Presentations

            Tonight during class everyone has to do a presentation on the topic that they chose for Project 3.  I’m doing mine on the Appalachia Service Project; it’s a mission trip that I go on every summer with my church.  We help rebuild and restore houses along the Appalachian Trail.  I don’t have my entire presentation thought out just yet.  I know that I want to share a video with them that my brother made for ASP a couple years ago. He made it for a contest, and I’m in the video (so look me up (; ).  I also have this idea of playing a situational game/ activity with them that I’ve played on ASP before. What it is is you’re given a family, complete with names and ages.  Your job is to put yourself in their shoes.  Beyond that, you’re given how much money you make in a year, what your jobs are, and what kind of house you live in.  From there you’re given different situations that are common to the people of Appalachia.  Some of these consist of family members getting Diabetes and not having enough money to pay for treatments, people having the black lung (which is common in the older folks because many of them used to work in the mines when they were younger), flooding and not having enough money to pay for the repairs, etc.  The activity is depressing, but it really puts you in their shoes and gives you a sense of what they have to deal with every day, and how they need our help.

            Those are just two ideas I’ve been throwing around.  I might present some statistics as well.  It isn’t necessary showing them pictures, because there will already be some footage of us doing work on the job site, along with some photos in the video.  I’m trying to keep the presentation light and fun.  I’ll show the video first (to help explain exactly what ASP is), do the situational activity, and then present the statistics last.  When I was first thinking about what I should do for the presentation, I was getting nervous.  I strongly dislike talking aloud in front of people, and I had no idea what I wanted to do.  The more I thought about it though, and wrote this to you all, the more relaxed I became.  Plus, I’m extremely passionate about the Appalachia Service Project.  As long as you’re passionate about something you’re presenting, it won’t be difficult to talk about.    

Creative Non-fiction Project 3

Below is an excerpt of the Creative non-fiction story I've been working on.  Enjoy (:

I woke up to the snoring of my friend Matt sleeping on the seat in front of me.  Adjusting myself from my cramped position on the seat in the van, I noticed that I was the only person awake besides the driver. 

“You okay up there, Brian?”  I yell up to the front seat.  He sends me a grunt and I lay back down, knowing that he probably wasn’t in the best mood.  It had been two hours and a group from my church and I were on our way to West Virginia.  What we would be doing there exactly was still unknown.  A month earlier we had received an email of what county we would be working in, what school we would be staying at, and what to bring.  There would be cold showers: a tarp and garden hose for us to use.  I knew it would be a good and interesting week… the showers would make sure of that.  Drifting back to sleep, I see all of the vans begin to turn into a gas station. 

“We’re at the gas station, Amanda!”  I nudge her awake knowing that she might have to go to the bathroom.  We park the vans and Amanda and I walk into the convenience store and look around, making sure there wasn’t anything we wanted to munch on on the ride to West Virginia.  As soon as we’re done looking through everything in the store, we return to the van and go back to sleep. 

Five hours later

We arrive to the center and are immediately greeted by the staff we would have for the week ahead.  As we begin unpacking our luggage, I notice the quotes lining the walls as we made our way to the rooms we would be sleeping in.  Boys and girls were not allowed to enter into eachother’s rooms, otherwise it would be called “purpling” (boys are blue, girls are red) 

Justice

Justice.

“The administering of a deserved punishment or conduct.” 

How can one word mean so much, yet so little? 

