Twin Peaks Fans- Get out those golden shovels!

Twin Peaks Fans, get out your Golden Shovels!

If any of you know me, I am a huge Twin Peaks, and by default a David Lynch fan… and wow. The more I watch, the better and better it gets. I love the pop culture references, and I couldn’t help but think, doesn’t Dr. Jacoby seem a lot like Alex Jones?

My Mother and I sat on the couch, laughing and crying at the misfortune that befell Dr. Jacoby. When he brought out his flashlight, and started talking about conspiracy theories, we both lost it.

The golden shovel, to shovel your way out of the shit topped the cake.

I think besides the third episode, and Coop hitting the jackpot and saying… “HELL-OOo-ooo!” was by far one of the funniest things I have seen in a while.

I can not wait to see if Agent Cooper regains his memory, and to see what happens to the “Evil” Cooper.

If you have not already, check the series out, and Mark Frosts book… “The Secret History of Twin Peaks,” to refresh or catch up on the old series! Don’t forget to grab your golden shovels!

What do you think of the new Twin Peaks series so far?

Blog Update…

I am going to regular be contributing to a blog that I encourage you to check out. You can find it here at:
http://writertowriters.com

Here you can find posts to inspire your creativity as well as tips to improve your writing. I look forward to continuing to write on my personal blog. As always I am looking for ways to expand and improve my writing in different disciplines.

Thanks for stopping by!

The Problem With College..

Going back to college as an adult is not an easy thing. Calling the perspective colleges you are looking to attend, making sure that the credits will transfer. Making sure they got your transcripts. Then trying to get through to the financial aid office to make sure you have all the documents you need. It is also frustrating trying to get a hold of the people in different departments, waiting on hold for hours.

You begin to feel discouraged, and question why you even are wasting your time at these colleges. Feeling frustrated and defeated you wonder why you even wanted to go back in the first place, because no one seemed to care that you wanted to invest in yourself anyways.

I reminded of what I wrote yesterday, and what my Grandfather told me. You have to jump through hoops to get where you are going in life. Hours spent on the phone on hold so I can ask the financial aide officer three simple questions. An hour and a half and three people later trying to find out what happened to my transcripts.
At the end of the day feeling defeated, and like just another number. Just another student at a college.

Perhaps this is why I got frustrated with community colleges in the first place.

Calling private Universities however was a different experience. I did not have to wait on hold for hours. To them it seemed as if I wasn’t a number.

Then I remember the reasons I got frustrated when I was attending a community college in the first place. The large class sizes. The availability of the professor. It was hard to set meet with them during office hours, especially if other students already had appointments.

Perhaps college is a stale institution that needs to change along with the rest of the world. Times have changed. You have to work, sometimes before you graduate, to pay your bills. It is hard to make time for college when the institution itself seems to care very little about the economy and inflation.

We are privileged to live in the information age, where virtually anything is available with the click of a mouse. We have libraries, in which we can immerse ourselves with knowledge.

Many of life’s most important lessons, I learned outside of the classroom.

The one tough lesson I learned in college though was, don’t go unless all tuition is covered without loans.

That is a mistake I will not make again.

Someday when I grow up…

Think back to when you were young…

One of the biggest questions everyone asked was what do you want to be? Pretty big question. But if you were like me, you had an answer to everything back then, didn’t you?

I remember in first grade I knew that answer. I wanted to be a writer. The first piece I ever wrote was a play on several 3 by 5 index cards. It was littered with spelling, grammatical errors, and incomplete sentences. In my eyes however, it was a masterpiece. It sat in a box, tucked in one of my favorite childhood books until we moved, and my Mom gave them to me.

Reading the note cards provided my Husband and I with much entertainment , and by the third card, we were laughing so hard we were crying. Thankfully, my writing skills have improved since then!

Life happens, people grow up. Instead of getting happy, people’s opinions get in the way, and then we hope to get lucky.

Get lucky, and get that promotion. Hope to get a good paying job with benefits. Work for a company that offers a good retirement plan, and if we are lucky, retire by the time we are sixty. That is, if -and that is a big if- we are lucky.

Then life happens. That promotion we were hoping to get, it doesn’t work out. Our luck has not been too good. Times are tough, and with Obama Care in place,  that benefits package the company you work for is increased by $200 bucks a month. You can barley afford to pay your bills, and you will never be able to retire at this rate. Then all that labor you have done for years finally catches up. You get a chronic condition, and that job that you used to be able to do, you can no longer do. You are forced into an entry level job. With no hope of retirement at all.

You are forced to do something for yourself and you family. You come back to the only thing you know how to do.

