Kayaking For a Class

Katie Geer
Journalism 325
Dr. Moore

Kayaking For a Class
The University of South Carolina is now offering a Physical Education class in kayaking as an elective for students who qualify. This new move of kayaking for a grade is a great way for students to get outside and enjoy physical exercise. The University of South Carolina’s students are making a mark on the local kayaking scene by drifting, paddling and racing down the river here in Columbia.
The Saluda River is sprinkled with small rapids and sections of placid water, this is the perfect combination for anyone who is interested in getting a little wet and experiencing a rush. From the avid to the newcomer, kayaking is a perfect sport for students.
The Universities' association with the surrounding city of Columbia is manifested by student organizations and the involvement of students in a public relation fashion. Part of the way the University is reaching out into the community to show their students local exposure is by offering a kayaking class for students that qualify. This class, taught by Professor Karen Kustafik, is a one credit elective which offers an opportunity to get out on the local river and learn the ropes of kayaking.
“The classes we offer are for beginners. Usually, at least half of the students report some prior experience in a kayak, canoe, raft or tube. As long as students are comfortable swimmers, they are good to go for this class” comments Kustafik, “Even if they do not pursue whitewater kayaking, the experience gained in class will help them to be safe and have fun on the water.”
Eric Lee, a senior in the English department, is currently taking the kayaking class. Having kayaked before, Eric found this class to be light, enjoyable and a great way to experience the outdoors.
“I've been working on how to roll, buddy assisted flips this year.  The USC class has really been helpful, and it gives me the chance to get out on some white water.”
Lee is taking part in Kustafik’s class, and he says the scene for kayaking in Columbia for students is somewhat a hit and miss situation.
“There are a couple classes offered each semester through the PE Department. They meet for about five weeks, starting the week after spring break.  Outdoor recreation used to rent kayaks regularly, but a few too many students kept getting hurt.  Now, students who are enrolled or took the Kayaking class can rent them because they have proven knowledge of the needed skills, or so my kayaking professor says.”
Though he enjoys kayaking here in Columbia, his favorite river to boat is in Rock Hill, South Carolina, but he quickly adds, “I'm heading to the Chattanooga with my Kayaking class; so I could have a new favorite place come Monday.”
One does not have to take a kayaking class to enjoy the activity. Robert Clendenin, a graduate student at USC has always enjoyed the river.
“Well, I've been kayaking for about 10 years.  I got into it when I was working at a sporting goods store selling them. I decided to buy one for myself and since then it's grown from just some recreational, paddle the lakes and such to some full on river running antics.  All in all, it's a good time that I am glad I got in to.”
Kayaking offers many different things to different people, some it gives the ability to work out frustration, and others, to regain a sense of calm. Clendenin compares the rush of the river and the adrenaline high from the rapids, against the calm parts, “It offers me the chance to get outside and get in touch with the world around me again, regain my little harmony bubble that I live in with the earth and such and reflect on life.”
Both Lee and Clendenin concluded that while students should go out and participate in physical activity, both cringe at the idea of the local river becoming over run by students out to goof off and not to really enjoy nature.
Clendenin states, “I don't want someone to be crowding me on the river for a grade honestly.  Go take golf or shag or something like that, but leave me be.  Not trying to sound uptight or possessive, but USC doesn't need to get into the kayak business,” he jokingly adds, “Unless they are going to build a wave house close by once they ruin the river.”  
Kayaking is at its hight in the summer and Adam Powell, a senior accountant at Confluence Water Sports, in Easley South Carolina, can attest to the rise in sales. Powell
has been working in the kayaking business for the past two years, and says that sales skyrocket right before the summer months hit.
While he will admit that kayaking was not a preferred sport before coming to the company, he has since, through the influence of his coworkers and his environment, become a new, up and coming kayaker.
“I never really had any desire or interest in kayaking or water sports until I became employed at Confluence in April 2009.”
Powell’s role in the kayaking business is on the production end. Confluence creates and manufactures kayaks and canoes like Mad River Canoe, Perception, Dagger and many more. Once the boats are ready they are shipped off to distribution centers and then on to retailers.
Local Columbian kayak and canoe rental shops near the river flourish during the summer. While the companies declined an official interview, stating it was not in the best interest of their company, they did acknowledge the fact that students do indeed contribute a lot of business during the warmer months. Saturday rentals along the river go up while students and locals have the time off to explore and play.
Lee commits that the river is a great place for students to get away and relax, “Getting outdoors is really important to me. Its the perfect relaxation sport.”
More students should take advantage of the nature that is right out side their door, even if it is not for a grade in a class, fun is right around the corner. Or as Powell says, “Kayaking is just a great way for students to take a breather from their busy lifestyles and head down to the water for a day and just…soak it in.” 

Students Keep Word

Failing to fulfill responsibilities hurts all members of campus groups
Summer vacation starts in a few weeks, and there is more to do now then ever. Classes are coming to a close, friends are getting together and the lucky seniors are graduating and scrambling to find their careers after school. While a plethora of things are no doubt nabbing students' attention, students should not neglect their commitments to student organizations or volunteer work.

Many organizations on campus see a swell of enthusiasm at the start of the semester as students come in, eager to get involved, and many students bite off more then they can chew. Organizations shape their projects and work ideas on the amount of sign-ups they get at the start of a semester. But more often then not, as the semester drags on, assignments, projects and lack of energy become pending factors in student participation, and organizers are left with a workload too large for those who have remained to fulfill.

