As I walked down Navy Pier I looked out across the lake. The sun seemed to dance across the crystal-blue water. I stopped and turned towards the mainland. As I gazed lovingly at the skyline, I wondered if it was possible to love a city more than anything else in this world. The Sears Tower beackoned to me from the heart of the city. A sudden gust of wind guided me to the red double decker bus. I climbed the stairs and when I made it to the top deck the sun seemed to have burst open with even more energy. It warmed my shoulders and neck as the fresh smell of hot pizza took over my senses and the entire atmosphere of Michigan Avenue.
So many colors and cultures whizzed past as we drove through the neighborhoods. Chinatown, Little Italy, and finally Greektown. I climbed off the bus and headed towards that familiar scent of fresh pita bread, home made hummus, and the greatest of all Greek foods-Mr. Katz's gyros. Mr. Katz (as he liked to be called since many Americans cannot pronounce his last name) was behind the counter as always, turning chick peas and olive oil into delicious goodness. He was a very large man. In the sense of his circumference that is. Though he was rather short for a full grown man, his voice was always able to fill up a room. What little hair he had left had taken a salt and pepper look, and was always slicked back neatly with grease. He was also always clean-shaven, except for a very thick mustache that was carefully groomed. The one thing that you must know about Mr. Katz, though, is that he is just about as Greek as it gets. He has statues of various Greek gods and goddesses around the restaurant, and will speak in only Greek if a customer is rude or gives him a hard time. He believed that every human being is equal because we are just that-human beings-so we should treat everyone with respect. I loved this about him. But my favorite thing about his features were his eyes. Though they are brown, they lit up each and every time he opened the oven door-even after baking for thirty-five years.
"Opa!" I cheered as he turned towards me. "Miss Ishee! Why you no come to see me sooner? It has been a year!" he says as he embraces me in what I claim to be the greatest bear hug in the world. He asks questions like how is school going, what was I going to study at university this fall, and, my personal favorite, "when you gonna marry my son?" The answer he gets everytime is still the same; "When he moves to America and I actually get to meet him." He sighs and thinks of a clever response as Mrs. Katz comes bursting through the kitchen doors, arms filled with the best of every Greek dish and a bottle of their fine home made wine.
Though Mr. Katz ran the restaurant fand his household with an iron fist, his better half was always one step behind him, making sure he did everything right and with a smile. Mrs. Katz was one of those women who is so big you have to love her for it. I had never seen her without an apron on, and today was no exception. She had her black hair pinned into a loose bun at the crown of her head. Her complextion was slightly more fair than that of her olive-skinned husband. She also had crystal blue eyes that made you feel as though everything was good in the world when she smiled. I once asked her how she acquired these features since they were not native to the Greeks. She responded with "My mother was German, but she died in childbirth." I left it at that because it seemed to be a sore subject for her, and I hated to see her upset more than anything else in the world. Her laughter is by far her best quality. Followers of Hinduism believe that the universe began with a sound. If that sound was Mrs. Katz's laughter, I could believe that as well. It echoed through the room as her big belly shook. One thing she always made sure of, though, was that everyone was not just fed, but so full they were bursting at the seems.
"I thought I heard that beautiful Southorn accent of yours!" she exclaims as she lays all the food out on a table before us. "Come. Come eat all of this you need to eat somesing before you go." So the three of us sit down to a feast that could feed the entire restaurant. As she fixes me a heaping plate, I send a quick thanks to God that I skipped breakfast and lunch that day, because if you don't eat all of the food the Greeks give you, you will offend them-and you do NOT offend the Greeks. Then I tell them my plans to graduate from Southern and then move up here for a while. At this, Mr. Katz finally has his response. "I know!" he says, slapping his hand on the table, smiling like little boy who has figured out a clever riddle, "You gonna move here in four yeas. My son leaves university in Greece in two yeas. He will go to Missihippi and then you get to know him, yes?" I sigh with a smile. He knows I can't say no to him; "Sure Mr. Katz."
