tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24156765997150704782024-02-19T05:03:05.113-05:00Boredom and BedlamMy life in lists.Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06892356009574732102noreply@blogger.comBlogger12125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2415676599715070478.post-31007348699632607832010-09-01T16:48:00.000-04:002010-09-01T16:48:49.786-04:00Gossip...Last week I was supposed to give up gossiping. Well, I should be giving up gossiping all together but it was on the agenda for the week during my <a href="http://daretoliveyou.com/mean-girl-cleanse/">40 day Inner Mean Girl Cleanse</a>. Here’s what I think about giving up gossip. <br />
<br />
It’s difficult. <br />
<br />
Gossip isn’t just talking negatively about people it’s talking about people in general; secretly asking your friends about other friends, watching celebrity lives fall apart, listening to others talk about people, etc. I found it most difficult because I am a talker and a sharer. I like to keep my friends updated on my life and the things happening in it. Let’s face it I’m a gossip. <br />
<br />
There were moments in the week where I thought to myself, “This is gossip. How do I get out of it?” It was just very hard to avoid. I tried not listening and not contributing but I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to rid myself completely of gossip in my life. I’m still working on it though. <br />
<br />
I don’t think it is just a female thing either. There have been many times when male coworkers, friends, or family have confided in me their stories of others. It was strange to realize how often that happens and it will definitely take more than a week for me to work on the ‘no gossip’ idea but I will try to break the habit!<br />
<br />
This week we are dealing with comparison. Not comparing myself to others seems as if it’ll be easier but who knows what the week will bring! <br />
<br />
His Holiness the Dalai Lama wrote on his <a href="https://twitter.com/DalaiLama">Twitter</a> sometime last week: “Noticing a single shortcoming in ourselves is far more useful than seeing a thousand in someone else. When it is our own: we can correct it. “ <br />
<br />
Perfect.Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06892356009574732102noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2415676599715070478.post-23973513346374238832010-08-20T10:10:00.002-04:002010-08-20T10:21:01.666-04:00New BeginningsThe summer is coming to a close so much faster than I ever imagined it would! Taking two summer courses made the summer go by so much faster than it would normally. I did have some nice weekend and week long getaways so the summer wasn't a total bust. I'd say completing 6 credits in 6 weeks is amazing! <br /><br />Work is starting again and that means grad school is also starting again. I'm looking at it in a positive way: 5 classes and 9 months to complete them. It will be a breeze. I'm just really anxious. <br /><br />I really want to start blogging for real. I have said this multiple times but I really, really mean it this time. I think it will be great for my soul. Being able to just write what is in my mind will save my friends and family from having to listen to my thoughts constantly! <br /><br />I will try to be better in the next week, it is the last week of my summer so I'll have the time. Once school starts I am going to commit myself to blogging once a week. If I blog more than once a week, wonderful, but once will be my minimum. I'm promising myself. <br /><br />Lots of things are coming up: <a href="http://daretoliveyou.com/mean-girl-cleanse/">Inner Mean Girl Cleanse</a>, work, school, weddings, holidays, there will be a lot to write about!Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06892356009574732102noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2415676599715070478.post-70078339584672287422010-06-29T11:24:00.002-04:002010-06-29T11:31:52.199-04:00Hooray for Summer Vacation!The school year finally ended and that's great because I have some awesome things to look forward to this summer. Here's a list:
<br />--Finishing my summer class thus completing HALF of my MEd!
<br />--Taking a 6-day intensive class that involves field trips and literary tours of Boston and the surrounding areas (dorky I know but I'm really excited!)
<br />--Myrtle Beach for 5 days
<br />--Cousin's night
<br />--At least one trip to see my best friend in PA
<br />
<br />In the past few months I have gone to my brother's finance's bridal shower and my cousin's baby shower. Of course I become over emotional because I think of how much fun my mom would have if she was still around to be a part of all these happy memories. I thought it would be an appropriate time to post my third and final story from the past semester!
