Something to Say

There have been a few times I have posted on my blog in the past year and a half that I have considered tagging a post with Something to Smile About. But, unless it referred to the original "something to smile about," it never seemed appropriate. Sure, there were things that made me smile. But none of them were right. Nothing was special enough.

Until a week ago Sunday, that is.

After college group, Melody and I went to a corn maze with some friends. When we came home, they were doing the dishes and we talked about our day and asked where Deanna and Stephen were. They had gone somewhere to get something to eat. Pretty soon Eric and Ruthie came, and we talked with them.

Normal day. Nothing unusual.

Deanna and Stephen entered together, holding hands. That was normal--but I knew immediately something was different about them, though I didn't have time to think about it until I realized.

"She said yes," Stephen told Eric. Time passed surrealy. Melody thought he was joking until she realized he wouldn't be. The other kids grinned, having known already. In the kitchen Ruthie asked Mom if this was for real.

Suddenly we were looking at the pretty silver ring and giving them hugs.

It wasn't surprising, exactly, but it wasn't what we had expected when we came home that evening.

We made Eric move so they could sit center stage on the love seat and made both of them tell the story.

There was much smiling and laughing and jittering and teasing of Stephen, who was embarrassed and hid under his coat when we played the song he had sung for Deanna.

I think Stephen told Deanna she could ask the wedding party. "They already know," she said.

"You should ask anyway," I said.

"Jeannette, will you be my maid of honor?" she asked.

"Yep!" I smiled.

"Melody, will you be a bridesmaid?"

The ever-grinning Melody replied with an enthusiastic, "Yes!"

"Amy, will you be a bridesmaid?"

"Yes!" she replied.

"I'll be mother of the bride," Mom offered.

"Dad, will you walk me down the aisle?" Deanna asked.

"Yes," he said. "I would be honored."

"Stephen?" asked Timothy expectantly.

"Go to bed, Tim," we said.

"We'll ask you to be the flower girl later," Stephen informed him.

Naturally (in case you hadn't noticed) I took pictures. We had some fun with them:

Some of us stayed up quite late that night.

This is Stephen smiling because he knew Melody and I were conspiring to take their picture.

On Wednesday in ASL class, we learned signs about family. It made me happy to learn "dating," "going steady," "fiance," "husband," "wife," "married," "wedding," and especially "engaged" and "brother-in-law." And then to get to use them immediately!

The first few days, they needed to make calls and meet with people, so we had to keep our secret. Finally on Wednesday we were allowed to tell people freely. It was so much fun! I got to tell a lot of people, and their responses were so enjoyable. It was nice to have some friends that I could go up to and hug in order to get rid of excess energy.

That weekend I enjoyed being around people and talking about it. But sometimes, I would look around and everyone would be engaged in normal conversation and no one was talking about it. They seemed to be just fine with this, as if every day I had a sister who had gotten engaged last week. So sometimes I'd just have to say randomly, "My sister's engaged!"

Some people thought that was silly, saying they knew that. "I know," I said, "I just wanted to say it."

"I understand," my friend Merri said. "Sometimes it just needs to be said aloud."

Perhaps you wonder that I say little specifically about them. The day afterwards, Deanna, Melody, and I were riding in the car together, saying nothing.

Suddenly I said, "I want to talk about the engagement...but I can't think of anything to say!"

"I was just thinking that!" Melody said, and Deanna laughed.

"I guess," I concluded, "when something is good, you say it's good, congratulations, I'm happy about it, and then...there's not really much else to say. It's just good."

This Wednesday, I got to take engagement pictures, my first really-and-truly official engagement photos assignment. It was fun...but needless to say, way too many pictures to add to this post. Maybe I'll do one with them.

So, there it is. There's much more that could be said, but what else needs to be said?

Just that...

My sister's getting married!

And I've got the awesomest brother-in-law. (I know, not yet. Close enough.)

One teaser photo...aren't they adorable??

Visual Communications

Though I have enjoyed all of them so far, this semester has definitely been the most fun regarding classes. Though there haven't been any classes that I dislike and though there are several that I really like, Visual Communications has been my favorite. Even more than sign language and Creative Writing...well, that's pretty close.