Now that he is satisfied, we talk about everything from the health of his family in Greece to the curse on the Cubbies. It's funny how I never realize just how much I miss this beautiful couple until I am united with them again. As the sun sets, however, I regretfully tell them that I must be going. The three of us hug, and by the time I depart, we are all sobbing like young children.
I will be back one day soon, though, I remind myself. I don't think I could live without this place. There is far too much to explore and too much magic not to return. The cool night air brushes my hair off my shoulders as I turn back to see the sunset. The sillouette of the city moves me to tears. Yes, it is possible to love Chicago more than anything else in this world.
Thursday, October 21, 2010
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Why Men Drive Women Crazy
Short, sweet, and to the point. That's what's great about this poem. Kudos to Margaret Atwood for proving that it is possible to show your emotions in a simple way. “You Fit Into Me” is much more than a four line, two stanza poem. It is a story much deeper than that. It is one of anger and frustration. It is the classic story of men driving women insane.
For centuries, men have always criticized women about everything from having a child of the incorrect gender to not being as attractive as our best friends. Well boys, I hate to break it to you, but you are in for a rude awakening. I'm going to let you in on a tiny little secret that women have know about since we were formed from a rib-YOU are the cause of our ever-changing emotions. Yes, it's true. The cause is not our hormones or our “time of the month” or our wonderful, beautiful pregnancy. No. The cause is men. Women cannot even brush their teeth without being bombarded by questions or being told how to do such-and-such “properly”. If we want your help, we will ask for it.
Men who see “their woman” as imperfect and desire for her to change have quite a bit of growing up to do. The difference in maturity levels between men and women are astounding. When we tell you “you should grow your facial hair out” or “don't cut your hair that short” we are simply trying to help you out because we hear what other people say about you. On the opposite side of the spectrum, men tell women to change simply because they do not wish to take the time to actually sit down and have a legitimate conversation with that particular woman. If you knew why we react to some things so strongly, you would understand how we think and feel, and you would almost never be “in the dog house.” Wanna know the reason we put you on the couch so much? I will give you a clue: we do not tolerate annoying, ignorant people.
A man who ends a relationship because he is too immature to discuss problems in that relationship are not men, but scared little boys. Men must learn to accept the reality of life. Women are much more mature, we only get angry because you refuse to take the time to understand us, and some days, we just want to talk. Learn this, and you will never lose another woman.
For centuries, men have always criticized women about everything from having a child of the incorrect gender to not being as attractive as our best friends. Well boys, I hate to break it to you, but you are in for a rude awakening. I'm going to let you in on a tiny little secret that women have know about since we were formed from a rib-YOU are the cause of our ever-changing emotions. Yes, it's true. The cause is not our hormones or our “time of the month” or our wonderful, beautiful pregnancy. No. The cause is men. Women cannot even brush their teeth without being bombarded by questions or being told how to do such-and-such “properly”. If we want your help, we will ask for it.
Men who see “their woman” as imperfect and desire for her to change have quite a bit of growing up to do. The difference in maturity levels between men and women are astounding. When we tell you “you should grow your facial hair out” or “don't cut your hair that short” we are simply trying to help you out because we hear what other people say about you. On the opposite side of the spectrum, men tell women to change simply because they do not wish to take the time to actually sit down and have a legitimate conversation with that particular woman. If you knew why we react to some things so strongly, you would understand how we think and feel, and you would almost never be “in the dog house.” Wanna know the reason we put you on the couch so much? I will give you a clue: we do not tolerate annoying, ignorant people.
A man who ends a relationship because he is too immature to discuss problems in that relationship are not men, but scared little boys. Men must learn to accept the reality of life. Women are much more mature, we only get angry because you refuse to take the time to understand us, and some days, we just want to talk. Learn this, and you will never lose another woman.