Write. So you begin writing. The only thing in life that gives you purpose, besides being a Wife and a Mother.

Then you remember the day you grew up. The day that people told you, being an English and or Creative writing major would never make you any money. The day your dreams were crushed. The day they died.

The day I looked into my Sons eyes, was the day I was born. Then I got happy. Not just lucky. I felt the need to write. It hasn’t stopped since. I write stories and poems, for my Son, and he asks me to read them to him. He reminds me daily to get happy, not just lucky. It all made sense. The reason I was here, what life is all about.

Life isn’t about being lucky. It’s about getting happy.

When I ask my Son what he wants to do when he grows up, I am gonna tell him the same thing my Grandfather did, “Do what makes, you happy. Not what makes you the most money.”

I keep thinking about the conversation my Grandfather had with me before nursing school. I wish he was here to talk to me and support me now. He was good at listening. I think he knew me better than I knew myself.

I can’t help thinking about the advice he gave me, and about how he said I would struggle and have to jump through a lot of hoops in my life to get where I was going. He was so right. Right about everything.

I’ve already jumped about through half of them.

Driving in the same car that he used to drive, on the way to the college campus, I started talking to him, asking for his guidance. I just wish I could take one last drive with him.

If he was to ask me today what I wanted to do when I went to college, my answer would no longer be, ‘Making a decent living,” but “living a life of happiness doing what I love with the people I love.”

 

 

 

Portrait of a Young Girl

Sophia’s long red hair whipped around wildly as the wind rustled through the leaves of the large willow tree that sat on her parents property. She walked to her favorite spot, behind the old barn.

Sitting down on the piece of sandstone that framed the old well, she noticed the piece of cement that coved the hole was crumbling. Several small stones that had been embedded int the cement, were sitting on the sandstone. A rather moderately sized hole was left, from the crumbling rock. Most likely, you could fit your hand in the hole , but for Sophia that purpose was not intended. Picking up a stone she twirled it between her thumb and index fingers. She looked at it for a moment, and released it. Then she waited, hoping that satisfying sound of the rock hitting the water would travel back to her ears -and there it was- Kerr.. plunk..

She continued to twirl more rocks, releasing them from between her fingers, pretending they were her dreams. Slowly slipping away from her, but just within her grasp. So close, that perhaps she could reach out and grab them. However, that was not to be

 

Eight Credits

Eight Credits… that is all it will take for me to get my Associate of Science and Associate of Arts.

This comes as a relief to me, as I realize all those loans I took out when I was young and stupid might not be in vain.

Eight Credits closer to my dream of becoming and English Major. It has always been my dream, since I was in first grade. I dream of not only writing, but teaching others about fiction and literature. I would love to be a professor and help others achieve a dream, that I had all but given up. Until I found out how close I am, to taking another step toward that goal.

On the way to the college campus, I prayed to God, asking for his guidance. Then, the thought of my Grandfather pops into my head, and I clearly hear him say. “Chris, just do what you love.”

That was all the conformation and guidance I needed.

 

Meditation from a Bar Stool

As I sat alone at the bar, waiting for the people from my high school graduating class to arrive, I observed others and sipped my drink quietly. Two hours and two drinks later, and some really good food, I was still sitting there alone. The people that RSVP’ed never showed and I realized many several things. The most important lesson this taught me, is I am so very lucky.

I phoned my husband, told him that the whole class reunion thing is a joke. We had a good laugh about it, and I asked if he wanted me to get carry outs for him and our Son. Of course he said, “Yes.” I placed the order, then waited for the carryout. As I was waiting I saw most of the men were my husbands age, watching the ball game with there buddies, trying to hit on and pick up women who were my age, or a bit younger. There was one man I observed, that looked to be 55-60 years of age bragging about some young girl that was barley legal that he took home the night before. I have not idea if this was true or not, but never the less entertaining.

The bar scene that looked so good in my early twenties didn’t really appeal to me any longer. Quickly approaching thirty, I wondered why so many people my age still do this. Then it hit me. Some of them are not as lucky. They don’t have a husband and a wonderful little boy to come home to. Most people put careers and money above people.

It was probably one of the reasons no one showed. To busy because of work. To busy hanging out with their friends at a local bar. Maybe people cannot afford to get dinner or drinks, or simply put… people just don’t give a shit.

The carry out arrived, and I settled up with the bartender, and called my family to let them know I love them, I would be home soon.

Random thoughts from this experience: 

If your forty, and hanging out at a bar every night… trying to “pick up a young chick,” watch out. You might get more than you bargain for.

You can only depend on family, and a few good friends. That is the truth.

