So the other night a poster on a message board gave me a brilliant idea. She thought I should write a blog on the people you run into on the web, and I took it a step further and queried a magazine and wouldn't you know it, I heard back right away from a magazine interested in the premise. The idea is for me to follow several boards (I already do) and basically write about the posters. Obviously, I won't use real names. So I prepared a little questionaire for anybody who would like to help me out. We are lucky on this board that we have a pm feature, so nobody would have to worry about their email address. However, if you would prefer, I've set up a disposable email address to send to. The address is messageboardlori-survey@yahoo.com Please answer the questions in whatever way you interpret the questions to mean. Obviously, there is no right or wrong way. Again, no names will be used. If I need to use a name I'll make one up. I thank you all in advance for your help. Here are the questions:
1. Who are you?
2. How old are you?
3. Where do you post from?
4. Why do you post?
5. What is your favorite website?
6. What is your favorite all time thread?
7. How many people have you met in person after meeting on a message board?
8. How long have you been posting?
9. How many boards do you regularly post on?
10. Tell me something you want me to know.
Thursday, December 11, 2008
Friday, December 5, 2008
Twas The Night Before Christmas
I took this and adapted it to fit a message board that I post on. Enjoy.......
'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through JKL,
Not a poster was stirring, not even Snetta or Mel;
The stockings were hung by Chatter with care,
In hopes that the Administrator soon would be there;
The regulars were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads;
And Awish in her 'kerchief, and Appa in his cap,
Had just settled down for a long winter's nap,
When out in the forum there arose such a clatter,
We all sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the Misc. Posts we flew with a crash,
Tore open the thread and read the news flash.
The wording on the post by the veteran member,
Gave the lustre of brilliance to this dull December,.
When, what to our wondering eyes should appear,
But Dakota, the moderator to make sure we adhere,
With the little ol Ray guy, so lively and quick,
We knew in a moment it must be a limerick.
More rapid than Paul his rhymings they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;
"Now, Yoduh now, Holly! now, Maui and Reenie!
On, Mixy! on Red! on, Lilbit and Evie!
To the top of the posts! to the top of the forum!
Now reply away! reply away! reply away with decorum!"
The posters vary from witty to different versions of ghosts,
The more the replies, the longer it stays at the top of Today's Posts,
A hit of the Quick Reply as our fingers start stumble,
If it's News Politics and Issues, then we're sure to hear Mambo.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof,
The trolls and their rants getting a digital *poof*.
As we laughed in our head, and were turning around,
Down the chimney Dakota came with a bound.
She was dressed as an orchid, from head to foot,
And her leaves were all tarnished with ashes and soot;
A bundle of Cautions she had flung on her back,
And she looked like a forum paddler just itching to whack!
Her eye (only one) -- how it twinkled!
Her moderating how merry!
Her rhetorics were like roses,
her advice never scary!
Her moderations were all drawn up in a Christmas bow,
And the posters waiting for gifts like children lined up in a row;
The avatars of the shoe girl she held tight in her back pocket,
As the smiles of the posters took off like a rocket;
She had a broad paddle and a big wide grin,
That meant that the fun was only about to begin.
She was chubby and plump, her jolly old self,
And we laughed when we saw her, in spite of ourself.
A wink of her eye and a twist of her head,
Soon gave us to know we had nothing to dread;
She typed not a word, but went straight to her work,
And filled all the stockings with homemade cards;
Then turned with a jerk,
And laying her finger aside of her nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney she rose;
She sprang to her sleigh, to her friends and posters she gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard her exclaim, ere she drove out of sight,
"MERRY CHRISTMAS TO ALL, AND TO ALL A GOOD-NIGHT!"
'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through JKL,
Not a poster was stirring, not even Snetta or Mel;
The stockings were hung by Chatter with care,
In hopes that the Administrator soon would be there;
The regulars were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads;
And Awish in her 'kerchief, and Appa in his cap,
Had just settled down for a long winter's nap,
When out in the forum there arose such a clatter,
We all sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the Misc. Posts we flew with a crash,
Tore open the thread and read the news flash.
The wording on the post by the veteran member,
Gave the lustre of brilliance to this dull December,.
When, what to our wondering eyes should appear,
But Dakota, the moderator to make sure we adhere,
With the little ol Ray guy, so lively and quick,
We knew in a moment it must be a limerick.
More rapid than Paul his rhymings they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;
"Now, Yoduh now, Holly! now, Maui and Reenie!
On, Mixy! on Red! on, Lilbit and Evie!
To the top of the posts! to the top of the forum!
Now reply away! reply away! reply away with decorum!"
The posters vary from witty to different versions of ghosts,
The more the replies, the longer it stays at the top of Today's Posts,
A hit of the Quick Reply as our fingers start stumble,
If it's News Politics and Issues, then we're sure to hear Mambo.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof,
The trolls and their rants getting a digital *poof*.
As we laughed in our head, and were turning around,
Down the chimney Dakota came with a bound.
She was dressed as an orchid, from head to foot,
And her leaves were all tarnished with ashes and soot;
A bundle of Cautions she had flung on her back,
And she looked like a forum paddler just itching to whack!
Her eye (only one) -- how it twinkled!
Her moderating how merry!
Her rhetorics were like roses,
her advice never scary!
Her moderations were all drawn up in a Christmas bow,
And the posters waiting for gifts like children lined up in a row;
The avatars of the shoe girl she held tight in her back pocket,
As the smiles of the posters took off like a rocket;
She had a broad paddle and a big wide grin,
That meant that the fun was only about to begin.
She was chubby and plump, her jolly old self,
And we laughed when we saw her, in spite of ourself.
A wink of her eye and a twist of her head,
Soon gave us to know we had nothing to dread;
She typed not a word, but went straight to her work,
And filled all the stockings with homemade cards;
Then turned with a jerk,
And laying her finger aside of her nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney she rose;
She sprang to her sleigh, to her friends and posters she gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard her exclaim, ere she drove out of sight,
"MERRY CHRISTMAS TO ALL, AND TO ALL A GOOD-NIGHT!"
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
This is the last of this story. I'll write another story for tomorrow if I get the chance.
He was standing outside the old school house when the kids came barreling out the door chattering excitedly and squealing with pleasure at the end of the school day. They were free now to play, laugh, and run to their hearts content. As the last two little girls came walking out the door whispering behind their hands to each other and giggling, they tossed curious looks in his direction and giggled again as they jumped off the porch and ran toward their classmates. Rico peeked in the doorway and watched her clean the board. He was content to just watch her gorgeous backside sway as she moved her arm back and forth cleaning the blackboard. He allowed himself to enjoy the view before she felt his eyes on her back and turned to see him smiling lazily at her.
“Is there anything I can do to help you?” He asked her lazily.
“You startled me, and no thank you. I’m finished for the day.” She answered a little self consciously, as she bent behind the big teacher’s desk and opened the bottom drawer to pull out her purse. She took a moment to compose herself and slowly put her purse strap over her shoulder and he intently watched her every move. “I’m ready when you are.” She said standing up slowly and meeting his eyes.
“Let’s go.” He said as he reached out and took her arm in his while simultaneously removing the keys from her fingers as they approached the door. He held the door open for her as she passed through. Then closing it firmly he placed the key in the keyhole and locked up the classroom for the night.
“I’d like to walk up the hill,” he told her as they started strolling through the platana on their way out of the center of the village. “I started walking this way this afternoon and I spotted a camp of gypsies. There were two small children. I’m guessing they don’t go to school.” He said questioningly.
“No, the gypsies who come through here are usually from Romania and come here via Belgrade. I always try to get to know the families and see if I can convince them to let their children attend classes for a while at least. Sometimes the families are open to the idea and others are not quite so supportive,” She explained a bit nervously.
They strolled in comfortable silence up the hill toward the old house at the top of the field until they got to the spot where he had seen the gypsy children and their settlement just a couple of hours ago. When he got to the curve in the road where the children had popped up out of the bushes. He stopped and gripped her elbow and turned her to face the area where he had seen the camp. They stood silently as he pointed in the direction he had observed earlier.
She peered through the growth of brush and bushes and spotted the camp set up. They stood in comfortable companionship and watched as gypsies went about their business of setting taking care of their camp, while waiting to catch sight of the children. Suddenly about a dozen children ranging from toddler to young teenagers came running around one of the trailers, squealing in delight at the game they were playing.
As he watched her delight in watching the children, he suddenly felt as if he had been punched in the stomach. For the first time in his life, he felt the desire to have children of his own. He knew that just having children would not be enough, he knew that he wouldn’t be satisfied until he had children with this particular woman. This woman that he had known for less than twenty – four hours. What was wrong with him? What had gotten in to him? Why would he be having these fantasies about children and marriage and Zorka? How could this be?
His mother had always told him that someday a woman would come along that he wouldn’t be able to resist and when the right one came along he would know it. He had just assumed he was meant to be a lifelong bachelor. Not that he didn’t like the company of women. He did. He had been involved in many relationships over the years. He had come close to proposing once, but the words of wisdom from his mother kept coming back to him, “When it’s right. You’ll know.” He had never understood what that meant. Now he knew. He knew with everything fiber in his being, that Zorka was the woman for him. But how could she be the woman for him? They live a fourteen hour flight apart. It wasn’t like he court her, and win her heart. How do you date somebody that literally lives on the other side of the world? Her life is here in Serbia, his is in the United States of America. He suddenly felt very old and very sad. Wouldn’t you know it…. After all of these years, he falls in love, and it’s with the completely wrong woman. He knew that he had had no choice in the matter. She was his destiny, his soul mate.
He shook the thought out of his head and resolved to spend as much time as possible with this love of his life as he could during the next few weeks. He would make enough happy memories to last him a lifetime. He would bring her as much pleasure as he could. He would have pleasure of knowing that he does love deeply, and that he will do whatever it takes to make Zorka’s life the best life she can have. He loved her enough to want only the best for her, and he had to admit to himself, that sadly, he was not the best for her. He could never ask her to give up her family and her life and move half way around the world with him.
He managed to avert his eyes just before she turned toward him. “I wish they could come to school. The world is changing. Even here in the hills of Serbia it is becoming necessary to have an education. They need to be able to read and write. They need to know how to do simple math and count money.” The words rushed out of her fervently. She blushed somewhat shyly, as she caughter herself getting passionate about the children. He thought she was adorably charming in her passion.
He wished he could see her eyes sparkle and her cheeks flush with a passion turned in his direction. He wanted that passion turned in his direction. He shook his head to bring his thoughts back to the here and now.
He grabbed her hand in his and gently guided her back to dusty gravel road and continued up the hill. “There is a small cottage at the top of the hill.” He told her, “Do you know if anybody lives there?”
“Baba Mira lives up there.” She answered quickly. She had caught the look in his eyes before he turned away and was confused by what it meant. It was a very deep and personal look with a hint of sadness. She had to wonder if she had done something to upset him.
“Do you think she would like some company?” He asked curiously?
“Oh can we go see her?” She asked him excitedly. “We haven’t seen her come down the hill in a few weeks, and I’ve been concerned about her. I have been meaning to get up there to see her. She’ll be happy to see us.”
He held on to her hand as they traveled in comfortable silence the rest of the way up the mountain.
“Baba,” she called quietly as they walked up to the door, “Baba Mira? Are you here?”
“Zorka? Is that you little Zorka?” They heard a weak voice call from inside the cottage.
“Yes, Baba. It is me Zorka. I have a friend with me. “Kum Rico is with me. He’s here with his Baba Nada. Kuma Nada came to visit Uncle Andrej and Tete Mila.” She gushed as they were approaching the last few steps to the old weathered door.
Rico’s eyes strained trying to adjust to the dim light in the little cottage. . It was a square room with a rustic ladder leading up to a loft. There was an ominous black wood stove for cooking against one wall, flanked by dusty shelves, covered in cobwebs on each side. There was a rough square table and two obviously handmade chairs in the middle of the room, and nothing more.
This was a million times worse than he had even imagined. He suddenly stopped at the horrible thought that suddenly pushed its way through his brain. “Where is her bathroom?” He meekly asked her.
“It’s around back,” her eyes twinkled with amusement.
“You can’t be serious!” he exclaimed.
“Oh, but I am.” She intoned, not even trying to conceal her laughter.
He couldn’t imagine this sweet little lady living up here by herself with no running water and an outhouse. “What does she do for water?” he asked skeptically.
“She has a barrel set up outside to catch the rainwater. It rains a lot up here so she catches and funnels the rainwater. As long as she boils it in the kettle on the wood stove the water is potable.” She explained patiently to him, noting his incredulous expression.
“But she’s really old. How old is she? How can she do this all by herself? Does she have any family to help her out?” He demanded.
“It is getting harder for her, and she’s in her late 80s. Her only son has passed away and her two granddaughters have moved away. One lives in Belgrade now and the other moved to the United States. My friends and I take turns checking in on her. She’s pretty independent though and doesn’t like to be fussed over.” She continued trying to set his mind at ease at the same time trying to convince herself that it really was going to be alright.