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Mrs. Reedy
As I walked down the blue and white hall I felt anxious-even though I had
no idea what that word meant. My father turned to the left and realized “This was my first grade classroom when I went to Bayou View!” Although that made me feel slightly more at ease, I was still nervous. Was it too late to run back to Pascagoula to Nicole and Lane and Bobby and Daniel? What if the other kids here didn’t like me? I was never a shy child, but today I felt like I was in someone else’s life. Like a movie maybe. It was so surreal. I took a deep breath and stepped through the door. Bright, happy, educational colors of red, yellow, and blue covered every inch of the room. As I admired the bookshelves lining the back of the classroom that overflowed with stories, my mother nudged me and said “Tell your teacher your name sweetheart.” I turned and my eyes met an older woman’s gaze. She was by far one of the nicest looking people I had ever laid eyes on. After going through the “we just moved here from ‘Goula” process, her knowing eyes looked to me. “My name is Mrs. Reedy and I will be your new first grade teacher.” Her voice was so pleasant to my ears, the butterflies in my stomach flew to the playground outside the window. As I took my seat, I realized that no one knew that I wasn’t from around here. Most of the kids in my class had gone to different kindergardens, and Mrs. Reedy quickly took advantage of that by playing games with us.
Now as I wander down those shrunken halls, I feel a deep ache in my
heart. I know I was only in fourth grade when she moved away, but there must have
been some way to keep in touch with her. She was the first person outside of my family who saw potential in me. She believed in me and always encouraged me to push myself just a little bit harder than I thought I could manage. “When you feel like you’ve reached your max, try even harder,” she would say, “110% is always better than 100%.”
I haven’t been back to that classroom since she moved to North Carolina. I wanted to always remember it the way she had it. It was so perfect that way. The room almost seemed to reflect her. Even though she may have forgotten me in the sea of students that have come through her door, I know there will always be a special place in my heart for Mrs. Charlotte Reedy, my educator and best friend.
no idea what that word meant. My father turned to the left and realized “This was my first grade classroom when I went to Bayou View!” Although that made me feel slightly more at ease, I was still nervous. Was it too late to run back to Pascagoula to Nicole and Lane and Bobby and Daniel? What if the other kids here didn’t like me? I was never a shy child, but today I felt like I was in someone else’s life. Like a movie maybe. It was so surreal. I took a deep breath and stepped through the door. Bright, happy, educational colors of red, yellow, and blue covered every inch of the room. As I admired the bookshelves lining the back of the classroom that overflowed with stories, my mother nudged me and said “Tell your teacher your name sweetheart.” I turned and my eyes met an older woman’s gaze. She was by far one of the nicest looking people I had ever laid eyes on. After going through the “we just moved here from ‘Goula” process, her knowing eyes looked to me. “My name is Mrs. Reedy and I will be your new first grade teacher.” Her voice was so pleasant to my ears, the butterflies in my stomach flew to the playground outside the window. As I took my seat, I realized that no one knew that I wasn’t from around here. Most of the kids in my class had gone to different kindergardens, and Mrs. Reedy quickly took advantage of that by playing games with us.
Now as I wander down those shrunken halls, I feel a deep ache in my
heart. I know I was only in fourth grade when she moved away, but there must have
been some way to keep in touch with her. She was the first person outside of my family who saw potential in me. She believed in me and always encouraged me to push myself just a little bit harder than I thought I could manage. “When you feel like you’ve reached your max, try even harder,” she would say, “110% is always better than 100%.”
I haven’t been back to that classroom since she moved to North Carolina. I wanted to always remember it the way she had it. It was so perfect that way. The room almost seemed to reflect her. Even though she may have forgotten me in the sea of students that have come through her door, I know there will always be a special place in my heart for Mrs. Charlotte Reedy, my educator and best friend.
Aunt Kathy
She always seems to know exactly what I’m saying. Or, in most cases,
what I’m trying to say. She never forgets a birthday, anniversary, or special occasion, even though there seem to be an infinite number of people in our family. She is the organizer, the planner, the entertainer and the shoulder to cry on. My life would be dull without her endless joy. She is my friend. She is my godmother. She is my Aunt Kathy.
