five valedictorians… and gave a pretty awesome speech… became a Lady Vol on the novice rowing team (and quit a few months later), started writing for The Daily Beacon and Tennessee Journalist and from there my life has practically spawned out of control with opportunities I never dreamed of.

I never thought I would be working at the Knoxville News Sentinel so soon… and I’m only going to be a sophomore. Dang.

Two crazy years of my life proved to, so far, be the most fruitful, and I’m thankful for that. I wonder what she could’ve done with two years instead of sitting in the bathroom for so long… find a cure for cancer? Be the next Oprah? Who knows?

Take life, but not for granted. Use every second to your advantage, and don’t stay in the bathroom for two years without leaving or getting up once. It’s not attractive, and what will you get accomplished besides a few weeks of humiliating fame? A big hospital bill to remove the seat from your body. That’s what.

And for risk of sounding cheesy… Life is a gift. That’s why it’s called the present.

A new chapter has begun

First year of college at UT closed out Friday when I walked out of McClung Museum and finished my last exam. I don’t care how I did on it. All that matters is it’s over, done, behind me. Now I can focus on more important things: work, internship opportunities, editorial production and paying rent.

It seems my life is actually maturing. This time last year I was sitting in Ms. Pointer’s classroom waiting for a noisy bunch of people to settle down so the class could actually get started. While sitting there, making small talk with people around me, my mind was somewhere else (Yes, sometimes I was that weird kid in the corner day-dreaming all the time, and no I was not strung out on acid).

I would be thinking about how to get out of there. How to “un-surround” myself from people who didn’t care about where they would end up, or knew they would stay in Wartburg the rest of their lives and so didn’t put forth the effort to better themselves. I would be thinking back to my summer at Governor’s School, how fun it was to be around people that actually cared about their futures, careers and education. We were all there for that same reason. We cared.

I would be thinking about where I would ultimately end up, possibly raising a family. Envisioning myself in Wartburg was not exactly easy, so I would move to New York City, Nashville or even downtown Knoxville. Any place with an urban feel to it would’ve been great.

I would be thinking about where I would be a year from now. Then I thought I would be back home, relaxing for the summer with Lance.

Now I’m up at 10:34 a.m. writing this blog in Brandon and Steph’s apartment after saying goodbyes to Bradley (who surprised us with a visit from Connecticut), Mom and Dad, and Lance. When I said my goodbyes to Bradley, it occurred that I may not see him again until Thanksgiving or Christmas and rather made me sad. When I said bye to Lance, it hit me in the face, hard, that I wouldn’t be relaxing at home this summer with him.

My break from what I knew as the norm had begun. I am an adult now, and my life turned upside down.

But don’t get me wrong. Great opportunities are coming out of this, I’m sure. I’m getting experience that I wouldn’t have gotten in Wartburg. I’m exposing myself to potential employers that told me if I don’t get it for the summer, then maybe in the fall when school starts back up. Normally, I wouldn’t be told that. Normally, for the summer, I would be told to vacuum the pool, do the dishes, get tan for once and I would be telling myself to work off that ice cream you just ate.

My life has turned upside down, but in a good way like a pineapple upside down cake (which I love by the way). I’m starting a new chapter once more, and hopefully it’ll be the one with the career opportunity of a lifetime. Or at least a step in that direction.

First year of college comes to a close

With the end of my first year at school quickly coming to a close, I’m finding myself getting frantic once more.

The end of classes mean finals. The end of the school year means what the heck is The Daily Beacon and Tennessee Journalist going to write about? The end of the school year also means much shorter deadlines, and, if you don’t write the articles and get them in before April 24, they won’t be published. And that means less exposure to potential employers…. not exactly what I want.

The end of the school year also also means moving out of the dorms and into another apartment, which means paying rent, which means finding a job that pays more than just minimum wage with more hours, all the while keeping up grades in math classes over the summer. Bah.

Sound fun? You’re smoking crack if you think it does. Perhaps I need a hit of it, just to get me through it all.

Or not.

Let’s not throw in trying to coax professors to let you into their superior classes, either. Especially when you’re not majoring in that department, or have at least 3 years ahead of you to get them later. They don’t care. Dang big university.

Sometimes I wonder if it’s worth all the trouble, then I think that I could easily be working in Wartburg at Partner’s living off tips of one dollar a table instead of challenging myself to reach the goals I’ve set so high.

I’m supposed to get an internship at Teen Vogue, Elle, Vanity Fair or Marie Claire, dadgumit. And I’m going to get there, and no one… NO ONE will stop me.

Except the editors of those prestigious magazines… maybe them. But mark my words, I’ll be living in NYC even if I’m just an artistic hobo living on the streets. At least I’m there. Maybe I’ll be discovered while starving to death and become a model, earning millions just by walking down a catwalk in $1,000+ clothing. Effortless.

