Turkey Time!

So I love Thanksgiving and eating turkey. In this crazy holiday season, I like starting with calm--the nap on the couch after the turkey kicks in--before the huge storm of the Christmas Season--3 AM store openings on Black Friday. I'm not going to be philosophical, except to suggest that I want to think differently about ourselves/time as gifts, over the latest gadget from Best Buy.

Maybe I'm just getting older, but as much as I love seeing presents under the Christmas tree, I love getting together with friends and family a lot more. Gifts are soon forgotten after the frenzy of tearing through the paper, but memories take a little more to be gone forever. By looking at old journals, pictures, and reminiscing, I talk about the past in terms of experiences shared with loved ones, not always remembering what I had unwrapped that year. Maybe my liberal philosophy is transfering over to more aspects of my life as the economy still seems to be less than sturdy. Or, maybe this is a fancy way of writing that "There's no money, honey" for gifts this year (I am a grad student after-all). I don't know for sure yet. As a gift to myself, I'm going to allow myself to make a more conscious effort this holiday season to experience more fully my surroundings and to enjoy its offerings.

Being a writer

Before this class started, I don't know that I would have classified myself as a writer if asked. I looked through my old school memory binders with report cards, projects, pictures, and assignments. I was surprised to find several items that I had written from different times in my schooling. Even though some of it is 15+ years old, I still feel some sort of connection to what is on the page--I recognize it as mine. It is kind of weird because I obviously have become a more sophisticated writer since third grade, but the voice remains. I only remember writing one paper in elementary school that didn't feel like "mine" and it bothers me to this day. I can't find it, but remember reading it aloud to my fifth grade class and not totally recognizing the words coming out of my mouth as my own. Interesting and humbling. I guess I now consider myself a writer and it isn't because I just started, but because I've been doing it and making meaning from words for so long. I have continued to write in school and home for different reasons and think I always will. I can't imagine going a day without making some sort of scribble on scratch paper, etc. I'd like to meet someone who says they don't write and see what exactly that means.

I Am from a Family of Characters

I am from finding eyeballs and hearts in my garage.
I am from long innings on scorching hot days,
coolers full of pop after softball game—win or lose.
I am from a strong father who gives unending support,
Laughs, and a strong desire to protect our environment.


I am from warm, handmade quilts lovingly made by my mom
to keep out freezing Iowa winters
until it is shorts at 60 degrees!
I am from a sense of adventure and travels—
long summer car rides,
even longer plane rides to new continents.
I am from a laugh so hard you can’t hear it,
a cough that is recognizable anywhere,
and a person always in my corner.


I am from having a constant
companion in my twin (non-identical) brother.
I am from grueling walks to school, next-door lockers,
fights over the computer, and shared minivans.
I am from a strong bond with my childhood’s closest friend.


I am from a land of stuffed animals—
Muffin and Stephanie thrown up into the ceiling fan
Only to fly into the wall with a thud and shriek!
I am from Saturday morning squabbles in a
shared bedroom full of conflicting ideas.
I am from a love of being camp counselors, reveling in nature, raids,
Crazy Sally, the Dance Hall Cave, and the ‘OOL.
I am from a shared love between sisters.


I am from a family combining dark rich soil in Iowa
With the gritty streets of Chicago.
I am from a family with strong roots and pride of heritage--
whether making kolaches, lefse, visiting the farm,
or grabbing nosebleed seats to cheer on our favorite White Sox.
I am from a family full of love—
in the form of hugs, long distance phone calls,
teasing, Family Death Matches,
sloppy doggie kisses, and a promise to see each other soon,
always ending with “I love you.”

I forgot to mention before that this is for autobiography assignment in Teaching Writing Methods. I wrote it to sum it all up without being another 10 page piece!