I began pondering the meaning of this word after I received an upset phone call from my mother today.  She was telling me of how my friend Ashley, who is 15 right now, has to have court extended yet again.  When Ashley was 14, she met this guy who was 26 and dated him.  Jimmy didn’t care that she was 14, and that it was wrong and continued on his merry little way and did things with her.  She was naïve and believed he was actually in love with her, because that’s what he said.  Obviously, without going into a ridiculously detailed synopsis, it’s obvious that Jimmy is guilty.  Yet why does the Justice system continue to prolong the trial?  At first, he was sticking with the statement that he truly believed he was not guilty and that he was in love with her.  Several months pass, he changes his mind and pleads guilty and admits to doing everything in detail that they did.  Now, after all of the evidence they have, plus the fact that he admitted to being guilty… the justice system would automatically declare him guilty and let the child move on with her life?  WRONG!  Not only did they not declare him guilty then and there, but they allowed him to change his mind once again and say he is innocent.  The fact that the defendant is protected over the victim, especially since it’s considered a statutory rape case is absolutely beyond belief to me.  So now Ashley, her entire family, and my family (we’re close) has to wait till at least January for the next hearing.

What bliss is.

Last night as I was trying to fall asleep, I saw a video on Facebook.  The video was called “Beagles See Sun and Grass for the First Time After a Life in a Laboratory”.  It was a heart wrenching video about how an organization rescued nine beagles from captivity.  Their voice boxes had been removed, they didn’t know how to walk, and didn’t understand the concept of using a food bowl.  The beagles were thirsting for attention and were constantly trying to cuddle with the people that rescued them.  I began tearing up, not realizing how, first of all, they used puppies in the laboratories and tested on them.  Second of all, I didn’t realize how cruel they were to them, as well.  I know it would get annoying hearing dogs constantly bark while I was trying to work, but they didn’t do anything wrong!  I’m an animal lover, but am not an activist.  I realize that to do research and better the world, they need specimens.  However,  to remove their voice boxes and not give them any attention once so ever, to me is punishable.  I truly believe that’s animal cruelty. 

I’m glad I saw the video, it enlightened me and showed me how poorly some animals are treated behind the public’s back.  This is wrong, if they’re going to do research on animals, they shouldn’t hide their methods.  Maybe that would make it harder for the scientists to continue treating the animals as they are.  I think that the phrase that fits this situation best right now is “ignorance is bliss.”  In all reality, it truly is.  No matter how mad about this I get, it will not change a thing.  Beagles (and animals) will still be treated this way, because unfortunately there will always be people that are heartless, or just don’t care how they treat others.  As wrong as that is, it’s true.  I wish it weren’t, but I’m only one person.  I will, however, adopt one of the dogs that they rescued from the laboratories and give it a home.  At least then I’ll help one of them, right?  

Special Education

Creative Nonfiction Exercise:  Tell a story about an event that taught a life lesson or revealed a personality to you. 

When I first started going to college at Kutztown University, I initially entered as a Special Education major.  For much of my life my family and I lived three houses down from a family that had twins; one of them with autism.  I baby sat once a week for them, and found that I was truly interested in working with autistic children.  Not only did I continue to babysit Cole and Logan, but I began to volunteer at a day care that had some mentally challenged children as well.  The first semester of Special Education was great.  I loved my classes, met some really cool people, and for the most part had great Professors.  Life wasn’t spectacular, but I loved what I was learning about. 

            My Introduction to Special Education class taught me a lot.  It was interesting to me because I had a chance to learn about all the different kinds of mental retardation, and other diseases as well.  One day for a presentation, one of my classmates brought in her 16 year old autistic brother.  She showed us how every night before he goes to bed he still lines his bedroom wall with stuffed animals and continues to do other things that he has his whole life.  For some reason the entire time I went to school for Special Education, it never hit me that Logan will be like this his whole life.  It doesn’t matter how much I work with him.  He might improve, but he will always have autism.  I began to realize after the presentation that I would most likely not be happy in the field of Special Education over an extended amount of time.  It might be interesting to learn about autism and other mental handicaps, but to work in the field for the rest of my life would eventually become exhausting.  Convinced I did not want to turn something I enjoyed into a chore, I changed my major.