The issue is not with the student organizations or the volunteer groups. It is the students' lack of commitment that hurts the organizations. Students should seriously consider the promise they are making when they sign up to be part of a student organization or volunteer group. When a student does not show up to a meeting or fulfill his or her responsibilities, it puts extra pressure and work on those who participate diligently. If the organization or volunteer group is student-run, the added pressure and work is put on top of the school work the leaders have as well. Backing out of a commitment is a selfish action, especially when the others working just as hard depend on group participation.

As part of the University of South Carolina's "public face," student organizations need to be run as efficiently and smoothly as possible. When a group is counting on individual participation and support, and those students back out as the semester wears on, there is a danger of the quality of these organizations dropping. Involvement of every individual is key, even up until the last day of school. Student-run organizations and the like are here to promote the university, not showcase its students' lack of commitment.

Many students join organizations and volunteer groups to build their resumes and look good on job applications. But if they are not willing to put in the time and effort into their commitments, then they have only gained words on a page but no experience or ability to show good work ethic.

Students should think before they sign up for too many student organizations and volunteer groups. It is immature to leave those in charge, who are dependent on their members' participation, with the extra load of doing all the work. Think before you commit.

Students and standards

Athletes, high-profile people deserve as much criticism as ‘average Joe’

Students come to USC for all sorts of reasons. Some come on academic scholarships, some because they have many friends here, some to be on sports teams and some with big dreams. All who enroll in the university are a part of the face of the university and should be held to that standard.

With high-profile students, such as sports players, there is a lot of pressure to perform a certain way and to uphold a certain code of ethics. But student-athletes and other students with similar statuses shouldn’t be the only ones held to a higher standard. We are all the face of University of South Carolina. We should all be equal.

People may argue that those who are on the forefront of the media coverage and whose names get thrown around a lot should be examples and should be cautious that their every action is being watched because the university reaps the consequences of what they do. But every student, no matter what class and no matter what student organization he or she belongs to, should still play his or her role in holding up the university and its policies.

Simply because a student’s name is known because he or she can run with a football, jump up to a hoop, engage in public speaking activities or put on a charity event should not make the student more prone to repercussions.

I am by no means suggesting that the standard by which the university expects its students to act should be lowered. I am suggesting that it be raised to the same level for all students. It seems that if a student’s name is recognized with an athletic team or prestigious university club, he or she somehow is awarded an extra honor code.

What about the students who are hard-working in and out of the classroom? These students are the ones the community has a daily connection with. These students are just as much the face of the university as others.

The university should not limit its expectations of students to those who are more well-known. Whether people are celebrities within the university or not, we all need to be familiar with and be held to the same rules and expectations. It is only fair.

The university does a good job recognizing those out there who play hard, win big and cause a scene, but the school should reach out to the little people on campus, hear their stories, see what they are accomplishing and, if need be, expose them to the same brunt of ridicule or respect as they do other students. Just because a student is gifted does not mean he or she should be judged harder or held to harsher standards.

Professors and advisement

Academic advisers unable to offer students most insightful guidance

This time of year, many students are rushing and stressing over finishing the semester. But preparation starts for the coming semester well before the end of the current one is in sight.

There are many issues that come up when a student deals with advisement and registration. My first semester here, I was advised to take a certain amount of classes. Being a transfer student, I did not have much say in my first semester load of classes. But the classes worked out great, and I really enjoyed what I was taking.

It was not until my second semester that I realized the advisement system needed to be revised. I was advised to take two classes out of order, which has set me back from being able to take an internship and graduate on time. Not being familiar with the courses and the requirements, I was unaware that I was taking the wrong classes at the time.

Also in my second year here, I applied, at the urging of a professor, to take a semester off and study abroad. My adviser at the time told me not to do it, that I needed to hurry up and get done. The problem is that he ignored the chance of being exposed to culture and learning by experience. His view was strictly scholarly. Advisers see it as their jobs to get as many kids through the semester as fast as possible.

Sometimes the best path is ignored, or classes are assigned because they know the courses backward and forward but do not teach and interact in the classroom to know which classes are best for their students. Advisers need to understand the reasons why they assign classes to students.

The best possible way to fix the confusion and frustration is for students to be advised by their professors. The professors know what needs to be done and what extra opportunities need to be taken for advancement in the field. Students should seek advice from the professors who have been in the field of study and know when it is important to rush through school and get done and when it is important to stop and experience things like studying abroad.

Some will argue that the professors will not have time, but I believe we can work around this. There is a need for people who specialize in academic advisement, but students should not have to limit themselves to taking advice from someone who is not actively involved with in-classroom education. Advisers are good for answering the technical questions of getting in and out of classes, but students should utilize professors as guides on how their education should take course.

Thankfully, I have been able to resolve most of my advisement and course issues, but it was up to me to shop around in my department and find an adviser who knows more about what she is suggesting.

The pup pup

End of February came, and my doctor told me I was going to have minor out patient procedure. The process was painful, but I was fortunate enough that on a pain scale from 1-10, my pain was slightly over 5, so it could have been much worse. The drawback was that I was not allowed to lift anything over 20 lbs. Which is great, except I am a full time student lugging around a million pound school bag, work at a daycare with children needing to be picked up, and live on the third floor of my apartment building in which I have to lug groceries and bags up. So not lifting anything for a week became impossible.