“Baba? You don’t look well. What’s wrong?” Zorka asked lovingly as she went to the old lady laying on her bed, too weak to get up and greet her unexpected guests. Zorka reached out her hand and felt the old woman’s forehead. When she felt the heat and perspiration on the wrinkled, leather like face, she got immediately worried. “Baba? What is it? You aren’t well?”
“I’ve been down to the doctor. I’m going to be alright. The doctor gave me some antibiotics and some other medicine. He says it’s pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis.” Baba answered weakly trying to raise up on the bed, but giving up and just reaching out her hand to pat Zorka’s arm comfortingly.
“Pneumonou what?” Zorka asked trying to wrap her tongue around the very large, very foreign word.
“Pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis,” Baba Mira repeated.
“pneumonoultramicro?” Rico tried to repeat.
“Say it slowly.” Baba instructed. “pneumono”
“Pneumono,” Zorka and Rico repeated together.
“Very good. Now add “ultra” to it.” The older woman instructed. “Pneumonoultra”
“Pneumonoultra,” the two younger people repeated diligently.
“Very good. Now add ‘micro’”, She continued. “You’ll have pneumonoultramicro”
“Is there anything I can do to help you?” He asked her lazily.
“You startled me, and no thank you. I’m finished for the day.” She answered a little self consciously, as she bent behind the big teacher’s desk and opened the bottom drawer to pull out her purse. She took a moment to compose herself and slowly put her purse strap over her shoulder and he intently watched her every move. “I’m ready when you are.” She said standing up slowly and meeting his eyes.
“Let’s go.” He said as he reached out and took her arm in his while simultaneously removing the keys from her fingers as they approached the door. He held the door open for her as she passed through. Then closing it firmly he placed the key in the keyhole and locked up the classroom for the night.
“I’d like to walk up the hill,” he told her as they started strolling through the platana on their way out of the center of the village. “I started walking this way this afternoon and I spotted a camp of gypsies. There were two small children. I’m guessing they don’t go to school.” He said questioningly.
“No, the gypsies who come through here are usually from Romania and come here via Belgrade. I always try to get to know the families and see if I can convince them to let their children attend classes for a while at least. Sometimes the families are open to the idea and others are not quite so supportive,” She explained a bit nervously.
They strolled in comfortable silence up the hill toward the old house at the top of the field until they got to the spot where he had seen the gypsy children and their settlement just a couple of hours ago. When he got to the curve in the road where the children had popped up out of the bushes. He stopped and gripped her elbow and turned her to face the area where he had seen the camp. They stood silently as he pointed in the direction he had observed earlier.
She peered through the growth of brush and bushes and spotted the camp set up. They stood in comfortable companionship and watched as gypsies went about their business of setting taking care of their camp, while waiting to catch sight of the children. Suddenly about a dozen children ranging from toddler to young teenagers came running around one of the trailers, squealing in delight at the game they were playing.
As he watched her delight in watching the children, he suddenly felt as if he had been punched in the stomach. For the first time in his life, he felt the desire to have children of his own. He knew that just having children would not be enough, he knew that he wouldn’t be satisfied until he had children with this particular woman. This woman that he had known for less than twenty – four hours. What was wrong with him? What had gotten in to him? Why would he be having these fantasies about children and marriage and Zorka? How could this be?
His mother had always told him that someday a woman would come along that he wouldn’t be able to resist and when the right one came along he would know it. He had just assumed he was meant to be a lifelong bachelor. Not that he didn’t like the company of women. He did. He had been involved in many relationships over the years. He had come close to proposing once, but the words of wisdom from his mother kept coming back to him, “When it’s right. You’ll know.” He had never understood what that meant. Now he knew. He knew with everything fiber in his being, that Zorka was the woman for him. But how could she be the woman for him? They live a fourteen hour flight apart. It wasn’t like he court her, and win her heart. How do you date somebody that literally lives on the other side of the world? Her life is here in Serbia, his is in the United States of America. He suddenly felt very old and very sad. Wouldn’t you know it…. After all of these years, he falls in love, and it’s with the completely wrong woman. He knew that he had had no choice in the matter. She was his destiny, his soul mate.
He shook the thought out of his head and resolved to spend as much time as possible with this love of his life as he could during the next few weeks. He would make enough happy memories to last him a lifetime. He would bring her as much pleasure as he could. He would have pleasure of knowing that he does love deeply, and that he will do whatever it takes to make Zorka’s life the best life she can have. He loved her enough to want only the best for her, and he had to admit to himself, that sadly, he was not the best for her. He could never ask her to give up her family and her life and move half way around the world with him.
He managed to avert his eyes just before she turned toward him. “I wish they could come to school. The world is changing. Even here in the hills of Serbia it is becoming necessary to have an education. They need to be able to read and write. They need to know how to do simple math and count money.” The words rushed out of her fervently. She blushed somewhat shyly, as she caughter herself getting passionate about the children. He thought she was adorably charming in her passion.
He wished he could see her eyes sparkle and her cheeks flush with a passion turned in his direction. He wanted that passion turned in his direction. He shook his head to bring his thoughts back to the here and now.
He grabbed her hand in his and gently guided her back to dusty gravel road and continued up the hill. “There is a small cottage at the top of the hill.” He told her, “Do you know if anybody lives there?”
“Baba Mira lives up there.” She answered quickly. She had caught the look in his eyes before he turned away and was confused by what it meant. It was a very deep and personal look with a hint of sadness. She had to wonder if she had done something to upset him.
“Do you think she would like some company?” He asked curiously?
“Oh can we go see her?” She asked him excitedly. “We haven’t seen her come down the hill in a few weeks, and I’ve been concerned about her. I have been meaning to get up there to see her. She’ll be happy to see us.”
He held on to her hand as they traveled in comfortable silence the rest of the way up the mountain.
“Baba,” she called quietly as they walked up to the door, “Baba Mira? Are you here?”
“Zorka? Is that you little Zorka?” They heard a weak voice call from inside the cottage.
“Yes, Baba. It is me Zorka. I have a friend with me. “Kum Rico is with me. He’s here with his Baba Nada. Kuma Nada came to visit Uncle Andrej and Tete Mila.” She gushed as they were approaching the last few steps to the old weathered door.
Rico’s eyes strained trying to adjust to the dim light in the little cottage. . It was a square room with a rustic ladder leading up to a loft. There was an ominous black wood stove for cooking against one wall, flanked by dusty shelves, covered in cobwebs on each side. There was a rough square table and two obviously handmade chairs in the middle of the room, and nothing more.
This was a million times worse than he had even imagined. He suddenly stopped at the horrible thought that suddenly pushed its way through his brain. “Where is her bathroom?” He meekly asked her.
“It’s around back,” her eyes twinkled with amusement.
“You can’t be serious!” he exclaimed.
“Oh, but I am.” She intoned, not even trying to conceal her laughter.
He couldn’t imagine this sweet little lady living up here by herself with no running water and an outhouse. “What does she do for water?” he asked skeptically.
“She has a barrel set up outside to catch the rainwater. It rains a lot up here so she catches and funnels the rainwater. As long as she boils it in the kettle on the wood stove the water is potable.” She explained patiently to him, noting his incredulous expression.
“But she’s really old. How old is she? How can she do this all by herself? Does she have any family to help her out?” He demanded.
“It is getting harder for her, and she’s in her late 80s. Her only son has passed away and her two granddaughters have moved away. One lives in Belgrade now and the other moved to the United States. My friends and I take turns checking in on her. She’s pretty independent though and doesn’t like to be fussed over.” She continued trying to set his mind at ease at the same time trying to convince herself that it really was going to be alright.
“Baba? You don’t look well. What’s wrong?” Zorka asked lovingly as she went to the old lady laying on her bed, too weak to get up and greet her unexpected guests. Zorka reached out her hand and felt the old woman’s forehead. When she felt the heat and perspiration on the wrinkled, leather like face, she got immediately worried. “Baba? What is it? You aren’t well?”
“I’ve been down to the doctor. I’m going to be alright. The doctor gave me some antibiotics and some other medicine. He says it’s pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis.” Baba answered weakly trying to raise up on the bed, but giving up and just reaching out her hand to pat Zorka’s arm comfortingly.
“Pneumonou what?” Zorka asked trying to wrap her tongue around the very large, very foreign word.
“Pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis,” Baba Mira repeated.
“pneumonoultramicro?” Rico tried to repeat.
“Say it slowly.” Baba instructed. “pneumono”
“Pneumono,” Zorka and Rico repeated together.
“Very good. Now add “ultra” to it.” The older woman instructed. “Pneumonoultra”
“Pneumonoultra,” the two younger people repeated diligently.
“Very good. Now add ‘micro’”, She continued. “You’ll have pneumonoultramicro”
Monday, December 1, 2008
Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Through weakness and strength, happiness and sorrow,for better for worse, I will love you withevery beat of my heart.
The hours of the afternoon stretched on as Rico waited impatiently until the time he could be in her company again. He chided himself for his foolishness. Here he was thirty-eight years old and he was acting like a fourteen year old boy with his first crush. When he wasn’t with her he thought about her. When he was with her he wanted to be closer to her. He thought about her, dreamed about her, yearned to be with her. Damn, the afternoon was dragging on. One more hour until he can see her again. He had to get out, to stop the daydreaming and do something productive. Rico decided to take a walk toward the hills to pass the next hour away.
Rico spotted the old cabin up high on the hill sitting by itself. He decided to walk up and check it out. Rico was lost in thought imagining a pair of gorgeous blue eyes when a rustle in the bushes off the side of the road startled him. He suddenly stopped in his tracks and listened. First it was just a slight rustling and then he heard a soft giggle. Then a dark head popped up out of the bushes and were quickly followed by a second head of dark hair and dark laughing eyes. The two small children giggled at him and the scurried away back into the brush.
His eyes followed them to a camp set up. There were wagons and tents set up on the side of hill, partially hidden from the road he walked on by the bushes. These must be gypsies he thought to himself. Being from the United States he knew about gypsies, but had never had the opportunity to see real, live gypsies up close and personal.
He glanced at his watch and realized he had spent too much time pondering the gypsy children and decided he didn’t have enough time to finish his walk up the hill, so he turned back to go meet Zorka and walk her home. He planned to convince her to invite him to dinner tonight, since he and Baba were going to be gone for a couple of days, he wanted to spend as much time as possible with her, so that she would miss him while he was gone. Where had that thought come from? He chided himself. He was only here for a couple of weeks. He had his career in the United States and she was here in Serbia, what good was it going to do either of him for her to miss him? Or him to miss her?
Their lives were so far apart and so different that he couldn’t let himself get involved with this woman. Besides she was just a child. She had her whole life ahead of her. What would she want with a middle aged man like him? “Get a grip on yourself!” He ordered himself impatiently.
Through weakness and strength, happiness and sorrow,for better for worse, I will love you withevery beat of my heart.
The hours of the afternoon stretched on as Rico waited impatiently until the time he could be in her company again. He chided himself for his foolishness. Here he was thirty-eight years old and he was acting like a fourteen year old boy with his first crush. When he wasn’t with her he thought about her. When he was with her he wanted to be closer to her. He thought about her, dreamed about her, yearned to be with her. Damn, the afternoon was dragging on. One more hour until he can see her again. He had to get out, to stop the daydreaming and do something productive. Rico decided to take a walk toward the hills to pass the next hour away.
Rico spotted the old cabin up high on the hill sitting by itself. He decided to walk up and check it out. Rico was lost in thought imagining a pair of gorgeous blue eyes when a rustle in the bushes off the side of the road startled him. He suddenly stopped in his tracks and listened. First it was just a slight rustling and then he heard a soft giggle. Then a dark head popped up out of the bushes and were quickly followed by a second head of dark hair and dark laughing eyes. The two small children giggled at him and the scurried away back into the brush.
His eyes followed them to a camp set up. There were wagons and tents set up on the side of hill, partially hidden from the road he walked on by the bushes. These must be gypsies he thought to himself. Being from the United States he knew about gypsies, but had never had the opportunity to see real, live gypsies up close and personal.
He glanced at his watch and realized he had spent too much time pondering the gypsy children and decided he didn’t have enough time to finish his walk up the hill, so he turned back to go meet Zorka and walk her home. He planned to convince her to invite him to dinner tonight, since he and Baba were going to be gone for a couple of days, he wanted to spend as much time as possible with her, so that she would miss him while he was gone. Where had that thought come from? He chided himself. He was only here for a couple of weeks. He had his career in the United States and she was here in Serbia, what good was it going to do either of him for her to miss him? Or him to miss her?
Their lives were so far apart and so different that he couldn’t let himself get involved with this woman. Besides she was just a child. She had her whole life ahead of her. What would she want with a middle aged man like him? “Get a grip on yourself!” He ordered himself impatiently.
Sunday, November 30, 2008
Zorka allowed herself a few minutes guilty pleasure by staring at his handsome profile as she watched him talking to Mr. Ian Woon, the merchant who sold fresh food at the market. Mr. Ian Woon was always curious about the world around him, and never passed up the opportunity to strike up a conversation with the foreign visitors.
Her tummy did a little flip flop as he saw her out of the corner of his eye and flashed bright smile at her. “What gorgeous dimples,” she thought to herself.
