Tom Heggie
EVWP Summer 2009
Try to spend as little time as possible thinking about death. Time spent thinking about death takes precious time from life, and that is what is truly important.
Death is not the worst that can happen to men. – Plato
What can be worse than death? Start with a life poorly lived. No matter what the meaning of life really is it must be lived and lived well. And a well lived life – that, however, must be defined by the person, just as the life poorly lived must, likewise, be defined by the individual. Riches and fame, failure and suffering are relative terms. But never forget there are worse things that can happen than death.
It is not death that a man should fear, but he should fear never beginning to live.
– Marcus Aurelius
Death should never define the human experience because when it does, one runs the risk of avoiding life to avoid death. Life is inherently dangerous; nobody gets out alive. Live life and live it to its fullest.
Death does not concern us, because as long as we exist, death is not here.
And when it does come, we no longer exist. – Epicurus
There is a beautiful passage in Jack London’s the Call of the Wild and the sum and substance of it is this: when we are most alive the thought of death is the furthest from our minds. After all, how could the soldier on the battlefield fight if this were not true? The surgeon in the operating theater is fully engaged in life – saving life, improving life. The adventurer explores the highest mountains, paddles the wildest rivers, and confronts the harshest environments all with the thought of living life to the fullest measure possible. Here where death is the closest, life is the fullest and most alive, the highest realm of existence.
The Greeks said grandly in their tragic phrase, 'Let no one be called happy till his death;' to which I would add, 'Let no one, till his death, be called unhappy.' – Elizabeth Barrett Browning
What could be farther from death than happiness? Saki’s allegorical short story “The Image of the Lost Soul” tells a story set amid the parapet statuary of some great unnamed European cathedral. There among the pious statues of kings and bishops, queens and seraphs, jackdaws, pigeons, and sparrows, a small bird brings happiness to a bleak, self-centered landscape. If we follow through to the stories end, the small bird, whose voice provided the metaphor for happiness dies and as the great cathedral tolls out its daily message "After joy ... sorrow," Saki invites the reader to ponder the alternative massage – before sorrow … joy and happiness.
If we don't know life, how can we know death? – Confucius
The invitation then becomes to know life in an effort to reflect upon death. Few people are bothered by the fact that life went on before their birth. The sun rose and set, people did what people do, history was being written by people whose name are as familiar as those of our contemporaries. It is not sad, painful or fearful to talk of the past, a time prior to our life. But at our birth all of that changes. Years marked on a calendar have meaning, Major achievements, minor memories they all add value, worth. This is the knowledge of life. The years that will occur after we die suddenly are not like those before our birth. Through the knowledge of life, we realize that that which happens after our death will be different. We know our present and our history; what will be the future? We know our family. We are aware of our ancestors, but what will become of our progeny? Now that we know life, its emotions, its experiences, its worth and maybe its meaning, death too becomes all too knowable.
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
Finding Faith
Pamela Galloway
EVWP Summer 2009
Chapter 1
She held the cool, dark sphere in her sweaty palms. The smooth surface comforted her wavering resolution. She needed someone or something, ridiculous as it seemed, to reassure her. Her eyes shut tight, she quietly breathed the words she had been holding on her tongue all morning.
“Should I go?”
“Concentrate and ask again.” She read the words. A few strands of strawberry hair fell across her hazel eyes hiding her disappointment. The eight ball had failed her.
She let her mind wander to where “go” was. Was she really asking permission to drive to Philadelphia? No, she knew that she wasn’t asking permission to visit him. Hours before she had already started packing her bag. Samantha was looking for permission to attempt the complicated venture of love again.
She shifted the weight of chance back and forth between her slender fingertips. Should she ask again? A slight smile escaped her lips as she noticed the bold number eight shake its head no. Samantha ignored its remark and flipped it over again. Before the answer appeared, she blurted out, “Should I take the gamble on Ollie?”
Slowly the black circular abyss lightened. The light triangle of blue sat on its edge, undecided. She shook it loose from its hesitation and watched it sluggishly float to a resolution.
“Reply Hazy, Try Asking Again Later.”
“This is stupid,” she stated, not sure whether she meant asking the magic eight ball or hoping for love.
After a moment, she decided that she meant the eight ball. At the age of twenty-seven, she had traveled the possibilities of all the destinations that her decisions had and could have taken her. Accepting the scholarship to attend Chapel Hill, landing the job in Richmond, refusing to move home. Often, she was looking for someone else’s approval. Even today, she was nervous about taking ownership of this step. Deep down, she had to admit that if the eight ball had said yes, she would have gone without hesitation. She would already be stuck and annoyed in the steaming lanes of D.C.’s summer traffic. It was easy to trust in the judgment of someone (or even something) else, since hers, so far, had failed her miserably.
Chapter 2
GollieOllie: (11:27 am) What are you doing online? ☹
Sam_i_am: (11:28 am) Nothing. I should have said something. Ugh. I’ll tell him how I’m scared. No. That’s stupid. I’ll tell him I’m amped. No. Do you want to look like a desperate silly girl? Okay. Well, I have to say something!
Sam_i_am: (11:30 am) Actually, I am printing directions.
Sam_i_am: (11:40 am) I have typed and erased a million lines. And yet I can’t bear to let go of my innermost thoughts.
GollieOllie: (11:41 am) LOL. Me too.
Sam_i_am: (11:42 am) What were you going to type?
GollieOllie: (11:43 am) I really want you to visit…
GollieOllie: (11:44 am) Are you coming?
Sam_i_am: (11:45 am) Should I tell him how I feel? Not sure yet. I hate playing these games! Why can’t I break out of this old habit?
Sam_i_am: (11:45 am) I wasn’t sure you really meant it.
GollieOllie: (11:48 am) Meant that I really wanted you to visit? Well, I have the whole weekend planned FOR YOU! So, you better come!
GollieOllie: (11:49 am) Sam! You didn’t think that I meant to invite you? Yes. You’re supposed to be here…and by seven, so hurry!
Sam_i_am: (11:50 am) Nice. Well, I haven’t finished packing. I got distracted. Why am I playing this game!?
GollieOllie: (11:51 am) What distracted you?
Sam_i_am: (11:53 am) A magic eight ball, thoughts of this weekend’s possible disaster, worries that this could end like it did with Jim. My mother called.
Sam_i_am: (11:54 am) And… Stupid girl. Why would you type that?
GollieOllie: (11:54 am) And what? Samantha, what aren’t you telling me?
Sam_i_am: (11:56 am) Just type it. I wasn’t sure if we were ready. I wasn’t sure of how you felt.