The hardest part of this whole thing was that I felt alone. Many people try to be tough, and I find myself trying to be as well, but there are times, when even I cannot fake myself out. While I love my life here in Columbia, with school and the friends I have made, I find myself wishing I could be done, over with school, and on with the whole thing called life. The one bedroom apartment that I live in can get very quiet and at night, stupidly creepy. I can basically sit in my bedroom and see the bathroom, the kitchen, the living room, the front door...nothing could be stirring around in here without me knowing it. But still, sometimes the dark and the quiet is just a little much, and I find myself wanting noise. Warmth or something close to hold that has a heartbeat. So, a week ago, my boyfriend and I purchased a puppy. A nine week old vibrant pure bred springer spaniel. Black and white, almost a complete saddle back, we named her Pairie Madysan (Pronounced Perry Madison). Little cute precious snuggly Pairie came with her own set of personality traits. A set of sharp teeth, a bark that will echo endlessly in these small walls, and four hefty paws that will support a one day hefty dog.

I was shocked when Pairie learned almost instantly to sit on command. To not use the bathroom in the house, and to dance a jig to signal it was time to potty outside. She had an obsession with toes and a fear of climbing steps. those little droopy eyes always peering about to catch the next big thing. The first night we had her, she curled up into her bed and slept a solid 7 hours. I was shocked. The next night she trumped herself and slept 8 almost 9. I had indeed bought the miracle dog. She was an angel.

Now a week has passed. She has grown about an inch, eaten more puppy chow then I can keep up with, and spilt more water bowls then I can keep full. But after all, its only been a week, how much trouble could she have really gotten into? Let me tell you.

Well, her first experience being kept in the bathroom during school hrs gated in by a baby gate resulted in a spilt water bowl mixed with dog pee smeared all over the bathroom floor (don’t worry, she got a bath as did the floor, thankful for Clorox!); she then felt the need to attempt to demolish the ONLY thing I had neglected to put out of her reach, despite having a plethora of toys to chew and play with, she picked the toilet cleaning brush. The next thing to fall to her little mouth was the door stop. I still can’t fathom how she got the thing off the wall. But there it lay, screw and all, glistening slobbery metal with teeth marks, the rubber tip chewed to shreds.

We went for several days without a mishap due to Pairie, she barked a lot yes, but finally got the point of playing with her own toys and entertaining herself so I could get some work done in the evenings. Her spunk spirit and cute disposition made it easy to come home to, yes there was stress from her being so rambunctious and hyper, but long walks next to the river would wear her out for hours on end. Everyone at the rive seemed to love little Pairie. Often times thought there would be confusion as to her name and gender...or even her breed. To me, when people asked what type of dog she was, it would humor me, because she is obviously a spaniel. The markings, the docked tail the crimped ears, doesnt it all point to it? Maybe its not as obvious to some people, which is fine.
Everyone wanted to pet “him” and I would respond, “Oh you can pet her.”

Which was undoubtedly followed by, “Oh its a she! What is her name?”

“Pairie.”

“Hary? What a cute name for a fluffy dog!”

“No,” I would say, “Pairie, with P, pronounced p-e-r-r-y.” I wouldn’t bother with telling them the spelling, I think it would have been to much for some of them.

She is a clumsy dog but well behaved if she has something to do. Pairie loves for her belly to be rubbed and her newest fascination is the buzzing cellphone and ice cubes. I have regarded her as a loving to play puppy, but not bad into everything. Her white crooked nose constantly twitches as sounds of cars and people mull about downstairs, but yet she has never attempted to be utterly destructive. A huge people pleaser she melts at the word no and begs for forgiveness upon being bad.

Saturday was a prime example of her mischievous side coming out apparently I hadn’t given her enough time to showcase this “cute” attribute.

We went out for a quick trip to Wal-Mart and to grab dinner. Having propped the baby gate up in the kitchen, surely, we thought, Pairie would not be able to escape and roam the house. The house was left completely un-puppy-proofed. Upon return, there sat Pairie, next to the door, excited to see us...the house...a mess. Apparently she had discovered a way to knock down the baby gate and attempted then to chew everything in site. The trash which was waiting to be taken out, now was strewn about the floor. Cascade, organic pizza packaging, napkins, empty bottles, and a bag of half eaten stale chocolate cookies. Yes, my dog helped herself to chocolate and lived. Deodorant from the bathroom had somehow made it to the living room, the bathroom towels were tossed and turned all over the floor, and the trash can, affectionately on its side. Pairie made her final grand stamp on the apartment by leaving no room untouched by peeing on a white t-shirt in the floor of my bedroom and pooping decidedly on a pair of pants. Thanks Pairie, we missed you too.

Did I fuss at the little ham basket? No, I simply laughed at her. Who could be mad at her? After all, she didn’t know she wasn’t supposed to do that. She was having a blast without us there. Oh, what I wouldn’t have given for a camera on the wall as she pranced around with her treasures and fun new toys. She is a baby after all.

Tonight, things are a bit more settled...kind-of. theres the nightly wetting of the floor the mins after I have walked her outside (she must have the world’s smallest bladder) she has found the vacuum most amusing today, the wheels especially. There is the pinecones in the basket on my coffee table, now those are really fascinating. And there was the glass of water that she knocked off the table and shattered into a million pieces about an hour ago.

But somehow thats all ok. Because right now, Pairie is snuggled up next to me, making snoring sounds, her head resting on my lap, her pudgy little belly rising and falling with her breath, her sweet tangy puppy breath.

I am one of the most happiest and luckiest girls in the world. Pairie is a handful, but there is a joy in being needed, dependent upon, loved unconditionally by something so small that makes it all so worth it. She is my silly little ham of a puppy, but she is also going to be one good life long companion.