“There you are,” he smiled at her, “Are you ready to get some lunch?”
“I’m famished,” she replied with an answering smile of her own.
“The choices here are almost endless with all of the fresh fruit and vegetable markets.” He waved his arm expansively to encompass the entire square.
“I’ll just have a fresh fruit salad. No coffee, but a bottle of water would be nice.” She said.
Rico turned to Mr. Ian Woon and said, “Two fruit salads and two bottles of water please,” as he pealed some Euros from his wallet.
Zorka and Rico sat down to eat their lunch and just enjoyed the comfortable silence while they enjoyed the fresh fruit. As Rico finished his last bite of fruit, he met her eyes and asked, “Tell me little Zorka, have you ever seen any of the world?”
“Oh yes. When I finished with my school days, I took a trip to the United Kingdom. I visited London, Bath, and the Cotswolds. I love Shakespeare and wanted to go visit his birthplace. Stratford upon Avon was beautiful. I especially like Anne Hathaway’s cottage, “she smiled at the memories.
“Have you ever been to the United States?” He asked curiously.
“No, but I think I might like to visit it someday. I’m pretty sure that I would love see what it’s all about, but I know that it will be way too modern for me.” She replied nervously.
“You don’t think you’d like to live in America?” He queried.
“Oh no, I’d feel so lost and unsophisticated in such a big modern place.” She said somewhat shyly.
“You would love California. When you decide to come to the States you can come to California and I’ll take you to Disneyland.” He promised.
“Oh, I’ve always wanted to go to Disneyland. I almost made it to Euro Disney once. I absolutely love Tigger. “She squealed with delight.
“I can see similarities between you and Tigger. You are both happy, fun loving and bouncy.” He teased.
“How would you know that? You just met me last night.” She teasingly asked.
“Zorka, I’ve heard all about you for years now. My Baba is your Kuma, she brags about her Godchild all the time. I just didn’t expect to find such a beautiful young woman. In my mind you were still a young child. You have definitely been a pleasant surprise.” He complimented.
She flushed with pleasure at the compliment and answered with a noncommittal, “Thank you.”
The squealing of the children in the school yard caught her attention, and she looked at her watch, “Oh look at the time. I’ve got to go!”
Count Dracula suddenly walked up and said, “I want to drink your blood.”
At the startled looks of the patrons in the square, Dracula looked around and said, “Oops. Wrong story.” And drifted out as quickly as he came.
“I’ll be here when you finish teaching this afternoon,” Rico told her.
“Why?” She asked.
“Because I’m going to walk you home and hopefully talk you into taking a long walk with me this evening.” He stated matter-of-factly.
“I will agree to a walk with you, if you will come speak to my class about America.” She negotiated.
“I would love to speak to your class, but I am not very good at Serbian.” He said a little uncomfortably.
“I try to teach my students that it’s important to try something, even if they are not completely comfortable with the situation. You talking to them in Serbian when you aren’t sure of yourself will be a lesson in risk taking. My students are from this small village and may never see anything outside of it. Many are third or fourth generation who have never been outside the village walls.” She enthused.
“Why don’t you see what fits your schedule and I will come and talk to the students? I have promised to take Baba to Belgrade for a couple of days to visit her cousins but I should be available early next week.” He conceded.
“I will plan a day for you and let you know when you get back. Now I really do need to go, the kids are ready to go in.” She said with regret obvious in her voice.
“I’ll be back here at 3:30 to walk you home.” He leaned over and gave her shy peck on the cheek.
She blushed with pleasure and murmured, “I’ll be waiting.”
Her tummy did a little flip flop as he saw her out of the corner of his eye and flashed bright smile at her. “What gorgeous dimples,” she thought to herself.
“There you are,” he smiled at her, “Are you ready to get some lunch?”
“I’m famished,” she replied with an answering smile of her own.
“The choices here are almost endless with all of the fresh fruit and vegetable markets.” He waved his arm expansively to encompass the entire square.
“I’ll just have a fresh fruit salad. No coffee, but a bottle of water would be nice.” She said.
Rico turned to Mr. Ian Woon and said, “Two fruit salads and two bottles of water please,” as he pealed some Euros from his wallet.
Zorka and Rico sat down to eat their lunch and just enjoyed the comfortable silence while they enjoyed the fresh fruit. As Rico finished his last bite of fruit, he met her eyes and asked, “Tell me little Zorka, have you ever seen any of the world?”
“Oh yes. When I finished with my school days, I took a trip to the United Kingdom. I visited London, Bath, and the Cotswolds. I love Shakespeare and wanted to go visit his birthplace. Stratford upon Avon was beautiful. I especially like Anne Hathaway’s cottage, “she smiled at the memories.
“Have you ever been to the United States?” He asked curiously.
“No, but I think I might like to visit it someday. I’m pretty sure that I would love see what it’s all about, but I know that it will be way too modern for me.” She replied nervously.
“You don’t think you’d like to live in America?” He queried.
“Oh no, I’d feel so lost and unsophisticated in such a big modern place.” She said somewhat shyly.
“You would love California. When you decide to come to the States you can come to California and I’ll take you to Disneyland.” He promised.
“Oh, I’ve always wanted to go to Disneyland. I almost made it to Euro Disney once. I absolutely love Tigger. “She squealed with delight.
“I can see similarities between you and Tigger. You are both happy, fun loving and bouncy.” He teased.
“How would you know that? You just met me last night.” She teasingly asked.
“Zorka, I’ve heard all about you for years now. My Baba is your Kuma, she brags about her Godchild all the time. I just didn’t expect to find such a beautiful young woman. In my mind you were still a young child. You have definitely been a pleasant surprise.” He complimented.
She flushed with pleasure at the compliment and answered with a noncommittal, “Thank you.”
The squealing of the children in the school yard caught her attention, and she looked at her watch, “Oh look at the time. I’ve got to go!”
Count Dracula suddenly walked up and said, “I want to drink your blood.”
At the startled looks of the patrons in the square, Dracula looked around and said, “Oops. Wrong story.” And drifted out as quickly as he came.
“I’ll be here when you finish teaching this afternoon,” Rico told her.
“Why?” She asked.
“Because I’m going to walk you home and hopefully talk you into taking a long walk with me this evening.” He stated matter-of-factly.
“I will agree to a walk with you, if you will come speak to my class about America.” She negotiated.
“I would love to speak to your class, but I am not very good at Serbian.” He said a little uncomfortably.
“I try to teach my students that it’s important to try something, even if they are not completely comfortable with the situation. You talking to them in Serbian when you aren’t sure of yourself will be a lesson in risk taking. My students are from this small village and may never see anything outside of it. Many are third or fourth generation who have never been outside the village walls.” She enthused.
“Why don’t you see what fits your schedule and I will come and talk to the students? I have promised to take Baba to Belgrade for a couple of days to visit her cousins but I should be available early next week.” He conceded.
“I will plan a day for you and let you know when you get back. Now I really do need to go, the kids are ready to go in.” She said with regret obvious in her voice.
“I’ll be back here at 3:30 to walk you home.” He leaned over and gave her shy peck on the cheek.
She blushed with pleasure and murmured, “I’ll be waiting.”
Saturday, November 29, 2008
Chapter 2
Chapter Two
I’ll give anything and everything and I’ll always care.
Zorka was humming happily to herself as she walked into town to meet her three girlfriends for their morning coffee. The four of them had been friends since they were toddlers. They called themselves the Body Sisters. They had learned to speak English as well as Serbian growing up and had always had a fondness for languages, so when they were little girls they decided to play around the with the English language and gave themselves the nicknames of Some Body, No Body, Any Body and Every Body. Zorka ran up the walkway of the square and greeted Some, No and Every with a quick hug.
“So tell us all about this handsome Rico we’ve been hearing stories about.” Some demanded as Zorka approached the table.
“Yeah Any, did you see him?” No joined in.
“Did you spend time with him? Come on spill? Inquiring minds want to know!” Every picked up with the teasing.
“Well my sisters, he’s definitely going in the cupboard! He’s very handsome. I thought he would be much older too. And he’s sweet, he’s not overly confident like some of the American men who have come here to find a wife.” Zorka stated emphatically.
“Is he looking for a wife?” No asked.
“No. He came here to take look after his Baba.” Zorka replied.
“Sigh. A handsome, nice man who looks after his Baba. Do you think he would want a wife? I wouldn’t mind finding a man like that.” Some sighed dreamily.
“Some back away, Any gets first dibs on him. He’s here with her family,” No warned her sister teasingly.
“Some you can have him. I have no interest in finding a man. I want to see the world before I settle down here. After my trip to London a couple of years ago, I know there is a whole world outside of Zitiste, where so many of the villagers have never ventured. He’s coming here for lunch today.” Zorka said.
“The usual, girls?” asked Lori who served them their coffee every morning. “What would you like in your coffee this morning Zorka?”
Lori is an American girl who travels around the world and writes travel books for the publishing company Nano. She has been staying in Serbia for the past year doing research on the surrounding area and has become a friend to the group of ladies who meet here every morning for their coffee.
“Hmmmm…What do you suggest?” Zorka asked Lori.
“Well, how about garlic pickle juice?” Lori suggested adventurously.
“Let’s give it a try.” Zorka agreed.
Zorka and her friends took their coffee to a table and sat down to finish their morning chat before going their separate ways for their morning duties. As they sat down, Zorka tasted her coffee, wrinkled her nose in distaste and pushed her cup aside.”
“Did you girls happen to notice the gypsies who have settled on the road up the hill to Baba Mira’s house?” Every asked.
“Oh, I hadn’t been up that way in a few days. Are their young children? I hope we can get any children to school,” Zorka looked at her watch, “Oh look at the time, I need to get off to work.”
Zorka rushed into her classroom as sat down to catch her breath for a minute before the kids started arriving when she heard a tap at the door. She looked up to Rico in the doorway, arms loaded down with boxes and bags. She flushed, cursing herself for the unexpected rush of pleasure she felt at the sight of him.
“What do you have there?” she asked him curiously.
“I have school supplies. Pencils, notebooks, paper, crayons, erasers, scissors, and paper.” He answered, heaving the packages on the counter under the windows.
“Well thank you! The kids will appreciate it! These things can be so hard to come by here!” She exclaimed excitedly.
“It’s my pleasure. Are we still on for lunch today?” He asked.
“Of course we are! Oh, here come the kids now. I’ll see you in a few hours!” She responded already getting distracted with the opening plans for her day.
I’ll give anything and everything and I’ll always care.
Zorka was humming happily to herself as she walked into town to meet her three girlfriends for their morning coffee. The four of them had been friends since they were toddlers. They called themselves the Body Sisters. They had learned to speak English as well as Serbian growing up and had always had a fondness for languages, so when they were little girls they decided to play around the with the English language and gave themselves the nicknames of Some Body, No Body, Any Body and Every Body. Zorka ran up the walkway of the square and greeted Some, No and Every with a quick hug.
“So tell us all about this handsome Rico we’ve been hearing stories about.” Some demanded as Zorka approached the table.
“Yeah Any, did you see him?” No joined in.
“Did you spend time with him? Come on spill? Inquiring minds want to know!” Every picked up with the teasing.
“Well my sisters, he’s definitely going in the cupboard! He’s very handsome. I thought he would be much older too. And he’s sweet, he’s not overly confident like some of the American men who have come here to find a wife.” Zorka stated emphatically.
“Is he looking for a wife?” No asked.
“No. He came here to take look after his Baba.” Zorka replied.
“Sigh. A handsome, nice man who looks after his Baba. Do you think he would want a wife? I wouldn’t mind finding a man like that.” Some sighed dreamily.
“Some back away, Any gets first dibs on him. He’s here with her family,” No warned her sister teasingly.
“Some you can have him. I have no interest in finding a man. I want to see the world before I settle down here. After my trip to London a couple of years ago, I know there is a whole world outside of Zitiste, where so many of the villagers have never ventured. He’s coming here for lunch today.” Zorka said.
“The usual, girls?” asked Lori who served them their coffee every morning. “What would you like in your coffee this morning Zorka?”
Lori is an American girl who travels around the world and writes travel books for the publishing company Nano. She has been staying in Serbia for the past year doing research on the surrounding area and has become a friend to the group of ladies who meet here every morning for their coffee.
“Hmmmm…What do you suggest?” Zorka asked Lori.
“Well, how about garlic pickle juice?” Lori suggested adventurously.
“Let’s give it a try.” Zorka agreed.
Zorka and her friends took their coffee to a table and sat down to finish their morning chat before going their separate ways for their morning duties. As they sat down, Zorka tasted her coffee, wrinkled her nose in distaste and pushed her cup aside.”
“Did you girls happen to notice the gypsies who have settled on the road up the hill to Baba Mira’s house?” Every asked.
“Oh, I hadn’t been up that way in a few days. Are their young children? I hope we can get any children to school,” Zorka looked at her watch, “Oh look at the time, I need to get off to work.”
Zorka rushed into her classroom as sat down to catch her breath for a minute before the kids started arriving when she heard a tap at the door. She looked up to Rico in the doorway, arms loaded down with boxes and bags. She flushed, cursing herself for the unexpected rush of pleasure she felt at the sight of him.