<br />
<br /> <meta name="Title" content=""> <meta name="Keywords" content=""> <meta equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"> <meta name="ProgId" content="Word.Document"> <meta name="Generator" content="Microsoft Word 2008"> <meta name="Originator" content="Microsoft Word 2008"> <link rel="File-List" href="file://localhost/Users/sarahguevin/Library/Caches/TemporaryItems/msoclip/0clip_filelist.xml"> <!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:officedocumentsettings> <o:allowpng/> </o:OfficeDocumentSettings> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:trackmoves>false</w:TrackMoves> <w:trackformatting/> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:drawinggridhorizontalspacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing> <w:drawinggridverticalspacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing> <w:displayhorizontaldrawinggridevery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery> <w:displayverticaldrawinggridevery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:dontgrowautofit/> <w:dontautofitconstrainedtables/> <w:dontvertalignintxbx/> </w:Compatibility> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="276"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--> <style> <!-- /* Font Definitions */ @font-face {font-family:Cambria; panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:auto; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:3 0 0 0 1 0;} /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-parent:""; margin:0in; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Cambria; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;} @page Section1 {size:8.5in 11.0in; margin:1.0in 1.0in 1.0in 1.0in; mso-header-margin:.5in; mso-footer-margin:.5in; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} --> </style> <!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast; mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;} </style> <![endif]--> <!--StartFragment--><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"><b style=""><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">Obsession<o:p></o:p></span></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style=""> </span>It always happens at the most inopportune times: the rushing emotional overload all because of one sensory memory. Some woman, unbeknownst to her, will walk by me wearing the perfume my mother wore for the 17 years that I knew her. The mixture of musk, vanilla, and sandalwood warms me without my realizing. The warmth is only temporary. Once I realize that the smell the comforted me for so many years is not my mother I am sadly reminded of the day my mother passed away. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style=""> </span>Wednesdays had a routine when I was a senior in high school. Get up, go to school, pretend to be interested in being a senior in high school, buy a coffee, teach and take a dance class, go home, eat dinner, take a shower, and go to bed. There wasn’t much that changed from week to week. The second week of 2003 was not going to follow the normal routine. It was clear when my father came and told me that my mother’s doctors who had taken care of her for six long years told him that there was not much more they could do. The six-year battle with ovarian cancer was coming to a close. It was a matter of time and we were to just sit around and wait. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style=""> </span>Monday of that second week in 2003 a hospice employee came to the house to begin the planning for in home care. My mother, who had lost so much weight she looked like a skeleton with skin, did not like having the man from hospice in the house. Maybe it was the sound of his voice, maybe it was because she knew that she was dying; whatever it was she was not happy. Later that evening she slipped into a comatose state. She was sleeping but in some small way alert. I knew the end was coming and at the risk of sounding terrible I wanted it to come soon. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style=""> </span>Tuesday came and went. Nothing changed. In fact my memory of this day is so foggy I am sure that nothing eventful happened. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style=""> </span>Finally, Wednesday, January 8, 2003. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style=""> </span>I woke up, ate breakfast (two Oreos and a sup of tea) with my mother who was still comatose, and went off to school. During the day I felt as if everything was wrong. There was a foreboding that I could not shake no matter what I tried. I followed my typical Wednesday routine until I arrived at my dance studio. I pulled my instructor aside and told her that I did not think my mother was going to make it through the night. We cried and then I did the one thing that brought me joy, I danced. For that hour I felt normal things were right in the world. When my aunt picked me up after class ended I knew there was something seriously wrong. My mother’s family had all gathered in the house and was eating pizza. I went into my mother’s bedroom, where my father had moved her so she could be more comfortable; to tell her I was home. She was worse than when I left for school that morning. I knew what was coming. I went to muscle down a slice of pizza and talked with my aunts and cousins. All conversations are a blur except the last conversation I had with my mother. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style=""> </span>I asked one of my cousins to leave the room while I spoke with my mother. I told her that I loved her and I thanked her for everything she had done for me and for all she had taught me. My older brother came into the room and we held her hands and cried. Her breathing was so labored it looked painful. My brother and I looked at each other and there was a mutual understanding. She had to go. While holding her hand my brother told her that it was time to let go. He reassured her that with so many people in the family who loved us that he and I would be taken care of. We called the family into the bedroom and we all stood around my mother as she took her last breath. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style=""> </span>The next few hours are rushed in my memory. I hysterically cried to as many people as would listen. A hospice nurse came and pronounced her dead (I do remember screaming at this poor woman that what she was doing was ridiculous). The funeral home came and zipped her body into a bag and took her way. The last sound I heard was the gurney leaving the house, the last vision was the black bag that held my mother, and the last smell was my mother’s perfume. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style=""> </span>It is quite possible that the scent of her perfume was permeated in my home and for some reason I could smell it at that moment. It could be that someone had sprayed perfume on her before she was taken away (my mother would never had left the house without perfume) or it could be that my teenage senses wanted to smell the perfume and feel comforted. Whatever the reason whenever I smell the perfume my mother wore I am both comforted and saddened. If only the women wearing my mother’s perfume that I pass by knew how much meaning their perfume holds.<span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <!--EndFragment-->
<br />Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06892356009574732102noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2415676599715070478.post-34262925346346726752010-06-12T12:09:00.002-04:002010-06-12T12:13:48.605-04:00Another StoryI have been avoiding my blog lately. Why? Who knows. It could be because I haven't been home really in a couple of weeks. I have lots to update: Seattle, NYC, end of the year activities at work, upcoming summer events. But for now I'll post yet another story I wrote for my class this past spring. See if you can figure out what I'm talking about before the end! Enjoy.