Words cannot describe her generosity. Kathy Hicks is an awe-inspiring
woman. Being the oldest of eight children, she had to take on the responsibility of being a part-time parent at a young age. When you have to help raise children, you tend to mature a lot faster than your peers. Aunt Kathy has always had a very mature outlook on life. She always listens to different point of views before making any decisions.
Throughout my life, I have always been able to talk to her easily. She awaits with a listening ear, and, if necessary, a box of tissues or a joke. She always knows exactly what to say or do when someone is hurting or needs help. She thinks on her toes and keeps peoples‘ feelings in mind when giving advice.
When I think about my Aunt Kathy, I think about how special she is, and
how I should thank her everyday for everything she has done for me. She has always
supported me, no matter what, and I know that when times are tough, and I need
someone to talk to, she will be waiting with open arms. I am inspired everytime I see her to be a better person in every aspect of my life. No one will ever replace the warm, cherished place she holds in my heart. She is extremely special to me, and I pray everyday that nothing but the best will come to her. I can only hope that one day people might think of me as they do her; as an angel walking amongst us, leaving footprints of hope on our hearts.
what I’m trying to say. She never forgets a birthday, anniversary, or special occasion, even though there seem to be an infinite number of people in our family. She is the organizer, the planner, the entertainer and the shoulder to cry on. My life would be dull without her endless joy. She is my friend. She is my godmother. She is my Aunt Kathy.
Words cannot describe her generosity. Kathy Hicks is an awe-inspiring
woman. Being the oldest of eight children, she had to take on the responsibility of being a part-time parent at a young age. When you have to help raise children, you tend to mature a lot faster than your peers. Aunt Kathy has always had a very mature outlook on life. She always listens to different point of views before making any decisions.
Throughout my life, I have always been able to talk to her easily. She awaits with a listening ear, and, if necessary, a box of tissues or a joke. She always knows exactly what to say or do when someone is hurting or needs help. She thinks on her toes and keeps peoples‘ feelings in mind when giving advice.
When I think about my Aunt Kathy, I think about how special she is, and
how I should thank her everyday for everything she has done for me. She has always
supported me, no matter what, and I know that when times are tough, and I need
someone to talk to, she will be waiting with open arms. I am inspired everytime I see her to be a better person in every aspect of my life. No one will ever replace the warm, cherished place she holds in my heart. She is extremely special to me, and I pray everyday that nothing but the best will come to her. I can only hope that one day people might think of me as they do her; as an angel walking amongst us, leaving footprints of hope on our hearts.
Jake
As I stepped into the kitchen, I realized that I was walking on a carpet of
crumbs. Something shining in the corner of my eye caught my attention. The turkey
carcass! Where is it? It is not in the pan! Jake! He slowly crept towards me, tail between legs. I was furious. A whole turkey carcass? Impossible. Surely he did not eat the whole thing! I was terrified. What if this kills him? Am I to blame? But, as I gazed into those big, sorrowful, apologetic eyes, my heart melted instantly.
Of course, this big troublesome galute did not show his true colors the day my parents and I drove to the country to pick out a golden retriever puppy. I walked over to a big golden fuzzball that was just sitting in his pen looking at me curiously. When I stuck my fingers through the metal gate, he kissed my fingers. I was sold when those big brown eyes lit up as I lifted him out of the cage. He stayed in my lap sleeping while I petted him for the next hour. Because he was so calm compared to his brothers and sisters, we decided he was the right one for us.
Little did we know that we had brought the best acting dog who ever lived into our home. As soon as i opened the car door to let him out, he suddenly awoke and dashed out of the car and down the street. It took us and hour and a half to catch him.I was still in love with this adorable little creature even though he was the most destructive thing I had ever seen. I guess you could say that he and I had a special bond from the start.