GollieOllie: (11:58 am) Apparently, the bouquet of flowers wasn’t convincing? ☹
Sam_i_am: (12:01 pm) Hahaha. That’s why I’m half-packed! When I look at them I want to get on the road. Sorta. I mean, I want to be in Philly in your arms. Is it too soon to say that?
GollieOllie: (12:02 pm) Don’t try to sound excited now. I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to do.
Sam_i_am: (12:04 pm) I am excited! So excited I’m getting ready to drive for 4 hours! FOUR HOURS. I better at least get a hug for this! Roundtrip, I’m spending half a day on the road.
GollieOliie: (12: 05pm) So you’re coming? Really???? I’m not sure I believe you.
Sam_i_am: (12:07 pm) Well I have to finish packing…get gas…stop by the ATM, and then I’ll be on my way. Though by that time I could hit traffic.
GollieOllie: (12:09 pm) Ugh. I hate that you have to drive. I know I said hurry, but don’t rush. When my car gets out of the shop, I’ll drive down to visit you. And don’t stop by the ATM. You won’t pay for a thing once you get here!
Sam_i_am: (12:10 pm) Okay…okay. I’ll finish packing be on the road in a few.
GollieOllie: (12:12 pm) Be here by seven!!!!!!! LEAVE BY two at the LATEST!!! That will put you in DC around 3:30, and hopefully you’ll miss traffic. I checked the reports. No accidents yet!
Sam_i_am: (12:13 pm) Lol. You’re ridiculous. Do you always plan this much? Perhaps you can explain why I need to be there by seven?
GollieOllie: (12:14 pm) Yes, I am. Yes, I do. No, I can’t. See you tonight!
GollieOllie is offline. (12:14)
Sam_i_am is offline. (12:15)
Chapter 4
Collecting the warm sheets from the printer, I cross “find recipes online” off the sticky note.
“You think these will be alright, right Champ?” His big brown eyes were saying yes. I need his eyes to tell me yes.
“Would you like to eat something with 4.5 stars?” I scratch him between the ears to help with his positive feedback. Who am I kidding? Champ would eat anything, with or without stars.
Glancing back at the logout screen, I can’t help but let out an audible sigh. I am in trouble.
My dad always told me that there’s a tricky balance between overwhelming and romancing, but of course, I didn’t listen then. I had to learn the hard way with Becky. Samantha is nothing like Becky. Samantha is like no other girl I’ve ever met, hence my need to balance the line between doing too little and doing too much.
I was glad to log off the computer for two reasons. Reason number one, I need Samantha to want to be here, and the illusion of something mysterious and thoughtful seems the only bait Samantha takes. Based on that IM conversation, Samantha is not overly impressed by flowers. I crossed that off my list. I would need something different for this visit. I mean, flowers started her packing, but did you notice that it didn’t get her on the road? And reason number two?
The second, and more important reason that I was glad to escape is that I just couldn’t answer her last question. It is fair to say that if I keep my current plans, this weekend getaway would likely end disastrously. Too bad I didn’t have a plan B.
My fingers mechanically type her name in Facebook. Weak, I know, but desperate times call for desperate measures. This is one girl I want to stay around for a long time. Not days or months, not even years. I’d take her for a lifetime, if I could.
You might be wondering why I’m so enthralled with this girl. How long I have known her? How in the world did I convince her to come? It wasn’t easy, let me tell you. I have been working on her for years. Years, I say.
The first time Samantha strutted into my room was about seven years ago. Subtract 25 from seven, and yes, you can imagine why our introduction was so short-lived. I was fresh out of high school, and a little reckless. She was the “responsible” RA in my building, though we didn’t know it then. At that time, we only knew she was upperclass, and smokin’ hot. I’d like to say (without bias), that I was probably the funniest guy she knew (if people can say that about themselves), and I might have been. However, I was also a little ridiculous. She wrote me up for designing the water balloon fight in the girls hall, planning the party during spring reading days (I didn’t know she was actually stayed to work!), and of course, arranging the lounge furniture on the roof. That last one, was a difficult task, especially when drunk. Needless to say, we didn’t always get along, especially while I was under the “dictator’s” rule. Our interactions were dripping with sarcasm.
The next year of college was her last. With the dictator out of my hair, I was free to plan my life away. However, when I did run into Samantha, I started to admire the way she carried herself. Her confidence wasn’t cocky. Her smiles were genuine. And her laughter contagious. It didn’t matter where we were, I couldn’t take my eyes off of her. Sometimes she’d be picking up a plastic cup that missed the trash can or holding the door open for the bag lady who was going into the library. One time, she stopped a runner who had dropped her key. It’s those little things that get you, you know? Anyways, she was in a serious relationship, and I had other people, places, and activities to help me try to forget her.
But things have changed in the last six years. And now, Samantha is coming to visit! My eyes recheck my handy list, and I decide to cancel the reservations. A fancy dinner and then a movie seemed a little cliché now. I had forgotten I was pursuing the most creative girl I had ever met. I needed something brilliant to excite her, but what? What can we do in Philadelphia at 7 pm that would be beyond all the other first dates she’s ever had? Whispering a prayer for some divine guidance, not that God really cares, I spot my calendar. I had the perfect evening already planned. In my haste to impress Samantha with fancy décor, I had long ago dismissed this pedestrian path. However, if I could catch Kevin in the next few minutes, I could right the wrong and be set. As I hit the speed dial, I hoped that Kevin hadn’t already left, I would need his help.
EVWP Summer 2009
Chapter 1
She held the cool, dark sphere in her sweaty palms. The smooth surface comforted her wavering resolution. She needed someone or something, ridiculous as it seemed, to reassure her. Her eyes shut tight, she quietly breathed the words she had been holding on her tongue all morning.
“Should I go?”
“Concentrate and ask again.” She read the words. A few strands of strawberry hair fell across her hazel eyes hiding her disappointment. The eight ball had failed her.
She let her mind wander to where “go” was. Was she really asking permission to drive to Philadelphia? No, she knew that she wasn’t asking permission to visit him. Hours before she had already started packing her bag. Samantha was looking for permission to attempt the complicated venture of love again.
She shifted the weight of chance back and forth between her slender fingertips. Should she ask again? A slight smile escaped her lips as she noticed the bold number eight shake its head no. Samantha ignored its remark and flipped it over again. Before the answer appeared, she blurted out, “Should I take the gamble on Ollie?”
Slowly the black circular abyss lightened. The light triangle of blue sat on its edge, undecided. She shook it loose from its hesitation and watched it sluggishly float to a resolution.