What Writing Means to Me

The other day in my Advanced Composition class we discussed a story from the Creative Non-fiction book we have.  Almost all of the people in class agreed that it was hard to read, follow, and just an overall bad story.  So how could it possibly have been published if the majority of a group couldn’t stand it?  We then discussed the topic further, and my Professor told us that some of the best and most classic authors and writers have been denied.  They just never gave up and kept on trying.  This, in a way, is comforting to me.  If a writer that has the most scattered story and style of writing I’ve ever read can get published, then I sure can, right?  Still, though… I was getting extremely irritated when we were talking about the story in class.  It took me three hours to get through that sucker!  We discussed in class how all it takes is for one person to like what you wrote.  This, again, is comforting.  However, I don’t want just one person to like it.  If the majority of the public is going to read what I wrote and hate it, then what is the point in having it be published?  Writing isn’t about the money to me (well, it better not be considering that’s not a field to go into if you’re looking for the big bucks) at all, it’s about changing someone’s life or having an effect on someone.  Maybe making them think twice about a decision they’ve recently made.  I want to change someone’s life with my words.  I’m not saying I have abundant amounts of wisdom.  I’m only 22, how could I possibly?  But what I do know is that I’m an extremely happy person that smiles and laughs a lot.  So I must be doing something right.  If one day I write something, it gets published, and someone comes up to me and says I helped them through something, then that’s when I will feel as if I’m doing my job.  

My Morning Rant

This morning was quite possibly the most miserable morning I’ve had in a long time.  Why, you ask?  It just was.  I woke up somewhat late for my morning class.  Knowing this, I had to rush to shower and get ready (which I never enjoy doing).  Not realizing for some reason that it was raining outside, I walked out without an umbrella.  Fabulous.  It was too late to head back upstairs, grab my umbrella and leave… so I just kept trudging through the rain with no hood, and no way to protect myself from the rain.  Normally, I keep my ID on a keychain with my keys.  As I continued to walk to class, however, I realized that my ID was missing.  I began to shuffle through my backpack, pockets, and small purse.  It was nowhere to be seen.  Knowing that I could not walk across campus without my ID because then I wouldn’t even be able to get back into my apartment later on.  Rather than making my entire day miserable, I suffered through the morning and began to backtrack.  It wasn’t on the sidewalk that I was just walking on, not in the grass, or on the sidewalk going perpendicular to the other one.  Finally I found in the cross walk in the middle of the street.  What I didn’t see was the car passing me, and splashing the dirty, black, grimy, rain water from the street all over me.  In my boots, and saturating my shirt, jeans, and socks.  At this point I was trying not to swear or curse that car out.  So what did I do?  I started walking to my class again, while talking to myself.  I was fully aware that there were people giving me odd looks because I was being odd.  I did not care.  I was now ten minutes late to class, and was going to show up looking like a dirty, wet, smelly mop.  What was the point in even rushing in the morning to shower?  If I had known what would happen, I would not have.   

She Found Love

The other weekend, life hit me hard.  Not just life, but the fact that I’m old.  I know that 22 doesn’t seem old to a lot of people, but I have been on this earth for 22 years!!  What made this such a jolting realization, you ask?  My best friend throughout all of high school got married.  In the same month, she had a baby girl as well.  Olivia.  She is the cutest, most well behaved one-month year old anyone could ask for.  I’m not sure it was such a great idea to have her at the reception the whole time, but she seemed content enough.  The entire time I did not hear a sound out of that little girl! 

            Julia has changed so much since I first met her.  She was truly the best, best friend, ever.  We helped each other grow a lot while we were close.  She helped me become more confident and outgoing (I used to be so scared to talk to people I didn’t know well) and I helped her become able to show emotion.  Before she met me she had a tough exterior, was bitter about love and marriage, and believed she would spend the rest of her life solo.  People knew not to mess with her because though she was small, she was a firecracker.  I met her the first day in math class.  Our assigned seats were right next to each other, and as we both sat down she introduced herself.  For some reason I wasn’t nearly as nervous to talk to her, so we began joking around throughout the whole class. 

The rest was history.