Spring

Chalk. Pollen. Flowers. Dust. Perfume. Even the puffing lint from the tissues, irritate my nose. No doubt it is spring. I like spring, other then the allergies, its not bad! When spring is thought of, what do you think of? For me, walking the street to class, I smelled fresh cut grass in the muggy heat and reflection off the asphalt. That me riding my bike or scooter up and down the road as dad cute the grass. My bare feet skim onto of the rough black top from time to time, leaving behind specimens of skin, creating rough and sometimes red spots on my toes. Passing a Bradford Pear tree recalls thoughts of scooting up underneath the corn Pear tree on our house, scouring for caterpillars. Taking clear plastic hermit crab cages, I would create the optimal dwelling space for the little multi legged creature. Their plump elongate bodies with grey brown and yellow stripes were dropped into a maze of rocks, twigs, and leaves, with a splash of water to create humidity. There they would sit until they spun a cocoon or died. I can still smell that strong tangy smell of hovering over the cage and taking in the sight of nature taking its course. When I return to my apartment, my new puppy is sitting eagerly waiting to go out and romp around the river. Her playfulness and spunk brings back the thought of my most faithful dog, Bama. The hours he spent outside with me. The times we dressed him up, and the befuddlement of me at a young age as to why we could not name a boy dog Alison. But in the end, it all worked out, and that was simply the best dog I have ever had. I love spring. I love fall better, but spring is the next best season.

It was one of those March days when the sun shines hot and the wind blows cold:  when it is summer in the light, and winter in the shade.  ~Charles Dickens

He said it best. Thats this time of year in a nutshell. Summer in the light, winter in the shade. Its that time of year where a sweater it needed in the morning and a tank in the afternoon. When last night rolled around, a warm thick breeze blew as I walked Pairie around the dog walk. The air smelled heavy of purple Wisteria, small snowflake grapes hanging down from a vine. Nothing seems to be complimenting the night, its meshes, but doesn’t reflect the darkness. Illuminated and warm, nothing like the cold black nights that have been the norm as of late. Later that night a spring shower flowed through. Being on the top floor I was able to hear the patter of water splattering on the top of my building and windows. The last walk of the night was ushered in with a cooler breeze. The rain had brought the lower temperatures. But soon, all will be hot and muggy, thick and pasty. Warm in the day, morning, evening and night. It will be a heat that suppresses yet stirs to action bugs and aunts.
So enjoy the spring. The sneezing and the coughing, because soon the allergies will be gone, and the heat stroke will be here to stay.

Stop writing your future!

March the 17th. It is the year 2011. It is also St. Patrick's day. I'm sitting in history class, am I paying attention...probably not as much as I should be, but after all, it so pretty outside, and she is rambling on and on about WWI and WWII.

I feel like this spring is going to bring so much more greatness then I had originally expected. The plan, (who ever really follows the plan anyway?) was to be in Europe. To be productive. To be growing academically and bursting into a creative writing frenzy and passion. Yeah, well long story short, none of that happened. Now the tables have turned, the pages of this plan have altered, and I am more excited then ever to be embracing the new “plan” which is more like a pencil sketch with plenty of holes and eraser marks.

There is a saying someone close to me tells me often.

“Stop writing your future.”

This phrase usually passes between us when I am stressing out over “the plan” of life. He simply wants to bring me back to the realization that life is best served as a covered dish, unordered and full of zesty surprises. This has done me a great deal of good to shake off the stresses of “having to” and “must do” life is now about learning to enjoy what I am doing, embrace it, and attitude is everything. Even if you have to do it, feeling happy about doing it will make the deed more enjoyable.

I feel lucky, somewhat spoiled, and majorly blessed, to have someone in my life thats patient with me and teaches me to laugh at the stupid and serious alike. It’s go with the flow time. Nap when tired. Pile the clothes up, no need to stress about them being unwashed just yet. Eat the cupcake. Take the walk outside. Beat the history paper. Buy the puppy. Wave at the random person. Excessively wear stretchy pants.

It is all such a wonderful way to view the little fleeting moments we call life. Do I still catch myself stressing, oh ya betcha! But its not about not being under pressure, it is about taking it as it comes. Running wild and throwing that pen away that I used to use to etch the ending. I had so many endings to small things, to big things, splurging in a whole lot of question marks a long the way. But now, sometimes I’ll sketch it in pencil, but it doesn’t get grained into a stone wall.

So what are the things that I feel able to conquer this Spring and Summer? Well there is school to wrap up, the doggy to house train, the house to finish getting together. There is an internship to hope for and fulfill. A possible trip to Alabama to spend time with family. Rivers to kayak. Book to write. Many things. New little people to meet. Walk around happy and proud. And maybe land a little bling bling (hoping!!) One never knows.

Things are sketchy. Not in the sense that they are unsure and bad, but its a large piece of paper with small pencil sketches of what my life could be.

There is a house. There is a dog, a family, a writing studio. The house has a beautiful red wooden door, arched at the top, doorknob in the middle. Flowers bloom around a swing in the left hand side, and inside small bare feet tap against a hard wood floor. On the back porch a spaniel lies in the sun, soaking it up, passed out from the day’s romps. There is a bookshelf in the writing studio, full of my favorite books, Sylvia Plath, present on my desk. My leather journal from Italy sits at a slight angle on the edge. John Mayer plays in the background. I am lost somewhere in the house, barefoot, and more then likely in stretchy pants. Maybe I am bent over an amateur painting I’m slopping away at; maybe I’m playing a game with kids; maybe I have my bare feet snuggled between those of my husband’s on our big oversized couch reading, talking, watching television, my head fitting perfectly between his chin and chest.

