The third way my life mirrors my hair is that even though we will it not to we are in a constant state of change even though we may have an antiquated style and views the changes are inevitable. The luster of my strawberry locks is dimmer, and silk gray threads are intertwining amongst the curls, and yet the curls become tighter and bouncier as I’m forced to travel the road with the ever passage of time. I have also lost some of my luster and shininess with time as I have come to accept there are some things I cannot change. Alcoholism is something I cannot change for others as they have to change it for themselves and this has taken a lot of my shiny idealism out of my life and locks. The loss of my husband, my home, my child, my security has taken a toll on my psyche maybe graying my soul. I think the changes at times devastating have moved me in new ways, taken flight on new ideas and possibilities and my hair also has responded with tighter bouncer curls as I too have a spring in my step. I think I’m maturing, fighting, bouncing forward as the sands of time rush faster I can contend with the lack of luster, the graying threads as long as I focus on the bouncy curls defining the new exciting possibilities that I have yet to even imagine.
My hair like me is defined by our past, in a constant state of semi controlled chaos, and constantly changing. My connection with the past antiquated in style and view none the less is part of defining me. My views may be as outdated as my hippie do but yet I have come to accept they are part of me, they will be unmanageable at times and give me challenges but in the end as we continue on the journey we will incorporate new ideas as time marches on and I will intertwine them amongst the curls. The say “nothing ventured nothing gained” and I believe that is true of my hair and my life. It is ok to have strict tight views from time gone by as they are part of you, it is ok to be out of control it shows passion for what you believe and who you are, and it is ok to incorporate new into the old in a tangled mass of you. Who knows maybe I will dye these curls black, or cut them off to a shoulder length modern do but either way my life and may hair are permanently intertwined as we race forward with the sands of time.
Friday, May 14, 2010
Final English 101, page 1
My Hair Imitates My Life or is My Life Imitating My Hair?
I’m constantly tangled up in the chasms of my life as they shift in front of my eyes almost if they are one of those fly in effects on the PowerPoint Program that pop in as if magic and fade into nothingness. I am constantly being choked by the tentacles of my hair as they wrap up my shoulders neck and back as if I’m in a straight jacket. My hair and I are literally intertwined and are one in the same. My hair is down to the top of my butt, a sea of ringlet curls racing towards the back of my feet, strawberry blond cascading tentacles thick like maritime rope sticking out in every direction, with constant movement as if it has a life of its own. The three ways my hair and I are alike is that we are both stuck in time defined by our past, unmanageable at times, and in a constant state of unstoppable change.
We are both stuck in time my hair and I being defined by our style, our outlook, our attitude. We are defined by an era in which we never lived. The long hair with no bangs and no restraint reminiscent of the flower children of the 60’s defined and judged by an outward appearance rather than the prism of the person within the person. People see my hair and the often consider me a hippie. My family has told me numerous times my long disheveled hair do went out of style in 1965. My views on the world like caring more for others more than myself, sharing myself, and my intense at times empathy for others are views that are quite antiquated in this modern 2010 world. I feel strongly that if others could take time out from their excruciatingly fast paced technology driven lives and just stand in a field of daisies with one another and discuss family, love, and the environment I think we would all be in a more perfect world. The concept of true love, true empathy, and being more than yourself may be permanently rooted in the 60’s and my hair is firmly rooted there is well unrestrained, falling to and fro’, searching for its self in the realm of greater good. It has twists and turns that are free cascading daring others to be a part of our world.
The second way my hair and I are alike is that at many times we are unmanageable. My hair has a life of its own curly out of control with humidity and rain and blowing out of control in the winds, and frizzing up to twice its volume despite others trying to calm it down. I too quite often am out of control like my unmanageable curls. I get locked in on helping my friend fight his alcoholism and it’s as if a dark blind obscures my vision to the rest of the world. I’m unmanageable I won’t attend to other things like school work, cooking, other friends or family. I’m stubborn and determined to focus on the problem that I’m determined to fix or solve when the only solution may be that there is no solution. I’m often unmanageable when I have strong feelings when I have panic attacks and no amount of coping skills is going to stop the process of panic I must traverse the attack to the other side; often like no amount of gel, crème, or detangler will put the rope like curls in some acceptable order. My life and my curls are often very hard to manage but they eventually return to a subtle state of order every now and then awaiting the next wind, rain, cause, or problem that lacks a concrete social acceptable solution.
I’m constantly tangled up in the chasms of my life as they shift in front of my eyes almost if they are one of those fly in effects on the PowerPoint Program that pop in as if magic and fade into nothingness. I am constantly being choked by the tentacles of my hair as they wrap up my shoulders neck and back as if I’m in a straight jacket. My hair and I are literally intertwined and are one in the same. My hair is down to the top of my butt, a sea of ringlet curls racing towards the back of my feet, strawberry blond cascading tentacles thick like maritime rope sticking out in every direction, with constant movement as if it has a life of its own. The three ways my hair and I are alike is that we are both stuck in time defined by our past, unmanageable at times, and in a constant state of unstoppable change.
We are both stuck in time my hair and I being defined by our style, our outlook, our attitude. We are defined by an era in which we never lived. The long hair with no bangs and no restraint reminiscent of the flower children of the 60’s defined and judged by an outward appearance rather than the prism of the person within the person. People see my hair and the often consider me a hippie. My family has told me numerous times my long disheveled hair do went out of style in 1965. My views on the world like caring more for others more than myself, sharing myself, and my intense at times empathy for others are views that are quite antiquated in this modern 2010 world. I feel strongly that if others could take time out from their excruciatingly fast paced technology driven lives and just stand in a field of daisies with one another and discuss family, love, and the environment I think we would all be in a more perfect world. The concept of true love, true empathy, and being more than yourself may be permanently rooted in the 60’s and my hair is firmly rooted there is well unrestrained, falling to and fro’, searching for its self in the realm of greater good. It has twists and turns that are free cascading daring others to be a part of our world.
The second way my hair and I are alike is that at many times we are unmanageable. My hair has a life of its own curly out of control with humidity and rain and blowing out of control in the winds, and frizzing up to twice its volume despite others trying to calm it down. I too quite often am out of control like my unmanageable curls. I get locked in on helping my friend fight his alcoholism and it’s as if a dark blind obscures my vision to the rest of the world. I’m unmanageable I won’t attend to other things like school work, cooking, other friends or family. I’m stubborn and determined to focus on the problem that I’m determined to fix or solve when the only solution may be that there is no solution. I’m often unmanageable when I have strong feelings when I have panic attacks and no amount of coping skills is going to stop the process of panic I must traverse the attack to the other side; often like no amount of gel, crème, or detangler will put the rope like curls in some acceptable order. My life and my curls are often very hard to manage but they eventually return to a subtle state of order every now and then awaiting the next wind, rain, cause, or problem that lacks a concrete social acceptable solution.
Monday, May 10, 2010
Essay 9 page 4
up to the challenge of the terrorist attack and began to help one another. The brought food, medical care and regular people with shovels showed up to help. Families searched for loved ones and helped others find information. In the midst of disaster our country rose to new heights of love and compassion. I felt so proud to be an American and prayed for those that were lost in the air and at the trade center, Pentagon, and in a field in Pennsylvania. I made donations and I prayed which was all I had to offer and my company began a campaign to raise money for the victims. I was selfishly thrilled to find out that all our employees were fine because when they evacuated the building our company made a decision to not let people reenter and sent them home. I know the vacation taught me so much about survival, and how to revaluate what is significant in your life. I held on to my family much tighter for a long time to come and continue to remind everyone if you survive horrors please tell others what you have learned. I hope that it will not take 3 disasters and a vacation for others to learn these lessons. Live life to its fullest, be involved, care for your fellow man because we always survive best when we stand together and work to make our country a better place. Disasters may come and go but it is in the rising up that we survive because we have not been defeated.
Essay 9 page 3
We arrived in NYC on September 8th checked into the hotel my company had booked and spent the evening dining with some other managers from Maine who were here for the conference. I shared with them my nightmare vacation as they all had been jealous before I left work in Belfast that I had scheduled my vacation before the seminar and had extended my vacation to end in NYC. The next day September 9th we attended the seminar and had no free time in the afternoon as the managers from the unit on the 11th floor had made plans for a fraud analyst to do a speaking engagement for us. My husband felt that the bad karma of Virginia Beach had followed us as our tickets to our show went unused with the addition of the unplanned speaker I had to attend for work. The next morning was September 10th and the meeting broke up at 11am. My husband had gone to the mall under the trade center so we met up out in front of the National Trade Center. We asked a stranger which my husband insisted I not do to take our photo in front of the trade center and he stood there with me smiling whispering in my ear the guy was going to run and steal our camera the way our luck was running. He didn’t and our digital camera dated that photo September 10th, 2001. We decided that we could not handle anymore disasters and had already checked out of our hotel and decided to haul for Maine. We arrived home at 1am and the next morning I left at 5am headed to Belfast to work at MBNA. I worked in building 8 and my office was at the end of a room the size of a football field and as far as the eye could see were workers in cube offices attached to phones by headsets serving our customers. Then at about 8:50 am the phones stopped ringing as if an ominous foreshadowing of what was to come in the next minutes. The reps began to stand up in their cubes like moles in the wack a mole game popping up with blank stares. Then I went on to the main floor where the other managers were gathering and I heard something about a hijacked plane. Then the security guards came in wearing guns and the protective emergency blinds began to go down over the windows. The 1000 moles wear staring in silence as TV’s were rolled in from our Technology rooms and we turned them on just in time to see the plane fly behind Katie and Matt on the Today Show. We stood in horror and then the ripple of crying began across the expanse of the football field room. I saw my coworkers hugging, crying and we all moved closer to the sets as we watched unable to look away. I think to witness a disaster with others is somehow even more horrific because tough people become people you didn’t recognize and quiet managers who never spoke were trying to maintain control. We watched through the 2nd plane and of course the collapsing towers and not one of our 1000 phones rang and were even a thought in our minds. We held hands and everyone spoke in hushed voices as my thoughts ran to the workers in the tower on 11th floor. Finally a voice of reason the Vice President called us all to attention and turned off the TV’s telling us the company had decided to close down as was the stock market and we all will be released to go home shortly as they were waiting for more news as they still weren’t sure at this point if the country was under attack. The waiting for an hour was excruciating as people began to call relatives on their cell phones and discuss what this all meant. This was my 3rd and final disaster that I thought I had escaped when I arrived home from my vacation.