“What do you have there?” she asked him curiously.
“I have school supplies. Pencils, notebooks, paper, crayons, erasers, scissors, and paper.” He answered, heaving the packages on the counter under the windows.
“Well thank you! The kids will appreciate it! These things can be so hard to come by here!” She exclaimed excitedly.
“It’s my pleasure. Are we still on for lunch today?” He asked.
“Of course we are! Oh, here come the kids now. I’ll see you in a few hours!” She responded already getting distracted with the opening plans for her day.
Friday, November 28, 2008
Part 5. I started getting a little goofy here.
Rico helped Baba up the hill to her brother’s house and went back to the car to gather their belongings. He forced himself to keep his mind on his Baba and his reason for being there. He didn’t need the complication of thinking about a beautiful, young, teacher. No matter how blue those eyes were.
After three days of traveling all Rico wanted to do was to wash his face and sleep. His tete showed him where to put their things and he laid down and promptly fell into a deep, exhausted, sleep. Was it an hour later? A day later? Two days later? Rico had no idea how long he had been asleep when the rumbling of his reminded him that he hadn’t eaten. He followed the delicious odors permeating the small home and found his Tete and Baba, in the kitchen standing near an old fashioned wood cook stove. Tete Mila was stirring the pot of beans and meat that would make up the Corbast pasulj they would have for the afternoon meal.
After the afternoon meal the village neighbors started stopping by to visit Baba. The noisy chatter and excitement kept the afternoon lively. The lozo poured freely as Serbian conversation flowed excitedly around him. Rico had grown up in a Serbian neighborhood in America and understood it quite well, but had never quite been able to master the proper pronunciation of the foreign words. He was enjoying the atmosphere and noticing the glow on his Baba’s cheeks as she greeted old friends and family, when suddenly his pulse quickened as he saw a familiar sight. He hadn’t dreamed it. She did have the most beautiful blue eyes he had ever seen. Who is this woman and why was she in his family’s home? This trip just got interesting Rico thought to himself.
Zorka smiled a bit shyly at Rico and headed into the small kitchen area when she greeted Tete Mila with a kiss on her weathered cheek. Rico’s eyes followed her as she helped herself to a cup of coffee and then reached up to dig through the ancient cupboard. She stood on tiptoe and stretched to reach into the overhead cupboard. Her hand grasped around for something on the shelf that was out of her site. “Can I help you reach something?” Her startled eyes flew to the owner of the voice. “I’m Rico. What are you trying to reach up there?” He asked her curiously.
“Whatever you can find to put in my coffee.” She answered somewhat sheepishly.
“Well, let’s see. There is powdered cheese, dried onion, and coriander.” He grinned at her.
“I’ll take the powdered cheese.” She said somewhat nervously.
“I thought you wanted it for your coffee.” He asked confused.
“I do. I hate the taste of coffee, but I need it to give me energy after a long day of work, so I’m trying to find something good to add to the coffee for a creamer. I will try just about anything.” She stated emphatically.
His eyes danced with curiosity and amusement as he watched her sprinkle powdered cheese into her coffee, take a sip of it and set it back down and walked away.
“I’m Rico.” He said putting offering his hand.
“I know who you are Rico. I’m Zorka.” She replied, grasping his hand in a firm handshake.
“The only Zorka I know is a little girl. The last time I was here Tete Nadia was pregnant with Zorka.” He added.
“She wouldn’t still be pregnant 22 years later you know.” She said bemusedly.
“Well little one, you sure grew up. I was sixteen the last time I was here in Serbia when my Uncle Andrej married your Tete Mila, you weren’t even born yet. You forgot your coffee.” He pointed out with amusement dancing in his eyes.
“I’ll pass on the cheese coffee,” she said wrinkling her nose in distaste at the foul tasting concoction she had tried. She bent down to pick up the calico kitten that had come running in at the sound of her voice and was rubbing lovingly against her legs. “Cappie, meet Rico. Rico this little darling here is Captain Morgan.” She rubbed her cheek on the soft fur as she purred.
Rico absently scratched the calico kitten between the ears, but his eyes never left Zorka’s face. “You are the teacher?” He asked.
“I am.” She replied emphatically.
“You speak English very well. I just wish I could speak Serbian half as well. Being raised so close to Baba, I have been around Serbian my entire life and understand most of what is said, but I can’t seem to figure out how to speak it as well.” He admitted somewhat abashedly.
“Well, I will be your translator while I am here.” She stated matter-of-factly.
“Thank you Zorka. How will I manage to repay you?” He asked.
“That is not necessary. You are a visitor to our village, you are practically related. I’m offering you the basic hospitality that all Serbians offer to visitors. Now I must get home, it’s getting late and I do have to teach tomorrow.” She said as she stood to leave.
“I’m going down to the village tomorrow. May I buy you lunch at the platana?” He asked somewhat shyly.
“That would be nice. I’ll see you at lunch time tomorrow then. Bye now,” she called over her shoulder as she scurried out the door with Captain Morgan following closely behind.
Rico’s eyes trailed after her until the darkness enveloped her retreating figure, and still he stared into the darkness imagining her sparkling eyes and retreating backside, unsure which view he enjoyed the most, as he slowly turned away shaking his head ruefully and walked back inside to greet his relatives.
After three days of traveling all Rico wanted to do was to wash his face and sleep. His tete showed him where to put their things and he laid down and promptly fell into a deep, exhausted, sleep. Was it an hour later? A day later? Two days later? Rico had no idea how long he had been asleep when the rumbling of his reminded him that he hadn’t eaten. He followed the delicious odors permeating the small home and found his Tete and Baba, in the kitchen standing near an old fashioned wood cook stove. Tete Mila was stirring the pot of beans and meat that would make up the Corbast pasulj they would have for the afternoon meal.
After the afternoon meal the village neighbors started stopping by to visit Baba. The noisy chatter and excitement kept the afternoon lively. The lozo poured freely as Serbian conversation flowed excitedly around him. Rico had grown up in a Serbian neighborhood in America and understood it quite well, but had never quite been able to master the proper pronunciation of the foreign words. He was enjoying the atmosphere and noticing the glow on his Baba’s cheeks as she greeted old friends and family, when suddenly his pulse quickened as he saw a familiar sight. He hadn’t dreamed it. She did have the most beautiful blue eyes he had ever seen. Who is this woman and why was she in his family’s home? This trip just got interesting Rico thought to himself.
Zorka smiled a bit shyly at Rico and headed into the small kitchen area when she greeted Tete Mila with a kiss on her weathered cheek. Rico’s eyes followed her as she helped herself to a cup of coffee and then reached up to dig through the ancient cupboard. She stood on tiptoe and stretched to reach into the overhead cupboard. Her hand grasped around for something on the shelf that was out of her site. “Can I help you reach something?” Her startled eyes flew to the owner of the voice. “I’m Rico. What are you trying to reach up there?” He asked her curiously.
“Whatever you can find to put in my coffee.” She answered somewhat sheepishly.
“Well, let’s see. There is powdered cheese, dried onion, and coriander.” He grinned at her.
“I’ll take the powdered cheese.” She said somewhat nervously.
“I thought you wanted it for your coffee.” He asked confused.
“I do. I hate the taste of coffee, but I need it to give me energy after a long day of work, so I’m trying to find something good to add to the coffee for a creamer. I will try just about anything.” She stated emphatically.
His eyes danced with curiosity and amusement as he watched her sprinkle powdered cheese into her coffee, take a sip of it and set it back down and walked away.
“I’m Rico.” He said putting offering his hand.
“I know who you are Rico. I’m Zorka.” She replied, grasping his hand in a firm handshake.
“The only Zorka I know is a little girl. The last time I was here Tete Nadia was pregnant with Zorka.” He added.
“She wouldn’t still be pregnant 22 years later you know.” She said bemusedly.
“Well little one, you sure grew up. I was sixteen the last time I was here in Serbia when my Uncle Andrej married your Tete Mila, you weren’t even born yet. You forgot your coffee.” He pointed out with amusement dancing in his eyes.
“I’ll pass on the cheese coffee,” she said wrinkling her nose in distaste at the foul tasting concoction she had tried. She bent down to pick up the calico kitten that had come running in at the sound of her voice and was rubbing lovingly against her legs. “Cappie, meet Rico. Rico this little darling here is Captain Morgan.” She rubbed her cheek on the soft fur as she purred.
Rico absently scratched the calico kitten between the ears, but his eyes never left Zorka’s face. “You are the teacher?” He asked.
“I am.” She replied emphatically.
“You speak English very well. I just wish I could speak Serbian half as well. Being raised so close to Baba, I have been around Serbian my entire life and understand most of what is said, but I can’t seem to figure out how to speak it as well.” He admitted somewhat abashedly.
“Well, I will be your translator while I am here.” She stated matter-of-factly.
“Thank you Zorka. How will I manage to repay you?” He asked.
“That is not necessary. You are a visitor to our village, you are practically related. I’m offering you the basic hospitality that all Serbians offer to visitors. Now I must get home, it’s getting late and I do have to teach tomorrow.” She said as she stood to leave.
“I’m going down to the village tomorrow. May I buy you lunch at the platana?” He asked somewhat shyly.
“That would be nice. I’ll see you at lunch time tomorrow then. Bye now,” she called over her shoulder as she scurried out the door with Captain Morgan following closely behind.
Rico’s eyes trailed after her until the darkness enveloped her retreating figure, and still he stared into the darkness imagining her sparkling eyes and retreating backside, unsure which view he enjoyed the most, as he slowly turned away shaking his head ruefully and walked back inside to greet his relatives.
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
Part 4. I really start trying to pad my word count here!
As the small car rumbled up the rough barely passable road to the gate of the village Rico could feel the excitement rising within him as he sensed the excitement in his Baba. He heard the squeals of small children enjoying the beautiful spring afternoon as they played childhood games in the school yard. They parked the car and prepared to walk up the steep hill to Uncle Andrej and Teta Mila’s home. The kids playing in the yard of the school building stopped to stare at the strangers. Rico’s eyes met those of the teacher as she walked to the doorway of the building to see why the children had fallen silent. He felt his breath catch in his throat as he looked into the most beautiful pair blue eyes he had ever seen. She was so young but he couldn’t help noticing how beautiful she was. If only he were ten years younger he thought to himself, as he dragged his attention back to the task at hand.
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
Part 3
Rico and Baba hugged their family good-bye as they made their way to security to get to their flight gate. Baba had been too excited to sleep as she anticipated the fifteen hour travel time to get to Germany followed the two day drive to Serbia. Rico knew it was going to be an exhausting trip and he needed to make sure that his Baba rested and ate properly so that the trip wouldn’t be too hard on her. They planned to stop in Austria to spend the night on the drive to Yugoslavia from Berlin.
Is anybody reading this at all?
Is anybody reading this at all?
Monday, November 24, 2008
Continuing the Nanowrimo Thing
Rico was mentally making notes of what he had left to take care of before he left on his trip as he put his potato in the oven to bake, his steak on the grill and tossed his greens with feta cheese and Greek dressing. He wanted to make sure he had gifts for his relatives in the old country. He planned to take Levis, shirts and socks to the adults and candy and jackets to the children. Rico had also collected pencils, notebooks, backpacks, erasers and crayons for the small one room school house in the small village where he would be spending the next several weeks. It wasn’t much, but the poor villages in the hills of Serbia have very little and are always appreciative of the treasures they bring. Though they have very little they are so generous with what food and drink they have. His mouth watered as he recalled the prosciutto and laozo his Tete Mila served whenever she had guests.
Rico absently removed his dinner from the heat and sat down at the table with a notebook and pencil in hand to make notes of what he had left to do as he ate. He hadn’t been away from home and work for six weeks at one time since he graduated from college, and started his life as an adult. He was getting excited at the prospect of a vacation and visiting the homeland as an adult and at a time in his life when he would appreciate learning about his family history.
He turned off the lights and looked back over his shoulder at the home he was leaving for well over a month. He made a mental check of his baggage. Rico was going to drive the two hour drive to his parent’s house to spend the night so that he and Baba could leave for the airport early the next morning.
He was prepared for the barrage of questioning and advice from his parents and siblings. They couldn’t understand why he wasn’t married. Why he wasn’t at least looking to find somebody to marry. He had tried telling them that he really didn’t think there was anybody made just for him and he wasn’t going to settle for less than his Jedo and Baba or his dad and mom. They were the role models in his life for what a marriage should be. Both of his siblings had found wonderful spouses too. Rico came to the conclusion a lot time ago that if there had been a girl meant just for him that she must have been in an airplane crash or hit by a bus or something, because there had certainly not been anybody crossing his path that had captured his attention for more than a few months at a time.
Rico absently removed his dinner from the heat and sat down at the table with a notebook and pencil in hand to make notes of what he had left to do as he ate. He hadn’t been away from home and work for six weeks at one time since he graduated from college, and started his life as an adult. He was getting excited at the prospect of a vacation and visiting the homeland as an adult and at a time in his life when he would appreciate learning about his family history.
He turned off the lights and looked back over his shoulder at the home he was leaving for well over a month. He made a mental check of his baggage. Rico was going to drive the two hour drive to his parent’s house to spend the night so that he and Baba could leave for the airport early the next morning.