“Reply Hazy, Try Asking Again Later.”
“This is stupid,” she stated, not sure whether she meant asking the magic eight ball or hoping for love.
After a moment, she decided that she meant the eight ball. At the age of twenty-seven, she had traveled the possibilities of all the destinations that her decisions had and could have taken her. Accepting the scholarship to attend Chapel Hill, landing the job in Richmond, refusing to move home. Often, she was looking for someone else’s approval. Even today, she was nervous about taking ownership of this step. Deep down, she had to admit that if the eight ball had said yes, she would have gone without hesitation. She would already be stuck and annoyed in the steaming lanes of D.C.’s summer traffic. It was easy to trust in the judgment of someone (or even something) else, since hers, so far, had failed her miserably.
Chapter 2
GollieOllie: (11:27 am) What are you doing online? ☹
Sam_i_am: (11:28 am) Nothing. I should have said something. Ugh. I’ll tell him how I’m scared. No. That’s stupid. I’ll tell him I’m amped. No. Do you want to look like a desperate silly girl? Okay. Well, I have to say something!
Sam_i_am: (11:30 am) Actually, I am printing directions.
Sam_i_am: (11:40 am) I have typed and erased a million lines. And yet I can’t bear to let go of my innermost thoughts.
GollieOllie: (11:41 am) LOL. Me too.
Sam_i_am: (11:42 am) What were you going to type?
GollieOllie: (11:43 am) I really want you to visit…
GollieOllie: (11:44 am) Are you coming?
Sam_i_am: (11:45 am) Should I tell him how I feel? Not sure yet. I hate playing these games! Why can’t I break out of this old habit?
Sam_i_am: (11:45 am) I wasn’t sure you really meant it.
GollieOllie: (11:48 am) Meant that I really wanted you to visit? Well, I have the whole weekend planned FOR YOU! So, you better come!
GollieOllie: (11:49 am) Sam! You didn’t think that I meant to invite you? Yes. You’re supposed to be here…and by seven, so hurry!
Sam_i_am: (11:50 am) Nice. Well, I haven’t finished packing. I got distracted. Why am I playing this game!?
GollieOllie: (11:51 am) What distracted you?
Sam_i_am: (11:53 am) A magic eight ball, thoughts of this weekend’s possible disaster, worries that this could end like it did with Jim. My mother called.
Sam_i_am: (11:54 am) And… Stupid girl. Why would you type that?
GollieOllie: (11:54 am) And what? Samantha, what aren’t you telling me?
Sam_i_am: (11:56 am) Just type it. I wasn’t sure if we were ready. I wasn’t sure of how you felt.
GollieOllie: (11:58 am) Apparently, the bouquet of flowers wasn’t convincing? ☹
Sam_i_am: (12:01 pm) Hahaha. That’s why I’m half-packed! When I look at them I want to get on the road. Sorta. I mean, I want to be in Philly in your arms. Is it too soon to say that?
GollieOllie: (12:02 pm) Don’t try to sound excited now. I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to do.
Sam_i_am: (12:04 pm) I am excited! So excited I’m getting ready to drive for 4 hours! FOUR HOURS. I better at least get a hug for this! Roundtrip, I’m spending half a day on the road.
GollieOliie: (12: 05pm) So you’re coming? Really???? I’m not sure I believe you.
Sam_i_am: (12:07 pm) Well I have to finish packing…get gas…stop by the ATM, and then I’ll be on my way. Though by that time I could hit traffic.
GollieOllie: (12:09 pm) Ugh. I hate that you have to drive. I know I said hurry, but don’t rush. When my car gets out of the shop, I’ll drive down to visit you. And don’t stop by the ATM. You won’t pay for a thing once you get here!
Sam_i_am: (12:10 pm) Okay…okay. I’ll finish packing be on the road in a few.
GollieOllie: (12:12 pm) Be here by seven!!!!!!! LEAVE BY two at the LATEST!!! That will put you in DC around 3:30, and hopefully you’ll miss traffic. I checked the reports. No accidents yet!
Sam_i_am: (12:13 pm) Lol. You’re ridiculous. Do you always plan this much? Perhaps you can explain why I need to be there by seven?
GollieOllie: (12:14 pm) Yes, I am. Yes, I do. No, I can’t. See you tonight!
GollieOllie is offline. (12:14)
Sam_i_am is offline. (12:15)
Chapter 4
Collecting the warm sheets from the printer, I cross “find recipes online” off the sticky note.
“You think these will be alright, right Champ?” His big brown eyes were saying yes. I need his eyes to tell me yes.
“Would you like to eat something with 4.5 stars?” I scratch him between the ears to help with his positive feedback. Who am I kidding? Champ would eat anything, with or without stars.
Glancing back at the logout screen, I can’t help but let out an audible sigh. I am in trouble.
My dad always told me that there’s a tricky balance between overwhelming and romancing, but of course, I didn’t listen then. I had to learn the hard way with Becky. Samantha is nothing like Becky. Samantha is like no other girl I’ve ever met, hence my need to balance the line between doing too little and doing too much.
I was glad to log off the computer for two reasons. Reason number one, I need Samantha to want to be here, and the illusion of something mysterious and thoughtful seems the only bait Samantha takes. Based on that IM conversation, Samantha is not overly impressed by flowers. I crossed that off my list. I would need something different for this visit. I mean, flowers started her packing, but did you notice that it didn’t get her on the road? And reason number two?
The second, and more important reason that I was glad to escape is that I just couldn’t answer her last question. It is fair to say that if I keep my current plans, this weekend getaway would likely end disastrously. Too bad I didn’t have a plan B.
My fingers mechanically type her name in Facebook. Weak, I know, but desperate times call for desperate measures. This is one girl I want to stay around for a long time. Not days or months, not even years. I’d take her for a lifetime, if I could.
You might be wondering why I’m so enthralled with this girl. How long I have known her? How in the world did I convince her to come? It wasn’t easy, let me tell you. I have been working on her for years. Years, I say.
The first time Samantha strutted into my room was about seven years ago. Subtract 25 from seven, and yes, you can imagine why our introduction was so short-lived. I was fresh out of high school, and a little reckless. She was the “responsible” RA in my building, though we didn’t know it then. At that time, we only knew she was upperclass, and smokin’ hot. I’d like to say (without bias), that I was probably the funniest guy she knew (if people can say that about themselves), and I might have been. However, I was also a little ridiculous. She wrote me up for designing the water balloon fight in the girls hall, planning the party during spring reading days (I didn’t know she was actually stayed to work!), and of course, arranging the lounge furniture on the roof. That last one, was a difficult task, especially when drunk. Needless to say, we didn’t always get along, especially while I was under the “dictator’s” rule. Our interactions were dripping with sarcasm.