<br />
<br /> <meta name="Title" content=""> <meta name="Keywords" content=""> <meta equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"> <meta name="ProgId" content="Word.Document"> <meta name="Generator" content="Microsoft Word 2008"> <meta name="Originator" content="Microsoft Word 2008"> <link rel="File-List" href="file://localhost/Users/sarahguevin/Library/Caches/TemporaryItems/msoclip/0/clip_filelist.xml"> <!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:officedocumentsettings> <o:allowpng/> </o:OfficeDocumentSettings> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:trackmoves>false</w:TrackMoves> <w:trackformatting/> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:drawinggridhorizontalspacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing> <w:drawinggridverticalspacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing> <w:displayhorizontaldrawinggridevery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery> <w:displayverticaldrawinggridevery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:dontgrowautofit/> <w:dontautofitconstrainedtables/> <w:dontvertalignintxbx/> </w:Compatibility> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="276"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--> <style> <!-- /* Font Definitions */ @font-face {font-family:Cambria; panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:auto; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:3 0 0 0 1 0;} /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-parent:""; margin:0in; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Cambria; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;} @page Section1 {size:8.5in 11.0in; margin:1.0in 1.0in 1.0in 1.0in; mso-header-margin:.5in; mso-footer-margin:.5in; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} --> </style> <!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast; mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;} </style> <![endif]--> <!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"><b style="">Fear. Pain. Relief. Beauty.<o:p></o:p></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><b style=""><span style=""> </span></b>I walked nervously through the door, I had done this before but the trepidation was still present. I was going at this experience alone. The first time I had someone with me, holding my hand telling me, “everything will be all right”; everything was all right, so why was I do afraid? </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>A man, who I later realized I had spoken to on the phone, approached me “What are you here for?” He wasn’t much taller than me but he was broad shouldered and wore a tight, long-sleeved, black t-shirt. He was apparently trying to look tougher than he was walking toward me with his arms out as if he were holding a gallon of water in each hand. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>“Um.” I managed as I handed him a piece of paper. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>“Give me a minute. Let me see what I can do about fixing this for you.” he said as he walked away behind a desk that I could barely see over. Fix what I thought. Everything was in order, but he was the professional so who am I to judge. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>The waiting room was too sterile. The artwork on the walls too manic I wanted to leave. I paced the room. Looking from the floor to the walls to the top of the man’s behind to too tall desk. What is taking so long? I gave him exactly what I needed. I longed for someone to be with me. Do I call a friend to meet me or just suffer through this alone? I felt weak but knew I was stronger than my gut was telling me at the moment. I’d have to wait. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">No one walked in or out of the front door. Music played but so softly that I couldn’t decipher what was being played and then I heard over the silence, “Follow me.” </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>I walked behind the man in the tight black t-shirt into a small room with a chair that looked incredibly uncomfortable. There was a mirror on the wall with photos of a family and thank you cards taped around the perimeter. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>“This is Adam. He’ll be taking care of you.” said the man with the clear Napoleon complex handing Adam another piece of paper, not the one I had brought with me. Although I did see that it contained the same information.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>“Is this your first time?” Adam asked.<span style=""> </span>He was a sweet man. The pictures on the mirror were of his family; a wife and two little girls. He was beaming when he told me how long he was married and when his daughters were born. I was less stressed at that point. Adam was such a laid back man it was impossible to be nervous. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>“I’ve done this once before so I’m no pro.” I responded. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>“Ah. It’s always better the second time around. And it only gets better the more times you return.” Adam assured me as I removed my long-sleeved hooded sweatshirt and situated myself in the chair that was more comfortable than it originally portrayed itself to be. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>After some conversation about how the procedure would go and organizing the necessary tools Adam looked at me with excitement in his eyes, “You ready?” he said. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>“As I’ll ever be.” I replied trying hard to mask my feelings. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>“OK. I’ll need you to face the wall. Don’t worry. I’ll talk you through everything I am doing so you aren’t just sitting there wondering what is going on the whole time. It’ll only hurt for a second. Ha.<span style=""> </span>I can’t tell you how many times a week I say that!” he laughed. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>Not being able to see what was happening was nerve wracking at first. The initial sharp pain of the needle piercing my skin was almost unbearable. I must have flinched or tensed up because Adam started asking me questions to distract me from the sound and pain. We talked for the entire hour. I told him I was a student and I was hoping to become an English teacher. He said he had more clients that were teachers than most people would believe. After fifteen minutes or so the initial pain subsided and I relaxed. The low hum of the machine was fairly relaxing and the casual, coolness of Adam made everything seem perfect. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>When the hour was over Adam asked, “How was it?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>“Not as bad as I expected. But I told you I’ve done this before so I sorta knew what to expect”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>“Well, take a look!” Adam ordered handing me a small mirror. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>I turned by back to the mirrored wall and used the hand mirror to reveal the beautiful tattoo of my mother’s handwriting and flowers colored with our favorite colors: yellow and purple. I was more than pleased with the work. It was well worth the stress and the pain. I paid and thanked Adam for his excellent work and for keeping me at ease. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>“Just tell your friends to come here if they ever need work done. And come back yourself! I’m telling you it gets better every time”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; line-height: 150%;">“We’ll see.” I said as I walked out of the tattoo parlor. The sun had set by the time I left and the cool late spring breeze stung my skin. It didn’t matter. I was pleased with my new addition. My mother would have loved the tattoo. </p> <!--EndFragment-->
<br />Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06892356009574732102noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2415676599715070478.post-68193325475401272212010-04-25T16:51:00.004-04:002010-04-25T17:15:13.135-04:00VacationOne of the better things about being a teacher is the vacation time. Although if I want to travel during my vacation time the prices skyrocket because it's school vacation. But that's another story for another day.<br />I've been on vacation for the past week, sadly I return to work tomorrow. It has been fantastic. I've gotten most of my final projects for grad school finished and spent some much needed quality time with my girlfriends and Dunkan. I went to see Emerson's production of Into the Woods last night. The performance was at the Cutler Majestic Theater, which I had never gone to for a show. The theater is beautiful. Very ornate and intimate. I would definitely take in another show there.<br />As for today I'm relaxing and enjoying the last few hours of vacation. Probably watch a movie and head to bed early.<br />Next week starts the final months of school for the year. It's continually surprising how quickly the year goes. This semester ends on May 10 and I start an online class June 1 and then I'll take a one week intensive course in July. One more year and I'll have my masters. Hopefully the time will fly!<br /><br />Hitting a quarter century next week too...do I start loosing bone density now? Am I going to start to shrink? Maybe I should look into AARP. =P<br /><br />Enjoy the rest of the weekend everyone. <span style="text-decoration: underline;"></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMlJVUqUlmZ_nz4I2ENS-OdgtXWyfbdR6aSwpersmwOZJmvS0-B8TMQfMDkyz1r2VoJzs_duJzcLVLwXDpXU7lR9TVfOKR4GwEcWG2OYCiTU2GwqJfzef5q8OZNzEALWeUWO8tesh0P1w/s1600/Photo+42.jpg"><br /></a>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06892356009574732102noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2415676599715070478.post-60415125424521386762010-04-21T20:04:00.004-04:002010-04-21T20:15:54.698-04:00Back to it!I'm going to start blogging again and this time it's for real.
<br />I think that when I started this I thought I was going to have profound things to say and I didn't want it to become a public diary. Now that I've neglected this for so long I realized that the "profound" things I have to say are often things that happen in my everyday life. So I'm hopping off my high horse and just writing. I'll update on life, work, things I've been doing, and just general happenings. I think that writing about everyday events will make it easier for me to update.
<br />
<br />I'm going to cheat to start. I've been taking this class on the teaching of writing and as part of the course requirements I've had to write 3 personal narratives. I'm most proud of my last narrative (which I will post last) but the other two aren't terrible. So I'm going to start by sharing my narratives with my internet friends. This first one is about my grandmother. I have to admit there is some creative writing going on but the memory is still the same. I miss the days when goldfish crackers and S cookies were shared in her all too warm apartment. I hope you enjoy.