I believe things do happen in 3’s and I believe people can have bad luck but I didn’t know what to think of the past two weeks as I spent the next two days at home. These disasters in NYC had rocked me to my core and I felt that my world would never be the same. I continued to think of the parents of the child who would never go to school and the poor woman recovering from her injuries and how this must be another burden for them. Then President Bush, fireman, policeman, and the common man began to rise
I believe things do happen in 3’s and I believe people can have bad luck but I didn’t know what to think of the past two weeks as I spent the next two days at home. These disasters in NYC had rocked me to my core and I felt that my world would never be the same. I continued to think of the parents of the child who would never go to school and the poor woman recovering from her injuries and how this must be another burden for them. Then President Bush, fireman, policeman, and the common man began to rise
Essay 9 page 2
assisting. A man in flowered swim trunks was tying a towel around the leg trying to restrict the blood flow. The sand was covered with a bright oozy puddle of blood that spurted in a rhythm from the child’s leg. An ambulance came down the beach and it seems if hours had passed as we stared in horror mesmerized by the carnage unfolding. There had to be hundreds of people huddled yet there was no sound. The packed up the boy in seconds and he was gone with what I could only assume was his screaming mom and shocked Dad packed in the ambulance too. All the people began to disperse as the lifeguard prompted us back to life and told us the ocean was off limits and minute’s later helicopters and scores of policemen cleared the beach. We walked solemnly back to our resort. We sat and our hotel room watching the helicopters moving up and down the miles of Virginia Beach. We sat glued to the TV screen in our room watching the coverage late into the evening regaling what we now knew was a shark attack and the little boy age 5 had passed away on route to the hospital. He was to start his first day of school in only 6 days. The beach was closed for several days and when it reopened fear kept people from the ocean and my dream of swimming was completely obscured by the pain and horror I felt for this family I didn’t know but felt compelled to help. We made a donation to the family as the news instructed how to send donations to a particular bank. That was the first disaster and the start of my dream vacation on Virginia Beach. I never did put a toe in that ocean and couldn’t stomach going to the beach the rest of the week.
On the 5th day of vacation at Virginia Beach I was starting to rebound and my grieving was less of an open wound for the child. We had lunch at a beachside Cabana and were walking out on the sidewalk with plans to pedal one of those little cars with a roof that dotted the landscape of the boardwalk. We were strolling along towards the place to pay for a pedal car and across the street a man ran chasing a woman. She was screaming in horror and people stood paralyzed on both sides of the street as the man brandished a hand gun. He spewed obscenities at the woman and she had ran into a pay parking lot the kind with the big hand painted sign 5$ a day beach parking. The attendant with the little podium shack with a bright umbrella was on his cell phone. We watched in horror as she ducked between cars and then he caught up to her and smacked the back of her neck and she fell to the ground. Then a man appeared from out of nowhere wearing a colored visor, fanny pack, and sandals that he threw off as he ran at the man who had the woman on the ground and jumped on his back freeing the woman. They rolled on the ground the gun was on the ground another man picked it up and then 2 other man helped the barefoot man restrain the assailant. The police final arrived and the man was in handcuffs and in a cruiser in seconds. Police cars and police on bikes appeared as if by magic and were moving the crowd and an ambulance loaded the injured victim and the detectives were taking statements. We returned to our hotel about a half mile walk down the strip in shock the ride in our peddle car long forgotten. We spent the next day watching the coverage of the attack and were shocked to find out the man just got out of prison and the woman had a restraining order in place. We were thrilled to hear she only had broken ribs, broken arm and was expected to make a full recovery. I always question that term “full recovery” how does a victim recover from the trauma of that violence because I only witnessed the attack and was traumatized. So that was our second disaster in a week so we decided to head out early and start working our way toward NYC.
On the 5th day of vacation at Virginia Beach I was starting to rebound and my grieving was less of an open wound for the child. We had lunch at a beachside Cabana and were walking out on the sidewalk with plans to pedal one of those little cars with a roof that dotted the landscape of the boardwalk. We were strolling along towards the place to pay for a pedal car and across the street a man ran chasing a woman. She was screaming in horror and people stood paralyzed on both sides of the street as the man brandished a hand gun. He spewed obscenities at the woman and she had ran into a pay parking lot the kind with the big hand painted sign 5$ a day beach parking. The attendant with the little podium shack with a bright umbrella was on his cell phone. We watched in horror as she ducked between cars and then he caught up to her and smacked the back of her neck and she fell to the ground. Then a man appeared from out of nowhere wearing a colored visor, fanny pack, and sandals that he threw off as he ran at the man who had the woman on the ground and jumped on his back freeing the woman. They rolled on the ground the gun was on the ground another man picked it up and then 2 other man helped the barefoot man restrain the assailant. The police final arrived and the man was in handcuffs and in a cruiser in seconds. Police cars and police on bikes appeared as if by magic and were moving the crowd and an ambulance loaded the injured victim and the detectives were taking statements. We returned to our hotel about a half mile walk down the strip in shock the ride in our peddle car long forgotten. We spent the next day watching the coverage of the attack and were shocked to find out the man just got out of prison and the woman had a restraining order in place. We were thrilled to hear she only had broken ribs, broken arm and was expected to make a full recovery. I always question that term “full recovery” how does a victim recover from the trauma of that violence because I only witnessed the attack and was traumatized. So that was our second disaster in a week so we decided to head out early and start working our way toward NYC.
Essay 9 page 1
Essay #9 Disaster Vacation..My Trail of Survival and Acceptance
I actually imagine myself as a giant magnet attracting disaster after disaster and yet I always survive to tell the story. Do I do more than survive? Do I use the disaster to make a difference in my life? I have many scars from the horrors I have faced but I try to tell the stories to make the pain mean something by helping others avert disasters, find a way to survive, and show them you can start over in life. Yes nothing will ever be the same but there is only one choice get busy living or get busy dying and time after time I have chosen to rise from the ashes of disaster. I think the three disasters of my last vacation will deter anyone from ever leaving home again. I last went on a vacation in August 25th 2001. It was to be the trip of a lifetime. Driving to Virginia Beach for a week of fun, sun, sand, concert, chance to work on my marriage, and then culminating with a two day business seminar on September 9th and 10th in NYC for MBNA at our offices on 11th floor of National Trade Center on the way home from Virginia Beach. This business seminar was in the mornings giving us a chance to tour the city in the afternoon and take in a show at night. Three disasters ensued in rapid succession. A 5 year old child was killed on the beach before our very eyes from a shark attack, the next day we witnessed a man beat his wife almost to death while waiving a gun before a brave man fought him to the ground, and the as we were leaving the city on September 10th heading home feeling that the disaster magnet syndrome had passed we arrived home in the night to experience September 11th terror attack the next morning while at work. I have not taken a vacation since as I feel I have been cursed by disasters and since they grew in horror culminating in a disaster of mammoth proportion I refuse to test fate as I can imagine nothing more devastating than the attack of September 11th.