He was prepared for the barrage of questioning and advice from his parents and siblings. They couldn’t understand why he wasn’t married. Why he wasn’t at least looking to find somebody to marry. He had tried telling them that he really didn’t think there was anybody made just for him and he wasn’t going to settle for less than his Jedo and Baba or his dad and mom. They were the role models in his life for what a marriage should be. Both of his siblings had found wonderful spouses too. Rico came to the conclusion a lot time ago that if there had been a girl meant just for him that she must have been in an airplane crash or hit by a bus or something, because there had certainly not been anybody crossing his path that had captured his attention for more than a few months at a time.
Sunday, November 23, 2008
My Nanowrimo Start...HA! HA!
Remember that this was just for fun and written quickly. It is only a first draft.
Chapter One
I do swear that I’ll always be there.
Damn! There goes the phone. “Hang on! I’m coming!” Rico shouts to the door as he struggles to move the grocery bags into one arm, while digging his house key out and trying to insert it into the lock. The phone kept ringing. “Don’t hang up Baba. I’m coming!” Rico continued to call through the door into the sparsely furnished bachelor apartment. Rico was sure it was his maternal grandmother on the other end of the impatiently ringing telephone. “Finally,” he breathed a sigh of relief as he felt the door give away under the pressure of his shoulder simultaneously shifting his load just in time to keep his dinner makings from tumbling out of the bag and scattering all over the floor.
Rico, quickly sat the parcels down on the table and lunged for the phone, “Baba, is that you? I just walked in.”
Rico, being a confirmed bachelor at the age of thirty-eight was raised in a very close Serbian family in central California, was especially close to his Baba on his mother’s side. Baba was planning a trip back to her home village in Serbia and Rico had agreed to accompany her. He knew that Baba wouldn’t have a lot of trips back to homeland left, and he wanted to make sure she was taken care of while he had the chance. He had arranged to take six weeks’ vacation from work to escort her to visit her brother who was still living in the former Yugoslavia. They were scheduled to leave in three days and Baba was getting so excited about seeing her family again for the first time in ten years. Rico, himself hadn’t been to Serbia since he was a teenager when his parents had taken his brother, sister and him just before his Jiedo had died leaving his Baba a widow. Rico had enjoyed seeing his uncles, tetes, and cousins.
Growing up the Radanovich family traveled to Serbia every four or five years to visit the family members who hadn’t immigrated to the United States. He was always surprised by the difference in the world of Serbia and the world of California. Many of his relatives lived in small villages in the hills of Serbia and had no electricity or running water, but were so accommodating and generous with their hospitality when their American relatives came to visit.
“Yes, Baba. I’m almost ready. I have to finish packing my clothes and then I’ll be ready to go. I have my passport ready, and have made arrangements to pick up the rental car in Berlin to drive to Yugoslavia,” Rico murmered distractedly into the phone.
I do swear that I’ll always be there.
Damn! There goes the phone. “Hang on! I’m coming!” Rico shouts to the door as he struggles to move the grocery bags into one arm, while digging his house key out and trying to insert it into the lock. The phone kept ringing. “Don’t hang up Baba. I’m coming!” Rico continued to call through the door into the sparsely furnished bachelor apartment. Rico was sure it was his maternal grandmother on the other end of the impatiently ringing telephone. “Finally,” he breathed a sigh of relief as he felt the door give away under the pressure of his shoulder simultaneously shifting his load just in time to keep his dinner makings from tumbling out of the bag and scattering all over the floor.
Rico, quickly sat the parcels down on the table and lunged for the phone, “Baba, is that you? I just walked in.”
Rico, being a confirmed bachelor at the age of thirty-eight was raised in a very close Serbian family in central California, was especially close to his Baba on his mother’s side. Baba was planning a trip back to her home village in Serbia and Rico had agreed to accompany her. He knew that Baba wouldn’t have a lot of trips back to homeland left, and he wanted to make sure she was taken care of while he had the chance. He had arranged to take six weeks’ vacation from work to escort her to visit her brother who was still living in the former Yugoslavia. They were scheduled to leave in three days and Baba was getting so excited about seeing her family again for the first time in ten years. Rico, himself hadn’t been to Serbia since he was a teenager when his parents had taken his brother, sister and him just before his Jiedo had died leaving his Baba a widow. Rico had enjoyed seeing his uncles, tetes, and cousins.
Growing up the Radanovich family traveled to Serbia every four or five years to visit the family members who hadn’t immigrated to the United States. He was always surprised by the difference in the world of Serbia and the world of California. Many of his relatives lived in small villages in the hills of Serbia and had no electricity or running water, but were so accommodating and generous with their hospitality when their American relatives came to visit.
“Yes, Baba. I’m almost ready. I have to finish packing my clothes and then I’ll be ready to go. I have my passport ready, and have made arrangements to pick up the rental car in Berlin to drive to Yugoslavia,” Rico murmered distractedly into the phone.
Saturday, November 15, 2008
New Blog
So if you've been looking for me, I've made some changes. I will continue the creative writing on this site and will be working on a pet site. I do have cute pet gifts for sale and I'll try to get that up and going tomorrow. In the meantime my political blog is at writingbylori.com I have some other stuff in the works. If you have any ideas, suggestions, blogs that you want to post please let me know! I love you all for remaining faithful as I'm trying to figure it all out.
Thanks!
Thanks!
Sunday, September 14, 2008
Monday, September 8, 2008
Guest Blogger Crystal
Crystal is my daughter and the love of my life. Although, I will admit that Chelsie and Carrie, rank right up there. Crystal wrote a great graduation speech, with my help. I've been quite busy with writing my resume and doing some research. Actually, I've been more busy job hunting. The bottom line is, that I didn't get around to writing anything for my blog so I decided to have a guest blogger for the weekend. If any of you readers would like to guest blog please just email me at writingbylori@gmail.com and I'd be happy to let you guest blog. It's a lot of fun, and even more fun when you get comments. Anyway, enjoy Crystal's speech and I'll be back with a new post in another day or so.
Sunday, September 7, 2008
A Graduation Speech that I helped my daughter write. She wasn't chosen to give it, so I decided to put it here
Words from my favorite philosopher: Dr. Suess
by Crystal Thissen
Larry Smith and Rachel Fershleiser have put together an anthology of six word memoirs. I thought to myself, “How hard could that be?” sum up my life in six words? After several attempts I settled on, “Grew up, graduated college, now what?” Those last two words are words many of us sitting here waiting to receive our degrees are asking ourselves. So, I set off to see what profound words the world’s great philosophers have to help us answer these questions. I found the words, “You have brains in your head. You have feet in your shoes. You can steer yourself in any direction you choose. You’re on your own. And you know what you know. You are the guy who will decide where to go…..” By one of my favorite philosophers….Dr. Seuss.
When we think of Dr. Suess, we think of his nonsensical words and fun rhymes, you in the audience read to us as toddlers, but the more I thought of what Dr. Suess had to say, I realized that he did indeed answer that question. When Dr. Seuss wrote the book “Oh The Places You’ll Go” for his son when he graduated from college, he provided a guideline to those last two words, “What now?”
Today, I, with some thoughtful quotes from the good doctor, am here to remind you “Unless someone like you cares a whole awful lot, nothing is going to get better. It’s not.” In a world where nothing is constant except for change, the graduates who will receive their diplomas today will enter a world facing both exciting and terrifying challenges their father’s could have not imagined. The halcyon days of the 1990s, with its low inflation and relative world peace, have been replaced by a decade of violence, economic turmoil and political turbulence. Yet, I will assure you, especially our parents and grandparents, that we will persevere and succeed in ways not imaginable to past generations because, “We have brains in our heads.”
Ours will be a challenge to combat increase violence. Who can forget April 16, 2007 on the Virginia Tech campus when a loan gunman killed 32 and wounded many others in the deadliest shooting rampage by a single gunman in U.S. history. As horrid as this act of violence was, it has prompted new emergency measures which in the future will save lives. One such measure I hold in my hand (hold up cell phone now). Campus security now has the ability to send mass text messages warning students of possible disaster and can instruct vast numbers of people seek safety. This is an example of the technological progress our graduates already embrace as one way to make our world just a bit safer. Or, to quote the wise doctor, “Think left and think right and think low and think high. Oh, the thinks you can think up if only you try.”
Ours will be a challenge to stabilize the ever-changing economy. All of you seated here felt the pain when you put gasoline in your cars to come to this graduation. As late as 1999, oil was trading at $10 a barrel and gold was at $250 per ounce, down from their peaks of $39 for a barrel of oil and $850 for gold in 1980. Economists note prices for commodities such as oil, metals and grains go in 10 to 20 year cycles. Because of low commodity prices in the 1980s and 1990s, little money was spent developing new oil and metal sources. It will take a number of years for industry to catch up to the rising demand from both domestic and international needs from the growing economies of China and India for oil and food. We will not shirk our responsibilities for when faced with challenges. This class will rise to take on the challenge of developing new resources, improve efficiency and utilize the technological know-how taught to us by our professors at UC Davis to find creative and innovative solutions. As Dr. Seuss reminds us, “So you see! There’s no end to the thing you might know, depending how far beyond Zebra you go.” ”
Ours will be a world where the advances in the ability to produce food are a double-edged sword. As an agriculture major, I am keenly aware of this dilemma. Because of the efficiency of economy of scale the corporate farms bring, does this spell the end to the American small farmer? In the 1930s, there were some seven million farms in the United States. Today, just 2 million farms remain and of those, some 565,000 are family operations. The slow disappearance of the small farmer strikes a personal note with me. Some of my favorite childhood memories involve my grandpa’s small farm. I loved playing in the cotton fields and watching the cotton trailers fill up with the fluffy white stuff that I imagined were as soft as clouds. I am a little bit saddened that children of the next generation may not feel excitement of knowing their grandpa is home by the sound of the tractor growing near and running out to greet him as he pulls in on the old Ferguson tractor. It amazes me to know that what seemed like science fiction in the days that I hung out with my grandpa on his small farm are now a reality. By incorporating these ideas, in the words of Dr. Seuss, “And will you succeed? Yes indeed, yes indeed! Ninety-eight and three-quarters percent guaranteed.”
Farmers both big and small are poised to benefit from many advances in agricultural technology and science. Those include:
1. Tractors that are run by GPS and basically drive themselves.
2. Corn that is drought resistant.
3. Crops that are resistant to herbicides which makes getting rid of weeds easy.
4. Increased yields from crops.
5. Livestock that can help humans. For example, porcine valve replacements.
6. Larger, more efficient livestock which produce more meat with less feed.
The only thing missing from this list seems to be green eggs and ham!
As we stand here before you today, we know that because of you, our parents, our families, our friends, our professors and our mentors, “We are on our own. We know what we know. And thanks to you, we are prepared to decide where to go.”
by Crystal Thissen
Larry Smith and Rachel Fershleiser have put together an anthology of six word memoirs. I thought to myself, “How hard could that be?” sum up my life in six words? After several attempts I settled on, “Grew up, graduated college, now what?” Those last two words are words many of us sitting here waiting to receive our degrees are asking ourselves. So, I set off to see what profound words the world’s great philosophers have to help us answer these questions. I found the words, “You have brains in your head. You have feet in your shoes. You can steer yourself in any direction you choose. You’re on your own. And you know what you know. You are the guy who will decide where to go…..” By one of my favorite philosophers….Dr. Seuss.
When we think of Dr. Suess, we think of his nonsensical words and fun rhymes, you in the audience read to us as toddlers, but the more I thought of what Dr. Suess had to say, I realized that he did indeed answer that question. When Dr. Seuss wrote the book “Oh The Places You’ll Go” for his son when he graduated from college, he provided a guideline to those last two words, “What now?”
Today, I, with some thoughtful quotes from the good doctor, am here to remind you “Unless someone like you cares a whole awful lot, nothing is going to get better. It’s not.” In a world where nothing is constant except for change, the graduates who will receive their diplomas today will enter a world facing both exciting and terrifying challenges their father’s could have not imagined. The halcyon days of the 1990s, with its low inflation and relative world peace, have been replaced by a decade of violence, economic turmoil and political turbulence. Yet, I will assure you, especially our parents and grandparents, that we will persevere and succeed in ways not imaginable to past generations because, “We have brains in our heads.”
Ours will be a challenge to combat increase violence. Who can forget April 16, 2007 on the Virginia Tech campus when a loan gunman killed 32 and wounded many others in the deadliest shooting rampage by a single gunman in U.S. history. As horrid as this act of violence was, it has prompted new emergency measures which in the future will save lives. One such measure I hold in my hand (hold up cell phone now). Campus security now has the ability to send mass text messages warning students of possible disaster and can instruct vast numbers of people seek safety. This is an example of the technological progress our graduates already embrace as one way to make our world just a bit safer. Or, to quote the wise doctor, “Think left and think right and think low and think high. Oh, the thinks you can think up if only you try.”