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<br /> <meta name="Title" content=""> <meta name="Keywords" content=""> <meta equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"> <meta name="ProgId" content="Word.Document"> <meta name="Generator" content="Microsoft Word 2008"> <meta name="Originator" content="Microsoft Word 2008"> <link rel="File-List" href="file://localhost/Users/sarahguevin/Library/Caches/TemporaryItems/msoclip/0/clip_filelist.xml"> <!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:officedocumentsettings> <o:allowpng/> </o:OfficeDocumentSettings> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:trackmoves>false</w:TrackMoves> <w:trackformatting/> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:drawinggridhorizontalspacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing> <w:drawinggridverticalspacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing> <w:displayhorizontaldrawinggridevery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery> <w:displayverticaldrawinggridevery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:dontgrowautofit/> <w:dontautofitconstrainedtables/> <w:dontvertalignintxbx/> </w:Compatibility> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="276"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--> <style> <!-- /* Font Definitions */ @font-face {font-family:Cambria; panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:auto; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:3 0 0 0 1 0;} /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-parent:""; margin:0in; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Cambria; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;} @page Section1 {size:8.5in 11.0in; margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in; mso-header-margin:.5in; mso-footer-margin:.5in; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} --> </style> <!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast; mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;} </style> <![endif]--> <!--StartFragment--><b style="">Routine<o:p></o:p></b> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; line-height: 150%;" align="center"><b style=""><o:p> </o:p></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>The conversations were always the same. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>“Hi Mimi! We’re in the area can we stop in and say hello?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>“Oh! Of course!” she’d say “Let me just freshen up.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>We would call my grandmother before we visited because she would never want “company” to see her in her housecoat. She had to be wearing slacks and a blouse or a sweater. It was a rare moment to see my grandmother in less than her best. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>The routine was always the same. We would walk into the apartment complex and wave to the security camera that had a live feed to a small television in my grandparent’s apartment. We’d ring the bell and they would buzz us into the building.<span style=""> </span>The elevator was slow and we’d know exactly what would happen once we reached the fourth floor. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>My grandparent’s apartment was located directly in front of the elevators. When the doors opened we’d see my grandmother poking her head out of the door. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>“Hi! I didn’t know you were heading over.” Mimi would say, pretending she didn’t remember our phone call. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>“Hi, Mim. How are you?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>“Oh, you know. Same as always, come sit down.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>The apartment was miraculously set up to fit a lifetime of knick-knacks and furniture into an extremely small space. My grandfather had engineered a plan to place all of their possessions just so into the apartment. We’d sit on a couch that was older than I was at the time and we’d watch CNN or some other 24-hour news channel while catching up on life’s happenings. Inevitably my grandmother would get off of her pink recliner and say, “Can I get you something?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">Then the playful argument would ensue. “No, Mim. We can get something if we want. Really. It’s ok.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>“Oh ok.” she’d respond while she walked toward the kitchen completely disregarding what we had said. “I’ll just bring in a little something in case you change your mind.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>While Mimi tinkered in the kitchen we would open a tray table and place it in the middle of the small living room. In Mimi would walk with glasses of ginger ale with ice, a small bowl of cheddar cheese goldfish crackers, and a plate of what she called S cookies. Snacking on the goodies brought from the kitchen the conversation would continue. Topics would include work, what was going on in the news for the week, and general happenings in the apartment complex. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>Once the ginger ale was finished and the bowl of goldfish crackers empty Mimi would get up and put the teapot to boil. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>“Mimi, I’ll get the tea.” I’d say to her, every time. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>“A little milk. One <i style="">level </i>teaspoon of sugar.” we’d say simultaneously. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>We’d drink tea and eat S cookies in silence. Not for any reason other than to enjoy each other’s company. Eventually, time would get the best of all of us and we’d have to go. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>“I’ll clean up” someone would say.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>“No. You kids head out. We’ll take care of it.” Mimi would say to everyone. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style=""> </span>The goodbyes would be said in the kitchen, right next to the small circle table and right in front of the door that had a seasonal wreath hung on it at all times. Someone would go in the hall and push the elevator button. It would take long enough to say goodbye again and to hug one more time. Once the elevator arrived we’d pile in. The last image would be of my grandmother waving from the door way as the elevator doors closed. </p> <!--EndFragment-->