The first disaster of course was soon after we arrived in Virginia Beach and I had never been to place where you could swim in the ocean without death or hypothermia being the result. I was so excited to swim in that warm ocean water as I had never been to a more tropical climate. We checked into Turtle Bay which was right on Virginia Beach and was even more beautiful than the brochures had touted. I immediately changed into my suit and my husband into his trunks and with 2 chairs and a bag in tow we went out into the bright sun. It was 88 degrees with bright intense sun and a warm breeze pushing the waves in against the beautiful tan sand. Quite a contrast from the rock bound coast with 38 degree water if you’re lucky in August. We staked out a spot and there were so many people as far as the eye could see. Families frolicking in the surf, picnicking on the beach, kites being flown, young girls tanning, older folks reading, and then out of the corner of my eye I see a man running straight toward the ocean. I see the lifeguard jump from atop his perch and race toward the surf. A woman as if crazed rushing toward the sea screaming as she raced her hair streaming behind her and people rushing from every direction. It was apparent something terrible was happening and we watched in horror and we moved closer to the scene as the lifeguard and father dripping placed a small boy on the ground as his lifeless body was convulsing. There was so much blood and it appeared his leg had been ripped from his body and part of a femur was exposed shattered with pieces of tissue hanging as if the ripped hem of a dress. I couldn’t look away the lifeguard was doing C.P. R. and another lifeguard had appeared and was
I actually imagine myself as a giant magnet attracting disaster after disaster and yet I always survive to tell the story. Do I do more than survive? Do I use the disaster to make a difference in my life? I have many scars from the horrors I have faced but I try to tell the stories to make the pain mean something by helping others avert disasters, find a way to survive, and show them you can start over in life. Yes nothing will ever be the same but there is only one choice get busy living or get busy dying and time after time I have chosen to rise from the ashes of disaster. I think the three disasters of my last vacation will deter anyone from ever leaving home again. I last went on a vacation in August 25th 2001. It was to be the trip of a lifetime. Driving to Virginia Beach for a week of fun, sun, sand, concert, chance to work on my marriage, and then culminating with a two day business seminar on September 9th and 10th in NYC for MBNA at our offices on 11th floor of National Trade Center on the way home from Virginia Beach. This business seminar was in the mornings giving us a chance to tour the city in the afternoon and take in a show at night. Three disasters ensued in rapid succession. A 5 year old child was killed on the beach before our very eyes from a shark attack, the next day we witnessed a man beat his wife almost to death while waiving a gun before a brave man fought him to the ground, and the as we were leaving the city on September 10th heading home feeling that the disaster magnet syndrome had passed we arrived home in the night to experience September 11th terror attack the next morning while at work. I have not taken a vacation since as I feel I have been cursed by disasters and since they grew in horror culminating in a disaster of mammoth proportion I refuse to test fate as I can imagine nothing more devastating than the attack of September 11th.
The first disaster of course was soon after we arrived in Virginia Beach and I had never been to place where you could swim in the ocean without death or hypothermia being the result. I was so excited to swim in that warm ocean water as I had never been to a more tropical climate. We checked into Turtle Bay which was right on Virginia Beach and was even more beautiful than the brochures had touted. I immediately changed into my suit and my husband into his trunks and with 2 chairs and a bag in tow we went out into the bright sun. It was 88 degrees with bright intense sun and a warm breeze pushing the waves in against the beautiful tan sand. Quite a contrast from the rock bound coast with 38 degree water if you’re lucky in August. We staked out a spot and there were so many people as far as the eye could see. Families frolicking in the surf, picnicking on the beach, kites being flown, young girls tanning, older folks reading, and then out of the corner of my eye I see a man running straight toward the ocean. I see the lifeguard jump from atop his perch and race toward the surf. A woman as if crazed rushing toward the sea screaming as she raced her hair streaming behind her and people rushing from every direction. It was apparent something terrible was happening and we watched in horror and we moved closer to the scene as the lifeguard and father dripping placed a small boy on the ground as his lifeless body was convulsing. There was so much blood and it appeared his leg had been ripped from his body and part of a femur was exposed shattered with pieces of tissue hanging as if the ripped hem of a dress. I couldn’t look away the lifeguard was doing C.P. R. and another lifeguard had appeared and was
Sunday, May 9, 2010
Comparison Essay #8 pg 2
through the radiation. The hail started as my grandmother lost all of her hair, and 50lbs. and took so many pills that she rattled like the shutters in the storm. The storm grew in intensity as did her will to survive it. I arrived one day in her office and she was down the hall in the bathroom and told me she would be right down. She came down the hall in her wedding dress and full veil and I stood in awe with my mouth hanging open. You see she had lost so much weight she fit into her wedding dress again the cancer had given her a gift in this storm the way she looked at the situation. As the wind blew down telephone poles, she fought to eat, to sleep, to swallow pills, the cancer in this way gave us minutes of humor, pain, and through it all her unrelenting drive to survive the storm.
The big day approached she went in for the scans and the doctor couldn’t find one spot of cancer on her lung, or pancreas. He was completely flabbergasted and sought another oncologist’s opinions. The other doctor could find no trace of the cancer that had tried to bring down our family. The storm had passed as quickly as it had come. The silent killer came without us having any knowledge or preparation, we fought through the storm with chemo, radiation, and sheer will and then the storm moved out leaving only the loss of weight and hair to prove to us it had happened at all. The oncologist’s couldn’t find blasts, they couldn’t find spots they were like sad little meteorologists sad that the storm broke up and they could no longer track it as it moved out to sea. There were battle scars on the landscape but we moved forward as the sad little storm was absorbed at sea.
So my grandmother’s cancer battle was like a hurricane the moving in with little warning gathering sinister power as it moved close, it raged on for a while, and then disappeared out to sea leaving a moment of calm. There was devastation from the storm as my grandmother’s body had taken a toll but her will to survive helped us traverse the storm of cancer. We never again felt really safe as I battened down the boat at night I would double check the mooring trying to prepare for the sinister storm that may be lurking. I took away our security and scarred us and left us with a constant sense of unsettled urgency in our life. The calm after the storm was short lived as yet another hurricane blew in without warming and this one had more power, (cancer was back with a vengeance), the storm had lighting, hail, heavy rain, high winds and we fought it with a vengeance (more chemo), and then once again it moved out leaving only calm silence. The cancer had one this time leaving us with deafening silence and destruction as we mourned the loss of my grandmother and began to rebuild our lives from the devastation of the hurricane. (The cancer) I walked down that aisle in her tattered wedding dress that she had modeled with her new figure months before and I smiled to heaven with tears in my eyes and stood tall as if warning another storm not to form.
The big day approached she went in for the scans and the doctor couldn’t find one spot of cancer on her lung, or pancreas. He was completely flabbergasted and sought another oncologist’s opinions. The other doctor could find no trace of the cancer that had tried to bring down our family. The storm had passed as quickly as it had come. The silent killer came without us having any knowledge or preparation, we fought through the storm with chemo, radiation, and sheer will and then the storm moved out leaving only the loss of weight and hair to prove to us it had happened at all. The oncologist’s couldn’t find blasts, they couldn’t find spots they were like sad little meteorologists sad that the storm broke up and they could no longer track it as it moved out to sea. There were battle scars on the landscape but we moved forward as the sad little storm was absorbed at sea.
So my grandmother’s cancer battle was like a hurricane the moving in with little warning gathering sinister power as it moved close, it raged on for a while, and then disappeared out to sea leaving a moment of calm. There was devastation from the storm as my grandmother’s body had taken a toll but her will to survive helped us traverse the storm of cancer. We never again felt really safe as I battened down the boat at night I would double check the mooring trying to prepare for the sinister storm that may be lurking. I took away our security and scarred us and left us with a constant sense of unsettled urgency in our life. The calm after the storm was short lived as yet another hurricane blew in without warming and this one had more power, (cancer was back with a vengeance), the storm had lighting, hail, heavy rain, high winds and we fought it with a vengeance (more chemo), and then once again it moved out leaving only calm silence. The cancer had one this time leaving us with deafening silence and destruction as we mourned the loss of my grandmother and began to rebuild our lives from the devastation of the hurricane. (The cancer) I walked down that aisle in her tattered wedding dress that she had modeled with her new figure months before and I smiled to heaven with tears in my eyes and stood tall as if warning another storm not to form.
Comparison Essay #8 pg 1
Comparison Essay #8
A hurricane is a powerful storm that builds slowly collecting moisture and warm air preparing for the attack, then when it makes land fall it unleashes its wrath of precipitation and high devastating winds, and then is if it was just a fleeting memory it is gone and the calm ensues leaving scars on the landscape and the opportunity to rebuild. I think cancer is like a hurricane because one it hides collecting cells to infect silently sinking its tendril into your body tissues, then second it unleashes the full storm as you discover the cancer and the storm rages as you fight the storm with chemo, radiation, prayer, and then the storm moves out the cancer moves out and all is calm. You have survived the storm or the storm has taken you but the calm remains almost as if the whole thing didn’t happen and you must start anew.
Your grandmother is fine sitting in her kitchen downing coffee like a sailor downs rum with the telephone permanently attached to her head as if an added appendage. She is like a firmly rooted tree always there when you enter the house and almost always at the kitchen table cooking, drinking coffee, playing pokeno, as if she waits ready to listen and share our lives. Little did we know the storm was building every so clever ever so sinister as the cancer cells multiplied. They were invading her lungs as we sat talking about the wedding. Planning was her thing she was envisioning tiny white flowers on a cake while tiny cancer cells were invading her pancreas. I was being married in less than a year and my grandmother was more excited than me and I let her enjoy it all and I never sensed in this moment the subtle signs, of the storm preparing its attack. It was gathering power as we sat laughing at her kitchen table office.