The next year of college was her last. With the dictator out of my hair, I was free to plan my life away. However, when I did run into Samantha, I started to admire the way she carried herself. Her confidence wasn’t cocky. Her smiles were genuine. And her laughter contagious. It didn’t matter where we were, I couldn’t take my eyes off of her. Sometimes she’d be picking up a plastic cup that missed the trash can or holding the door open for the bag lady who was going into the library. One time, she stopped a runner who had dropped her key. It’s those little things that get you, you know? Anyways, she was in a serious relationship, and I had other people, places, and activities to help me try to forget her.
But things have changed in the last six years. And now, Samantha is coming to visit! My eyes recheck my handy list, and I decide to cancel the reservations. A fancy dinner and then a movie seemed a little cliché now. I had forgotten I was pursuing the most creative girl I had ever met. I needed something brilliant to excite her, but what? What can we do in Philadelphia at 7 pm that would be beyond all the other first dates she’s ever had? Whispering a prayer for some divine guidance, not that God really cares, I spot my calendar. I had the perfect evening already planned. In my haste to impress Samantha with fancy décor, I had long ago dismissed this pedestrian path. However, if I could catch Kevin in the next few minutes, I could right the wrong and be set. As I hit the speed dial, I hoped that Kevin hadn’t already left, I would need his help.
Thanks for the Memories
Sandra Hayward-Jones
EVWP Summer 2009
Thanks for the memories – the things you introduced to me
The taste of Miracle Whip on sandwiches
Cheese on a hot dog – I’d never heard of that
The love one can have for brothers and sisters –
You were one of six; I was the only one.
Thanks for the memories – the adventures we shared.
Travel all over the South and East Coast
Although I cannot stand long car trips to this day
Meeting new people in different academic spheres
Standing by your side as your wife, proud to be there.
Thanks for the memories – our children are born
What shall we name them?
Let’s remember family names and let our children know their heritage
Let’s give them names that are strong and beautiful
A boy and a girl – perfect family.
Thanks for the memories – the stories you told
I felt like I was there, though I did not go
To high school or most of college with you.
The images were vividly embedded in my mind.
The friends, your friends, became mine by default.
Thanks for the memories – I’ll ne’er forget you.
Not that I could. The love of my life.
Thirteen years together as man and wife.
When you died, a big part of me died too.
Thanks for the memories.
EVWP Summer 2009
Thanks for the memories – the things you introduced to me
The taste of Miracle Whip on sandwiches
Cheese on a hot dog – I’d never heard of that
The love one can have for brothers and sisters –
You were one of six; I was the only one.
Thanks for the memories – the adventures we shared.
Travel all over the South and East Coast
Although I cannot stand long car trips to this day
Meeting new people in different academic spheres
Standing by your side as your wife, proud to be there.
Thanks for the memories – our children are born
What shall we name them?
Let’s remember family names and let our children know their heritage
Let’s give them names that are strong and beautiful
A boy and a girl – perfect family.
Thanks for the memories – the stories you told
I felt like I was there, though I did not go
To high school or most of college with you.
The images were vividly embedded in my mind.
The friends, your friends, became mine by default.
Thanks for the memories – I’ll ne’er forget you.
Not that I could. The love of my life.
Thirteen years together as man and wife.
When you died, a big part of me died too.
Thanks for the memories.
Alaska
Mary Forbes
EVWP Summer 2009
Alaska.
The soft ripple of slow moving water as it flowed past smooth rocks beneath the coolness of the rock beneath my legs. The cool breeze as it passed through my hair. The low bush cranberries' tart taste fills my mouth. The eagle's shrill voice as it passes overhead. These are the sounds that were heard on a summer afternoon in Alaska in my youth.
There are many wonders that took place in that summer so many years ago. Studying for an FCC license with my Dad, walking our family's St. Bernard (or rather being walked by the St. Bernard!), living in a log cabin, having only three television stations to watch, working at the radio station writing commercials, then hearing them badly read. But the strongest memory was just being outside in a place where nature is truly untamed.
I have always enjoyed hiking and camping. I think this is mainly because of the summer my family spent in Alaska. It was the summer of the eighth grade, and we were in a very different place. Each afternoon I would take a short hike by myself. We were living in an area on the edge of a forest. There was a trail, but it was a subtle suggestion. One afternoon, I decided to take my usual stroll. It was warm, but not hot, just as all the afternoons are in midsummer, central Alaska style. I strolled through the trees, noticing the rustling of the breeze through the pine branches. I went to my favorite spot by a small spring, and threw rocks into the water. The rushing of the water over the rocks made a peaceful, gentle sound that erased tension. After a period of time, I decided it was time to go back to the cabin.
For the first few minutes, all that I could hear was the smooshing of the moss underneath my feet. I started to her the faint call of an eagle overhead. I stopped to look at the beautiful creature. I observed it soaring lower and lower. Soon I noticed that the eagle was getting closer and closer. The screeching of the very large bird started to get me nervous. As the bird started to get very close, I noticed that it's claws had become outstretched. I quickly realized that I had a problem.
I started to run, which really got the large creature excited. I looked up, and saw the claws coming my way. “Think quick,” I told myself. The only thing that I could think of was to run toward the many trees. To my relief, the bird decided that it couldn't reach me under the tree. I heard him screech in irritation, and fly away. I realized after this that I was indeed living in an area that was untamed frontier.
The eagle experience didn't stop my love for the beauty of Alaska's nature. I still took my walks and sat by the stream. I just couldn't stay away from seeing the beauty that surrounded me. One thing that did change, however, is having a watchful eye for eagles flying overhead.
EVWP Summer 2009
Alaska.
The soft ripple of slow moving water as it flowed past smooth rocks beneath the coolness of the rock beneath my legs. The cool breeze as it passed through my hair. The low bush cranberries' tart taste fills my mouth. The eagle's shrill voice as it passes overhead. These are the sounds that were heard on a summer afternoon in Alaska in my youth.
There are many wonders that took place in that summer so many years ago. Studying for an FCC license with my Dad, walking our family's St. Bernard (or rather being walked by the St. Bernard!), living in a log cabin, having only three television stations to watch, working at the radio station writing commercials, then hearing them badly read. But the strongest memory was just being outside in a place where nature is truly untamed.