As I sat between my mom, and my boyfriend Dave, I admired Julia as she, her new husband, Nick, and baby girl twirled around in circles in the first dance as husband and wife.   They looked so happy together, and I was so happy for her.  Happy that her life had changed so much, and happy that although she used to be the most bitter little thing, she found love.  

I got a nose ring.

I just got a nose ring.  Why did I do it?  I’m not sure.  All I know is that for the past year I’ve wanted a change.  Something that will set me apart from the nice little Lisa that everyone thinks of me as.  I’m a nice person; don’t get me wrong.  The fact is that I’m too much of a nice person.  My close friends and family don’t take advantage of this.  But now I’m beginning to realize that some of the people that I met in college that I thought were true friends, weren’t.  I was a pushover with them, and they knew it and liked it. 

            So this brings me back to the statement I said earlier:

I got a nose ring.

Some of the people I know still can’t believe this.  It’s completely out of character for me, which is why I’m making it such a big deal.  I’ve been realizing, however, that I wasn’t living life and taking chances my whole life.  It wasn’t until this year that I feel like I’m actually living!  I’ve been seeing more places, doing new things, cooking, and the next big thing on my agenda is getting a tattoo.  My idea: a tree with birds perched on it, some birds flying away (tree and birds will be a light shade of black) and the word free in a reddish orange color.  I’m going to wait, however, to get it till after I lose all of the weight I’ve been aiming to lose.  How have I been losing it?  Running; although this rainy day really isn’t helping with that. 

So today I am going to leave you with three quotes that I’ve decided to live my life by:

"Success is not the key to happiness. Happiness is the key to success. If you love what you are doing, you will be successful."-Albert Schweitzer

“Everyone is trying to accomplish something big, not realizing that life is made up of little things.”-Frank A. Clark

“There’s no next time; it’s now or never.”-Author Unknown

            You will never get the same opportunity again with the same people, and at the same place.  Everything you experience is original.  You as a person, are original.  Another thing: do everything that you do with your whole heart.  Smile, laugh, and be merry.  Do things that you wouldn’t normally do, just because you can.  As cliché as it is, it’s true: You only have one life to live.

My Biggest Fear

You know what scares me?  Life scares me. 

I’m sure I’m not alone in this, though.  I’m scared about finding a job after I graduate.  I’m not conceited or stupid, I know there are a lot of people out there and in this area that are much better writers than I am.  So what do I do if I can’t find a job in my major?  I suppose I’ll just go for any job that I can find, then.  Even though I’m worried about finding a job in my major (especially in this economy) I know that if I just keep on trying, I will find one sooner or later.  There have been so many known writers in the past that were denied multiple times and never gave up.

Life also scares me in the way that I’m sure is common to others as well.  I just started dating this guy, Dave.  I never thought I would fall for someone so fast, and yet it happened.  We’ve been dating for over a month now and he’s already asked me to move with him after I graduate.  This is a scary thought because living in the little town of East Greenville with my parents and brother is all I’ve known.  Although, the thought of moving away with Dave was somewhat comforting because that’s how comfortable I feel around him already.  He recently found out that there are job openings in his town and in his major, though.  This is a serious relief because it means I don’t have to move. 

Life scares me, but that’s okay.

            I’ve come to the realization that everyone has those fears, and everyone goes through the same thought process.  After going through the thought process, there are two kinds of people.  There are the ones that stay scared and continue going on their merry little way.  And then there’s the kind that decide to branch off and broaden their horizons, step out of their comfort zone, and grow as a person.  Some of the ones that stay scared most likely stay in their same hometown with the same people they’ve known their whole lives.  The ones that grow are the people that move and discover new things, see new places, and meet new people. 

Is it possible to find a balance?

            My family is a huge part of my life, and they know that.  For the past few years I’ve imagined my whole family still living close and getting together every weekend.  My parents and brother and I have joked around for years about all living on a commune with our spouses and kids as one big happy family.  For the longest time I thought that there was actually a good chance of that happening.  Dave doesn’t necessarily have a problem with that because he loves my family.  But why did the sound of moving if one of us found a job opportunity out-of-state sound so appealing?  The more I thought about it, the more comfortable with the idea I got.  Now that I know that there are job opportunities around us in his major (Environmental planning) I immediately felt relief… but then felt disappointment.