My grandmother was having some pain in her chest and came down with at terrible could that February and she was treating herself with whiskey tea and honey when I arrived to find her at her office. (Kitchen table) She had photos of her wedding day stuck in the kind of album that has the little black triangles pasted in holding each black and white photo that were tinged with yellow from age. I see her wince as she coughs, and recall she had this in the fall too. I question her about the cold symptoms and tell her I want her to go to the doctor and she balks. I then start to scrutinize her and notice she looks thinner, to me and upon further prodding she mentions some other symptoms that start to sound sinister. She went to the doctor the following week and had a check-up, x-rays, and a host of tests that encompassed her whole day. Two days later she was called to the doctor’s office and my father was asked to go with her. To me, my father, and my grandmother it was reminiscent of being called to the principal office knowing that something was awry and carefully chronologically going through your recent memory trying to find an offense that may have been committed. The doctor gave the news of lung cancer that was quite advanced and then with the swiftness of Mother Nature the hurricane descended upon our family. We weren’t prepared we never battened up the windows, or got the boat out of the water anymore than we were prepared for medications, appointments, and chemotherapy. The hurricane raged as the prognosis was bleak and chemo must start next week. My grandmother went home to her office (kitchen table) at age 79 and as the storm raged, she drank coffee as the winds howled. We at her side watched her endure 2 rounds of chemo as the winds howled around our family trying to uproot the foundation of our family. The rain was torrential as we muddled
A hurricane is a powerful storm that builds slowly collecting moisture and warm air preparing for the attack, then when it makes land fall it unleashes its wrath of precipitation and high devastating winds, and then is if it was just a fleeting memory it is gone and the calm ensues leaving scars on the landscape and the opportunity to rebuild. I think cancer is like a hurricane because one it hides collecting cells to infect silently sinking its tendril into your body tissues, then second it unleashes the full storm as you discover the cancer and the storm rages as you fight the storm with chemo, radiation, prayer, and then the storm moves out the cancer moves out and all is calm. You have survived the storm or the storm has taken you but the calm remains almost as if the whole thing didn’t happen and you must start anew.
Your grandmother is fine sitting in her kitchen downing coffee like a sailor downs rum with the telephone permanently attached to her head as if an added appendage. She is like a firmly rooted tree always there when you enter the house and almost always at the kitchen table cooking, drinking coffee, playing pokeno, as if she waits ready to listen and share our lives. Little did we know the storm was building every so clever ever so sinister as the cancer cells multiplied. They were invading her lungs as we sat talking about the wedding. Planning was her thing she was envisioning tiny white flowers on a cake while tiny cancer cells were invading her pancreas. I was being married in less than a year and my grandmother was more excited than me and I let her enjoy it all and I never sensed in this moment the subtle signs, of the storm preparing its attack. It was gathering power as we sat laughing at her kitchen table office.
My grandmother was having some pain in her chest and came down with at terrible could that February and she was treating herself with whiskey tea and honey when I arrived to find her at her office. (Kitchen table) She had photos of her wedding day stuck in the kind of album that has the little black triangles pasted in holding each black and white photo that were tinged with yellow from age. I see her wince as she coughs, and recall she had this in the fall too. I question her about the cold symptoms and tell her I want her to go to the doctor and she balks. I then start to scrutinize her and notice she looks thinner, to me and upon further prodding she mentions some other symptoms that start to sound sinister. She went to the doctor the following week and had a check-up, x-rays, and a host of tests that encompassed her whole day. Two days later she was called to the doctor’s office and my father was asked to go with her. To me, my father, and my grandmother it was reminiscent of being called to the principal office knowing that something was awry and carefully chronologically going through your recent memory trying to find an offense that may have been committed. The doctor gave the news of lung cancer that was quite advanced and then with the swiftness of Mother Nature the hurricane descended upon our family. We weren’t prepared we never battened up the windows, or got the boat out of the water anymore than we were prepared for medications, appointments, and chemotherapy. The hurricane raged as the prognosis was bleak and chemo must start next week. My grandmother went home to her office (kitchen table) at age 79 and as the storm raged, she drank coffee as the winds howled. We at her side watched her endure 2 rounds of chemo as the winds howled around our family trying to uproot the foundation of our family. The rain was torrential as we muddled
Example Essay #7 pg 4
So when I go into a bar and I still don’t drink I always notice that these three bottle are grouped together on the bar shelf and I find that ironic as Mr. Jack Daniels, Mr. Canadian Club, and Mr. Southern Comfort are so very different yet the same. I volunteer at an alcohol rehab program and I will never again share my life with a whiskey man. There will be no whiskey man number four. These are my examples of the three whiskey men that I loved, lost, survived and how they changed the landscape of my life. It was in tragedy that I finally found Hope to go forward and realized that there will be no more examples of whiskey men in my life.
Example Essay #7 pg 3
but the loss of whiskey man 2 my husband definitely beginning to heal. Todd, Mr. Southern Comfort, had been my best friend for 11years and he was a functional alcoholic who went to work and only drank when he came home but usually an entire bottle of Soco. He had gotten sober several times but always went back and since he helped me I decided to help him and he got sober and his 1 year sobriety coincided within days of his birthday and I threw a big party with both our families. I finally felt that I had my feet back on the ground and after all the party guests were gone, I sat on the counter in my kitchen while Mr. Southern Comfort did dishes and then without warning he came over stood and front of me and kissed me. I remember seeing hues of colors, feeling the earth tilt as the ground under my feet shifted with the tectonic plates. I told whiskey man number 3 this was a bad idea but he told me that he had felt this way for over ten years but I was married and now I wasn’t. Then so began the wildest romance of them all because falling in love with your best friend takes immense courage. I did point out that I was still married waiting to be divorced to which he responded by wrapping me in his arms. So my best friend Mr. Southern Comfort moved in with me and continued to battle the demons of alcoholism. I had lost 6 children while married and he knew I wanted a child more than anything in the whole world. I had always had trouble getting pregnant, staying pregnant, as I had some fertility issues and had used in vitro on my 5th and 6th attempts at childbearing. I resisted but the more and more he told me we could just try because now with the weight loss and lack of antidepressants my doctor thought I might be able to get pregnant without intervention. Todd persisted as he knew for me this would fulfill my dream. We decided we would go forward with the project and since it could be several years before my divorce would be final at this rate we would get married once it was complete. Is if by the hand of God it worked the very first month and we were ecstatic. I felt like finally the ground was cemented under my feet. My family was in shock and horrified at my unconventional situation and Mr. Southern Comfort’s parents had just the opposite reaction. The felt that I had saved their son, had been his best friend for over 11years so they knew all about me and my past and were excited to welcome a grandchild. I should have been alerted by peaceful seemingly perfect existence I was living would have to come to a bad end but I didn’t yet sense the impending monsoon. Then it happened I got a call one night that he had started drinking and I had to go pick him up and bring him home. He was so disappointed in himself and felt he let me down and ruined it all. He couldn’t forgive himself as he also lost his job that day and he ran. So as the storm clouds gathered over my little yellow house the hounds of hell were unleashed. I was 2 months pregnant reeling from the loss of my best friend, my lover, whiskey man number 3, and my life when I went to work the following week to find out my position had been eliminated. The rest of course is the same sad story. Girl tries to endure against all odds, loses baby, loses self esteem and hangs on to sanity by a string. Girl sits in the hospital holding her last Hope in her arms and Mr. Southern Comfort reappears and helps her survive this chapter. Mr. Southern Comfort was sober and after the shock of losing baby Hope wore off he thought I this time would not start anew but stay with reformed whiskey man number 3. Instead girl had endured, learned, loved, and survived and had decided that sometimes love is not enough when it comes to whiskey men. She told Todd, Mr. Southern Comfort, her best friend that there would be no happily ever after with a whiskey man. Sober Mr. Southern Comfort is still my best friend he is my Anyways friend. He will be my friend anyways no matter what or where we may go in life because Hope saved us both. Three years later Mr. Southern Comfort, whiskey man number 3 draws his strength from the Hope that saved us both.
Example Essay #7 pg 2
Whiskey love number too snuck up on me when I was busy starting over. I had a nervous breakdown after Jack so I changed majors and colleges and started anew. He was just a guy that was a friend of other friends that I would see in passing at functions, events, and Saturday nights with friends. He was not significant and I didn’t know his name. He tried several times to initiate conversation with me and I politely answered and moved to another room because he was drinking Canadian Club straight out of the bottle. The girls said hey he likes you and I said I don’t like drinkers and they giggled at me and told me I was way too serious. A few days later Jeff, Mr. Canadian Club, showed up at my door and asked me to go out for a drink with him. I politely told him no and that I didn’t drink or go to bars and did a good job of keeping my opinions to myself. The second day he came to my apartment door he asked if I would go out to dinner with him and that is when the past reared its ugly head as I had an out of body experience as if watching myself from above the situation as I regaled him with the story of dead Mr. Jack Daniels. Then if that wasn’t bad enough I told him I was washing my hair for the rest of his life and slammed the door in his face. I felt embarrassed by my behavior and the next day he showed up at my door again and asked me if he could wash my hair. I caved because he was innovative and obvious perused his goal with vigor. I went out on my first date with him to the movie Toy Story on Sept 2nd and one year later on September 2nd I married Jeff, my husband, Mr. Canadian Club. I always believed he would get better because he would stop drinking for months, and then go back secretly. Then he would get help and start again. At year 5 he lost control of the Canadian Club one night and I ended up with three broken ribs and so it went year 6, 7, 8 and always the promise that the Canadian Club would go and he loved me. As a Catholic I believed that marriage was a lifetime commitment so I constantly tried to solve our problem. AA, abuse counseling, marriage counseling you name I tried it or bought the book. Finally I was alerted one night by my best friend that my husband was in a bar with a woman and I didn’t believe it until he took me there and showed me. I confronted Mr. Canadian Club who was with our adult friends’ daughter and they freely admitted a 3 year affair. I went to work the next day and when I came home Mr. Canadian Club was gone, as was most of our stuff, and both our cars as my friend had driven me to work as I was in no condition to drive or work but had gone to work anyways. I surveyed the devastated landscape of my life while I began the business of dealing with the loss of whiskey man number two.