As we have grown up together, we have been through some interesting
times. From eating an entire turkey carcass to playing “catch” with one of the kittens, Jake has always loved to keep things interesting. Jacob McCandles Ishee is by far my closest companion. He is always beside me and still to this day tries to go to school with me every morning. When I come home, he is waiting at the door, and when I say “You ready for bed old man?” He trots up the stairs to his bed that lies right beside mine. I have never had another companion or another dog that has been as faithful and loving to me as my “Budha Buddy.”
crumbs. Something shining in the corner of my eye caught my attention. The turkey
carcass! Where is it? It is not in the pan! Jake! He slowly crept towards me, tail between legs. I was furious. A whole turkey carcass? Impossible. Surely he did not eat the whole thing! I was terrified. What if this kills him? Am I to blame? But, as I gazed into those big, sorrowful, apologetic eyes, my heart melted instantly.
Of course, this big troublesome galute did not show his true colors the day my parents and I drove to the country to pick out a golden retriever puppy. I walked over to a big golden fuzzball that was just sitting in his pen looking at me curiously. When I stuck my fingers through the metal gate, he kissed my fingers. I was sold when those big brown eyes lit up as I lifted him out of the cage. He stayed in my lap sleeping while I petted him for the next hour. Because he was so calm compared to his brothers and sisters, we decided he was the right one for us.
Little did we know that we had brought the best acting dog who ever lived into our home. As soon as i opened the car door to let him out, he suddenly awoke and dashed out of the car and down the street. It took us and hour and a half to catch him.I was still in love with this adorable little creature even though he was the most destructive thing I had ever seen. I guess you could say that he and I had a special bond from the start.
As we have grown up together, we have been through some interesting
times. From eating an entire turkey carcass to playing “catch” with one of the kittens, Jake has always loved to keep things interesting. Jacob McCandles Ishee is by far my closest companion. He is always beside me and still to this day tries to go to school with me every morning. When I come home, he is waiting at the door, and when I say “You ready for bed old man?” He trots up the stairs to his bed that lies right beside mine. I have never had another companion or another dog that has been as faithful and loving to me as my “Budha Buddy.”
The Loss of Creativity
“Things as they are are changed upon the blue guitar.” What is a blue guitar? Is it a hollow stringed instrument that has been painted oh so wildly? Or is it perhaps, something more? It is a key to unlock the door to our imaginations. Today people hold back their inner child. Some children are told that Santa Claus does not exist as young as age six. What will become of our world when there are no more artists? No more musicians? No more writers, singers, or dancers? We will become a people that see nothing but gray and who cannot think for themselves.
In the book The Giver, a town of people is sheltered from the rest of the world. There is only perfect weather-it never rains. There is no color-only shades of gray. And no one can think for themselves. If society continues to reject our imaginative realms and only focus on what we are told to think and feel, we are doomed for the same fate. Why must we judge each other for our creativity?
Coloring books are now made where children can only color inside the lines. Growing up, I was taught to never color inside the lines. Today's kids are much too sheltered, and from their very own thoughts! How can we continue to blind our children and teach them that they are not to give in to their creativity and simply stand aside and accept reality? Our lives will only be as glorious as we make them, and when we take away our freedom to express, there is nothing left but the gray monotony.
Our pride must learn to stand down, and give our imaginations a go. For far too long, our world has cast aside daydreaming and doodling. Dreams are nothing but foolishness and we should never give into them. This is what we are taught, and like a whipped puppy, we obey silently. Well I am one voice shouting out. I am the yellow shirt in a sea of gray. I am an individual. The one thing we must always remember is just that-our individuality. It is what keeps us from fading into the back and living miserable lives. It is what creates a bond through the most motley of crews.
Give into creativity! For as Pablo Picasso once said, “Art washes away from the soul the dust of everyday life!”
In the book The Giver, a town of people is sheltered from the rest of the world. There is only perfect weather-it never rains. There is no color-only shades of gray. And no one can think for themselves. If society continues to reject our imaginative realms and only focus on what we are told to think and feel, we are doomed for the same fate. Why must we judge each other for our creativity?