When I signed up for it (rather randomly, since I needed something to fill a requirement and thought I might like it), I did not realize it was only an 8 week course.  I am rather sad to come to the end of it. Naturally, my 8-week course was actually more like 9 weeks, since you could spend any amount of time on it, and my professor is a very wonderful, patient, sweet woman.

Our assignment for the course was to create a photo album (a great trial for me, as I am sure you know), a brochure, and a website, all revolving around the same theme. You could choose an organization or a theme ("world hunger," for example) or a sports team or a business-whatever could use a website.

What could I do? I considered doing the Visualization Project. (When speaking of the class, I often accidentally called it my Visualization class, mixing Visual Communications with the Visualization project.) But really, the Visualization Project's blog is sufficient. Then, it came to me.

Of course. I would do Tiny Glimpses Photography.

If I used the website and brochure, then all is well and good. If not, it'd still be fun.

And fun it was. I spent every moment of class that I could and much lab time, discovering the glories of a good version of Photoshop (I'm spoiled now, doubtless) and enjoying designing. I went through pictures, trying to find families and animals and so forth.

Once when I was getting my website to come together and quite excited about it, I completely forgot I had sign language that day, until my mom sent me a message and it suddenly struck me: it's Monday, not Friday, so I have another class! I was over half an hour late. "There she is!" my professor said. I signed to her that I was having so much fun in Vis Com that I forgot. She teased, "How could you forget us?" but she understood. She is also taking a class from my Visual Communications professor. Thankfully I already know some sign language so it wasn't a problem.

On what was (supposedly) the last day, the lab assistant sat next to me at my spot at the Mac in the last row of the computer lab. ("I'm going to creepily sit next to you again," he says, as he comes into an almost empty lab and sits at the computer next to me. Previous days he had said, "Don't think I'm being creepy sitting next to you. I have a lot of stuff saved on this computer.")

"You fail!" he says. Surprised, I looked at him. "You're not the first one in here. I think that gives you an automatic failure."

I looked, and indeed there was already another guy in the lab. (Normally I was the first one in the lab.) I found it amusing that he would say that. As Ruthie would say, "That just happened. I'm so glad that just happened!" Ach, you can't understand, unless you can hear Ruthie's voice in your mind, because it doesn't have the same effect otherwise.

Anyway...

This is a copy of my brochure. It's a tri-fold, so in the first page the middle section is the back, the left is the flap, and the right is the front. The second page is the center.

I ended up being pretty happy with how it turned out, compared to how it was earlier, at least.

Doing the website was fun. I got to gather photos of different subjects and edit them. Most of the photos I picked were from this past year, though I thought it was appropriate to go back to 2009 and get the Heyerlys' picture for my family shot, since they were my first official job. I forgot how little they were.

There were so many pictures that I wanted to do. In order to include a gallery of photos that you can scroll through, you have to use Flash, which my professor said is part of Visual Communications II. But you can do rollover images, so I did that for my gallery, and thus fit in more without making it hugely long.

I think I'll look into doing something more next semester...

Today I officially finished, sent in my brochure and uploaded my website. It's tinyglimpses.zxq.net. Check it out and let me know what you think!

View of the Sacred

I said I would post on the less pleasant side of my Creative Writing class. So this is a poem I wrote after one class. During it, I was overwhelmed and saddened by the casual acceptance, even the embrace, of crudeness and immorality by my classmates and teacher. Afterwards, I could simply not think or focus on anything until I got these thoughts out, and this, best done in poem format. I am not sure if what I was trying to say came across clearly, but this is what I wrote.

I knew it
It is no surprise--
Or at least it shouldn't be.
You know no different.
How could you?
It's all you've ever seen.
What more is there?
You find nothing wrong.
That's how life is, y'know?
In the back of your mind,
You wonder why I don't laugh.
If I told you what I think,
You would understand.
I'm just a hick
A prude
A victorian, no-fun, toe-the-line.
You prefer your freedom
Your fun
Your carefree unrestraint.
You pity me for my rules,
And my ridiculous, old-fashioned,
over-active conscious,
Fed by indoctrination in my environment,
and fears.
And with the ache in your heart,
You pity me.
You pity me as I miss your jokes,
don't know your words,
blush at your descriptions.
To you,
they are normal, everyday scenes.
But to me,
they are unknown, and should be.
You joke at what I see
As violation of the precious,
the sacred.
You think with my rules,
I am missing out on life.
You want to taste all life has to offer,
But without separation,
Food becomes bland.
Without restraint of volume,
Enjoyment is lost.
While you gorge on the appetizer,
I'm waiting for the 12-course meal.
Learn to eat what is good.
Raised on sweets,
How can you appreciate the subtle flavors?
Your laughing cuts deep into me.
Life and joy and love pass you by
And you don't know it.
I may look foolish to you.
Waiting, refusing to indulge may be hard.
But beneath the heartache and trouble,
I have hope,
While beneath your joking,
Your mocking, your criticism,
You ache.
Am I naive? Foolish? A prude?
If it means that I reject your ways
And hold what is pure in high esteem,
Yes, I am.