I was beginning the task of forcing my way up from the depths of clinical depression, working 2 jobs to hold on to my home I had only purchased 2 years prior when whiskey man number 3 saved my life. I was in such a dark place and one night worrying about the mortgage that I was barely able to pay since my husband (Mr. Canadian Club) had ran away with our assets and the contents of our bank account and left me with the house and all the bills. I was all alone in my kitchen but alone in my life and I was about to swallow an entire bottle of pills when whiskey man number 3, Todd, my best friend showed up unexpectedly at my door. I suppose I do believe God or some other divine power sent him to me at that moment and he confronted me immediately and flushed all the pills. He took control for me as I no longer could do it for myself. I stopped all the antidepressants, doctors, counselors and tried a new path. Todd, Mr. Southern Comfort, decided I needed to care about myself and feel good about myself and I could for the third and last time start anew. He decided he was going to help me start losing weight so I would be healthier and happier. We undertook a monumental task and 18 months later I had lost 162lbs. I felt better than I had in 15 years, and ran my first 5k race. I was so happy at my job, grieving the
I was beginning the task of forcing my way up from the depths of clinical depression, working 2 jobs to hold on to my home I had only purchased 2 years prior when whiskey man number 3 saved my life. I was in such a dark place and one night worrying about the mortgage that I was barely able to pay since my husband (Mr. Canadian Club) had ran away with our assets and the contents of our bank account and left me with the house and all the bills. I was all alone in my kitchen but alone in my life and I was about to swallow an entire bottle of pills when whiskey man number 3, Todd, my best friend showed up unexpectedly at my door. I suppose I do believe God or some other divine power sent him to me at that moment and he confronted me immediately and flushed all the pills. He took control for me as I no longer could do it for myself. I stopped all the antidepressants, doctors, counselors and tried a new path. Todd, Mr. Southern Comfort, decided I needed to care about myself and feel good about myself and I could for the third and last time start anew. He decided he was going to help me start losing weight so I would be healthier and happier. We undertook a monumental task and 18 months later I had lost 162lbs. I felt better than I had in 15 years, and ran my first 5k race. I was so happy at my job, grieving the
Example Essay #7 pg 1
Example Essay #7
The three romantic love relationships I have had in my life are examples of whiskey men. I am attracted to alcoholics for some reason and have spent copious amounts of money in various therapies and classes to find out what character flaw of mine has caused me to come to this place. I have found after excessive therapy, seminars, groups, al-anon, that it is not a character flaw or problem with me. I believe it is my wanting to help that attracted me to Jack Daniels, Canadian Club, and our course Southern Comfort. I have two brothers that are alcoholics and several family members that suffer from this horrific disease so I avoid alcohol like the bubonic plague. I unfortunately want to pull others from the monster’s clutches even though I know there only escape if for them to choose to escape. So my three loves are as recognizable as three whiskey bottles which are usually grouped together on the top right shelf in a bar.
Mr. Jack Daniels my first love Len and I met in college. I was not attracted to him at all and I was the RA on his floor and he made a bet with some guy friends of mine that he could get me to go out with him on a date. Little did Len know that those boys he was plotting with were my close friends and they were double crossing him and let me in on the bet at 50% of the take if I turned him down flat. The boys suggested he asked me to go out for a drink knowing that I didn’t drink and when he did I told him of course I didn’t drink and I didn’t approve of it especially since it was illegal since we were 18. I turned him down flat and the next morning I collected my 100$ which I planned to use towards the last text book I needed to purchase. My friends were enjoying their half of the loot too but I was feeling very guilty the next morning when Len walked by with his head down. I caved and gave him back the 100$ and told him how the boys got the best of him. He asked if I was against eating with easily fooled men in restaurants and of course wanting to help I caved. Three years later we were engaged and had just had our invitations arrive from the printer and Len had begun hanging around with this group of frat boys and drinking Jack Daniels like he anticipated an age old whiskey maker to be going out of business. I had confronted him several times quite gently as I had knowledge of the power this monster could exert over lives and he assured me it was not an issue. A few months later in 1992 you may remember the man who drove through the UMaine Hockey crowd just as the game got out hitting 3 people, smashing into a cement barrier, and then getting out of the smoking car and running on foot from the police. I had the unfortunate experience of being called as a witness for the DA. Len who had just graduated with an English Teaching Degree was now a convicted felon that could never do the one thing he wanted to do which was to teach English. The three people sued and fortunately his family had considerable wealth, a great attorney, and they paid off the injured and the attorney got the charges reduced. The price was 9 months jail and of course the felony conviction ending his dream of teaching. He did the time got out and went back to Jack. I had now put off my wedding, upset my family, disrupted my education, and so when he started back with Jack I gave him a choice. I or Jack Daniels which one do you chose forever. He chose wrong and I left my ring on the dresser and never went back until I attended his funeral several years later. So that is my first whiskey man the one that is so hard to bear the wasted life and should have deterred me from wanting to help another.
The three romantic love relationships I have had in my life are examples of whiskey men. I am attracted to alcoholics for some reason and have spent copious amounts of money in various therapies and classes to find out what character flaw of mine has caused me to come to this place. I have found after excessive therapy, seminars, groups, al-anon, that it is not a character flaw or problem with me. I believe it is my wanting to help that attracted me to Jack Daniels, Canadian Club, and our course Southern Comfort. I have two brothers that are alcoholics and several family members that suffer from this horrific disease so I avoid alcohol like the bubonic plague. I unfortunately want to pull others from the monster’s clutches even though I know there only escape if for them to choose to escape. So my three loves are as recognizable as three whiskey bottles which are usually grouped together on the top right shelf in a bar.
Mr. Jack Daniels my first love Len and I met in college. I was not attracted to him at all and I was the RA on his floor and he made a bet with some guy friends of mine that he could get me to go out with him on a date. Little did Len know that those boys he was plotting with were my close friends and they were double crossing him and let me in on the bet at 50% of the take if I turned him down flat. The boys suggested he asked me to go out for a drink knowing that I didn’t drink and when he did I told him of course I didn’t drink and I didn’t approve of it especially since it was illegal since we were 18. I turned him down flat and the next morning I collected my 100$ which I planned to use towards the last text book I needed to purchase. My friends were enjoying their half of the loot too but I was feeling very guilty the next morning when Len walked by with his head down. I caved and gave him back the 100$ and told him how the boys got the best of him. He asked if I was against eating with easily fooled men in restaurants and of course wanting to help I caved. Three years later we were engaged and had just had our invitations arrive from the printer and Len had begun hanging around with this group of frat boys and drinking Jack Daniels like he anticipated an age old whiskey maker to be going out of business. I had confronted him several times quite gently as I had knowledge of the power this monster could exert over lives and he assured me it was not an issue. A few months later in 1992 you may remember the man who drove through the UMaine Hockey crowd just as the game got out hitting 3 people, smashing into a cement barrier, and then getting out of the smoking car and running on foot from the police. I had the unfortunate experience of being called as a witness for the DA. Len who had just graduated with an English Teaching Degree was now a convicted felon that could never do the one thing he wanted to do which was to teach English. The three people sued and fortunately his family had considerable wealth, a great attorney, and they paid off the injured and the attorney got the charges reduced. The price was 9 months jail and of course the felony conviction ending his dream of teaching. He did the time got out and went back to Jack. I had now put off my wedding, upset my family, disrupted my education, and so when he started back with Jack I gave him a choice. I or Jack Daniels which one do you chose forever. He chose wrong and I left my ring on the dresser and never went back until I attended his funeral several years later. So that is my first whiskey man the one that is so hard to bear the wasted life and should have deterred me from wanting to help another.
Effect Essy #6...page 2
This has been the second effect of returning to school to lose my haven. I’m thankful that my comrades have continued our out of work network and keep me apprised of all bean business. I know in my soul this is the last chance for school and that this is a gift is still has affected my heart to lose that part of me. I’m sure that when I’m done I will get a medical assisting job and if not I feel confident there will still be a spot for me as a Beaner.
The third effect on my life of choosing to return to college has been the only positive one and that is an opportunity to find me. I lost myself in my 16year marriage, tragic job life, child loss, spiraling depression and returning has given me a chance to seek the self. Before returning to college I had started the process of starting my life over. I had lost 162lbs without surgical intervention, I had returned to running something I had forgotten I liked, I had dealt with my husband leaving on the physical lack of him level. I hadn’t yet dealt with divorce which I have explored this semester while learning about grieving in psychology and writing it out my feelings in my English class I was able to assess my hidden fears and emotions. Writing reminded me of all the good things in my life and interests I had long forgotten. I have studied my strengths, my weaknesses, assessed my learning style and am a much different student than I was 20years ago when I went to college. I’m a better student because I’m older, more driven, and despite all the loss and horror surprisingly not easily distracted. I’m able to speak up more freely even if it is controversial. I stand up for people when it is unpopular to do so and I continue to remember things I used to like before I was married. When I was married I lived under the reign of a dictator and had forgotten what it was like to live in a democracy. I had forgotten my very self.
