Writing Wednesday: Arugula

I think I may change “Writing Wednesday” to “Wednesday Words” or something similar, because I don’t always have something new to tell you about what I’m writing, per se, but my days are filled with quirky word-related mishaps. (Usually, it’s something funny that the boys say, but not always!)

Case in point: the other day, my mom and I were in the car with the boys, and they started talking about various things they’d like to do when they grow up. The topic of visiting family for the holidays came up, and I joked that they can take their kids trick-or-treating just at each others’ houses and get a motherlode of candy; not to mention, I’ll never have to cook Thanksgiving or Christmas dinner, because I can just go to their houses and let them cook for me! 😉

One of them said something to the effect of, “Mom – when we’re all grown up and working jobs, you won’t have to work anymore, because we’ll take care of you.” (I’ll pause while you “Awwww …”)

I said, “That’s nice, because if I don’t have to work, then I’ll just retire in Arugula!”

As soon as it came out, I realized what I’d said, yet no one but my mom understood the humor. She and I were laughing so hard, I was tearing up. The boys were confused, so I had to explain the difference between Arugula and Aruba.

Monday Musings: Birthdays

Today I’m thankful:
twenty-six hours of labor?!
I was so stubborn! 😉

The advantage of having your birthday fall on a weekend is that you get to keep celebrating on Monday! (And, let’s face it — Mondays need a little more joy.) I’m looking forward to lunch with some gals from work and Girls’ Night Out at my favorite wine bar after work.

One person I’d especially like to acknowledge during this season of celebration is my mom. If you don’t know her, you ought to wish you did. If my momnesia serves me correctly, I think my longest labor was 12-14 hours, depending on when you start counting “real” labor. (My water never broke ahead of time, so I considered it labor when the contractions started hitting in regular intervals.) When I’m reminded of my three labor experiences, it makes me even more thankful for my mom’s lonnnng labor with me. I’m stubborn; what can I say? 😉

But, you shouldn’t want to know her just because she endured bringing me into the world. You should want to know her because she’s a generous, loving, amazing woman whom I’m proud to call my friend, as well.  It would take us all day to itemize the myriad ways in which she blesses my life, but suffice it to say that I would be lost without the foundational influence of faith and courage that she instilled in me. I appreciate her so much and wanted to let the world (or at least the few dozen folks who my Dashboard says read this here blog) know that she’s awesome and I love her!

Writing Wednesday: Grades

I got my knickers in a wad the other day when a prof gave me a tentative “C” on an assignment because he “didn’t see” my attached document. I even explained in the memo section of the submission page that it was an Excel document with three tabs. I even turned in the assignment early!

I fumed over it for a few minutes, resent the document as an email attachment instead of via the assignment screen (since I’d already submitted it, I couldn’t resend it that way, anyway). Then, I had an epiphany.

It.

Doesn’t.

Matter.

Seriously — in five, 10, 15 years (or hopefully only 2-1/2) after I earn my doctorate, will anyone but me care? Will they announce my GPA as I walk across the stage at graduation? Will a prospective employer scour my transcript for anything other than to verify that yes, indeed, I did earn a bonafide degree? The answer is NO.

Cs get degrees. The Honors Student in me involuntarily shivers as I read that, but it’s true. Don’t get me wrong — GPA matters a lot in high school. It can make or break college acceptance, scholarships, etc. However, once you get into college (and especially graduate school), who cares? That would be NO ONE. Unless you are applying to med school or law school, I really think that we (read: *I*) stress out much too much about grades.

Not any more. I will still do my best, but I’m not going to bend over backwards, stand on my head and gargle peanut butter just to earn an A. I have a life outside of school, and I would like to keep my sanity to enjoy it.

So, when I start stressing out over papers due, etc., feel free to thump me in the head and remind me of this little sermonette. It’s really going to be ok, Ang. You will survive if you get a C!