I have always enjoyed hiking and camping. I think this is mainly because of the summer my family spent in Alaska. It was the summer of the eighth grade, and we were in a very different place. Each afternoon I would take a short hike by myself. We were living in an area on the edge of a forest. There was a trail, but it was a subtle suggestion. One afternoon, I decided to take my usual stroll. It was warm, but not hot, just as all the afternoons are in midsummer, central Alaska style. I strolled through the trees, noticing the rustling of the breeze through the pine branches. I went to my favorite spot by a small spring, and threw rocks into the water. The rushing of the water over the rocks made a peaceful, gentle sound that erased tension. After a period of time, I decided it was time to go back to the cabin.
For the first few minutes, all that I could hear was the smooshing of the moss underneath my feet. I started to her the faint call of an eagle overhead. I stopped to look at the beautiful creature. I observed it soaring lower and lower. Soon I noticed that the eagle was getting closer and closer. The screeching of the very large bird started to get me nervous. As the bird started to get very close, I noticed that it's claws had become outstretched. I quickly realized that I had a problem.
I started to run, which really got the large creature excited. I looked up, and saw the claws coming my way. “Think quick,” I told myself. The only thing that I could think of was to run toward the many trees. To my relief, the bird decided that it couldn't reach me under the tree. I heard him screech in irritation, and fly away. I realized after this that I was indeed living in an area that was untamed frontier.
The eagle experience didn't stop my love for the beauty of Alaska's nature. I still took my walks and sat by the stream. I just couldn't stay away from seeing the beauty that surrounded me. One thing that did change, however, is having a watchful eye for eagles flying overhead.
Assaulted and Insulted
Katherine Warner
EVWP Summer 2009
Sweaty and scorched, we lugged our cumbersome boards down the sandy road, climbed the hot sand dune, and longed for a peek at what lay beyond. The wide- spread ocean was a collection of sparkling gems. Its crystal blue was deep and mesmerizing. The waves lazily lifted and crashed on the shore. A light breeze tugged at our hair. The water beckoned us and promised relief. The sun shone warmly on our faces.
Sean had us toss our boards down in the sand delaying the gratification of the cooling water. It was easy to see he longed to take a dip like the rest of us. Quickly he instructed us on the simple steps of surfing. “First, you will see the wave behind you, and then you will paddle hard. Next you will feel the wave catch your board, and finally you will pop up and ride.”
Lauren and Tiffany, first time surfers, were satisfied with this explanation and preceded to the water. Being an expert beginner of two “crash and burn” experiences and an hour of U-tube surfer training videos, I was reasonably confident and rushed to the water behind them.
I should note that once we approached the water I slowly realized that the waves were intimidating and massive. I thought they might be too strong for inexperienced surfers. I decided to consult someone with a little more experience. “Sean, do you think these waves are too rough for us?” I asked.
“No way!” he said with confidence. “They are perfect!” he smilingly assured me.
Still being doubtful I noted, “The last time I went it was calmer and it was still challenging.”
Curtis, Sean’s best friend, chimed in, “I learned in rougher conditions than this.”
I reflected on my limited experience. I began to convince myself that I was wrong. They were probably right. I still needed a little more convincing. I looked around and saw others that surfed with ease. I put my worries aside.
Fighting in the hard-hitting waves to reach the point beyond the break the five of us laughed. Strong-minded we pressed forward. Lauren spent her summers as nanny at the beach. She suggested diving under the waves to use less energy and lose less ground. Lauren, Tiffany, and I fought to make it past where the waves were breaking. Lauren’s strong body got her past the break on her own. Sean helped his wife, Tiffany push through.
Each wave seemed a little more determined to keep me back. I could no longer reach the ocean floor. I struggled and battled the waves. Forced back by the uncompromising current, I gritted my teeth and fought harder. Patiently my fellow surfers waited for me beyond the break. Sean passed his boogie board off to Curtis and came back to help me pull through. He got behind the board and pushed as I kicked. Finally, exhausted from the fight I sat on the board. Allowing my legs to dangle into the water, I tried to shake the jitters of exhaustion and excitement.
I bobbed up and down on soothing hills of water. Lauren joked that she would stay out forever because of all the hard work getting here. We all laughed. Peaceful dips and bobs brought me closer to the dreaded break. I laid flat on my belly and paddled farther out to sea. I knew I only had one shot to catch the perfect wave, and I intended on taking my time.
As I paddled out a large wave rose in front of me and broke. My board’s nose pointed vertically and then tipped over, violently slammed me on my back and plunged me deep into the water. Disoriented, dazed, and lost, I was held under mercilessly. I longed to breathe. I told myself any minute now. Here it was. I popped my head up to take a breath. Apparently, it was precisely the wrong time. Another strong wave broke right on my face and forced me back into the abyss. My mind raced. I was confused, scared, and angry. I could not possibly hold my breath another second. I begged the waves to release me from their tight jerking grip.
Sand scraped my knees, and it was over. I gulped in air. I pulled myself to my feet coughing, shaking, and breathing intensely. I trudged to the shore realizing the current had carried us far from our spot down the beach. I grabbed the board and put it in the sand. I sat facing the ocean.
Tears and snot ran down my face, and my body shook. I shielded my face from the ocean. A couple passed me walking in the waves. Please ignore me, I prayed. My prayer was answered when they kept walking. I sat for a time that seemed endless and tried to rationalize the emotions that had taken control.
Noticing that I did not return, Sean came out of the water dragging his boogie board. He saw my tear streaked face and tenderly asked, “Are you ok?”
I nodded.
“You just got Waterfalled. It can be scary.” he gently assured me. When I did not respond he sat and put his hand softly on my shoulder. I turned and looked at his concerned face. He opened his mouth then hesitated. He sat for a minute and then leaned toward me and asked, “Can I use your surfboard?”
“Uhhh,” I examined his face and put the pieces together. I slowly responded, “Sure.”
EVWP Summer 2009
Sweaty and scorched, we lugged our cumbersome boards down the sandy road, climbed the hot sand dune, and longed for a peek at what lay beyond. The wide- spread ocean was a collection of sparkling gems. Its crystal blue was deep and mesmerizing. The waves lazily lifted and crashed on the shore. A light breeze tugged at our hair. The water beckoned us and promised relief. The sun shone warmly on our faces.
Sean had us toss our boards down in the sand delaying the gratification of the cooling water. It was easy to see he longed to take a dip like the rest of us. Quickly he instructed us on the simple steps of surfing. “First, you will see the wave behind you, and then you will paddle hard. Next you will feel the wave catch your board, and finally you will pop up and ride.”