I’m excited about how this journey will end but I remember each day to enjoy the trip not just the destination. Even if it was the day you lose your partner and your bean haven these effects on my life have still taught me something and are worthy of review. The reawakening of me of course is the best effect of all though it is not all puffy pink flowers it also contains hidden razor blades of poison it still means I’m moving forward marching into time and seeking a better self. The effects of my return to school are good and bad but I believe obtaining the degree will be worth the tough minutes of the journey as I also learn about who I may become. I think Robert Frost’s poem about the two roads defines the experience for me as I’m certainly taking the road less traveled.
The third effect on my life of choosing to return to college has been the only positive one and that is an opportunity to find me. I lost myself in my 16year marriage, tragic job life, child loss, spiraling depression and returning has given me a chance to seek the self. Before returning to college I had started the process of starting my life over. I had lost 162lbs without surgical intervention, I had returned to running something I had forgotten I liked, I had dealt with my husband leaving on the physical lack of him level. I hadn’t yet dealt with divorce which I have explored this semester while learning about grieving in psychology and writing it out my feelings in my English class I was able to assess my hidden fears and emotions. Writing reminded me of all the good things in my life and interests I had long forgotten. I have studied my strengths, my weaknesses, assessed my learning style and am a much different student than I was 20years ago when I went to college. I’m a better student because I’m older, more driven, and despite all the loss and horror surprisingly not easily distracted. I’m able to speak up more freely even if it is controversial. I stand up for people when it is unpopular to do so and I continue to remember things I used to like before I was married. When I was married I lived under the reign of a dictator and had forgotten what it was like to live in a democracy. I had forgotten my very self.
I’m excited about how this journey will end but I remember each day to enjoy the trip not just the destination. Even if it was the day you lose your partner and your bean haven these effects on my life have still taught me something and are worthy of review. The reawakening of me of course is the best effect of all though it is not all puffy pink flowers it also contains hidden razor blades of poison it still means I’m moving forward marching into time and seeking a better self. The effects of my return to school are good and bad but I believe obtaining the degree will be worth the tough minutes of the journey as I also learn about who I may become. I think Robert Frost’s poem about the two roads defines the experience for me as I’m certainly taking the road less traveled.
Effect Essay...Essay #6
Effect Essay #6
Turmoil with my partner, having to leave Bean permanently until I complete the Med Assist Program, and the opportunity to seek myself is how I have been effected by returning to college at age 38. There have been extreme highs when I found out I was in the program the day before school started, getting my first 100 on test after many years away from school, and feeling like I could fly and float because I was living a dream. There have been lows when I got laid off again and realized can’t go back even in seasonal recall to I finish program, working on the completion of my divorce, and the paralyzing fear of failure that coincide with panic attacks. Then there have been minutes in the middle when you feel like you are just floating on your back in the lake with minimal waves pondering it all but no deciding to flip over and swim yet not decided you won’t at some point.
Turmoil with my partner was so unexpected and yet unexplained. He was so excited I was going to go to college and was so supportive but as the weeks began to roll he became increasingly hostile. He felt he competed for my time with books, and the computer. I tried to schedule so on his days off I had time for him and he would be annoyed if one of the students in my class called or text to ask about an assignment. He had no reference for college other than his sisters “went forever” they both have Master’s in their fields. He felt like are newly formed home was suffering as I didn’t wash the floor everyday anymore and my gym times change to reflect the changes in the demands of my school work. He felt isolated from me because I was discussing new things and I was so excited and he had no reference for these things and was annoyed. Fear I believe it was fear that drove him to blow up one night and he came apart that pieces was strewn all over our life. The fallout left a barren landscape in our home as the trappings of our life disappeared as quickly as they had appeared as if it had all been a mirage. So this was the first and hardest effect of returning to school. I have been affected severely but choose to keep going because I refused to be ruled by what I cannot change.
LLBean is a haven for me as I go back season after season getting about 7 months of work at a time. Each time praying the economy will clear up and I being at the top of the list would get a permanent position since I am a displaced working having lost my real job 3 years ago. Bean is a haven because it is a world filled with people who are also displaced and are simultaneously experiencing the same challenges. These people have become my friends, my confidants, and competitors. We share the same values, moral, politics, family issues, and seek only to do good work for a great employer. We love the job, the challenge and believe in the produce. We share so much more than the work and have become friends outside of work and have been permanently affected by the downturn of the economy but in the darkness have found the light in sharing our lives. So going back to school in January I already had my layoff slip for February 22nd so I knew I would be leaving my haven what I didn’t know, or choose to accept was that if I got recalled which I did for May 1st I wouldn’t be able to go back because the program if for displaced workers. Also I need to be available between 8a.m. and 6p.m 7 days per week for scheduling which I cannot especially with summer term starting on May 17th and me with 4 classes.
Turmoil with my partner, having to leave Bean permanently until I complete the Med Assist Program, and the opportunity to seek myself is how I have been effected by returning to college at age 38. There have been extreme highs when I found out I was in the program the day before school started, getting my first 100 on test after many years away from school, and feeling like I could fly and float because I was living a dream. There have been lows when I got laid off again and realized can’t go back even in seasonal recall to I finish program, working on the completion of my divorce, and the paralyzing fear of failure that coincide with panic attacks. Then there have been minutes in the middle when you feel like you are just floating on your back in the lake with minimal waves pondering it all but no deciding to flip over and swim yet not decided you won’t at some point.
Turmoil with my partner was so unexpected and yet unexplained. He was so excited I was going to go to college and was so supportive but as the weeks began to roll he became increasingly hostile. He felt he competed for my time with books, and the computer. I tried to schedule so on his days off I had time for him and he would be annoyed if one of the students in my class called or text to ask about an assignment. He had no reference for college other than his sisters “went forever” they both have Master’s in their fields. He felt like are newly formed home was suffering as I didn’t wash the floor everyday anymore and my gym times change to reflect the changes in the demands of my school work. He felt isolated from me because I was discussing new things and I was so excited and he had no reference for these things and was annoyed. Fear I believe it was fear that drove him to blow up one night and he came apart that pieces was strewn all over our life. The fallout left a barren landscape in our home as the trappings of our life disappeared as quickly as they had appeared as if it had all been a mirage. So this was the first and hardest effect of returning to school. I have been affected severely but choose to keep going because I refused to be ruled by what I cannot change.
LLBean is a haven for me as I go back season after season getting about 7 months of work at a time. Each time praying the economy will clear up and I being at the top of the list would get a permanent position since I am a displaced working having lost my real job 3 years ago. Bean is a haven because it is a world filled with people who are also displaced and are simultaneously experiencing the same challenges. These people have become my friends, my confidants, and competitors. We share the same values, moral, politics, family issues, and seek only to do good work for a great employer. We love the job, the challenge and believe in the produce. We share so much more than the work and have become friends outside of work and have been permanently affected by the downturn of the economy but in the darkness have found the light in sharing our lives. So going back to school in January I already had my layoff slip for February 22nd so I knew I would be leaving my haven what I didn’t know, or choose to accept was that if I got recalled which I did for May 1st I wouldn’t be able to go back because the program if for displaced workers. Also I need to be available between 8a.m. and 6p.m 7 days per week for scheduling which I cannot especially with summer term starting on May 17th and me with 4 classes.
Saturday, May 8, 2010
Part 5 Divison Essay
they didn’t have to go out to be fit and I had them delivered the day of the ball. The entire staff was on board with my latest dose of crazy and the chef made a candlelight dinner at my urging at 5p.m so we would have more time for the ball. I hired a background piano player for the dinner which they enjoyed immensely. We invited their children and as the residents strolled into dinner it was a site to see. Many of the children were fully dressed for the occasion and delighted in seeing their 90 year old parent all gussied up with eyes sparkling like they were teens one last time. My elderly gents in rented tuxes and many in vintage ones with hair promenade slicking down their few sparse locks. My lipstick generations ladies were showing off upswept hair with glittering jewels, and painted nails and many looked like they stepped out of a club in the 1940’s. They donned frocks from time gone by and modern dresses right out of fashion magazines. We dined and then adjourned to ball room and the band played the music of the swing and big band era and the residents filled the dance floor. Many of the ladies dance with each other and we had 84 gals of my 155 residents. All the gents had their dance cards full and many of the residents’ children stayed and danced the night away. The band took requests and at intermission we had punch and cookies served by Cinderella herself and I had not only found a big fluffy blue dress but clear sparkling glass slippers. I watched with tears slipping down my cheeks as those who couldn’t dance sat on sofas around the dance floor taping canes in feet in their gowns. I had many dances and we had several couples who had been married over 60years who could still do unique swing dancing from time gone by and I felt swept up in the nostalgia as my couple who had been married 67 years requested stardust and took their one magical turn on the floor as this was great effort for a 91 and 93 old respectively. I had conned a photographer to take the photos in the pumpkin carriage and I don’t think one person missed their chance to sit in the pumpkin carriage and smile for the camera. As midnight approached and our grandfather clock began to bong the chimes to midnight and the band played its last number and the light were all down except spotlights for safety along the floor and the spider web of twinkle lights from above shone down and the floor was crowded with everyone even those who sat out the early rounds were up and Molly out on the floor in her electric chair. I listened to the clock chime as I counted 9, 10, 11, and 12 bongs announcing midnight and I felt like Cinderella and my prince was watching all those aging feet swirling on the floor. My glass slippers were filled with love as I thanked everyone and the ball was over. Tired feet in glittering garb dispersed to their apartments as the crew and I began the massive cleanup and the chef giggled realizing a lot of people wouldn’t be coming to 8a.m breakfast. The love that filled that room if harnessed could become a powerful force for change if we only looked at not what elderly people couldn’t do but dreamed of what they could do.