Monday Musings: Eggnog

I’m quite late with today’s post, but I trust you will pardon me. I was busy running the boys trick-or-treating, and then we had a special “treat” of hearing a pipe organ concert on campus. They played some spooky music and some silly music, and the boys thought it was amazing that you could play an instrument with your hands and feet. Today is, of course, Halloween. Even though the first day of autumn has already passed, this day really seems to mark the changing of the seasons to me.

Speaking of seasonal things, the boys have been clamoring for eggnog since at least September. Well, my mom finally spotted some at the grocery store this weekend and surprised us with two cartons! I need to make a batch of my low-carb version, or else I shall be doomed by the temptation. That said, here is today’s poem:

Carb overload – yikes!
Mother of holiday drinks:
I like you with rum.

(or bourbon, but that was too many syllables, LOL)

Short story: Chai & Cologne

By request (I’m honored that folks want to read it!), I offer my short story entry, Chai & Cologne …

Kris took a steaming mug of chai tea from the barista with a smile and dropped a handful of change into the glass tip jar on the counter. She turned and scanned the café; it was amazing how the place stayed crowded, even at this wee morning hour. When she agreed to meet Jeff for coffee to discuss a seminar they were collaborating on for work, Kris suggested an hour before they needed to be at the office in hopes that they could have a quiet conversation.

Aspiring writers and students tapped away on laptop keyboards at every table near an outlet. Business professionals in tailored suits huddled over hand-held devices with tunnel vision expressions, oblivious to anyone or anything around them. A bleary-eyed construction worker with a bass voice ordered black coffee and an onion bagel at the drive-thru window. A woman with too-red lipstick gabbed too loudly on her hands-free mobile phone earpiece near the door.

Kris needed to escape the crowd, so she stepped outside to the patio and sat at a bistro style table for two. The sun was just peeking above the horizon, and the cars buzzing by on the highway still had headlights shining. A sudden breeze carried a slight chill, but it was a welcome relief for an August morning in Texas. She turned the chair so that she could see when he approached, careful to keep her knees together and cross her ankles femininely. She tested the hot, spiced tea and took a sip, then chuckled at herself for feeling nervous. Who was she kidding? Jeff was her colleague. They’d known each other going on two years, but he was just her colleague. Nothing more. Why, then, did this morning feel like something more than just a meeting over coffee?

Granted, if Jeff had arrived at the café before her, he would have insisted on buying her drink – but only out of gentlemanly courtesy and not as a date. He was Southern to the core – a gentleman above all else. A date, ha! Her mind was reeling now, and she had to rein it in quickly. How long had it been since Kris had gone on a real date? She grimaced at the thought and sipped the hot tea to disguise the facial expression that threatened to give away her emotions in public.

She felt a bit self-conscious sitting alone with nothing to do, so she pulled a well worn paperback novel from her handbag and thumbed the pages until she found where she had left off the night before. Ah, yes, Edmond had just been arrested; The Count of Monte Cristo never got old, no matter how many times she read it. Kris became quickly re-absorbed in the tale and forgot to keep an eye out for Jeff.

His “Mornin’!” nearly startled her out of her chair. She sloshed her tea, which, thankfully, was about half empty by then. She quickly composed herself, looked up and answered him in kind as he rounded the table with a folio tucked under his arm and large cinnamon latte in hand. He patted her shoulder politely as he passed and took his seat.

The instant after the cinnamon coffee blend wafted to her nose, the smell of his cologne caught her senses off-guard. It was earthy and fresh – and, like many men’s colognes, it had a hint of musk, but it was also somehow different. It was so … inviting. She’d heard of pheromones before but had written them off as psychobabble, for the most part. But this scent – it was intoxicating, disarming. Kris had never smelled anything quite like it. She was overwhelmed by feelings that were completely unexpected and very disconcerting. She brought her mug of chai tea to her lips and deeply inhaled the potent aroma of cardamom and ginger, futilely trying to drown out the completely inappropriate sparks that his cologne triggered inside of her.