Ours will be a challenge to stabilize the ever-changing economy. All of you seated here felt the pain when you put gasoline in your cars to come to this graduation. As late as 1999, oil was trading at $10 a barrel and gold was at $250 per ounce, down from their peaks of $39 for a barrel of oil and $850 for gold in 1980. Economists note prices for commodities such as oil, metals and grains go in 10 to 20 year cycles. Because of low commodity prices in the 1980s and 1990s, little money was spent developing new oil and metal sources. It will take a number of years for industry to catch up to the rising demand from both domestic and international needs from the growing economies of China and India for oil and food. We will not shirk our responsibilities for when faced with challenges. This class will rise to take on the challenge of developing new resources, improve efficiency and utilize the technological know-how taught to us by our professors at UC Davis to find creative and innovative solutions. As Dr. Seuss reminds us, “So you see! There’s no end to the thing you might know, depending how far beyond Zebra you go.” ”
Ours will be a world where the advances in the ability to produce food are a double-edged sword. As an agriculture major, I am keenly aware of this dilemma. Because of the efficiency of economy of scale the corporate farms bring, does this spell the end to the American small farmer? In the 1930s, there were some seven million farms in the United States. Today, just 2 million farms remain and of those, some 565,000 are family operations. The slow disappearance of the small farmer strikes a personal note with me. Some of my favorite childhood memories involve my grandpa’s small farm. I loved playing in the cotton fields and watching the cotton trailers fill up with the fluffy white stuff that I imagined were as soft as clouds. I am a little bit saddened that children of the next generation may not feel excitement of knowing their grandpa is home by the sound of the tractor growing near and running out to greet him as he pulls in on the old Ferguson tractor. It amazes me to know that what seemed like science fiction in the days that I hung out with my grandpa on his small farm are now a reality. By incorporating these ideas, in the words of Dr. Seuss, “And will you succeed? Yes indeed, yes indeed! Ninety-eight and three-quarters percent guaranteed.”
Farmers both big and small are poised to benefit from many advances in agricultural technology and science. Those include:
1. Tractors that are run by GPS and basically drive themselves.
2. Corn that is drought resistant.
3. Crops that are resistant to herbicides which makes getting rid of weeds easy.
4. Increased yields from crops.
5. Livestock that can help humans. For example, porcine valve replacements.
6. Larger, more efficient livestock which produce more meat with less feed.
The only thing missing from this list seems to be green eggs and ham!
As we stand here before you today, we know that because of you, our parents, our families, our friends, our professors and our mentors, “We are on our own. We know what we know. And thanks to you, we are prepared to decide where to go.”
Friday, September 5, 2008
Isn't it funny how much we can love our cars?
Many, many years ago, when I was a small child, I fell in love. Yes, it's true, as a young girl my first love was my dad's Nash Rambler. It was old and she was beautiful. I cried the day we sold it. Something happened to me with that first love....I developed a love for cars in general, and muscle cars in particular. Two of my favorite cars are both 1966 models. I would give my right arm for a '66 Mustang or a '66 Chevelle SS.
My most recent love was my 1996 Mustang. I loved her so much. She went through so many things with me. So many of my memories of Crystal's childhood are tied to that car. She was my comfort during my divorce. I could just get into her and drive away from my thoughts and fears of the time. Unfortunately she gave out on me, and I had to let her go. Now I have a more "grown up" car. A more stable, better MPG than my old Pony Girl. I wish I had given her a decent tribute to show my love for her.
My friend Reenie Lou did just this. She made a beautiful photo slide show of her baby Dolly. Dolly is going to a new home, but she is going knowing how much Reenie loved her. To see Reenie's tribute to Dolly follow this link. http://www.photoshow.com/watch/cU3hV9MT
My most recent love was my 1996 Mustang. I loved her so much. She went through so many things with me. So many of my memories of Crystal's childhood are tied to that car. She was my comfort during my divorce. I could just get into her and drive away from my thoughts and fears of the time. Unfortunately she gave out on me, and I had to let her go. Now I have a more "grown up" car. A more stable, better MPG than my old Pony Girl. I wish I had given her a decent tribute to show my love for her.
My friend Reenie Lou did just this. She made a beautiful photo slide show of her baby Dolly. Dolly is going to a new home, but she is going knowing how much Reenie loved her. To see Reenie's tribute to Dolly follow this link. http://www.photoshow.com/watch/cU3hV9MT
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
Top Ten Reasons Freelance Writing is Better Than Working
10. The only one looking over your shoulder is Fido.
9. You can work in your underwear.
8. It’s the only job where daydreaming is a requirement.
7. You will never have to miss Judge Judy for a meeting.
6. No stoopid guy in the next cubicle.
5. You don’t get in trouble spending more time on ebay than working.
4. It doesn’t matter if you know the difference between McDreamy and McSteamy
3. Gives a whole new meaning to the words “Casual Friday”
2. Gas is $5 a gallon. So?
1. It’s five o’clock somewhere.
9. You can work in your underwear.
8. It’s the only job where daydreaming is a requirement.
7. You will never have to miss Judge Judy for a meeting.
6. No stoopid guy in the next cubicle.
5. You don’t get in trouble spending more time on ebay than working.
4. It doesn’t matter if you know the difference between McDreamy and McSteamy
3. Gives a whole new meaning to the words “Casual Friday”
2. Gas is $5 a gallon. So?
1. It’s five o’clock somewhere.
Monday, September 1, 2008
Working on my novel
I've been working on my novel the last few days and between that and taking care of my boyfriend after his surgery, I haven't had the opportunity to post. Anyway, now I'm having trouble putting some things in the novel together. I've decided to give the male character twin six or seven year olds, but I'm having trouble writing believable dialogue for the kids. It has become very important to me to leave these characters in, so I can't just write them out. They have a huge part in the sub plot. So, if anybody ever reads this blog that knows where I can get some "good" tips on writing dialogue for young children, I'd appreciate any help at all. So now, back to trying get this book back on track!
Saturday, August 30, 2008
Just so you know teaching isn't ALL bad!
Surviving Third Grade
Lori Mitchell
Oh my God!
I was so scared and yet so excited. What on earth was I doing? I wasn’t prepared. Suddenly there were 19 eight year olds in their pretty new clothes and shiny new shoes all looking at me expectantly, like I’m supposed to know what to do. I keep repeating those words of wisdom from my mentor and friend “They will learn in spite of you” Those sweet little faces just kept looking at me. How can 8 year olds hold a stare for that long? Didn’t they ever blink? Do they know I’m a fraud? I’m not really a teacher. This is my first day. I thought I was so prepared. What happened to all of my bravado from the previous week as I was setting up my classroom and getting my plans together? What was I thinking?
Can I really make a difference in the lives of these kids? My reasons for going into teaching escape me for a moment and then I remember. I want to make a difference. I want to be a positive influence. I want the kids to learn to love learning. I want to make a lot of money and have summers off…. ok I’m kidding about that last part! I remember what I was thinking. I remember why I’m there. I’m still terrified!
I was shaking with fright, and yet they still didn’t blink. Why don’t third graders blink? Suddenly Lupita broke the ice by offering me a couple of roses that she had picked out of her garden that very morning. Such a sweet little girl. I will be eternally grateful to her.
Cindy decided to raise her hand and inform the class that I’m the prettiest teacher she ever had. Who taught that child the art of kissing up? Then Alberto starts making farting noises and the entire class erupts into laughter.
I took my Ed classes so seriously. I never missed a class, but somehow I must have missed the day where they taught about fart noises. Surely, there is a proper way to handle this. Why can’t I remember the lecture on how to handle fart noises? As soon as I get home tonight I’m going to pour through my Ed books. I NEED to find the chapter on fart noises!
OK, these are just normal kids. I can do this. They don’t have to know that I have no idea what I’m doing. I breathe deeply, in and out a couple of times to slow my racing heartbeat. I am not going to hyperventilate right here and right now.
Suddenly, Jodi gets up and walks across the room to have a conversation with her friend. “Jodi, please return to your seat. Allison is trying to listen.” We start an introduction activity when I hear a thump and the kids erupt into laughter. I turn to see what has caught their attention and see Alberto lying on the floor and his chair tipped over. I can see that I will not be able to turn my back on this one. He’s going to be a handful. Jodi gets up once again and wanders around the classroom.
It’s time to pass out papers for the kids to work on an activity to introduce themselves. I have the bright idea to have Jodi pass out the papers since she seems to have a need to be in motion. Jodi manages to kick one boy, poke another and pull one girl’s hair. Note to self…..choosing Jodi is not a wise decision. Jodi manages to get the rest of the papers passed out with no further incidents.
The kids are working nicely, and I’m patting myself on the back for getting through the first 27 of minutes of the day relatively unscathed, when suddenly Jodi decides to throw a crayon across the room.
Though I can’t remember my exact words, I’m pretty sure they weren’t the words that were running through my mind “Knock it off you demon child before I make you regret ruining my first day!” Whatever the words I did manage to choose must have sounded very similar to the ones running through my head because in the next second Jodi was lying on the floor kicking and screaming. She was sobbing hysterically…….what do I do now? My first day of school and I’ve harmed a child for life. She will hate school forever and drop out at 14 and live on the streets and take drugs all because I failed to communicate with her in a productive manner on her first day of third grade. I’m a failure!!! I’m not meant to teach. What was I thinking? Am I stuck in this contract for an entire year? Is Jodi’s mom going to come beat me up? Suddenly, just as quickly as it started it stopped. Jodi picked herself up and sat back down.
Now it’s time for my first “real teaching” lesson. The class gets out their books, and I get out the teacher manual. This is so easy. In the little margins it tells me what to say and tells me what the kids will respond. How easy can teaching be? Why would anybody think this is difficult? I fake calmness I don’t feel and proudly and professionally read the “SAY” part in the teacher’s manual, and the kids just stare. Perhaps they didn’t hear me. I clear my throat and once again I read the “What is the name of the person who writes the story called?”. The kids mumble responses but they aren’t the responses in the teacher’s Bible. How can this be? How can they not give the response they are supposed to give? This just won’t work!!! If they don’t give the proper “RESPONSE” then the next “SAY” won’t make any sense. The teacher’s book is wrong. It isn’t working. What am I going to do? Suddenly, I get the bright idea to talk to them like I talk to my daughter. I can just explain things to them in simple words. Yeah, this will work. So I start talking and the kids start responding. Amazingly, they even respond with the “RESPONSE” part when I’m not even doing the “SAY” part. Wow, I can do this. Those words of wisdom spoken by my mentor many months ago suddenly make sense. When she first uttered those words, “They will learn in spite of you!” I really had no idea what she was trying to tell me. Now I get it. They are learning. I have no idea how to teach them, but they are learning and it’s only an hour into my first day. I just may be able to do this after all!
The rest of the morning passed in a flurry of activity. Finally, I get to walk my kids to cafeteria. They are in third grade. They know how to walk in a straight line don’t they?
Apparently not. I’m sure a couple of them disappeared somewhere between the classroom and the cafeteria, while the others are pushing, shoving, shouting, poking each other, and just basically all over the campus. Note to self, if you want them to do something right you have to teach them how to do it.
Finally, the kids are eating lunch and I get to go back and hide out in my room. My tummy is too nervous to eat so I skip lunch (just a small unimportant detail)
After lunch the kids come back in and we go for a tour around the school and the rest of the day passes with only a few minor disruptions from Alberto’s constant need to be a comedian.
Finally the day is over, the kids are on the bus and I can go home, but first I must return to my room and figure out how to keep Jodi from throwing tantrums, Alberto from “entertaining” the class, and most importantly, what to do about fart noises.
On my way home I stop by the store and pick up Haagen-Daz
Lori Mitchell
Oh my God!
I was so scared and yet so excited. What on earth was I doing? I wasn’t prepared. Suddenly there were 19 eight year olds in their pretty new clothes and shiny new shoes all looking at me expectantly, like I’m supposed to know what to do. I keep repeating those words of wisdom from my mentor and friend “They will learn in spite of you” Those sweet little faces just kept looking at me. How can 8 year olds hold a stare for that long? Didn’t they ever blink? Do they know I’m a fraud? I’m not really a teacher. This is my first day. I thought I was so prepared. What happened to all of my bravado from the previous week as I was setting up my classroom and getting my plans together? What was I thinking?
Can I really make a difference in the lives of these kids? My reasons for going into teaching escape me for a moment and then I remember. I want to make a difference. I want to be a positive influence. I want the kids to learn to love learning. I want to make a lot of money and have summers off…. ok I’m kidding about that last part! I remember what I was thinking. I remember why I’m there. I’m still terrified!
I was shaking with fright, and yet they still didn’t blink. Why don’t third graders blink? Suddenly Lupita broke the ice by offering me a couple of roses that she had picked out of her garden that very morning. Such a sweet little girl. I will be eternally grateful to her.
Cindy decided to raise her hand and inform the class that I’m the prettiest teacher she ever had. Who taught that child the art of kissing up? Then Alberto starts making farting noises and the entire class erupts into laughter.
I took my Ed classes so seriously. I never missed a class, but somehow I must have missed the day where they taught about fart noises. Surely, there is a proper way to handle this. Why can’t I remember the lecture on how to handle fart noises? As soon as I get home tonight I’m going to pour through my Ed books. I NEED to find the chapter on fart noises!