There is an ideal sketch in the making! But thats the future, this is now. I will get there I am sure, but right now, it is more placid, sometimes lonely, but always interrupted with surprise flowers, great hugs, and humor to make me laugh until I cry.

But even now nothing is for certain for tonight’s events. The only one sure thing is that I will be eating a bowl of Lucky Charms. After all, everyone needs a rainbow and pot of gold on St. Patrick’s Day. Happy Spring everyone!

Why cant I hear the Music?

As I walked down a muggy, damp brick paved walk way from one summer class to yet another I found myself walking with ipod in, tuning into a cadence and looking around at things I have passed hundreds of times. Why, on a Tuesday, in mid July did it stick out to me? Maybe it was the absence of people, how the walk way was clear, the air thick, no sound but that of a guitar in my ears, or maybe it was me inside myself peering out wondering at it all. Yet, as the world around me was empty it was at the same time full. Maybe, just maybe, it is me that is empty, and that is why the simplicity of the world stunned me. So much lately has been buzzed, confused, altered, a slow yet steady decline and build up at the same time if that is possible. Moment-by-moment I watch things slip away, things I thought I had a grasp on, fettered to my abilities, to promises, to goals to achievements I haven’t lost them, but they are not so tightly strung. I see months diminish into weeks between me and leaving America for London. I see single digit days till summer school is out, till goodbyes. I saw my dog dash away before I had a chance to grasp the idea, blessed enough to be able to hold and love on her one last time. So much has changed yet still in slow pace I see it emptying out, wondering what will be filled in return.
We move on and we grow, we fall behind and we bend when we are to stay straight and we achieve things we never knew possible. Not all loss is bad, some is good, some makes you stronger and some makes you realize just how weak you are, but yet, you are still standing, you may be as empty as you ever have been, but that emptiness is a great place to start. Emptiness is not a frozen state, unless you make it. Sometimes the ability to still stand while holding nothing is greater then holding the whole world in your hands, invincible and confident. But there is no denying that the emptiness is a lonely and dismal place to be. For me, I find it is when I become most expressive within myself and I find ways to say things I never thought to say before. I scold myself for the faults that I allowed in, for the people that I let have a chunk of me, the trust I so unknowingly gave away, for talking when I should have listened, for crying when I should have been thankful, and for loving when I should have stayed guarded. But then I tell myself that it is ok, for as a friend told me last night…it is not that we are stupid for any of these things, it is staying in that situation that brought you to these realizations that would make us stupid. We don’t always get to pick our circumstances, sometimes they are thrust upon us before we turn our heads straight, and we are handed a bucket of issues and blame that optimism and hopeless romanticism prompted us to ignore. But can one really be at fault for wanting to feel full? I think not, I think it is basic instinct of any person, tough or spongy, hoping to never be left standing wondering and empty handed.
So I keep walking down this walkway…and there is a squirrel perched on the brick wall eating some odd-looking fruit. The fruit’s segments are all split up, little red pulpy beads with green knobby tops. He ignores me, dedicated to consuming his precious morsel. I stand there watching, humored by his desperation over the spread that is before him, he is unaltered by my presence; this little guy is simply sitting there shoving this fruit in as fast as he can, frantic that in a blink of an eye…that his paws will be empty.

Let's take a walk

Come on, let’s take a walk. Where exactly are we going? You will see.

First we put on out shoes. Shoes are important, may not be the most comfortable thing to wear, but sometimes that just how it is. Discomfort can breed protection. What? You do not want to wear them, but sharp things can stick in your foot, like the seeming harmless acorn, but that little sharp prick at the end can swindle its way into your flesh and create a slice that irritates you for days. Or you could step on glass or metal, something more sharp then you were prepared for, and then you will have to have recovery, stitches, maybe even shots to heal the wound. There’s also dirt, your feet will get muddy, dusty and grimy. And at the end of the walk, your feet will be cut, stuck and scummy. Those beautiful white feet…is that what you want them to look like? Good, you put on your shoes.

Ok well, let’s open the door and go. Oh? You want to know what is behind that door? That no one knows, but the reaching for the knob is half the struggle, and the next step is to swing the door wide and see the view from the present threshold, it is just the stepping over, in taking that view on the opposite threshold that is the hardest chunk. But once you step over, take my hand if you feel wobbly and we will walk on. Now you want to know where we are going. Why must you always have a plan or a map, why cant you just walk, look up from your feet and look at the view around you? If you raise your head and look around, you will see marvelous things that you have never seen before and that you will take in a view of life, a different take, a different perspective, will equal a new way of life.

And let me reassure you about that way of life you left behind. All good things in life, if they are truly yours, will be there for you always, or better yet, they will walk with you, behind you, beside you, you will not be alone. So don’t worry about that door, walk through it, don’t close it, leave it ajar just incase one or two want to slip through with you, or if you ever need to go back for a glimpse. But never forget, never stay, press onward in the walk, I am here, holding your hand, so let’s take that first step.