Lauren and Tiffany, first time surfers, were satisfied with this explanation and preceded to the water. Being an expert beginner of two “crash and burn” experiences and an hour of U-tube surfer training videos, I was reasonably confident and rushed to the water behind them.
I should note that once we approached the water I slowly realized that the waves were intimidating and massive. I thought they might be too strong for inexperienced surfers. I decided to consult someone with a little more experience. “Sean, do you think these waves are too rough for us?” I asked.
“No way!” he said with confidence. “They are perfect!” he smilingly assured me.
Still being doubtful I noted, “The last time I went it was calmer and it was still challenging.”
Curtis, Sean’s best friend, chimed in, “I learned in rougher conditions than this.”
I reflected on my limited experience. I began to convince myself that I was wrong. They were probably right. I still needed a little more convincing. I looked around and saw others that surfed with ease. I put my worries aside.
Fighting in the hard-hitting waves to reach the point beyond the break the five of us laughed. Strong-minded we pressed forward. Lauren spent her summers as nanny at the beach. She suggested diving under the waves to use less energy and lose less ground. Lauren, Tiffany, and I fought to make it past where the waves were breaking. Lauren’s strong body got her past the break on her own. Sean helped his wife, Tiffany push through.
Each wave seemed a little more determined to keep me back. I could no longer reach the ocean floor. I struggled and battled the waves. Forced back by the uncompromising current, I gritted my teeth and fought harder. Patiently my fellow surfers waited for me beyond the break. Sean passed his boogie board off to Curtis and came back to help me pull through. He got behind the board and pushed as I kicked. Finally, exhausted from the fight I sat on the board. Allowing my legs to dangle into the water, I tried to shake the jitters of exhaustion and excitement.
I bobbed up and down on soothing hills of water. Lauren joked that she would stay out forever because of all the hard work getting here. We all laughed. Peaceful dips and bobs brought me closer to the dreaded break. I laid flat on my belly and paddled farther out to sea. I knew I only had one shot to catch the perfect wave, and I intended on taking my time.
As I paddled out a large wave rose in front of me and broke. My board’s nose pointed vertically and then tipped over, violently slammed me on my back and plunged me deep into the water. Disoriented, dazed, and lost, I was held under mercilessly. I longed to breathe. I told myself any minute now. Here it was. I popped my head up to take a breath. Apparently, it was precisely the wrong time. Another strong wave broke right on my face and forced me back into the abyss. My mind raced. I was confused, scared, and angry. I could not possibly hold my breath another second. I begged the waves to release me from their tight jerking grip.
Sand scraped my knees, and it was over. I gulped in air. I pulled myself to my feet coughing, shaking, and breathing intensely. I trudged to the shore realizing the current had carried us far from our spot down the beach. I grabbed the board and put it in the sand. I sat facing the ocean.
Tears and snot ran down my face, and my body shook. I shielded my face from the ocean. A couple passed me walking in the waves. Please ignore me, I prayed. My prayer was answered when they kept walking. I sat for a time that seemed endless and tried to rationalize the emotions that had taken control.
Noticing that I did not return, Sean came out of the water dragging his boogie board. He saw my tear streaked face and tenderly asked, “Are you ok?”
I nodded.
“You just got Waterfalled. It can be scary.” he gently assured me. When I did not respond he sat and put his hand softly on my shoulder. I turned and looked at his concerned face. He opened his mouth then hesitated. He sat for a minute and then leaned toward me and asked, “Can I use your surfboard?”
“Uhhh,” I examined his face and put the pieces together. I slowly responded, “Sure.”
Untitled
Michelle Davis
EVWP Summer 2009
Shaking the cardboard box marked with the smiling swoopy arrow told me that I was seconds away from a new book. I joyfully slit the packaging tape with my truck key and read the invoice. Getting Married After 35, by Rachel Greenwald. I didn’t order this. Looking closer at the packing slip, I was able to find the sender. Happy birthday to me from my gay friend, Lou. Okay, Lou doesn’t refer to himself as my “gay friend.” I only mention "gay" here to make it clear that this book was not some charming heterosexual man's cantankerous attempt at a proposal. It was not. It was my 30th birthday and Lou's idea of a joke. Ha Ha.
Rachel Greenwald's "simple 15-step action plan" was hatched after graduating Harvard Business School. This is Marketing 101, she writes, and it takes a commitment of 12-18 months. Since Lou had planned ahead, I did have the time, but found myself lacking the motivation. I admit that I wasn't giving Rachel my full attention as I was preoccupied with a carton of vegetables lo mein and a marathon of Sex & The City re-runs. I thumbed through enough of the book to know that it wasn't for me. Most horrifying was the command that I create flyers announcing my availability and mail them to everyone I know...and ask everyone to spread the word AND the flyers. I'm not kidding.
I never finished the book, but I did take its advice of trying on-line dating...kind of. Why? Because after a certain age, when you are found out to be single, helpful people always ask, "Well, have you tried the internet?" They deliver this line as though they are generously pointing you to the last lifeboat on the Titanic, if the Titanic had been simultaneously sinking from a jagged iceberg, burning to a crisp from an unwieldy bonfire and cowering under an attack by a fleet of dive bombers. If I could say “yes,” would the interrogations stop? It was worth a try.
The eHarmony commercials seemed harmless enough. Answering the questionnaire that would supply me with "compatible matches pre-screened across 29 dimensions" and viewing my matches was free...kind of. Nothing's ever free. I found that out after I spent roughly 30 minutes answering the survey, eHarmony told me that there was no one, no one in the whole universe for me. I immediately imagined the twinkly loveliness of the Milky Way with its 200 billion plus stars dotting the velvety black sky. Really?
eHarmony has boxes to check, depending on just how far and wide you are willing to go for love. A firm believer that one should not expend any more effort than is absolutely necessary whenever possible, I started with 25 miles. Nothing. I moved my check to 50 miles, hoping that Mr. Match was not on the other side of the Hampton Roads Bridge Tunnel. He wasn’t. I kept recasting a wider net, still nothing. How could that be? I didn’t mind at all that my perfect-across-29-dimensions match, Sergey, was hiding out in Chechnya and unable to answer the phone. I just wanted to know that he was out there.
Curiouser and curiouser, I selected the last box, The Universe. eHarmony swiftly informed me that there was no match to be had. I couldn’t believe it. First, it was statistically unlikely. Second, why would a dating site actually tell a potential customer that? It must have been operator error. I tried again; it wasn’t operator area. Stupefied, I removed my information and user name from the site and decided immediately not to have an existential crisis.