OK, these are just normal kids. I can do this. They don’t have to know that I have no idea what I’m doing. I breathe deeply, in and out a couple of times to slow my racing heartbeat. I am not going to hyperventilate right here and right now.
Suddenly, Jodi gets up and walks across the room to have a conversation with her friend. “Jodi, please return to your seat. Allison is trying to listen.” We start an introduction activity when I hear a thump and the kids erupt into laughter. I turn to see what has caught their attention and see Alberto lying on the floor and his chair tipped over. I can see that I will not be able to turn my back on this one. He’s going to be a handful. Jodi gets up once again and wanders around the classroom.
It’s time to pass out papers for the kids to work on an activity to introduce themselves. I have the bright idea to have Jodi pass out the papers since she seems to have a need to be in motion. Jodi manages to kick one boy, poke another and pull one girl’s hair. Note to self…..choosing Jodi is not a wise decision. Jodi manages to get the rest of the papers passed out with no further incidents.
The kids are working nicely, and I’m patting myself on the back for getting through the first 27 of minutes of the day relatively unscathed, when suddenly Jodi decides to throw a crayon across the room.
Though I can’t remember my exact words, I’m pretty sure they weren’t the words that were running through my mind “Knock it off you demon child before I make you regret ruining my first day!” Whatever the words I did manage to choose must have sounded very similar to the ones running through my head because in the next second Jodi was lying on the floor kicking and screaming. She was sobbing hysterically…….what do I do now? My first day of school and I’ve harmed a child for life. She will hate school forever and drop out at 14 and live on the streets and take drugs all because I failed to communicate with her in a productive manner on her first day of third grade. I’m a failure!!! I’m not meant to teach. What was I thinking? Am I stuck in this contract for an entire year? Is Jodi’s mom going to come beat me up? Suddenly, just as quickly as it started it stopped. Jodi picked herself up and sat back down.
Now it’s time for my first “real teaching” lesson. The class gets out their books, and I get out the teacher manual. This is so easy. In the little margins it tells me what to say and tells me what the kids will respond. How easy can teaching be? Why would anybody think this is difficult? I fake calmness I don’t feel and proudly and professionally read the “SAY” part in the teacher’s manual, and the kids just stare. Perhaps they didn’t hear me. I clear my throat and once again I read the “What is the name of the person who writes the story called?”. The kids mumble responses but they aren’t the responses in the teacher’s Bible. How can this be? How can they not give the response they are supposed to give? This just won’t work!!! If they don’t give the proper “RESPONSE” then the next “SAY” won’t make any sense. The teacher’s book is wrong. It isn’t working. What am I going to do? Suddenly, I get the bright idea to talk to them like I talk to my daughter. I can just explain things to them in simple words. Yeah, this will work. So I start talking and the kids start responding. Amazingly, they even respond with the “RESPONSE” part when I’m not even doing the “SAY” part. Wow, I can do this. Those words of wisdom spoken by my mentor many months ago suddenly make sense. When she first uttered those words, “They will learn in spite of you!” I really had no idea what she was trying to tell me. Now I get it. They are learning. I have no idea how to teach them, but they are learning and it’s only an hour into my first day. I just may be able to do this after all!
The rest of the morning passed in a flurry of activity. Finally, I get to walk my kids to cafeteria. They are in third grade. They know how to walk in a straight line don’t they?
Apparently not. I’m sure a couple of them disappeared somewhere between the classroom and the cafeteria, while the others are pushing, shoving, shouting, poking each other, and just basically all over the campus. Note to self, if you want them to do something right you have to teach them how to do it.
Finally, the kids are eating lunch and I get to go back and hide out in my room. My tummy is too nervous to eat so I skip lunch (just a small unimportant detail)
After lunch the kids come back in and we go for a tour around the school and the rest of the day passes with only a few minor disruptions from Alberto’s constant need to be a comedian.
Finally the day is over, the kids are on the bus and I can go home, but first I must return to my room and figure out how to keep Jodi from throwing tantrums, Alberto from “entertaining” the class, and most importantly, what to do about fart noises.
On my way home I stop by the store and pick up Haagen-Daz
Thursday, August 28, 2008
This should tell you what mood I'm in tonight.
No Teacher Left Behind
(A Modest Proposal
Apologies to Jonathan Swift)
It is a melancholy object to those who walk through the great schools in our country to see those in the abject profession known as teaching inhabiting classrooms.
These teachers, instead of being able to work for their honest livelihood, are forced to employ all their time juggling back and forth wasting their time herding disruptive students, fending off pushy know-it-all parents (or attempting to plead with others who seemingly could care less), and praying to Almighty God someone from administration doesn’t catch them veering away from the pacing calendar.
I think it is agreed by all that there should be better ways of utilizing years of knowledge and expertise other than babysitting, police action, avoidance of conflict and seamy politics. It is my humble intention to propose a groundbreaking piece of legislation entitled “No Teacher Left Behind.” Imagine it, if you can. Teachers freed from the tyranny of superfluous distractions. I would think a grateful nation would erect a statue to the preserver of our educational system!
But my intentions is very far from being confined to provide only for the children of the public school system; it is of much greater extent, and shall take in the whole number of school aged children.
As to my own part, having turned my thoughts for many years upon this important subject, and maturely weighed the several schemes of other projectors ala No Child Left Behind, I have always found them grossly mistaken in their optimism.
As with any other massive societal shift, to enact such a legislative tour de force will require a number of pieces to fall into place.
First, the ruling State Department of Education must be swept away in a coup to make way for a benevolent dictatorship headed by an Education Czar. Imagine the blessing of a political system without the distraction of opposing parties. Trains will run on time! Modern autobahns will be constructed! And think about the added living space….but I get ahead of myself.
The cost of such legislation will be mighty but this nation has endured financial and economic hardship in the past and shall again for the greater good of the State. Indeed, this legislation includes the right to fire up the Mint’s printing presses if necessary to pay whatever it takes to make this happen.
With no inflation of course.
School boards and administrators? Done away with. Imagine no political bickering about things like budgets, salary negotiations and site councils! No department meetings, no grade level meetings, no curriculum meetings, no staff meetings of any kind! Imagine there’s no heaven. It’s easy if you try.
Secondly, parents must be controlled. In no way should any parent be allowed to criticize the decisions of the great and powerful Czar. Certainly, education is too important to be left in the hands of the great unwashed. Such legislation will include license-to-breed documentation and, for those who refuse to obey, On Campus Suspension. I have a dream for the unrepentant parents, that Time Out Camps will be established on the salt-flats of the West Side where work shall make them free.
With political and parental distraction eradicated, I shall now therefore humbly propose my own thoughts, which I hope will not be liable to the least objection.
Though it is generally agreed education would run much smoother without the burden of actually having children in the classroom, for the moment, it is a burden which must be borne. In an alternate universe, perhaps, no child would be left behind. But in this reality, you can’t make an omelet without breaking eggs.
Intelligence, will and drive will no longer be regarded as positive influences but rather subservience and the ability to follow simple commands will determine the future minds of the State. The all-knowing, all-powerful Education Czar will, in his infinite wisdom, be able to determine who can rise up the ranks of society to become future leaders.
State Tests are still needed to determine a child’s future. If the child is able to read the test and mark the correct answer, that child is expelled to provide much needed labor in our burgeoning factories and collective farms.
College? A waste of money when most of the population will be needed for glorious agrarian work assignments. Title IX? Abolished. Who needs such a rule when women are needed to give birth, cook and clean for future generations of loyal followers?
You dissent? After all, I am not so violently bent up on my own opinion as to reject any other offer, which will be as effective.
But before something of that kind shall be advanced in contradictions to my scheme, I desire the author or authors consider these two points:
Firstly, has the current educational system produced such a brave new world where all humanity marches in unison to a single drummer? Surely there is a desire for such an educational Pax Americana isn’t there?
Secondly, such an educational program will certainly endure for at least a thousand years with its universal cooperation, wise ruling and swift justice.
I profess, in the sincerity of my heart, that I don’t have the least personal interest in endeavoring to promote this necessary work, having no other motive than the public good of the educational community.
And my daughter is no longer in the public school system.
(A Modest Proposal
Apologies to Jonathan Swift)
It is a melancholy object to those who walk through the great schools in our country to see those in the abject profession known as teaching inhabiting classrooms.
These teachers, instead of being able to work for their honest livelihood, are forced to employ all their time juggling back and forth wasting their time herding disruptive students, fending off pushy know-it-all parents (or attempting to plead with others who seemingly could care less), and praying to Almighty God someone from administration doesn’t catch them veering away from the pacing calendar.
I think it is agreed by all that there should be better ways of utilizing years of knowledge and expertise other than babysitting, police action, avoidance of conflict and seamy politics. It is my humble intention to propose a groundbreaking piece of legislation entitled “No Teacher Left Behind.” Imagine it, if you can. Teachers freed from the tyranny of superfluous distractions. I would think a grateful nation would erect a statue to the preserver of our educational system!
But my intentions is very far from being confined to provide only for the children of the public school system; it is of much greater extent, and shall take in the whole number of school aged children.
As to my own part, having turned my thoughts for many years upon this important subject, and maturely weighed the several schemes of other projectors ala No Child Left Behind, I have always found them grossly mistaken in their optimism.
As with any other massive societal shift, to enact such a legislative tour de force will require a number of pieces to fall into place.
First, the ruling State Department of Education must be swept away in a coup to make way for a benevolent dictatorship headed by an Education Czar. Imagine the blessing of a political system without the distraction of opposing parties. Trains will run on time! Modern autobahns will be constructed! And think about the added living space….but I get ahead of myself.
The cost of such legislation will be mighty but this nation has endured financial and economic hardship in the past and shall again for the greater good of the State. Indeed, this legislation includes the right to fire up the Mint’s printing presses if necessary to pay whatever it takes to make this happen.
With no inflation of course.
School boards and administrators? Done away with. Imagine no political bickering about things like budgets, salary negotiations and site councils! No department meetings, no grade level meetings, no curriculum meetings, no staff meetings of any kind! Imagine there’s no heaven. It’s easy if you try.
Secondly, parents must be controlled. In no way should any parent be allowed to criticize the decisions of the great and powerful Czar. Certainly, education is too important to be left in the hands of the great unwashed. Such legislation will include license-to-breed documentation and, for those who refuse to obey, On Campus Suspension. I have a dream for the unrepentant parents, that Time Out Camps will be established on the salt-flats of the West Side where work shall make them free.
With political and parental distraction eradicated, I shall now therefore humbly propose my own thoughts, which I hope will not be liable to the least objection.
Though it is generally agreed education would run much smoother without the burden of actually having children in the classroom, for the moment, it is a burden which must be borne. In an alternate universe, perhaps, no child would be left behind. But in this reality, you can’t make an omelet without breaking eggs.
Intelligence, will and drive will no longer be regarded as positive influences but rather subservience and the ability to follow simple commands will determine the future minds of the State. The all-knowing, all-powerful Education Czar will, in his infinite wisdom, be able to determine who can rise up the ranks of society to become future leaders.
State Tests are still needed to determine a child’s future. If the child is able to read the test and mark the correct answer, that child is expelled to provide much needed labor in our burgeoning factories and collective farms.
College? A waste of money when most of the population will be needed for glorious agrarian work assignments. Title IX? Abolished. Who needs such a rule when women are needed to give birth, cook and clean for future generations of loyal followers?
You dissent? After all, I am not so violently bent up on my own opinion as to reject any other offer, which will be as effective.
But before something of that kind shall be advanced in contradictions to my scheme, I desire the author or authors consider these two points:
Firstly, has the current educational system produced such a brave new world where all humanity marches in unison to a single drummer? Surely there is a desire for such an educational Pax Americana isn’t there?
Secondly, such an educational program will certainly endure for at least a thousand years with its universal cooperation, wise ruling and swift justice.
I profess, in the sincerity of my heart, that I don’t have the least personal interest in endeavoring to promote this necessary work, having no other motive than the public good of the educational community.
And my daughter is no longer in the public school system.
So today I decided I couldn't teach anymore
I have decided that I really can't stand the thought of going back to teaching, so I'm looking for work. So if anybody knows of a job of any kind whatsoever, please let me know. I know I wasn't going to use this blog to beg for a job, but hey....since I have a captive audience, I figured what the hey, I'd ask for a job.
Also, if you are looking at this blog please comment on my writing unless you have a job offer or lead for me then please email me at writingbylori@gmail.com I plan to post more writing in a little while. You will always be able to tell my mood by which piece of writing I've chosen to post. For those who have commented, thank you. For my friends who have come here to support me and leave a comment, thank you because you are the reason I have the courage to do this.
Oh and Crystal, mommy loves you!
Also, if you are looking at this blog please comment on my writing unless you have a job offer or lead for me then please email me at writingbylori@gmail.com I plan to post more writing in a little while. You will always be able to tell my mood by which piece of writing I've chosen to post. For those who have commented, thank you. For my friends who have come here to support me and leave a comment, thank you because you are the reason I have the courage to do this.
Oh and Crystal, mommy loves you!