Coloring books are now made where children can only color inside the lines. Growing up, I was taught to never color inside the lines. Today's kids are much too sheltered, and from their very own thoughts! How can we continue to blind our children and teach them that they are not to give in to their creativity and simply stand aside and accept reality? Our lives will only be as glorious as we make them, and when we take away our freedom to express, there is nothing left but the gray monotony.
Our pride must learn to stand down, and give our imaginations a go. For far too long, our world has cast aside daydreaming and doodling. Dreams are nothing but foolishness and we should never give into them. This is what we are taught, and like a whipped puppy, we obey silently. Well I am one voice shouting out. I am the yellow shirt in a sea of gray. I am an individual. The one thing we must always remember is just that-our individuality. It is what keeps us from fading into the back and living miserable lives. It is what creates a bond through the most motley of crews.
Give into creativity! For as Pablo Picasso once said, “Art washes away from the soul the dust of everyday life!”
When Life Gives You Hell, Grab A Pen and Paper
I hate you! Don't ever speak to me again! Stay away from me! You repulse me! How
could you do this to me? The words we use in anger can be powerful. Though they may be vile and sometimes a little too harsh, when we (writers) let our frustrations out onto a paper it is as if we have become a new person. Who are we writing to? Anyone we please (though their eyes may never so much as glance at the page). Why do we write down these frustrations? Saying them aloud will do nothing but offend the people around us or make us appear as lunatics. As our pen angrily stabs at each word and occasionally rips the paper, we start to leave our emotions on the sheet before us and not on our hearts.
We take these frustrations out on this innocent sheet of paper and pen because it is the only way we know how to release our tension. People will almost always judge us for what we think, but what will paper do to us? Stop speaking to us? “Defriend” us on Facebook? No. Paper will always be there for us no matter what. It accepts our words-the good the bad and the ugly-and gives us a time and a place to analyze and organize our thoughts. Paper will never delete your number or tell your friends “You'll never guess what she said!” Raw emotion is always best laid out on paper, whether it be balled up in a wastebasket or turned in for an assignment.
People today are so self conscious about what they say or do because they care too much of what everyone thinks of them. In the words of Dr. Seuss, “Be who you are and say what you feel, because those who mind don't matter, and those who matter don't mind.” We must begin to think like Stephen Crane and release our troubles without holding back. Though we may not share it with the world, it is still out there somewhere.
So next time when you want to let out your frustrations, don't take them out on those around you or a poor helpless wall. Share them with a tree and some ink, because good times and bad, they will always lend you a listening ear.
could you do this to me? The words we use in anger can be powerful. Though they may be vile and sometimes a little too harsh, when we (writers) let our frustrations out onto a paper it is as if we have become a new person. Who are we writing to? Anyone we please (though their eyes may never so much as glance at the page). Why do we write down these frustrations? Saying them aloud will do nothing but offend the people around us or make us appear as lunatics. As our pen angrily stabs at each word and occasionally rips the paper, we start to leave our emotions on the sheet before us and not on our hearts.
We take these frustrations out on this innocent sheet of paper and pen because it is the only way we know how to release our tension. People will almost always judge us for what we think, but what will paper do to us? Stop speaking to us? “Defriend” us on Facebook? No. Paper will always be there for us no matter what. It accepts our words-the good the bad and the ugly-and gives us a time and a place to analyze and organize our thoughts. Paper will never delete your number or tell your friends “You'll never guess what she said!” Raw emotion is always best laid out on paper, whether it be balled up in a wastebasket or turned in for an assignment.
People today are so self conscious about what they say or do because they care too much of what everyone thinks of them. In the words of Dr. Seuss, “Be who you are and say what you feel, because those who mind don't matter, and those who matter don't mind.” We must begin to think like Stephen Crane and release our troubles without holding back. Though we may not share it with the world, it is still out there somewhere.
So next time when you want to let out your frustrations, don't take them out on those around you or a poor helpless wall. Share them with a tree and some ink, because good times and bad, they will always lend you a listening ear.
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