Posts

Excuses and 8-Second Attention Spans

I've heard, as most people have, the term "culture shock." Even in my small- town existence,  I have experienced culture shock at different points in my life (the majority being when we travel to somewhere that doesn't serve sweet tea). However, I never expected to experience it in my 600-something populated hometown. And all I had to do was become a teacher. The epidemic of which I speak is not exclusive to America's high schools. The individuals cannot see they are infected, so they seep out into the "real world" and to higher institutions, making others others pay the price for their distorted realities.  This generation is not only a different culture, but sometimes just a whole different breed of individual.  At times, it is like the first step off a boat into an uncharted land. No longer is this a world where we own up to our mistakes, find our own strength, and work around the obstacles that plague life. Instead, it is a world of the blame game,...

An Open Letter To The Girl I Can't Protect

When we are small, we want to be protected from the things we go bump in the night. As we become active, we protect ourselves from things we bump into that bruise us. We pay attention to the sharp edges and the threats of dangers. As we become older still, we try to protect ourselves from those that we bump into along lifes path that bump back. Those that have sharp edges, their words becoming thorns that prick us and their actions leaving bruises that don't so easily heal. I want to protect you from them.When you see yourself, I want you to see the fierce she-warrior that you are, and yet, I still want to keep you safe from them until you are ready for battle.  As you brace yourself, I know the sword of your wit is sharper than any weapon, but I think it is your shield that needs further forging, for it is in the hottest fire that not only the sharpest weapons but the strongest shields are made.  No matter how sharp your weapon, you still have to guard yourself, because yo...

Heavy on my Heart and Fresh on my Mind

I have searched for many methods of subtlety to express myself on something that is bothering me. I was going to cloak it in metaphors and cleverly disguise it so that no one could pinpoint for sure what exactly I was speaking of. However, the problem is I have never been the queen of subtlety.  Sure, I am language-savvy enough to use flowery words and witty turn-of-phrase when necessary,  but my blunt personality and journalistic impatience eventually overrule and gets down to brass tax. That is why it had been difficult for me through this particular situation.  It requires finesse.  It requires planning and timing and "going about things the right way."  This is a very important thing in delicate situations.   However,  as my grandmother has so eloquently put it,  I can be the "barrell-ass into stuff and ask questions later" type. So, on to the matter at hand. I was very involved in a certain program when I was in high school and ...

Pre-Show Jitters

Four years of college theatre taught me many things, one of which is that pre-show jitters never truly go away.  No matter how many different productions, how many times you perform the same thing, or how many different characters I played, there was always that butterfly feeling in the pit of my stomach.  Now, the butterflies are doing a whole big star-studded musical number, but it is a whole different stage this time. I quit a job where I was comfortable and loved the people in the office, but that offered little to no guarantee of a future, and that offered no actual extra incentives such as benefits.  I am now entering a new field which I have little hands-on experience in but that offers benefits, security, and again great coworkers and place to work. Oh, and did I mention I'm working on an online Masters degree?   So, to say the least, I am nervous.  I have never been the kind of girl to take big life decisions lightly, and sometimes even the not-so-big...

quote for the day.

"We must overcome the notion that we must be regular. It robs you of your chance to be extraordinary and leads you to the mediocre." -Uta Hagen

Showring Rant.

I struggled with a title to this post because "What Chaps My Butt" doesn't seem very tactful.  Not to mention that I would have to use it for most of the posts on this blog.  So, here we are. I have had the privilege of showing livestock since somewhere around the sixth grade.  I have not always been at the bottom, and have certainly not always been at the top.  However, I have never been embarrassed or unproud of our animals, whether they were purchased or raised on our place.  Also, whether we had a chance at Grand Champion or stood somewhere down the line, I was the one at the end of the halter.  In recent years, more parents and friends have taken chances at the lead since we are in the open show circuit.  Still, any chance I had, sometimes when the animal wasn't even mine, I was sticking the cattle. This is not a power struggle, and it is not because I have some notion that I am the only one that can stick my calves properly....

My house in the woods.

At twenty-six, I have lived in only five places.  Each of these places have helped me discover little pieces of myself and develop into the woman I am today.  My parent's house raised me and helped to establish morals, values, and work ethic.  Not to mention is was and always will be filled with unconditional love and acceptance.  For years it was my safe haven, and it still is at times. I lived in a tiny dorm room and on-campus apartments in college, which taught me how to live with and accept differences in others, self-discipline, and how to make the most out of a situation.  These little huts also helped me to find lifelong friendships and realize that adulthood is inevitable, but you can still appreciate the kid inside you. Next came the adorable little apartment over the movie store.  This was actually a converted old hotel, and it sat in the middle of the historic downtown of a small town.  In this place, I learned a lot about where my b...