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
Girls With Guns
“Girls With Guns”
Lori Mitchell
The squad is on the line ready to start its round.
On post four, the shooter goes over a subconscious checklist: Hull bag on hip, shell box holder on waist, shell box open and ready, toe pad on shoe, ear plugs in ears, shooting glasses just the right tint for the light conditions and gun at the ready. And her hair is out of her eyes thanks to the ponytail poking out from under her cap.
Girls and guns. When most people think of those two words together they think cheap porn, Quinton Taratino’s B-grade blood-fest “Grindhouse” or Annie Oakley, the woman trick shooter in Buffalo Bill’s traveling show in the 19th century.
On this 35th anniversary of Title IX, the law giving college women’s sports increased credibility, there is a small invasion going on. Women are starting to flock to the male dominated shotgun sports of trap, skeet and sporting clays.
Shotgun sports evolved out of the desire of bird hunters to keep their shooting skills sharp during the off-season. Instead of live birds, shooters try to hit spinning, circular color clays launched in all directions by hand or by machine. The clays are meant to mimic birds in flight. Today’s shotgun sports appeals to more than just hunters. It is a sport unto itself.
As with women in most male dominated sports, the female athlete faces many challenges. In addition to learning and mastering the mechanics of the sport, a woman must deal with additional hurdles. A woman taking up a shotgun sport will face scrutiny from the men in the sport and surprisingly from other women.
Women will wonder about her motives. The women will look at a new woman and ask is she here to learn this sport? Is she serious about competing? Does she consider this a man store? Is she just looking for a husband? A female will also face scrutiny from non-shooting women. Women who have no experience with guns will assume that the female shooter either “wants to be a man” or is “too small to handle a gun and will get knocked around by it”.
Denise, a 47-year-old trap shooter and duck hunter who has been shooting since 1972, notes she gets more reaction from women who are not in the sport.
“Because I am smaller in stature, I often hear ‘how can you hold a gun?’ It is women who have little or no experience that will assume the gun is more powerful than me.”
She goes on to say the way today’s shotguns are constructed and the ability to shoot high scores with shells that have less recoil pave the way for an enjoyable experience without the fear of pain for both men and women.
The whispers from both sexes that a woman is taking up shotgun sports as a way to hook up with a man certainly has some basis in fact. After all, die-hard golfers claim the same thing! There are certainly several examples of successful couplings from women who join the sport and, by luck and love, find someone to share their sporting and life’s interests with. As I overheard one trap shooter say to the man I was shooting with on a “date,” “She is pretty, has a great personality…and shoots straight!” But it is agreed that any woman who enters the sport strictly to find a date or a mate will ultimately be disappointed.
Jennifer Carter was one such success story. Growing up, she accompanied her Dad to the trap range and found it the height of boring.
After breaking up with her boyfriend at the age of 26, she was looking for something to occupy her time, and went back to the range.
“Some men would actually walk out onto the line and tell me what I was doing wrong-while I was shooting!” Jennifer learned to just smile and nod and ignore everything they said, and continue to take her coaches advice.
She persevered in the sport and in 2000, met her future husband while trapshooting. Their first date was a shooting tournament and their wedding featured a clay target groom’s cake.
“Dave’s friends (her husband) are often telling him how lucky he is to have a wife who likes to shoot,” she said.
A woman will get many reactions from men ranging from politeness and respect as a shooter first and a woman second to abject, raw chauvinism.
Longtime shooter and consummate gentleman Pat Ireland is direct when asked his opinion on women in this man’s sport. “Away from a trap club I will treat women as Ladies. At the club, they are shooters.”
Respect is shown to women by men such as Pat Ireland, who will celebrate with them when they win and not show any mercy in a shoot off against them and beat them on the line without hesitation. These are the men who will proudly wear a button that reads, “Beat by a Girl.”
On the other side of the clay, we have the men who will refuse to shoot with women because they gossip, or are too slow, or “just plain don’t know how to shoot”. These are the men who won’t hesitate to run out on the line and interrupt a practice or even an event round to espouse their expertise by letting the little woman know everything she is doing wrong, no matter what her score is. There are the men who think a woman should be barefoot and pregnant and have no business holding a shotgun unless it’s in a trashy movie.
Jennifer Carter tells of one such experience. The winner of several tournaments, Jennifer, a Safety Director for a construction company, keeps several of her trophies on the walls and shelves in her office. She says she often faces disbelief and shock by her male clients when she informs them that no, they are not her husband’s awards, that they are indeed hers.
The first image people may get of a woman trap shooter is a hillbilly woman who dwarfs her man on the line in size and girth. If anything, it is just the opposite. As long-time trap shooter Linda Hoffman jokingly advised, “It’s not how you shoot, its how you look when you shoot.” Recently, there have been businesses spring up which cater to a woman’s shooting needs including tailored vests and products like the “Shoot Like A Girl” t-shirts.
Most men fall somewhere in the middle. They are perfectly content to shoot with women, but still regard them as women.
At a small private club one afternoon a little over a year ago, I walked up and asked about learning the sport. While I was getting my lesson a man observing could be overheard saying, “She has a cute face and great stance.”
Though this is high praise indeed from a trap shooter, his friends’ teasing reaction of “How come you never tell me I have a cute face?” illustrates that women are perceived differently in this sport.
Dave Snelling is familiar with the battle of the sexes when it comes to shooting; his wife Lisa is a Class A trap shooter in the Central Valley and has a closet full of belt-buckles and plaques to prove it. Dave is a bit behind Lisa in the sport and shoots at a lower level.
He has seen both types of pride and prejudice in this position. At one tournament, where his wife was doing particularly well; one of the shooters teasingly chastised him. “Your wife is kicking your ass, son! You better start shooting better!”
He also noted that even among the old-timers, there were compliments for his wife’s ability. During one shoot where his wife shot her way to a win her class, an old-timer, complete with grizzled, gray beard and a drawl perfected after years of chewing tobacco, leaned up next to him and intoned, “Your woman sure shoots good.” While not quite politically correct, it was taken as a compliment.
Is there any benefit to being a female in a male dominated sport? Ask the long-time women shooters and you will get a resounding yes. To be able to excel not only against a man in a male-dominated sport and to feel the personal pride of winning after the hard work and effort to learn the game, practice both the mechanics and the mental aspect, and win is as addictive as chocolate. And that is something that nobody, neither male nor female, can take away.
After all, it takes a lot of courage to “shoot like a girl!”
Lori Mitchell
The squad is on the line ready to start its round.
On post four, the shooter goes over a subconscious checklist: Hull bag on hip, shell box holder on waist, shell box open and ready, toe pad on shoe, ear plugs in ears, shooting glasses just the right tint for the light conditions and gun at the ready. And her hair is out of her eyes thanks to the ponytail poking out from under her cap.
Girls and guns. When most people think of those two words together they think cheap porn, Quinton Taratino’s B-grade blood-fest “Grindhouse” or Annie Oakley, the woman trick shooter in Buffalo Bill’s traveling show in the 19th century.
On this 35th anniversary of Title IX, the law giving college women’s sports increased credibility, there is a small invasion going on. Women are starting to flock to the male dominated shotgun sports of trap, skeet and sporting clays.
Shotgun sports evolved out of the desire of bird hunters to keep their shooting skills sharp during the off-season. Instead of live birds, shooters try to hit spinning, circular color clays launched in all directions by hand or by machine. The clays are meant to mimic birds in flight. Today’s shotgun sports appeals to more than just hunters. It is a sport unto itself.
As with women in most male dominated sports, the female athlete faces many challenges. In addition to learning and mastering the mechanics of the sport, a woman must deal with additional hurdles. A woman taking up a shotgun sport will face scrutiny from the men in the sport and surprisingly from other women.
Women will wonder about her motives. The women will look at a new woman and ask is she here to learn this sport? Is she serious about competing? Does she consider this a man store? Is she just looking for a husband? A female will also face scrutiny from non-shooting women. Women who have no experience with guns will assume that the female shooter either “wants to be a man” or is “too small to handle a gun and will get knocked around by it”.
Denise, a 47-year-old trap shooter and duck hunter who has been shooting since 1972, notes she gets more reaction from women who are not in the sport.
“Because I am smaller in stature, I often hear ‘how can you hold a gun?’ It is women who have little or no experience that will assume the gun is more powerful than me.”
She goes on to say the way today’s shotguns are constructed and the ability to shoot high scores with shells that have less recoil pave the way for an enjoyable experience without the fear of pain for both men and women.
The whispers from both sexes that a woman is taking up shotgun sports as a way to hook up with a man certainly has some basis in fact. After all, die-hard golfers claim the same thing! There are certainly several examples of successful couplings from women who join the sport and, by luck and love, find someone to share their sporting and life’s interests with. As I overheard one trap shooter say to the man I was shooting with on a “date,” “She is pretty, has a great personality…and shoots straight!” But it is agreed that any woman who enters the sport strictly to find a date or a mate will ultimately be disappointed.
Jennifer Carter was one such success story. Growing up, she accompanied her Dad to the trap range and found it the height of boring.
After breaking up with her boyfriend at the age of 26, she was looking for something to occupy her time, and went back to the range.
“Some men would actually walk out onto the line and tell me what I was doing wrong-while I was shooting!” Jennifer learned to just smile and nod and ignore everything they said, and continue to take her coaches advice.
She persevered in the sport and in 2000, met her future husband while trapshooting. Their first date was a shooting tournament and their wedding featured a clay target groom’s cake.
“Dave’s friends (her husband) are often telling him how lucky he is to have a wife who likes to shoot,” she said.
A woman will get many reactions from men ranging from politeness and respect as a shooter first and a woman second to abject, raw chauvinism.
Longtime shooter and consummate gentleman Pat Ireland is direct when asked his opinion on women in this man’s sport. “Away from a trap club I will treat women as Ladies. At the club, they are shooters.”
Respect is shown to women by men such as Pat Ireland, who will celebrate with them when they win and not show any mercy in a shoot off against them and beat them on the line without hesitation. These are the men who will proudly wear a button that reads, “Beat by a Girl.”
On the other side of the clay, we have the men who will refuse to shoot with women because they gossip, or are too slow, or “just plain don’t know how to shoot”. These are the men who won’t hesitate to run out on the line and interrupt a practice or even an event round to espouse their expertise by letting the little woman know everything she is doing wrong, no matter what her score is. There are the men who think a woman should be barefoot and pregnant and have no business holding a shotgun unless it’s in a trashy movie.
Jennifer Carter tells of one such experience. The winner of several tournaments, Jennifer, a Safety Director for a construction company, keeps several of her trophies on the walls and shelves in her office. She says she often faces disbelief and shock by her male clients when she informs them that no, they are not her husband’s awards, that they are indeed hers.
The first image people may get of a woman trap shooter is a hillbilly woman who dwarfs her man on the line in size and girth. If anything, it is just the opposite. As long-time trap shooter Linda Hoffman jokingly advised, “It’s not how you shoot, its how you look when you shoot.” Recently, there have been businesses spring up which cater to a woman’s shooting needs including tailored vests and products like the “Shoot Like A Girl” t-shirts.
Most men fall somewhere in the middle. They are perfectly content to shoot with women, but still regard them as women.
At a small private club one afternoon a little over a year ago, I walked up and asked about learning the sport. While I was getting my lesson a man observing could be overheard saying, “She has a cute face and great stance.”
Though this is high praise indeed from a trap shooter, his friends’ teasing reaction of “How come you never tell me I have a cute face?” illustrates that women are perceived differently in this sport.
Dave Snelling is familiar with the battle of the sexes when it comes to shooting; his wife Lisa is a Class A trap shooter in the Central Valley and has a closet full of belt-buckles and plaques to prove it. Dave is a bit behind Lisa in the sport and shoots at a lower level.
He has seen both types of pride and prejudice in this position. At one tournament, where his wife was doing particularly well; one of the shooters teasingly chastised him. “Your wife is kicking your ass, son! You better start shooting better!”
He also noted that even among the old-timers, there were compliments for his wife’s ability. During one shoot where his wife shot her way to a win her class, an old-timer, complete with grizzled, gray beard and a drawl perfected after years of chewing tobacco, leaned up next to him and intoned, “Your woman sure shoots good.” While not quite politically correct, it was taken as a compliment.
Is there any benefit to being a female in a male dominated sport? Ask the long-time women shooters and you will get a resounding yes. To be able to excel not only against a man in a male-dominated sport and to feel the personal pride of winning after the hard work and effort to learn the game, practice both the mechanics and the mental aspect, and win is as addictive as chocolate. And that is something that nobody, neither male nor female, can take away.
After all, it takes a lot of courage to “shoot like a girl!”
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
Welcome to my blog
I want to write. That is who I am. I feel like I'm accomplishing something when I can fill up a notebook or type a full page. My dream is to someday see some of my books in Barnes and Noble or Borders. Which brings me to here. I have written a couple of magazine type articles, I wrote for the UC Merced Writing Project, I am writing my first "real" novel and I write for fun. I'm hoping that with this blog, I can not only keep myself and my writing organized, but that I can share my successes and frustrations with you, and you in turn will share your successes and frustrations with me. So let's all sit back together and see if we can go for a ride!
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