I confided to my friend, Michelle, the truth about the universe and its surprising disdain for me. “You must have answered the questions wrong. You’re so hard on yourself. You need me to help you with it,” she suggested.
“I know I’m hard on myself, but it was a looooong questionnaire. It wasn’t all ‘yes’ or ‘no.’ They even had sliding scales and other boxes to check. I think it’s virtually impossible to sabotage,” I replied.
Michelle wrinkled her nose in my direction and weighed the possibilities. Like any great friend, she took my side in this matter, even if it was the whole universe we were up against. And that’s when I noticed that I had an involuntary response to eHarmony commercials, specifically when Dr. Neil Warren appeared to endorse his brainchild. I still flip that man the bird with the dexterity of a seasoned gunfighter.
I took a five year break before I had the nerve to try Chemistry.com. Remember that repulsive flyer that you send to friends? That’s basically what a profile is for dating sites. Chemistry was more rigorous than I had anticipated. Each 24 hours, I was sent five new matches that I had to rate before the next five would be sent to me. It was like high school. Actually, the second bachelor who was matched to me was an old high school friend. Chemistry provides a series of “safeguards” before you are allowed to e-mail your matches. In order to say hello to my friend, I would have to feign interest by rating him as “sizzling.” I did, feeling confident that he would know that I was just trying to say a friendly hello.
He did not return the sentiment, and I found out that the on-line dating world is its own version of Vegas. Not for me, though. I couldn’t stop talking about it. I had a whole host of friends as a support system this time around just an Alt-Tab away on Facebook. My Pit Crew enjoyed the regular mass discussion threads I sent out detailing my progress. In fact, they were quickly friending each other, making connections, all a direct result of my inability to make any for myself. When a stripper was matched to me on Chemistry, I decided to take my leave before the month’s subscription was up. It wasn’t him; it was me. My pal Lucy offered the consolation of, “You will always have ones.” He had a job. He was smiling and fully dressed in his picture. I just couldn’t figure out what I could bring to that relationship.
A month of Match.com was my next plan of attack. The good news about this site is that you are able to search profiles of all users without having to wait for matches to arrive in your mailbox. The bad news is that you have to choose your best physical feature from a pull down menu. Seriously. Based on the available options, I thought the box marked “feet” was safe. I even posted what I thought was a harmless picture of my feet minding their own business in front of a bookshelf to support my claim. That’s when I found out that I was a couple of photographs away from being a kingpin in the foot fetish community. You see, the profiles are also searchable by feature. “Will you post a photograph of your feet in stockings?” men wondered. “No, I would not,” I replied. “Would you be interested in joining a Yahoo user group that’s for people with foot fetishes?” someone asked. “No ,thank you,” I answered.
At least I was having some fun e-mail exchanges with a member of Red Sox Nation. I eventually gave him my phone number. It was about thirty minutes into the conversation that he was able to work in this little tidbit; he also had a foot fetish. My cordless phone allowed me to get on-line while we finished the conversation and delete the pesky photo from my profile once and for all. Even at home, I began to involuntarily obscure my bare feet under furniture, or quite intentionally wear thick socks. The other 50% of the mail in my inbox was from the male homosexual community.
I was so relieved when the gay men showed up to send me “winks.” Winks are exactly what they sound like, a wordless way to pass on a little, “Hey Cutie!” with a tiny smiley face appearing in your in-box. My friend Kevin tells me, “You are a gay man’s dream.” I assumed that they had dutifully shown up again with their parade float full of support for me. Being a southern girl, I always read their profiles and sent thank-you messages for the winks and a little shout out to the gay crowd. Seems all of these “gay” men had mistakenly marked that they were interested in the same sex on their profiles and bristled a little when I sent them a “woop woop” hello for their solidarity. Apparently, I am the accidental gay man’s nightmare.
The best yield from my two-month marathon in the world of on-line dating is my girlfriend, Lisa. Not that kind of girlfriend...we were lab partners in high school chemistry class. You can click on “Find People Like Me” to scope out the competition and get an idea about what a successful promotional campaign might look like. I took her out for lunch, didn’t even have to kiss her goodbye and we’re still friends. My male match did end up being on the other side of the Hampton Roads Bridge Tunnel, and all I have to show for it is a Magic 8 Ball and a strong hope that there really is no one in the universe who mirrors my 29 dimensions of compatibility. I’ve spent enough time on dates with myself already.
EVWP Summer 2009
Shaking the cardboard box marked with the smiling swoopy arrow told me that I was seconds away from a new book. I joyfully slit the packaging tape with my truck key and read the invoice. Getting Married After 35, by Rachel Greenwald. I didn’t order this. Looking closer at the packing slip, I was able to find the sender. Happy birthday to me from my gay friend, Lou. Okay, Lou doesn’t refer to himself as my “gay friend.” I only mention "gay" here to make it clear that this book was not some charming heterosexual man's cantankerous attempt at a proposal. It was not. It was my 30th birthday and Lou's idea of a joke. Ha Ha.
Rachel Greenwald's "simple 15-step action plan" was hatched after graduating Harvard Business School. This is Marketing 101, she writes, and it takes a commitment of 12-18 months. Since Lou had planned ahead, I did have the time, but found myself lacking the motivation. I admit that I wasn't giving Rachel my full attention as I was preoccupied with a carton of vegetables lo mein and a marathon of Sex & The City re-runs. I thumbed through enough of the book to know that it wasn't for me. Most horrifying was the command that I create flyers announcing my availability and mail them to everyone I know...and ask everyone to spread the word AND the flyers. I'm not kidding.
I never finished the book, but I did take its advice of trying on-line dating...kind of. Why? Because after a certain age, when you are found out to be single, helpful people always ask, "Well, have you tried the internet?" They deliver this line as though they are generously pointing you to the last lifeboat on the Titanic, if the Titanic had been simultaneously sinking from a jagged iceberg, burning to a crisp from an unwieldy bonfire and cowering under an attack by a fleet of dive bombers. If I could say “yes,” would the interrogations stop? It was worth a try.
The eHarmony commercials seemed harmless enough. Answering the questionnaire that would supply me with "compatible matches pre-screened across 29 dimensions" and viewing my matches was free...kind of. Nothing's ever free. I found that out after I spent roughly 30 minutes answering the survey, eHarmony told me that there was no one, no one in the whole universe for me. I immediately imagined the twinkly loveliness of the Milky Way with its 200 billion plus stars dotting the velvety black sky. Really?
eHarmony has boxes to check, depending on just how far and wide you are willing to go for love. A firm believer that one should not expend any more effort than is absolutely necessary whenever possible, I started with 25 miles. Nothing. I moved my check to 50 miles, hoping that Mr. Match was not on the other side of the Hampton Roads Bridge Tunnel. He wasn’t. I kept recasting a wider net, still nothing. How could that be? I didn’t mind at all that my perfect-across-29-dimensions match, Sergey, was hiding out in Chechnya and unable to answer the phone. I just wanted to know that he was out there.