<br />Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06892356009574732102noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2415676599715070478.post-89746220986063397822010-02-07T16:07:00.000-05:002010-02-07T16:08:04.717-05:00I swear...I'll start blogging again soon...I promise.Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06892356009574732102noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2415676599715070478.post-81232037257119775252009-11-26T10:16:00.003-05:002009-11-26T10:56:56.628-05:00ThanksgivingI know that there are many people who will be listing all of the things they are thankful for this Thanksgiving. Why don't we express our thanks during the rest of the year? It's not that we don't appreciate all of the same things in June as we do in November. Maybe people just need an excuse to be sappy. I usually don't, but today I'm going to write what I am thankful for, today and year round. (I had my students do a lesson like this and I always say I would never ask them to do something I wouldn't do myself. Maybe I'll share this with them!)<br /><br />There is no particular order for my thanks. I don't want to list and have some things look as if they mean more to me than others. In fact, everything means something to me in it's own way. So here goes:<br /><br />Things I'm thankful for:<br /><br />Dunkan. Yes, I'm thankful for my pet. He has unconditional love for me and will always brighten my day. Having him around has helped combat the loneliness I sometimes feel living on my own.<br /><br />The past 6 months (give or take). I haven't really known the real Sarah until I experienced the biggest heartbreak of my life. Although I would never dismiss the last 3 years, I grew as a person and I learned to love, I appreciate the time to discover who I am. It's hard for me to admit that I have defined myself by the relationship I was in since I was in high school. It's a funny thing to be a 20-something college grad who hasn't discovered anything about herself. (Or maybe that's normal, I don't know) I am thoroughly enjoying being myself, enjoying time with my friends and family, and being able to do things for me and not for "us". It's an amazing feeling. I know that being confident in myself will only make whatever relationship I find myself in in the future will benefit from my being OK with me.<br /><br />My friends, old and new. I love each and everyone of you. I wish I could list all of the people that mean something to me but I won't because I'm afraid I would forget someone. You know who you are. If it wasn't for my friends I wouldn't be grateful for the past 6 months! (and my whole life!) There were so many people who supported me, listened to me cry, made me laugh, and understood. I only hope that I too have done something to make all of my friends happy.<br /><br />Being a graduate student. As tired as I am and as stressed as I may become, I am fortunate enough to be able to go to graduate school (however much debt I may land myself in) and meet new people and learn new things. I value education more than most things in life and being able to expand my knowledge makes me one happy girl. I know that the next year and a half of my life will no be easy trying to complete this degree but I also know that I will be filled with pride when I walk across the stage to receive my master's.<br /><br />My students. I love each and every one of them, all 300 (or so) that I have taught in the 3 years I've been working and even the ones I taught during my student teaching year. These children show me more about myself and the world than I could have every imagined. No matter how much they may get under my skin (I'm sure I get under their skin,too!), I appreciate that they exist in my world. I think about them often. I wish I could take them home sometimes! This year I stand at the door every afternoon and "fist bump" my students as they leave and I make sure to say, "goodbye, have a great day/afternoon/weekend/holiday". Some of my angels (or angel babies as I tend to call them) even created handshakes with me. I love this. It fills me with joy to have inside jokes with my students. I will remember (most of) them for my whole life. I hope one or two of them will remember me. On Wednesday I stood in my door and half of my students gave me a hug as they walked out. If only they knew how much that much meant to me.<br /><br />My family. I have the most supportive family in the world. Every one of my family members brings something special into my life. I'm glad to have them around when I need them. I am fortunate to have many aunts, uncles, cousins and a grandfather who will listen to me when I need them or who will just have a good time going out and spending some quality time together. I have an amazing extended family from my stepmother who have accepted my family as one of their own. My brother and his fiance and her family love me and never fail to show it. I love being able to be friends with my brother now that we are adults. He really is a wonderful man and I can only hope to find someone who will (1) meet his approval and (2) treat me the way he treats his fiance. My stepsister and stepmother who are shining lights in my life. I know that they will love me no matter what decisions I make but I also know that they will kick my ass into gear when necessary. If I could have picked my second family I couldn't have picked anyone better than these women. My father I saved for last (but I don't want to say I'm most thankful for him even though it may be true!) Every girl should be so lucky to have a father that listens to every mundane thing his daughter has to say. I live for 3pm phone calls with him and weekly dinners. I am so grateful to have him around after a traumatic period in our lives. My father is by far the best friend I ever had and I'm proud to admit that fact.