Workshopping Fun

This semester has been filled with classes I really enjoy. My favorites are Visual Communication, which I took on a whim and loved; American Sign Language, and signing with people has been really fun, and I can't wait until we're beyond simple vocabulary; and Creative Writing.

Though there have been different issues with the class (a post on that soon, perhaps), I have loved doing workshops.

Workshopping consists of everyone bringing twelve copies of their work and giving one to everyone, including the professor. Then, one by one, the author reads his work aloud, and everyone discusses it. "What is this about?" the professor will ask, or, "What was your favorite line in this poem?" Grammar, diction (word choice), tone, imagery, line breaks, are discussed. At last the author is allowed to speak and give a reply or ask questions.

I thought this would be rather intimidating. Having a professor, who is an interesting, cynical kind of man and ten peers who think very differently than I saying whatever they think about something that I have written--I figured it would be rather unpleasant, even if profitable. The slightest criticism of your work can be hard to take, for good writing is personal.

The first poem we were assigned was to be about a place. Immediately, I knew what I wanted to do. As soon as I left class, I began to write. I set up the scene:

Too many people, too much mess

I slip out of the house and into the yard

Past the garden and barn

And the neighbors’ field

Into the covering of trees

But it was to be 20 lines long. Writing like that, I wouldn't be able to do it within those limits. (Turns out that 20 lines was the minimum, not the limit, but I along with the rest of the class didn't know that at the time.) Besides I didn't really like it. So I started another one.

My Retreat

Swish, swish, shoes through the grass

Snap, snap, twigs underfoot

Twist, twist, snake through the trees

Slowing, slowing, the world and me.

Chirping cicadas all around

Soothe my mind with comforting sound.

Up ahead I see the log

Where once I sat and wept aloud.

Then it was high,

Now broken down.

Still damp and green with moss,

A place to sit and mourn a loss.

Yet I go on as setting sun

Slides through layer and layer of leaves

Quickening again, driven by pain of thought

Towards the place I know I ought

Not intrude, those industrial mounds.

Yet I go to gaze in the pools

And there in the silence my passion cools

In companionable solitude.

It wasn't quite what I wanted, however. The tone wasn't right. So I went there, to my "thinking spot" in the woods behind our house. There I was inspired to write again.

Heavy, so heavy

The thoughts in my head

I escape the walls

Pass the wild garden, full of green,

tall weeds. Pass the inviting swings

Into tangled opening.

Once again, treading the pathless path.

Familiar the place, familiar the solitude,

familiar the feeling.

Over there, that fallen log

Huge with open seat before its tangled roots

where I once sat and wept

Feeling alone.

Once too tall to swing my legs over,

Now broken down.

Beyond, mown path, yet tall, itchy growth.

Comforting, its silence

Comforting, the sounds from far away.

Damp, damp, is every seat

So I stand alone.

Then, while I was there, I wondered what I would have written should I have finished my first poem. So, I finished it.

Too many people, too much mess

I slip out of the house and into the yard

Past the garden and barn

And the neighbors’ field

Into the covering of trees

Where at last I yield

Voice to my yearning

Sound to my pain

Here where I come

Again and again.

I don’t want to leave

But time slides past

And I know they are calling

And will miss me at last.

The silence comforts my restless soul

The sounds are a balm, yet I must go.

A quick moment of panic when I think I’ve turned wrong

And do not remember the lay of that log.

I right myself, and it brings a smile.

I must depart, but just for a while.

Lovely, I realized: I now have three poems for the same assignment. How was I to decide which one to do?