Curiouser and curiouser, I selected the last box, The Universe. eHarmony swiftly informed me that there was no match to be had. I couldn’t believe it. First, it was statistically unlikely. Second, why would a dating site actually tell a potential customer that? It must have been operator error. I tried again; it wasn’t operator area. Stupefied, I removed my information and user name from the site and decided immediately not to have an existential crisis.
I confided to my friend, Michelle, the truth about the universe and its surprising disdain for me. “You must have answered the questions wrong. You’re so hard on yourself. You need me to help you with it,” she suggested.
“I know I’m hard on myself, but it was a looooong questionnaire. It wasn’t all ‘yes’ or ‘no.’ They even had sliding scales and other boxes to check. I think it’s virtually impossible to sabotage,” I replied.
Michelle wrinkled her nose in my direction and weighed the possibilities. Like any great friend, she took my side in this matter, even if it was the whole universe we were up against. And that’s when I noticed that I had an involuntary response to eHarmony commercials, specifically when Dr. Neil Warren appeared to endorse his brainchild. I still flip that man the bird with the dexterity of a seasoned gunfighter.
I took a five year break before I had the nerve to try Chemistry.com. Remember that repulsive flyer that you send to friends? That’s basically what a profile is for dating sites. Chemistry was more rigorous than I had anticipated. Each 24 hours, I was sent five new matches that I had to rate before the next five would be sent to me. It was like high school. Actually, the second bachelor who was matched to me was an old high school friend. Chemistry provides a series of “safeguards” before you are allowed to e-mail your matches. In order to say hello to my friend, I would have to feign interest by rating him as “sizzling.” I did, feeling confident that he would know that I was just trying to say a friendly hello.
He did not return the sentiment, and I found out that the on-line dating world is its own version of Vegas. Not for me, though. I couldn’t stop talking about it. I had a whole host of friends as a support system this time around just an Alt-Tab away on Facebook. My Pit Crew enjoyed the regular mass discussion threads I sent out detailing my progress. In fact, they were quickly friending each other, making connections, all a direct result of my inability to make any for myself. When a stripper was matched to me on Chemistry, I decided to take my leave before the month’s subscription was up. It wasn’t him; it was me. My pal Lucy offered the consolation of, “You will always have ones.” He had a job. He was smiling and fully dressed in his picture. I just couldn’t figure out what I could bring to that relationship.
A month of Match.com was my next plan of attack. The good news about this site is that you are able to search profiles of all users without having to wait for matches to arrive in your mailbox. The bad news is that you have to choose your best physical feature from a pull down menu. Seriously. Based on the available options, I thought the box marked “feet” was safe. I even posted what I thought was a harmless picture of my feet minding their own business in front of a bookshelf to support my claim. That’s when I found out that I was a couple of photographs away from being a kingpin in the foot fetish community. You see, the profiles are also searchable by feature. “Will you post a photograph of your feet in stockings?” men wondered. “No, I would not,” I replied. “Would you be interested in joining a Yahoo user group that’s for people with foot fetishes?” someone asked. “No ,thank you,” I answered.
At least I was having some fun e-mail exchanges with a member of Red Sox Nation. I eventually gave him my phone number. It was about thirty minutes into the conversation that he was able to work in this little tidbit; he also had a foot fetish. My cordless phone allowed me to get on-line while we finished the conversation and delete the pesky photo from my profile once and for all. Even at home, I began to involuntarily obscure my bare feet under furniture, or quite intentionally wear thick socks. The other 50% of the mail in my inbox was from the male homosexual community.
I was so relieved when the gay men showed up to send me “winks.” Winks are exactly what they sound like, a wordless way to pass on a little, “Hey Cutie!” with a tiny smiley face appearing in your in-box. My friend Kevin tells me, “You are a gay man’s dream.” I assumed that they had dutifully shown up again with their parade float full of support for me. Being a southern girl, I always read their profiles and sent thank-you messages for the winks and a little shout out to the gay crowd. Seems all of these “gay” men had mistakenly marked that they were interested in the same sex on their profiles and bristled a little when I sent them a “woop woop” hello for their solidarity. Apparently, I am the accidental gay man’s nightmare.
The best yield from my two-month marathon in the world of on-line dating is my girlfriend, Lisa. Not that kind of girlfriend...we were lab partners in high school chemistry class. You can click on “Find People Like Me” to scope out the competition and get an idea about what a successful promotional campaign might look like. I took her out for lunch, didn’t even have to kiss her goodbye and we’re still friends. My male match did end up being on the other side of the Hampton Roads Bridge Tunnel, and all I have to show for it is a Magic 8 Ball and a strong hope that there really is no one in the universe who mirrors my 29 dimensions of compatibility. I’ve spent enough time on dates with myself already.
Saturdays of Past
Emily Curle
EVWP Summer 2009
On any given Saturday,
In the heat of summer
When I was young,
I would journey with my father
To his place of work.
On any given Saturday,
I would notice the cold stone floors
That looked like black and copper pebbles
Pressed smooth.
On any given Saturday,
I would sit in the open room
Eating my mid-afternoon treat
Of a big flat hamburger with ketchup;
The kind from a walk-up stand
That no longer exists.
On any given Saturday,
I would sit while he worked
On what looked to me like drawings
Of a mixed-up game of tic-tac-toe
With too many players.
On any given Saturday,
I would sit and listen
As the wind from a noisy fan
Quenched the humid, sluggish air.
On any given Saturday,
I would feel the breeze
And close my eyes, content
Just to be.
EVWP Summer 2009
On any given Saturday,
In the heat of summer
When I was young,
I would journey with my father
To his place of work.
On any given Saturday,
I would notice the cold stone floors
That looked like black and copper pebbles
Pressed smooth.
On any given Saturday,
I would sit in the open room
Eating my mid-afternoon treat
Of a big flat hamburger with ketchup;
The kind from a walk-up stand
That no longer exists.
On any given Saturday,
I would sit while he worked
On what looked to me like drawings
Of a mixed-up game of tic-tac-toe
With too many players.
On any given Saturday,
I would sit and listen
As the wind from a noisy fan
Quenched the humid, sluggish air.
On any given Saturday,
I would feel the breeze
And close my eyes, content
Just to be.
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