How awesome would that be? Oh yeah, you’re jealous now. I can tell.

Whatever it be that I choose to do, to become, to write, I’m sure it’s going to serve a purpose in God’s divine plan for my life. The trick is, I just got to figure out what it is…

Could someone give me his number? E-mail? I’d appreciate it. Thanks.

Have a great day, guys. And for those of you choosing to read my blogs, thanks. It makes my day when I see that people really do read this thing, kind of like someone is listening.

I appreciate it. It’s for, and because of, people like you that I keep writing.

“American beatitudes” sum it up

One night a few weeks ago, the opportunity to grab some coffee with my brother and his wife presented itself to me, and of course I took advantage of it.

He showed me this (strictly) sarcastic, satirical article in a publication he gets in the mail. The name of it slipped my mind, forgive me, but I read it and I believe it hits the nail on the head. It really gets you in the stomach… or at least it did me.

The American Beatitudes (From the Sermon on the Hill)
Matthew 5:1-16
by David D. Flowers, Satirist/Writer

1 One day as he saw the politicians gathering, Jesus went up the steps of the capital and stood behind a podium with The Statue of Freedom looming overhead. The Senate gathered around him, 2 and he began to address them.

3 “Blessed are those who have a military-industrial complex and realize their need to secure their economic interests in the Middle East, for the kingdoms of the world are theirs.

4 Blessed are those who are hedonistic, for they will be satisfied.

5 Blessed are those who are proud and arrogant, for they shall rape and pillage the whole earth.

6 Blessed are those who lust for power and prosperity and call it “justice,” for they will have comforts.

7 Blessed are those who show no mercy, for they will never be in need of it anyway.

8 Blessed are those whose hearts are peacefully wicked, for they shall be gods.

9 Blessed are those who kill for peace, for they will be called the “good” children of God.

10 Blessed are the persecutors of evil men (those who threaten the Pax Americana), for the kingdoms of the world are theirs.

11 Blessed are you when people burn your precious flag and curse you because you destroyed their homes and killed their loved ones. These evildoers simply have not understood the power and salvation of redemptive violence. My followers must understand, when we talk about war… we are really talking about peace.

12 Be happy when people curse you for this! Be very glad! For great is your reward on earth. And remember, every empire before you was cursed for the same things.

13 You and you alone are the salt of the earth. But what good is salt if it has been corrupted by dirty Mexicans from the South and cave-dwelling Muslims from the east? They should be shot like the Indians and dumped in the sea like slaves. They are worthless! This is your manifest destiny!

14 You and you alone are the light of the world–an idolatrous city on a hilltop cannot be hidden.

15 No one buys alcohol and gets drunk alone. Instead they share their maddening wine with everyone in the world until everyone has had their fill!

16 In the same way, let your American ways spew out for all to taste, so that everyone will embrace carnal living and let freedom ring!”

Makes you think, doesn’t it?

True colors shine through

Fitting into a place sucks. Let’s just be honest. No matter where you end up in life, you’re bound to be different and absolutely HAVE to find a way to fit in somehow, someway, without changing who you are.

Lately I’ve been reading Prep, a New York Times Bestseller that Lance had to read last year for English. When he passed it on to me, I wanted to read it, but naturally would rather be on the Internet.

Anyways, about a year later I’ve opened the cover to discover (like the rhyme?) that it’s hard to put down…
…and stop thinking about how I feel just like the main character. Or at least I can relate.

We’ve all been in that position…

…new town, new school, new people

It’s intimidating, especially if you’re from a small mid-western town moving to the East Coast to attend a boarding school the last four years before college. To make matters worse, let’s throw in the money aspect, you know, the hierarchy where whoever is the prettiest with the most money gets it all.

That’s how I felt when I came to college, minus the high school part (I’ve already been through heck and back in high school, and I’d like to not go through it again). Small-town girl goes to a big university, middle-class and trying to keep up with everybody while maintaining a 4.0 that waved goodbye with my first astronomy exam. Sound familiar? Join the club. I can be president.

It’s hard trying to fit in these days. Like I said before, you have to have money, smarts and looks. Not all of us have that, but I know most of us have a great personality that shines through the dirt and grime…
…while others’ dirt and grime covers the glossiness of their hierarchal status. You know?

Bah, anyways kids, the moral of the story is to be true to yourself. Only God’s judgment counts, not everyone else’s. And if you’re cool with God, then everything else falls into place.

Like perhaps choosing the right major for you. Bah. Let’s not go there…

My how time flies. 1 a.m. and I have a 9:40 class….

Writing is addictive in the same way alcohol is. Tastes bad at first, but it’s an acquired taste.
Hmm… maybe that’s not the best analogy in the world… but it’ll do.