<br /><br />The traumatic experiences I've had in my life. Not many would admit to be thankful for having two parents who battled cancer and unfortunately losing a mother. I am more than thankful for these experiences because they pushed me to a limit I never wanted to reach. I am a better person for knowing and understanding life and death in such an intimate way. As sad as I may be because of these experiences they make me who I am and I don't think that's a bad thing!<br /><br />I'm sure I'm thankful for more than these listed here but as I type listening to the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade and having my eyes fill with tears I can't think of any more. I hope that each person I know finds a way to thank everyone in their life, today and everyday.<br /><br />Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06892356009574732102noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2415676599715070478.post-30816809534366907322009-10-23T16:00:00.003-04:002009-10-23T16:25:41.633-04:00Book ReviewIt's been a long time since I last blogged and I apologize (mostly to myself for neglecting writing). In order to get back in the swing I'm going to write about a book that I finished reading a few days ago.<br /><br />Have you ever read something that you really want to become a movie? Christopher Moore's <em>A Dirty Job</em> is one of those books. Charlie Asher is the typical "beta male", not too sure of himself but dependable, living in San Francisco. He watches his wife Rachel die shortly after she gives birth to their daughter Sophie. He sees someone in the room at the moment of Rachel's death that no one else can see. Shortly after Rachel's death Charlie finds out he is a death merchant. Not the grim reaper but someone who helps souls pass onto their next life. After Charlie finds out he's a "death merchant" strange things start happening around San Francisco. He finds the strange man he saw at Rachel's passing his name is Minty Fresh and he is by far my favorite character. Minty Fresh is a unreasonably tall, black man who is always wearing a light green silk suit. He is also a death merchant, although Fresh and Charlie aren't supposed to know each other they become what one can only describe as friends. The strange happenings around SF are directly related to the return of Death (with a capital D) and it is up to Charlie to fix the problems. Being a beta male Charlie bumbles around SF trying to save the city from Death.<br />Moore's humor is what makes this story so enjoyable. He writes the way most people think and his characters, however annoying and needy they are, are likeable. This is the second book by Moore that I have read (Fool which is King Lear told from the Fool's POV was my first) and I plan of reading more!Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06892356009574732102noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2415676599715070478.post-84672246227011653012009-08-27T20:57:00.002-04:002009-08-27T21:56:39.330-04:00Thoughts on my job....I can't even begin to explain how annoyed I am when people tell me how "lucky" I am to be a teacher. Don't get me wrong I LOVE my job. I wouldn't do it if I didn't. But for people to be jealous of teaching as a career because of my vacation time is something that really bothers me.<br /><br />Teaching is just like any other job. I have paper work to fill out, a boss to kowtow to, and a task that needs to be completed. It's just that my job happens between September and June and not all year long. Yes, I get a week off around the holidays; yes I get another week in February and one in April; yes I have to summer off. I understand that not everyone gets this much time off and I'm not saying I'd trade it in but it isn't something to covet.<br /><br />Most jobs are 40 hours a week and done. I work 40 hours and then some. I come home and plan lessons, grade papers, and stress over my students. My job is my life. I chose this as my career and therefore chose this as my life. If that isn't something that another wants to do so be it. I don't want to work in an office building or in a cube.<br /><br />The phrase "those who can do; those who can't teach". How about those who teach can do everything. Yes I teach. I teach middle school students the difference between a noun and a pronoun and I explain away gerunds and infinitives as if life will test them on these things someday. My students understand the difference between a colon and a semicolon and when to use them. My students also understand that in life we don't always follow the rules of grammar and until the grammar police start existing that it's OK. I teach my students to pick apart single lines of poetry then I make them write their own. I have my students read Shakespeare before it's required in my district. I make them get out of their chairs and act. I make them stand and stretch and I make them sit in silence while that one kid is taking <span style="font-style: italic;">forever</span> to finish his test. In terms of things a teacher has to do, again, it's everything. I spend my day being an English teacher, a mom, a sister, a friend, an enemy, a nurse, a therapist, an entertainer, and a disciplinarian. How many people have had to practice a lockdown procedure, in case of nutcases showing up in the building, only to have one scared kid look at you, fully knowing it's practice, and say, "what happens when this is real?"