Utterly ignorant of his effect on her, Jeff casually opened his folio took out a pen. “Sorry I’m late. So, did you have a chance to check out at that PowerPoint I sent you yesterday afternoon? What did you think of the three slides I added after Section Two?”

Kris blinked and tried to collect her thoughts. She set the mug on the table and ran her other hand absentmindedly through her hair. “Yes, I took at look at it last night. The slides look fine. I’m going to make one more pass through and be sure there aren’t any typos, check the formatting for consistency and whatnot.”

Jeff reached across the table and patted her arm with a friendly wink. “Madam Grammarian! You’re a lifesaver, Kris. I don’t know how we could’ve pulled this off if it weren’t for your input. I’ll be so glad when Thursday has come and gone.”

Kris tried to ignore the electric shiver that coursed through her veins at his touch. “Happy to do it,” she said with a forced smile.

“You know, Kris,” Jeff said, “We’ve had enough early morning planning meetings over coffee for this darn seminar; I think we should celebrate when it’s over and go do something after-hours. What do you say? There’s a new wine bar in the ‘burbs that I’ve been wanting to try, but it’s not exactly the kind of place a guy would normally go to alone. Know what I mean? Do you want to go?”

Kris tried not to choke on her tea in mid-swallow. “Vineyard & Blues?” she asked, this time with a genuine smile across her face. “Sure, I’d love to go.” Her brain felt like mush at the sudden change in plans, but she tried to stay level-headed. This sounded very much like a date.

Jeff raised his latte and tapped the rim of her cup with a spontaneous toast: “To us, and to a great seminar!”

Kris laughed and said, “Cheers!” before downing the last few swigs of her tea. To us, indeed.

Writing Wednesday: Taking a chance

I was at a loss about what to post for Writing Wednesday this week, since I haven’t had much time to do anything except work on my term paper. Then, I received some exciting news: I came in 3rd place in a short story contest that I entered back in the summer!

The contest was hosted by Bo’s Cafe Life, which is one of my favorite web comics. Wayne Pollard‘s humor really hits home, even if you aren’t a writer. The main character, Bo and his friends are full of witty quips as they chat over coffee every day. The winner of the contest will have their submission published in The Storyteller Magazine.

I was a little hesitant to enter (that darn fear factor creeping up again) but decided to take the leap, anyway. I’m so glad I did! Even though I didn’t win the contest, I feel validated for even trying.

The stories had to relate to Bo’s Cafe Life, and I already had a romance/chick lit novel work-in-progress that just so happened to involve a coffee shop, so I tweaked the tale and made it into a short story.

Once I get these term papers out of the way, I feel encouraged to write some more and turn my work-in-progress into a real novel!

 

Monday Musings: Happily ever after

Happy! Evermore —
This is my wish for you two:
Love, joy … all your days!

Thank y’all for praying for me this weekend as I cried away my mascara at my sister-in-love’s wedding. (I believe the grammatically correct possessive is sister’s-in-love, but that looked funny, so I made an executive decision to alter it.) The wedding was beautiful. I loved the way the sun shone through the high window above the altar and how the room would dim like sunset as the clouds drifted by. I teared up when we stood for the bride to enter the room, but the tears really started flowing during the prayer, continued off and on, and I was on my second tissue when we got to the “till death do we part” line.

Weddings are always emotional, and this one was even more so because of the obvious grief factor. Weddings are also a reality check for the married folks in the room–a time to assess where you are in relation to the vows that you spoke however many years ago. Sometimes that is cause for happy tears, but sometimes it is cause for a different sort of grief–the kind that gnaws at your heartstrings and leaves you wondering where you went wrong.

Here’s to a couple who has laid their marital foundation on the Rock, and I pray that they have years and years and many more years to celebrate life together.