I guess I’ll just live life as it comes.

There’s no point to living in fear.  

Music and Feelings

I was looking at my wall earlier and read a quote that I have framed:

“Music is what feelings sound like.” –Author unknown

After considering what it truly meant, I realized it couldn’t be more correct.  I can confidently say that music has gotten me through some of the toughest times.  When my friends try to help me but what I’m upset about is constantly in the back of my head, I normally turn to music because I know that there is a song out there written by someone that at one point knew exactly how I’m feeling.  I have seasonal depression, and I know that even when I don’t understand why I’m feeling depressed… when I turn on happy music my mood will change dramatically.

            Not only can music change my mood, but from fourth grade till my senior year of high school I was in a Professional touring choir.  This choir took me to places I never thought I’d be able to go, and gave me the most unique and special experiences anyone could ask for.  The most memorable were our trips to Hawaii, Oregon, and singing at the moving of the Liberty Bell. 

            My point is, music can do phenomenal things for people.  If you are a musician, it can provide an outlet for you to express yourself without anyone else judging you.  For people in nursing homes, and that need additional care outside of their family there is music therapy.  Music Therapy uses mostly classical music and there has been much research behind the concept that proves that it truly does work. 

            I’m one of those people that is constantly in tune with music that is around me.  I’m always looking for beats in every day life, if there is a song on the radio then I’m the first one to pick it out and start singing along to it.  Normally, after the first time I hear a song I have the lyrics memorized.  This actually pisses my dad off quite a bit.  I do have to give my family credit, however, for getting me involved in music.  My parents encouraged me to sing my heart out, and my brother was always singing right there next to me.   

Five Words

Everything happens for a reason.

Five words you hear often, but how many of those times have you actually believed them?  I know for me, none of them until recently.  I grew up in a religious family.  Every Sunday we would go to church: one service and Sunday school.  I grew up happy and content with my church family, and never questioned the Scriptures or God’s word.  Every Sunday up until I went to college was spent worshipping God—well, at least in the mornings. 

Once I got to college I began to drift away from my faith, God, and the people I knew from church.  My friends I was close to there all did the same.  We didn’t have our parents to pressure us into getting up early in the mornings, or praying late at night.  I began to notice a change in my attitude, and so did my mother.  I was still the same person, but with a bit more sass.  This wasn’t a bad thing; I was just growing up and forming new opinions and perspectives on life.

Half a year passed and I had nothing to show for it.  I partied a ridiculous amount with new friends that weren’t great influences on me, rarely went to any of my classes, and did not get nearly as much sleep as I should have.  I began to constantly feel sick and drained, did not have a great relationship with my parents, and struggled with waking up in the mornings. 

I was a train wreck waiting to happen.  

Days passed and with every one my life began to get better.  It was now the second half of my freshman year and I had come to peace with the fact that the first half was obviously not great and that there was room for improvement.  However, even though I knew this I had a hard time convincing myself that I was capable of acting on that thought.  I didn’t feel smart because my grades had shown otherwise the semester before.  At the end of the Spring semester I had almost fully convinced myself that I was not a college person, and would rather be working.  I felt bad that my parents paid for me to go to school, and told them I would pay every penny back eventually.  July came around and I had yet to muster up the courage to completely inform the school of my decision.  So I waited. 

I began to form a relationship with friends from church again on the mission trip that I went on that summer.  I had gone with the same people in previous years, but had a completely different mind set now.  I knew the person I was, and the girl I had become and wasn’t sure if my old friends would accept her. 