? You can see the hurt and fear in their eyes and all you can say in return is, "We are prepared for the worst but I can assure you it will never happen." How many of you would risk your life for a coworker? I would put myself in the line of fire if it meant protecting my students. It's something I've thought about. I would sacrifice myself for them in a heartbeat. Someone has to.<br />I watch students go through teen pregnancy, drug/physical/sexual abuse (them and their family members) and yet I walk into my building everyday and I smile. I try to remind and teach my students that they can make themselves something even when everyone thinks that they will be nothing. I show my students that even if you grow up in less than ideal conditions you can still follow your dreams. Hell, I show them that you can still have dreams and goals. I am the most stable part of my students lives. If a teacher on my team is absent the students are off the wall. The only structure they know has crumbled and they don't know how to handle the change. I am depended upon by not only my superiors but my students and I drag myself in even when ill to be with them.<br /><br />I come home with the funniest and saddest stories. I hear and learn about things that I never even knew existed. I laugh at least once a day because I am entertained by the lives of teenagers.<br /><br />I will never understand the jealousy people have towards teachers. I don't feel jealous of those who work a "normal" job. I love what I do. I have to power to change the world. I have the power to make a difference with the next generation and generations to come.<br /><br />Don't envy me. Envy my students. Be glad that they have someone who loves them and wants them to do well. You'd love to have me teach your children.Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06892356009574732102noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2415676599715070478.post-63892470548771393052009-08-06T22:52:00.003-04:002009-08-06T23:10:52.915-04:00Home<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHFN6XkU7u2q5jSWTJxsE99i8lm1hR6hHdfHbzdpIkV_YtqsCF7uODwqZPSMRVHkHhnwpjHjgVD9wefFr04O_rps7T6Iu9FCBxYDDCjNsVXKwmEpfUV2z8nOP2SqMv1dM-ijTewp9RTC8/s1600-h/Etc+001.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHFN6XkU7u2q5jSWTJxsE99i8lm1hR6hHdfHbzdpIkV_YtqsCF7uODwqZPSMRVHkHhnwpjHjgVD9wefFr04O_rps7T6Iu9FCBxYDDCjNsVXKwmEpfUV2z8nOP2SqMv1dM-ijTewp9RTC8/s320/Etc+001.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5367053959358113490" /></a><br />The idea of home is something I contemplate quite often. I once cross-stitched as sampler: Home is where the heart is. Cute, huh. <div><br /></div><div>If you think about it the saying is true. Home really is where the heart is. Think of all of the people you love and how you feel when you enter their house. I have many friends whose houses I am very comfortable in; I love them dearly and I don't feel like a guest. Same for my family. I can be in an aunt or cousin's house and I feel at home. </div><div><br /></div><div>I haven't lived in my childhood home for some time. In fact my childhood home is now my aunt's mother-in-law's home. So unlike some of my peers I don't go home to the place I grew up. I don't see my old bedroom unchanged over time. I'm glad. I can go to the house where I grew up and spend my time with my aunt and uncles and cousins and I feel at home. Their second floor apartment was as much my home as the apartment on the first floor. My father lives with my step mom in a different city but I know what no matter what that is my home. I haven't ever felt displaced although the idea of home has had to change as I've gotten older. </div><div><br /></div><div>When I first moved into my apartment it didn't feel like home at all. The smells were all wrong. All of my important things were packed away. My cat wasn't even here the first night I stayed. It was terrible. I've slowly turned this into my home. I have all of my belongings organized and I buy myself fresh flowers once a week when I go grocery shopping. I have my cat here and although he may be obnoxiously crying at me when I'm not focusing on him I love to have something waiting for me every night. I walked into my apartment a few days ago I plopped myself down on the couch and I looked around. </div><div><br /></div><div>Home, I thought. This is home.<br /><br /></div><div>This is where I will entertain friends and family. This is where I will plan my lessons and complete my school work. This is where I will sleep after long days of work and home. This is where I can do whatever I want whenever I want. I love this. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>It's good to be home. </div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06892356009574732102noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2415676599715070478.post-53254762582722138182009-07-31T00:48:00.000-04:002009-07-31T00:51:49.853-04:00Home again...I am so bad at this blogging thing so far.<div><br /></div><div>This won't be a full post because I'm really just trying to get myself to fall asleep. I was tired in the car on the way home from Maine about 3 hours ago...what happened? </div><div><br /></div><div>I'm sorta sunburnt but I'll live. It just makes it very hot and hard to move too quickly without thinking my skin is going to rip. Note to self: more sunscreen, more often, take sun breaks. </div><div><br /></div><div>Maybe I'll read a little and hang out with the cat. He has been meowing at me since I got home. I wish I could understand what he is saying to me. </div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06892356009574732102noreply@blogger.com0