Hello everyone! It's been just over two years since I started my blog, and I thought it was about time I re-introduce myself to my readers and say hello to the new readers... so here goes!

A post worth sharing

Here is my sister's most recent post. It's really good, do read it!

https://ofdreamsandswords.wordpress.com/2018/10/18/above-all-shadows-rides-the-sun/

The Standard Has Been Set

Hello Friends,

     This is my most recent paper for Academic Writing. My previous paper received an -A, and this paper an +A. The standard has been set, and my next paper in progress is about my generation. I'm not sure I'll have trouble with the word count this time! 

     Forgive with me for all the scrolling, this paper has 761 words. 

One Way My Mother Shaped Me

When we were little, my sister and I would beg our mother to take us to the barn where we boarded our horse Sunny. When she said yes, we would excitedly change into our “barn clothes” –grubby play clothes and mud boots. I remember when we drove up and saw the big sign, painted green and yellow with a big bay horse on a swing. “Horseplay Ranch,” it said. The brown metal-sided barns were filled with hay and lockers for tack and brushes. Other barns were lined with rows of stalls. One of the biggest buildings was an indoor arena, which also played house to dozens of barn swallows.

When I was five, on one of the glorious days I got to go with Mom, she was riding Sunny in the arena. I was sitting on an overturned five-gallon bucket, sporting a black corduroy sweater and my little yellow rubbers, watching Mom and Sunny and waiting for my turn to ride. Sunny’s hooves kicked up puffs of dust as they went around and around, and her hocks clicked as she trotted. The swallows flitted in and out of the arena, feeding their hatchlings, chattering to each other, and then swooping out again. Something landed in my lap with a little flop. I squawked as I looked down and saw a baby bird wiggling around. It was warm and fuzzy, with little feather tufts on its head. I cupped it in my chubby hands and delighted in how cute it was and hoped it wasn’t injured.    

Mom dismounted and came over. She explained how sometimes the baby birds would get sick and the mama birds would push them out of the nest. This little one didn’t look sick, so perhaps the nest was over-full and one of its siblings had knocked it out by accident. We nestled the hatchling in a corner where the other horses and riders wouldn’t step on it. The nest was too high to be able to put the baby back up, and if it was sick we didn’t want to have it pushed out again. The little bird was one of the first animals we’ve rescued together. My mom knows all about animals and caring for creatures. She’s taught me something new and different from each rescue.

I didn’t realize I had taken on my mother’s love for animals until a few years later, when my mom and I rescued a young bunny out of a crowded hutch which it shared with birds and filth. When we cleaned him up he rather resembled an Oreo cookie. We named him Hiccup. When this little bunny came along, he had a sinus infection that left him wheezing, hiccupping, and sneezing. We had to constantly clean his face and paws, even at night. He lived in a corner of my room—the only corner where sheet music wasn’t piling over everything—and every hour of the night he would wake me up with his sneezing. I would roll out of my cozy bed each time and clean his face, letting him breathe for another hour, then roll back into bed. I lost a lot of sleep over one little bunny, but because of what my mother taught me I couldn’t let him suffer. Seeing him recover was a satisfactory experience. I appreciated being able to sleep more than one hour at a time, and not waking up to a panicking bunny but instead being greeted by a healthy animal with a ready appetite. He didn’t live much longer, but I had applied my mother’s love to life and been rewarded. Of course, I enjoyed animals before, but then I wasn’t willing to sacrifice my time and effort to them.

My mom is practical. She is sensible. But she does have a soft spot, and that spot is for animals. My mother shapes my understanding of care and comfort, when to help and what to do when it’s too late. She shows me the bond an animal and a human can have. She gives of her time and energy. I admire my mom, and like Bly I say it is a great thing to be able to respect one’s parent. These short tidbits in my life matter because they opened my understanding of my mom and of who I was becoming as a person—how I was taking bits of my mother and making them my own. These stories came to mind first as an example of learning from my mother and spending time together. 

Thanks for reading! 

Academic Writing Assignment

It might interest you. Advice? It's kind of long.

Growing up does not happen in a day, but rather it occurs gradually, over the course of months, years, and events. When searching my mind for an occasion to write about, I could not think of one specific time after which I was grown up. Perhaps it has not fully happened yet. I did not really relate to any one of the stories in the book Growing Up in Minnesota. Perhaps because I am raised in a different mindset, not a street kid or the rebellious type. I do not swear and curse or do the gross immature things the kids did in the stories. Perhaps my imagination is dull and that is why I did not connect with their growing up stories.

In 2017 when the weather was turning from summer to fall, from green to amber, my horse began the decline of age, and I faced the dreaded question of when to say goodbye. I pushed it away, not wanting it to be reality, not wanting to make the decision. It did not take long before I caved  and all my emotions spilled out and we set a date and time to let her go. When that dreaded day came, the knowledge was the worst part. The knowledge that this was her last day, her last few hours, her last minutes. And she was calm and oblivious, not knowing her fate or worrying about it. Yet I, on the other hand, was at one moment collected and the next an emotional puddle. The goodbyes were said, and she slipped peacefully into her repose. Later my sister told me that this was a life-changer, and it would give me freedom. And she was right, I had freedom to get a car, get a job, focus more on my school and primary hobbies. Is freedom the goal of growing up?

The second occasion that I remember is when my maternal grandmother was diagnosed with cancer. My grandparents lived in New Hampshire, so my mother had a long way to travel to go be with her, and she went multiple times. On most of those trips she left me in charge of the house, the chores and the meals, with help from my sister and father. One of the biggest things I learned during that time was responsibility. I must do the work, I must be disciplined, things must be done on time. When my grandmother died, the grief was not there for me, and I do not mean that in an unfeeling way. She suffered through so much pain that death was sweet and quiet. We mourned, but the most important thing I learned was not about grief, for it was still distant to me. I learned responsibility. Is being responsible what it means to be grown up?

The third event happened just a week ago, so the thoughts and feelings are all still quite real and fresh. Late one night one of my friends killed himself. The grief and pain individuals, families, and community are feeling is immense. You would never expect that one of your friends, let alone the funny, caring, and gregarious one, would do such a devastating thing as suicide. It is a true shock when it happens. The process of denial, coping with the idea of it all, the tears, and finally the acceptance that this all really happened is something I have never known before. It is not a dream. It is reality. Inside me the hole left is gaping. I have learned how to grieve, how to deal with the aftermath no one ever wants to deal with. I have learned that suicide is selfish. I know that when I come through this I will be more grown up. But is knowing true grief part of being grown up?

All three of these stories have shaped who I am, how I have grown up, and who I will be tomorrow. They shape how I will respond to life’s adventures, tragedies, and hopes. I would not say that after each of these I was grown up, but rather that each of them helped me understand adult-hood; each of them taught me something else about being an adult. And who knows, another event will come along and teach me something new. Something else to give me that one piece closer to being complete. Being grown up means having a well-rounded view of life, and a way to be efficient and knowledgeable.