The sounds, the sights....but oh, the smell. I'm weird I know...but the whole way from Philly to NYC, I kept thinking about the smell that NYC had seven years ago when I first set foot in the city, and the smell was what I was most eager to find out if it was the same. The bus which had taken me and Casey from Philly jolted to a halt, we stepped outside, and I breathed deep. It wasnt there at first...but by the time we got to the end of the first block, I ecstatically exclaimed that it did in fact have the same smell as I recall from last time! There were so many things I wish I could have captured from that city, and brought them back with me; the clear blue sky with white shiny buildings propped up against it, the buzz of the train as the wind whooshed over my face, the fashion, the ambiance of the little fire escapes skipping from one window to the next up a bricked building all of it, I wanted to give it all a big hug. I smile because I felt alive. The tempo was fast, the sounds exhilarating, never did you see the same person twice, how many lives did I come across in one hour? Or in just one block? The parks, they were full of people in headphones and with laptops, or lunch and a book, or like one lady, 5 dogs...bless her heart. There was something so urging about it, my eyes, swinging back and forth could not fathom all the different sights. And then the thought hit me. I was a tourist. To some, they see this every day. The man on his laptop, eyes glued to the screen, didn't notice the bird and skittish squirrel sharing a chunk of discarded bagel to his left. I didn't see am woman dressed in fashion, gazing up at the buildings, mouth open peering to see the uppermost hight. Not many people basked in the humor of how the most sun is in the middle of the intersection because the buildings block most of the sunlight from the sidewalks...and no one ever was overheard talking about the smell of NYC, it's own unique smell. They didnt notice. They sat in their world, in the fashionable black garb, large bags, little ear-buds tuning out the world around them, passing time in the city, not realizing the city they lived in. But i suppose, if you were in fact faced with that on a daily basis, then it would become mundane and typical. And maybe it is the thousands of blase people that i past that created the vibe in the city, the city sucked all the energy from the people, but yet, somehow it was still given out by the sheer volume of humanity.
The shocker was Brooklyn. Brooklyn wasnt what i was expecting in more then one way. It was scarce. The streets were wide, and the side walks narrow. there was no busy fast walking hordes. there were solitary people. Walking by, a quick glance in my direction, and nothing more. The younger ones stared you down as you walked by, and no one nodded or said a word. it was silent, no tress, few cars, bare. Yet with all this seemingly negativity coming from Manhattan to Brooklyn, there was a sense of peace. things moved slower, the sky was just as blue, but no longer a glitzy white paste against it, but a worn well lived brick building now in the place of a skyscraper. Inside the people there was a different kind of confidence. no longer was it the confidence of knowing your clothes were the latest thing to hit the Soho district, it was an inner confidence, that if they needed to, they could handle anything. In a moment i glanced over my shoulder to my right down a side street, the sun was beginning to get dimmer, and on the steps of an apartment building congregated a pack of teens, I am not sure why this stuck out to me, maybe it was the long desolate street, the treeless view, the bronze reflection of the sun off the buildings, the black railing, the shadowy figures cast up against wall and step and curb. I am not sure, but it stuck, and it brought a human element to the moment. It was the human side to the city, it was the opposite of the hollowness of Manhattan. It brought the whole thing together.
I am sure each borrow has its unique twist to offer. That each brings a different element to what makes up a city. But in my limited time, the things i saw, the things i felt, the things that still smelled the same, it all fit like a puzzle. It gave a longing that was left inside of me to return. It felt right, and on that bus trip back to Philly, I sat alone, realizing what i was leaving, and as we drove up on a bridge and the Empire State gleamed in the night sky i stared. I stared at the skyline, unconsciously swearing the same promise that i had made seven years prior, that i would return. I stared until my eyes went fuzzy, and then they focused on the splatters on the bus window. They focused back on the present, not the future, reality was brought back into sight.

Over and above, a good day was had.

Have you ever had that morning, where you get up, bouncing almost, hope in the shower and find yourself singing and or whistling in the shower...then you stop and think, um why am i so happy at 6am? I had one of those moments today, the day started off fabulously! with 4 hrs of sleep under my belt, i felt like i was good to go. Half way through my shower, something that tends to happen every once and a while, a line slid through my head, a line that had rhythm and beat and rhyme. I proceeded to construct the most fantastic poem ever, the only pitfall, it was in my head, and i was unable to write it down. Later, i tried to write it down, but it had lost something of it power and ended up being something that looked fairly off from the original construction. But that's ok, at least i know that school hasnt sucked quite all the poeticness out of me just yet! The second part that made the day a super day, free parking. I dont know why, but the little guy at the parking garage didnt charge me. It must have just been a good free parking day! The third, was the english exam, which turned out not to be as grotesque as i had feared. 12 short answer questions, and arm that ached from tip to shoulder later, i was done, turning it in and headed out into a fairly good weather day! Things after that went incredibly smooth, good lunch, and a exuberant greeting by little kids upon arriving at work. So nothing may have shattered the earth, but i still think today has turned out super fantastic...and its not even half over for me yet :)

What is it about a person that makes them special? Is there one aspect that stands out, or is it individualism. Do you find that those with the most similarities to yourself, are the ones you tend to gravitate towards? There are many "qualities" we set for ourselves when looking at people around us like if we are compatible or will our styles as accountancies or friends mesh? How we view ourselves has a great deal to do with how we view others. If we think of ourselves better, or inferior to those around us....such things bring out different "styles" in our own personalities. Have you ever sat back and looked at how you act around different people? I know it can be an interesting thing to do. In my life, i know different friends bring out different aspects in me, some I love, and some not so much...its not that they are bad, but they are foreign and I'm not comfortable with these new characteristics yet. We judge others, and we judge ourselves by others. Just because one person is comfortable doing something that is new to me, doesn't make me inferior to them, it just makes it new, and well frankly uncomfortable. And just because I can be confident and outgoing in a facet of life, and someone isn't quite on scale, doesn't make them less of a success then me. We each are different, but which part of me is the real me? I have thought on this a lot today, and this is my thought: All of them are me. Some parts of me I didnt understand yet, some I know backwards and forwards. But its like self discovery, learning which parts are for keeps and which need to be gotten ride of.
I stumbled across a quote tonight, one that i was so into and was like "Oh this is going somewhere" until i found out John Mayer said it, but none the less it seems still like an interesting way to look at how we view ourselves and other people...here it is....