Writing Wednesday: Anarchism

As part of our discussion on political ideologies, we’ve been talking about anarchism in one of my classes. In a nutshell, anarchy is reactionary; it opposes the influence of capitalism and power of government. It considers institutional government a hindrance to human progress.

The Industrial Revolution gave rise to the ideology of anarchism, as human labor became replaced by assembly lines; individual skills were overshadowed by machines, and a feeling of hopelessness led some to abhor the authority of governmental institutions.

At the core of anarchism is the belief that people — when left to their own devices without the influence of government — will naturally seek a harmonious society of benefit to all. (Call it human nature, sin, or whatever floats your boat, but I don’t think that humankind is inherently peaceable; I believe that we veer toward entropy and need some semblance of law-enforcing structure to keep us from “killing in the name” of a struggle for power.)

Ironically, anarchism is the purest form of “democracy” (rule of the people), though it is often associated with disorder and chaos stemming from the absence of government. Private property is seen as a tool of oppression that inhibits human liberty. I find it doubly ironic that bands like Rage Against the Machine, which has an image of The Anarchist Cookbook and the symbolic fist in the air on its website, must rely on capitalism to promote their music, fill the arenas and buy their merchandise. If capitalism is so evil, then why bother trying to sell anything? (For the record, I happen to like much of RATM’s music, particularly the less-rappy songs.)

Another thing I find interesting is that in Europe, the term libertarian is associated with socialism; whereas, here in the U.S. it refers to an ultra-conservative perspective. I wonder how many of the more extreme outliers in the Tea Party would appreciate knowing that their no-taxes-whatsoever stance mirrors the tenets of anarchism?

Monday Musings: Parents & Guardians

Instead of sharing a poem today, I wanted to talk about word choice. I realize that schools, doctors’ offices and every other place that requires parental signature are just trying to be politically correct, but the phrase “Parents & Guardians” really grates on my nerves.

For [hopefully] obvious reasons, I have not gone into many of the legalities concerning my nephew-sons, but I’d like to make one thing clear: I am their parent. My brother was a terrific single father who loved them to no end, but when he died and the judge signed the guardianship Orders, I went from being Aunt to Mom. I realize it’s just a title – a nickname, if you will – but I am more than a mere guardian. I’m the sole custodial parent in the eyes of the court.

The word guardian makes me think of a babysitter or an orphanage. Don’t get me wrong — there are some orphanages that aim to create a very family-like atmosphere, and I think that’s terrific. Yet, even a foster parent arrangement, in my mind, is more than just someone who watches over/guards the children. If a child lives in your home day in and day out and has been incorporated into your family structure, then how is that not parenting?

Again, I realize people don’t mean any offense when they use the word guardian, but I wish they would just say parent. Distinguishing between the two only confuses the children and risks making them feel excluded.

Writing Wednesday: More dissertation thoughts

The difference between my degree program (DPA – Doctor of Public Administration) and a Ph.D. (Doctor of Philosophy in Political Science) is that the DPA is practitioner-oriented. That’s a fancy way of saying that what I’m learning is supposed to be applicable in real life. It’s not just about theory and history; it’s about putting what we’re learning into practice.

Many people who earn a DPA work in the public sector (ie, government jobs) or in a private sector role that relates to the public sector (ie, nonprofit organizations, thinktanks, higher education administration, policy analysis, etc.). Some go into academia as faculty members, although the Ph.D. is still preferred over the DPA in some circles. (Don’t get me started on the cliques in academia!) The policy analysis function is something that I’ve been thinking about a lot lately, particularly as it relates to my dissertation topic.

I’m waiting for feedback from my adviser, because this is new territory for me, and I want to be sure that I trek forward in the right direction. I’m wondering if I can write my dissertation as a policy recommendation to the Joint Economic Committee. Instead of just exploring the potential ramifications of virtual economies (taxation, in particular), I’m thinking of writing it as a plan of action–something they might actually use in developing a formal position on the topic.