So my perfect recipe for success was my sense of humor that adapted as I went along in the experiences. My knowledge of their challenges of geriatric aging fueled my desire to find ways to make all things possible. Most significantly my absolute love of the job and my love for them made it all possible. My residents would tell you there is a forth element a little touch of crazy in the mix and of course I value their opinion so I add it here for them. They constantly thanked me for all the joy and fun I brought to their lives at the Village but I always received far more than I gave as I shared their lives, their knowledge, their history and I truly believe they are the “Greatest Generation.” The courage that they gave me lives on as they are passing on and I will continue to share their stories as they have become part of mine.
So my perfect recipe for success was my sense of humor that adapted as I went along in the experiences. My knowledge of their challenges of geriatric aging fueled my desire to find ways to make all things possible. Most significantly my absolute love of the job and my love for them made it all possible. My residents would tell you there is a forth element a little touch of crazy in the mix and of course I value their opinion so I add it here for them. They constantly thanked me for all the joy and fun I brought to their lives at the Village but I always received far more than I gave as I shared their lives, their knowledge, their history and I truly believe they are the “Greatest Generation.” The courage that they gave me lives on as they are passing on and I will continue to share their stories as they have become part of mine.
Part 4 Division Essay
overboard. We toured three galleries on the island, shopping in 2 gift shops which they bought out practically, and on the way back we had a cruise on the bay. We safely loaded our bus at 6p.m. and I took attendance and many were quite tired from all the activity and many slept on the bus on the way home. Those awake showed me the treasures they had purchased. We arrived at village at 9p.m at night which is the latest many had been out in years and we had supper on the way home at a restaurant in Trenton so everyone was tired, and full not only of the second helping of restaurant food but also of life. The next 3 island trips had so residents 102 people signed up to go that we rented a Cyr bus to accommodate all those going and my attendance taking became more vigorous but the joy they got out of these trips far outweighed the courage I put forth to take them on these safaris as they termed them. Campobello was a huge hit visiting Roosevelt’s’ Cottage as many had fond memories of his administration and they exchanged many ideas and I have the most amazing scrapbook of the Islands of Maine Trips and when I feel like I lack courage I need only to look at those aging smiles and I feel invincible and that no problem is insurmountable. I believe the success of the trip was my ability to acknowledge geriatric limitations but my creative way to adapt the trip to fit their needs and most of all the courage to believe they could experience more.
The final element that made me excel in my position was absolute love. I absolutely loved my job. I stayed many nights late in the night decorating, planning, conjuring and preparing but never once did it feel like work. I loved the people and I admired how they dealt with adversity as they faced the not always fun physical and mental aspects of aging. I had many residents who had outlived all their children and yet they showed up every day and lived life to the fullest. I shared their lives and for that I was the lucky one. In the winter of 2007 it was a tough winter in the village as many of our residents had been sick with flu and hospitalized and a few had passed on and everyone was feeling in a slump so I came up with the idea of a ball. As usual I pitched it at residents meeting and I was used to the looks or horror by now. We had one a dance floor from the corporation which is Holiday Retirement for the most minutes of exercise in a facility earlier in the fall and I was determined to use it. It snapped together over the rug like a giant geometric puzzle and could be any shape and had a safe edging to step up onto for safety. I explained we had the foyer which was huge and perfect for a ball. It went all the way to roof with a 2nd and 3rd floor balcony where I put all kinds of stuffed chairs and couches around when I had musical guests like my string quartet so they could watch from above if they didn’t want to come downstairs and they called them the expensive opera seats. The foyer had an immense chandelier secured from the sweeping ceiling between the skylights. As I explained my vision of twinkle lights all over ceiling strung from 2nd story balcony side to side like a spider web could be formed as the foyer was a giant octagon shape. We formed a decorating committee and they were hooked. We picked February 2nd and the planning became my greatest labor of love. They chose to call it Cinderella’s Ball since I was Cindy and my ladies went about digging out old cruise clothes for gowns, shopping Bangor for gowns, and one gal even ordered from the internet. We covered the walls with giant unrolled scenes 10 feet high of Cinderella’s palace with posts, pictures of her and the prince we had ordered from a prom theme magazine. I built a life size pumpkin coach for the residents to have their prom pictures taken in the night of the ball. I had a local band Brian Catrell who plays 30’s and 40’s music booked. I solicited local beauticians to come into our beauty shop and do manicures, up do’s and makeup the day of the ball. We had a local tux dealer come in two weeks in advance to measure my gents who wanted tuxes so
The final element that made me excel in my position was absolute love. I absolutely loved my job. I stayed many nights late in the night decorating, planning, conjuring and preparing but never once did it feel like work. I loved the people and I admired how they dealt with adversity as they faced the not always fun physical and mental aspects of aging. I had many residents who had outlived all their children and yet they showed up every day and lived life to the fullest. I shared their lives and for that I was the lucky one. In the winter of 2007 it was a tough winter in the village as many of our residents had been sick with flu and hospitalized and a few had passed on and everyone was feeling in a slump so I came up with the idea of a ball. As usual I pitched it at residents meeting and I was used to the looks or horror by now. We had one a dance floor from the corporation which is Holiday Retirement for the most minutes of exercise in a facility earlier in the fall and I was determined to use it. It snapped together over the rug like a giant geometric puzzle and could be any shape and had a safe edging to step up onto for safety. I explained we had the foyer which was huge and perfect for a ball. It went all the way to roof with a 2nd and 3rd floor balcony where I put all kinds of stuffed chairs and couches around when I had musical guests like my string quartet so they could watch from above if they didn’t want to come downstairs and they called them the expensive opera seats. The foyer had an immense chandelier secured from the sweeping ceiling between the skylights. As I explained my vision of twinkle lights all over ceiling strung from 2nd story balcony side to side like a spider web could be formed as the foyer was a giant octagon shape. We formed a decorating committee and they were hooked. We picked February 2nd and the planning became my greatest labor of love. They chose to call it Cinderella’s Ball since I was Cindy and my ladies went about digging out old cruise clothes for gowns, shopping Bangor for gowns, and one gal even ordered from the internet. We covered the walls with giant unrolled scenes 10 feet high of Cinderella’s palace with posts, pictures of her and the prince we had ordered from a prom theme magazine. I built a life size pumpkin coach for the residents to have their prom pictures taken in the night of the ball. I had a local band Brian Catrell who plays 30’s and 40’s music booked. I solicited local beauticians to come into our beauty shop and do manicures, up do’s and makeup the day of the ball. We had a local tux dealer come in two weeks in advance to measure my gents who wanted tuxes so
Part 3 Division Essay
kinesthetic but this was a whole new ball game when you added limited mobility, walkers, hearing and vision deficits, diminished balance but I was determined that they could do much more than they had be doing and do it safely. I planned a summer trip to visit the islands of Maine. I planned to go to Vinalhaven, Cranberry Island, Campobello and Isleboro. I had a meeting to sign people up and had it in the evening as many of the children of the residents (average age 65) had concerns about the trips. I walked into the hostile jungle feeling as if I was a Zebra in the Maine forest filled with squirrels and chipmunks. I explained that we were using our bus, these were all day trips, all paid for by my budget, the residents needed spending money only I was paying for meals at restaurants with the activity budget. There were activities at each location that I had planned. One child of my 96 year old resident Fred said you cannot take a bunch of 80 and 90 year olds on a trip its crazy they are too old to go that is why they are here. I could feel the redness spread across my face but I stood my ground a zebra in a forest of chipmunks and squirrels. I calmly and slowly explained there were 20 volunteer chaperones, 2 nurses I had conned into volunteering, and I believed that age is a number and this would be a safe and exciting adventure. The day of the trip came and I questioned my sanity. I had 38 residents going youngest 88 and oldest 102. I had three with walkers with limited mobility and one with no legs in a wheelchair. The chef and the maintenance man had planned to load and unload Molly our wheelchair resident at bus and ferry stops and I had people assigned to those with limited walking mobility. We left at 4:30a.m. and I served breakfast of muffins, juice boxes, granola bars, and go- gurt yogurts on the bus. Many of the residents had never had yogurt in a tube, or juice boxes and laughed at my obvious insanity. We arrived at the ferry for Cranberry Island which is a big converted lobster boat with seats inside cabin bench style and seats around body of boat. I had all the tickets and went down to great Robert and he couldn’t believe I was going to try to do this with this age people but he was ready to go. We went down the gang plank one by one and I knew who needed help and reminded everyone to hold onto the railing. There was a set of steps to enter over edge of dock onto boat so I had planned for every conceivable issue. First we loaded Molly Carney in wheelchair using the physical force of the chef and maintenance man to lift her chair on to the boat. She at 88 was in her glory as she joked she had 2 servants. She was the first female sea captain on Passamaquoddy Bay who hailed from Canada and for her at 88 this gave her back something she lost with the loss of her legs the chance to be aboard a boat. (Google her she is the real deal Captain Molly Carney) We helped people aboard and some wanted open air seats, others wanted inside the cabin. Molly got a front row seat up at the wheel with the captain who she quizzed expeditiously about maritime law. I had told them I was going to be constantly taking attendance and as we settled in the boat I called role call and they made fun of me and answered with remarks like drowned and lost. We sped out of northeast harbor on the morning dawn light and the faces and the boat were filled with wonder. Photos were taken and laughter was prevalent. We went through the unloading and the restaurant had a giant table set up for us and per my instruction had some special chairs for those with balance issues, and open spot for Molly’s wheelchair. The lunch was incredible many hadn’t had fresh seafood caught like this in many years. Many enjoyed ordering a drink and manhattans, martinis, and whiskey sours were ordered by many of the residents. One of the chaperones mentioned her concern about them ordering drinks but I told her these are independent adults and I’m quite sure they are all over 21. Molly banged on her whiskey sour glass and raised her glass and toasted the ring master of the circus (me) for her ability to see more than old age, more than limited persons, only her ability to see an opportunity to allow us to step outside the box and kick it