"Life is like a box of crayons. Most people are the 8-color boxes, but what you're really looking for are the 64-color boxes with the sharpeners on the back. I fancy myself to be a 64-color box, though I've got a few missing. It's ok though, because I've got some more vibrant colors like periwinkle at my disposal. I have a bit of a problem though in that I can only meet the 8-color boxes. Does anyone else have that problem? I mean there are so many different colors of life, of feeling, of articulation.. so when I meet someone who's an 8-color type.. I'm like, "hey girl, magenta!" and she's like, "oh, you mean purple!" and she goes off on her purple thing, and I'm like, "no - I want magenta!"”

Is it our right to demand magenta and not accept the purple, what makes magenta more spectacular then purple? So what if your a few short of 64 crayons, and the other person may just have the 8, those 8 might beat up your 64 in a way that you couldnt fathom. just because they are typical doesn't make them lesser. theres something to be said for a 64 being with an 8, because that way, what the 8 lacks, the 64 is there to make up, and what the 64 is too eccentric with, the 8 is there to bring a normal balance.

This post may not really have a point, i guess the point was just to write and to think about how we act around ourselves and others, and why we pick people over other people....interesting how that happens.

Sitting in the library, the vast mass of books, and students finding a multitude of things to distract them (like me writing this blog over studying for a midterm tomorrow ...anyway) I am fighting the urge to dance to Michael Buble "Kissing A Fool" making do with little sways back and forth in my chair. The semester is half over, and its been a great run so far, on the home stretch now...the end is near...and then there are all the endless possibilities awaiting me after May 5th...so many to hope and pick from. But am i running to fast? The noise of the world, the business of no time, the fast slick pace that is demanded on me, what moments have i stopped to savor? The simple moments, the pride the contentedness with a grade, a letter of reference, a simple walk in the rain with speckled rain boots? Or what about those little people that look up and call me Miss Katie five days a week? The ones who greeted me today with exclamations of joy and hugs and slobbery insistent kisses? Or the other day, watching little eyes light up when seeing a odd mixture of paint ooze out between toes and upon lifting the foot, a perfect implement of their new "art" creation? Those are the precious moments. Those are the moments to be proud of, to hold on to and let linger in the senses, those little moments that to most, and typically to me get covered up in headaches, lack of sleep and assignments that are due. Stop and smell the roses. Splash in the water. Take a risk. switch it up. Stand and watch a couple of crazy people. Savor.

Writing about nothing

During her time alive she wasn't as acclaimed as her husband, but after Sylvia Plath's suicide her works became ever popular, twisted and dark yet somehow beautiful, the grasp elements of life that other authors allude to, but never nail. She wrote once, "Everything in life is writable.... if you have the outgoing guts to do it, and the imagination to improvise. The worst enemy to creativity is self-doubt." This quote is very true, yet here I sit, wanting to write with nothing to write on. I could do the typical regurgitation of my day, the sad fact that this morning in my room, leggings and boots seamed to match, bout outside in natural light....the two shades clashed; maybe the fact that I decided that water that is filtered and pour into a glass glass is better then flittered water in the plastic cup; or how my new obsessive song is "half of my heart" by john mayer. but even with all the guts and strength and determination to squash self doubt of those things being unwritable...i still fall short with anything to really write about. But surely Plath, one of the most influential writers of my life, had some teaming wisdom behind this statement, or was it just a frivolous writer spouting off words that formed a very compelling sentence? but when reading her works, the reader cannot help but notice how perfectly her work reflected this statement. She could write about the most basic things, and somehow you, the reader, saw a whole new perspective on it, that or her works were so complex and twisted that the meaning spoke different to every person that glanced across the page. to me, the first thing of hers i read, was her "daddy" poem. Though this doesn't reflect my relationship with my father, I am very blessed to have the father that i have, but her words, those fantastic descriptive words, burned, and i had no clue why they burned, they just did. and looking back, it seems a strange thing to have felt such a connection with this poem, it was a simple yet powerful poem, and when one understands the full nature of the poem the tragicness of its entirety is felt. These two stanzas were the ones that i felt the most....

"Bit my pretty red heart in two.
I was ten when they buried you.
At twenty I tried to die
And get back, back, back to you.
I thought even the bones would do.

If I've killed one man, I've killed two--
The vampire who said he was you
And drank my blood for a year,
Seven years, if you want to know.
Daddy, you can lie back now."

these mirrors her relationship with her father. it is to my understanding that he was never there, yet she always tried to gain his approval, till he died. She overdosed on pills on her first attempt at suicide, to get back to her father, that somehow "even the bones would do" that maybe in death she still could be in touch with him and he would in turn love her. the second stanza is showing her relationship with her husband, who she fell in love with because he was so much like her father, yet after seven years, he left her. there is such power behind the words, and they fall heavily and with the right leverage to make anyone feel a burn.

this poem does in fact show her writing about something, the subject matter is not just "anything" its pointed. Yet not everything in life is such. there are things that one can never write about, and there are things that you can write about way too much. last night, i was talking with a friend, and the subject of writing things that no one else would understand came up. some of the best writings of a writer are the ones they have tucked away, hidden from the world, not allowing them to be seen. the most writable things, are the most painful things. some of my own personal best will never be read by others, they are the journal entries where thoughts over take and spill out with out a filter. when writing for others, theres a certain veil between you and you audience. this veil holds back the emotions, and the painful things, but yet, true compelling writing has no veil, and for those who can write without inhibition, those are the writers who stir and move an audience with what they say. Plath had no veil, she wrote unfiltered and unaffraid. this is the cause for the burn.