            The trip had come with perfect timing.  Not only did I regain the friendships I had lost, but formed new ones as well with the people that lived at the house we were working on.  They had the strongest relationship with God I have ever seen, and were thankful for every minute they were alive.  When had I lost sight of this?  Even though they were thankful for everything they had in their lives, they were still envious of the opportunities I had.  I shared some of my story with them, and they shared their wisdom and knowledge they had attained over years of poverty and having little to work with.  I began to realize that what they were telling me was what I was missing in my life this entire time.  I was missing God. 

            The next semester I found better friends, and didn’t party nearly as often.  We supported each other and I was proud of myself again; the person I knew deep down inside I was capable of being all along.  I guess everything really does happen for a reason.  God will make sure of that.               

The Love for the Game

“He’s such a sweet boy, where did that come from?”  My mom stood in amazement as seven of the boys sprinted across the soccer field.  We were up five-zero, and were scaring Yardley’s players half to death.  The game was starting to turn into a violent battle, as the opposing team began to panic.  Jarrett had received a penalty as he took out a boy that had sent him into a fit of anger.

“I’ll be here all day!”  were the last words out of his mouth, and the whistle was immediately blown.  Only ten years old, and my brothers teammates were the kids to beat.  My dad, the head coach of the team, half chuckled but firmly yelled to Jarrett to “get his head into the game”. 

“You know how he can get when he’s playing soccer,”  Jarett’s dad responded, “it’s like he’s in this whole other world.”  The soccer ball went flying to our   goal, almost making it past my brother, when he booted it to the other side of the field. 

“Go THUNDERFOOT!”  My friend Missy and I yelled.  I watched in amazement as the team that I loved to watch the most beat their rival.  The Valley Storm (they got their name from my dog) weren’t the most skilled players in the league, but the love for the game and the heart that they played with allowed them to soar over the others effortlessly.  These were the same boys you would see at a tournament in the middle of October, kicking soccer balls around in the pouring rain while other teams were sitting quietly under shelter preparing for the games ahead.  They knew how to have fun, and to show how much the game meant to them.  They didn’t need to practice often, yet every practice that was scheduled there was not a missing person on the roster.  Our team had an edge to them that others didn’t.  It wasn’t a bad edge; they were all great kids with great manners and were great friends.  However they knew that if they didn’t play well, they wouldn’t only disappoint themselves, and their teammates, but their fans as well.   

East Elm Street.

The alarm woke me suddenly with a ring I was not familiar with.  I look out my window and the sun has not yet risen.  Did I set the alarm for the wrong time last night? I try to lift my arm and realize it does not exist.  In fact, none of my limbs existed, nor did my body.  I had woken up as something that obviously was not human.  Looking around, I noticed long yellow jackets were hung up along the right wall, along with helmets and boots.  There was a pole leading to the floor above.  Now how could I have possibly woken up like this? 
All of a sudden, men frantically come from all directions, dodging each other to avoid accidents, and rush to throw on their jackets and jump into their boots.  One of them opens up something that feels like it should be where my ear is located.  That's funny, I didn't realize that was possible, either.Men continue to open what seem like doors.  Scratch that thought, how is it possible?  It isn’t.  What I’m experiencing right now is pure denial. 

Vertigo.  I feel a sweeping movement and suddenly my legs are in motion.  Is it possible for legs to feel as though they are spinning?  A sound comes from my throat that I wasn’t even aware was physically possible.  How have I completely lost control of all bodily functions?  It would be one thing if I were completely numb and couldn’t move a muscle, but to feel as though someone else was in control of my own body just felt unnatural and disturbing.  I run down—or rather spin down—a road I was all too familiar with.  East Elm Street: the street I have lived on since I was born.  The obnoxious noise still remains, sounding as loud as a… fire truck siren?  I stop in front of a cute, blue house with white shutters.  Picturesque.  My house.  Fire shoots out through every window and smoke engulfs the surrounding area.  Cries come from inside as the men with yellow jackets and big, black boots run inside.  My hair comes undone as some of the men pull out what looks like a hose.  Hours pass.  The fire still lives.  This is some dream, or is it?