Essay #5 Divison Essay Part 1
Essay 5 Division/ 3 Weapons of an Activity Director
Activity Director is a job title that seems to imply that the purpose of the job is to direct activities but truly the job description should include that you need to wear combat boots, possess a social work degree, a nursing degree, have a lawyer at your beck and call and being a certified notary republic to name a few and this may allow you to just scrape by in your job. The three main components you must have to be an activity director is a profound sense of humor, knowledge of geriatric aging issues, and absolute love. I became an Activity Director in 2005 and it was the best thing I have ever done thus far in my life. It gave me the most challenges, the most fear, but by far the greatest rewards. I worked for Sunbury Village which is a gracious retirement facility and the average age of my residents was 88. I had 155 residents and this is independent living so these people are all reasonably in good health as you must be able to come to meals. They have private apartments, they get linen and housekeeping service once per week, and three chef prepared meals a day in the gorgeous dining room. To me this place represented a nirvana the ideal place for your loved one to be if they couldn’t stay in their own home because it was so luxurious and they had emergency pull cords in each room of the apartments for their safety. The managers are on duty 24 hours per day and they had a full time activity director to add enrichment to their lives. You must be independent to live her and many people skirted the system by hiring their own help usually a C.N.A. to help them get to dining room if their mobility was failing or to help with meds, or help with personal care in their own apartments. If they could make themselves independent by hiring help they could still live in the facility. I stumbled into this job as the Activity Director was retiring and she was 66years old. I had worked privately in the Village for over 3years and had 22 patients on a 7 day rotating schedule. The retiring director approached me about the job because I knew all the residents and volunteered with her when they had big events and I loved the people and she knew I had gone to teaching school. I interviewed for the job and was pleased to get the job in January 2005 however I had no idea what I had signed up for it was like joining the foreign legion without a reference manual.
I found out right off that I would need a sense of humor. Many of the residents knew me very well because of my presence in the building as a C.N.A. and I had done hospice for partners of many of the husband and wives that were now widowed. The retiring director Bonnie was well loved and I knew the transition would be difficult as I was only 34 and many of them viewed me as a child. My first day came and that Monday morning I was all dressed at 4am and my work day didn’t begin until 8:30am and ran until 5:00p.m. Bonnie had done the same activities over and over for example they had Bingo Monday and Wednesday at 4pm and Pokeno Tuesday and Thursday at 4pm. She also hired the same entertainment groups over and over on a schedule, didn’t do many trips even though the facility had a
Activity Director is a job title that seems to imply that the purpose of the job is to direct activities but truly the job description should include that you need to wear combat boots, possess a social work degree, a nursing degree, have a lawyer at your beck and call and being a certified notary republic to name a few and this may allow you to just scrape by in your job. The three main components you must have to be an activity director is a profound sense of humor, knowledge of geriatric aging issues, and absolute love. I became an Activity Director in 2005 and it was the best thing I have ever done thus far in my life. It gave me the most challenges, the most fear, but by far the greatest rewards. I worked for Sunbury Village which is a gracious retirement facility and the average age of my residents was 88. I had 155 residents and this is independent living so these people are all reasonably in good health as you must be able to come to meals. They have private apartments, they get linen and housekeeping service once per week, and three chef prepared meals a day in the gorgeous dining room. To me this place represented a nirvana the ideal place for your loved one to be if they couldn’t stay in their own home because it was so luxurious and they had emergency pull cords in each room of the apartments for their safety. The managers are on duty 24 hours per day and they had a full time activity director to add enrichment to their lives. You must be independent to live her and many people skirted the system by hiring their own help usually a C.N.A. to help them get to dining room if their mobility was failing or to help with meds, or help with personal care in their own apartments. If they could make themselves independent by hiring help they could still live in the facility. I stumbled into this job as the Activity Director was retiring and she was 66years old. I had worked privately in the Village for over 3years and had 22 patients on a 7 day rotating schedule. The retiring director approached me about the job because I knew all the residents and volunteered with her when they had big events and I loved the people and she knew I had gone to teaching school. I interviewed for the job and was pleased to get the job in January 2005 however I had no idea what I had signed up for it was like joining the foreign legion without a reference manual.
I found out right off that I would need a sense of humor. Many of the residents knew me very well because of my presence in the building as a C.N.A. and I had done hospice for partners of many of the husband and wives that were now widowed. The retiring director Bonnie was well loved and I knew the transition would be difficult as I was only 34 and many of them viewed me as a child. My first day came and that Monday morning I was all dressed at 4am and my work day didn’t begin until 8:30am and ran until 5:00p.m. Bonnie had done the same activities over and over for example they had Bingo Monday and Wednesday at 4pm and Pokeno Tuesday and Thursday at 4pm. She also hired the same entertainment groups over and over on a schedule, didn’t do many trips even though the facility had a
Part 2 Division
bus, and her sittercise exercise class was quite boring. I had tons of new ideas and had put out the new activity calendar the previous Friday in anticipation of my starting my new position on Monday. I entered the facility in dress pants blouse and running shoes for the first time without scrubs and a stethoscope. I was attacked almost upon entering the door the manager told me they were up in arms about the activity calendar because they didn’t know what some of the things were and wanted to know what Integrated Exercise was at 9a.m. I took the microphone in the dining room as was tradition with sweaty shaking hands I went over the activities for the day and also posted them on the giant grease board I had purchased. I put out written handouts to those I knew had hearing difficulties as I knew they wouldn’t hear my microphone explanation. I went to my office threw down my bag and coat and went to my car to get my wagon which I pulled in full of instruments. I set up my activity room for the new version of sittercise. The activity room was huge and had a full kitchen. I had a separate adjacent office with desk, cabinets and window and a huge foyer to hold events as well as a chapel. I had all the chairs arranged around the room in semicircular pattern and put an instrument on each chair; I had tambourines, triangles, wood blocks, and bells. I put a giant koosh ball under each seat and set up my cd player and was waiting with excitement for the residents to arrive after breakfast at 9am. They started to filter in at 8:40 a.m. and the noise level rose rapidly, as they saw the instruments and the bright colored hairy balls as they were nervous because they needed their exercise. I had 61 in attendance my first day and Bonnie usually had 45 and I explained we would do a band warm up with instruments marching to Grand ‘Ole Flag and those who needed to sit could sit and move their feet and play their instruments. I looked out to a sea of blank horrified stares. There was silence and then Floyd broke the silence and said, “Can I have symbols I like them better.” There was a feeding frenzy of trading instruments, and then we all stood and played and began to march for 3 minutes to the song. It was at that moment I knew I had them as they were laughing at me with my bells and high stepping moves as they beat drums, banged wood blocks and shook bells. The executive chef, housekeeper, and my best friend the maintenance man stood in the doorway and laughed until they couldn’t stand and my retired school teacher Kay walked to the door were they laughed with her walker loaded with 3 instruments and instructed them to play too. We moved onto sitting exercises in chair that were familiar, then standing, and then hand exercises with the Koosh Balls for arthritis which was a big hit and there was lots of swapping of balls for color preferences. The 30 minutes flew by and at the end Virginia stood up and there was silence as she was 86 and known to state her opinion freely. She told me that when she came in she wanted to leave as she felt like she entered a kindergarten room and was insulted but she realized she got a lot more exercise and anyone who had to be as crazy as me to come up with such an idea couldn’t be all bad. A minute later I was pelted with Koosh Balls as they exited. The rest of the day went the same them daring me not to change things but if they dared to experience something new they felt more in control of their lives and more alive. The laughter was infectious and I promised I wouldn’t change Bingo and if I hadn’t had a sense of humor I would have been dead in the water the minute I walked in the door that first day. I believe it was a case of nothing ventured nothing gained for the first couple months and I constantly was grateful for my sense of humor and Floyd’s ability to break the silence in a room.
The second element that was vital for my survival in the jungle was knowledge of the limitations that come with geriatric aging. I knew how to adapt activities for visual learners, auditory learners, and
The second element that was vital for my survival in the jungle was knowledge of the limitations that come with geriatric aging. I knew how to adapt activities for visual learners, auditory learners, and
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