RSVP’s… I don’t really think people in my generation understand what that means.

People are so inconsiderate.

People just don’t care.

People don’t give a shit.

I’m glad I am not one of those people.

I can’t believe people actually wanted me to rent a room for this thing. I’m glad I didn’t, because I would have had a huge bill.

I am never putting a class reunion together again.

Thank God I can make time for people and I am never too busy for friends or for family.

All this from the corner of a bar stool…

 

The Magic of a Book

Yesterday -my family and I- we went to the bookstore.

I live for small moments like this… seeing the look of pure joy and satisfaction on my Son’s face, when he discovers the magic found, within the pages of good book.

He takes off running, towards the storefront of the local Barnes and Noble-and then practically runs towards the escalator.

The second story, holds many magical worlds within the pages- just waiting to be discovered.

My Son takes off running, as he reaches the top of the escalator. He sees the brightly colored children’s section…and begins pulling books off the shelves.

He says, “I want to read this one…and this one…I want to read all of them!”

My Husband and I, know how he feels. Between the two of us, we have amassed a small library. We have a room in our house, dedicated to books and music.

Many years later… I find, I still have the same enthusiasm of a small child; whenever I enter a book store, and hold a book in my hand.

I know that one day, my Son will be too old for me to cuddle and read books to him. (That day is soon approaching. He already can read simple words and prefers, to read simple books all by himself.) But, I hope he never forgets the feeling of finding magic and discovering new worlds, all within the pages of a good book.

Perpetual Motion

Cynthia Day had a lot on her mind. Doctors had found a vascular malformation in her brain.

Doctors told her it was nothing to worry about. In the back of her mind she did worry. Her Grandfather had the exact vascular formation in his posterior fossa, and she wondered if this was the cause of his dementia.

She could relate better to her Grandfather than most people. Some days she was so dizzy and confused, she could not drive. Other days, she heard a horrible whooshing noise in her ears. She had migraines that caused visual disturbances. Then often neck pain that made her unable to move her neck, weakness in her arms and legs often followed along with tingling sensations.

Doctors told her it was nothing to worry about, a vestibular disorder. However, in light of the recent circumstances she wasn’t so sure that they gave her the correct diagnosis.

At night it got worse, and she couldn’t sleep. She suffered from insomnia. She wondered if her Grandfathers experiences were somewhat similar.

Her Grandfather was sitting at the edge of the bed, unable to button his shirt. She saw the frustration, and understood what he was going through. It was only last week, that Cynthia was unable to do the same task.

“I’m so sorry you have to see me like this. You shouldn’t have to see me like this, Cynthia.”

“Grandpa, you would be surprised to know, that I know exactly what you feel,” she said as she gave him a hug. “You and me- we are going to get through this together.”

“Don’t you worry about me. You just take care of your family and yourself.”

“There are days I cannot even do that,” Cynthia said.

“You’ll be fine, you always have been,” her Grandfather said, patting her knee.

Cynthia knew that she had to be fine, because there was no other choice.

On the way home Cynthia had to pull over. The world around her looked as if it was in perpetual motion, yet again. She called her husband crying, to come pick her along with their baby.

What the hell is wrong with me? She thought to herself -as she laid her head and hands on the steering wheel-  trying anything, to get the world around her to stop swaying back and forth, like she was on a cruise ship.

A Portrait of Dementia

Cynthia Day held her Grandfather’s hand as he spoke. She knew that he would one day forget her name, or that they even had this conversation.

“I am just going to enjoy this moment as long as I can,” her Grandfather said.

“Me too. Grandpa, I love you.”

“I love you so much too, dear girl. Now you make sure you take good care of your family and that child of yours.”

“I will Grandpa.”

“I’m so glad to be a part of this family,” he said.

Cynthia’s Grandfather was having more bad days, and the few moments of clarity that he had she cherished. The good days would become fewer as his disease advanced. It was something that she and her Grandfather understood.

Cynthia and her family sang one last song together, as she played the guitar. Her Grandfather sang “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star, “along with the family- one of the few songs her Grandfather still remembered. He had a twinkle in his eye, as he watched his Great-Grandson sing along with him. For once everything seemed perfect, as if he was re-living his youth, back in time singing songs with his own children.

That day when Cynthia’s parents took her Grandfather back to the nursing home, he had tears in his eyes. She tried to hold back her tears because she knew she had to be strong for her Grandfather- who at times became scared on the bad days, because he didn’t understand who or where he was.

There would be bad days. But today, was a good day.

So, that day- Cynthia decided to live in the moment, because it was never guaranteed.