This weekend brought back things that i thought i had forgotten. Little things. You know...the things that happened that you thought you had let go...or had hoped to have at last. But with things so close and so distant all at once, more things come back then might have been wished for. THere was that upstairs apartment, whose inside I never physically saw, but yet those black and white photographs slowly peeled off the walls in my glance up toward the buildings on main. As they peeled, they wafted down the invisible line to the floor below, here they settled, each covering the ones fallen before them. Here they lay, dust particles scattering over the photo's edges where desperate hands should be grasping, scooping them back up. Over by the river, the arching bridge stands as before, where black and white images of toes curled over iron bars, the press of a warm body against cool, smooth rock, the closeness of mint and chi and warm breath were wrapped into one swift breeze from the past. The wooden slats of a swing, the soulful squeak of a pendulum, swinging and marking the laps in time which has been spent...and the clock forgotten until cold and redness take over noses, such a cold nose that prompts a light tap of lips to nose, that assures that all feeling hasnt been lost, a feeling that warms more then the red nose. But no matter how it felt on those days, these chances in time have moved away from me...and what i hoped them to be has dissipated into a antique breath in time. Funny how expectations turn into possibilities that wane into things lost, things forgotten, until they return as things remembered. And as chances roll to the favor of recollection, the lucky memories make it all the way to the forefront, and consume the mind for a millisecond in time. a passing glance, a passing scent, a passing memory, of rainy days and water on a window, red Gerbers with shiny green leaves, small pink polka dot ribbons, torn jeans, faded hand prints on a car; lasting memories that will forever reoccur...each time with more longing for the ability to relive that brief moment in time...but a stronger sensation of know that I wasnt afraid to love and be loved, and that, that forever memory, is worth the lapses in recollection of crinkled noses, and princess toes, raspberries and waffles, barefoot dances and 30 min goodbyes. Chances are the memory is all that will be left of all it was hoped to be. But what a memory ....and if not, the memories are endlessly going to multiply....

Perceptions:

Katherine Watson: You can confirm to what other people expect of you, or...
Betty Warren: I know. Be ourselves.


Pulled from the halls of a large concentration of mass media, Macintosh computers, buzz about what’s new and hot, and the ever constant stream of information flowing through the classrooms, I have been plopped right down into a scene from "Mona Lisa Smile.” Base boards at least six inches up the walls, old time hinges, flake paint around the slim doors, with bubble glass windows and brass doorknobs. Above, the ductwork is exposed; stemming from what I am guessing is a lack of such inventions upon the original constriction. There is a certain musty and drafty smell to the hallways, as anything pounded or uttered in any part of the building can be heard basically anywhere. Hamilton College holds a certain appeal to it. For sure this is not the first class- high tech-state of the art classrooms that I have been sitting in all this time. But yet here, here is the perfect place to learn American Literature. Why not place a class in a setting that originates so far back? Why not let your mind think about all the people who have walked these tiled halls, in poodle skirts? Go-go boots? Bellbottoms? Leggings? And now sweater boots and shirt dresses? What exactly has passed through these doors? I would figure quite a lot. I arrived fairly early for the class so I took some time to look around, and explore…upon finding the bathroom, the windows, the type with the wood separating each pane, were propped open, a small stand a lone sink, with water the color of tea. First lesson learned in this building? Don’t drink the water. Radiators give off heat, and trust me, you don't want to touch them, and they definitely are not there to be a "catch all" counter. This is the type of building that I want to grab a dimpled couch, a throw and a good old, falling apart book; the type of book that has faded, pages curl incessantly upward, binder split and cracked, the book that has been loved from cover to cover. If a book could be loved to life like the Velveteen Rabbit, I would have quite a few live books. How exciting would that be? Just think, I would get to see Homer's Odyssey spring from the pages and come to life I would watch that island, and see him sail away, I would catch glimpses of those terrible gods that throw around human life at will, for their own pleasure. Then maybe I would get to lean against the stone wall and listen to Marius and Cosette in Victor Hugo's
Les Miserables. What amazing things could you see if this was possible?

So let me know....what book would you love to life if you could?
Do tell!

"Remember this is now. Live it, feel it, cling to it. I want to become acutely aware of all I’ve taken for granted." Sylvia Plath wrote these words after her realization on the brevity of life. Before her death she wrote novels, filled countless journals, and amassed a good amount of poetry that was later published by her husband. Sadly, Plath never got to see her work succeed. Plath’s words were strong and passionate, yet they held relevance to the reader just as they did to the author. She was able to take the mundane things in life and create a picture that spilled out onto her audience, exactly how she perceived the world around her. Though I utterly love Sylvia Plath, this blog isn't about her, but it is about life, written down in words as I see it, as is relevant to me, the author. I thought long and hard what exactly the blog should be about, shouldn't a blog be about something? Thats why I decided just to make it about everyday, normal complacent life. Nothing flamboyant. Just simple thoughts on simple things. I will try to update everyday, if not every other. I hope it is enjoyable to whoever choices to read it, but nonetheless, I will be here, writing away, because that is what I love to do. And as Plath pleaded with her readers, "Let me live, love and say it well in good sentences."