I consulted my sister, and she liked the second one best. I dubbed it Isolation, printed twelve copies, and took it to class.

This first workshop, I rather cringed for some of the authors as people said what they thought. Even though it was all said in friendly critique, I imagined what I would feel if someone said it about what I had written. But to my surprise, I was excited and grinning as I left class and headed towards my brother and two of our friends, who are often studying outside of my class when I get out. I had loved it.

I like reading poems aloud. Both my creative writing professor and my American Poetry professor told me that I read well after I read a poem. It was fascinating indeed to hear what people said about my poem. I took notes.

There were some interesting comments: it reminded them of "a young lady marooned in a wilderness," "that scene in Forrest Gump" (which I now want to see) or "something from Alice in Wonderland." The tone was "sad" and "beaten-down."

One girl, who seems quiet but talks often because she is very literary-minded, talked about how it's someone who wants to belong but is struggling, and needs to find that one person who accepts her, a like-minded person.

They liked the imagery sense of the woods. Someone said you're not sure how to get there, but you know where you're going.

The professor said that the line "huge with open seat before its tangled roots" was "very interesting diction." That amused me.

He also asked what they thought about the last two lines, "Damp, damp, is every seat, so I stand alone."

One guy who is amusing in his comments, a communication major, but more of an article writer than a poet, said, "I liked it."

"I liked it, too," the professor replied. "But what does it imply?"

Someone said something like it wasn't the end. The professor sometimes speaks in a mimicking voice and he did now: "Get ready for part two! Isolation: the sequel!"

In one of the critiques we have to write for each person's poem (I love getting them too), one of the girls said that was her favorite line. She also said, "During the workshop, I could see you smiling to yourself because we were trying to analyze it, and you were originally writing about your backyard." That was true. It was so funny-I just wrote describing things, and they found them to mean all this profound stuff I never would have thought of.

The only thing that they really said I should change was elaborating on what "the sounds from far away" were. One guy said he would not change a thing. Another said, "I feel that it's complete and well written. The only thing is the comforting sounds aspect."

I find this often happens when I write under inspiration-I don't have as much that ought to be changed. When I am not writing under internal compulsion, it needs more revision.

The professor had a few more suggestions, such as the removal of two lines. Here's the revised, with changes in bold for those of you who don't like reading just for the sake of reading, which is probably most everyone, and for those of you who have better things to spend your time on that this lengthy whatever-you-call-it, not really an essay, which is all of you.

Isolation

Heavy, so heavy, my head                                     Professor said to remove "the thoughts in"

As I escape the walls,                                                                                                  and add as

Pass my wild garden, full of green,

tall weeds, pass the inviting swings

Amid manicured grass,

Into tangled opening.

Once again, treading the pathless path.

Familiar the place, familiar the solitude,

familiar the feeling.

Over there, that fallen log

Huge with open seat before its tangled roots         Removed the part about weeping alone 
Once too tall to swing my legs over,                                                at professor's suggestion

Now broken down.

Beyond, mown path, yet tall, itchy growth.

Comforting, its silence,

Comforting, the clanging and beeping of the backhoe     Elaboration on sounds as desired 
Invisible beyond the trees,

Comforting the murmur of cicadas all around
And faint voices calling my name.
Yet I go on as setting sun                                                                         Added these two lines 
Slides through layer and layer of leaves.                                   from one of my other poems

I do not return, not yet.                                                   After changes a transition was needed

Damp, damp, is every seat

So I walk on, alone.     Professor "liked the intention" of the last line, but "not sure about wording"

The second poem we workshopped was an ode or list poem. I wrote one about Kristen which I have already posted. This time, I wasn't inspired at first. Even though I was later with the idea, I still didn't get the execution quite right.

I knew they would have a lot more to say about this one. The first was just an anomaly since everyone happened to like it almost as it was. This time, workshopping would be less pleasant.

Once again, I was surprised to be leave with a grin because it was so much fun. Yes, they had suggestions on what should be changed, but I knew it needed them, and it was still fascinating to hear. My favorite things were two statements, surprising coming from my professor. One, he said, "I have a low tolerance for sappy [that is very true], and it wasn't raised until like the third stanza." The other was surprising because he usually wants people to give better imagery, more specific descriptions. "As far as descriptions and sounds, there is not a bad moment."

So I have been enjoying this class. But since my professor is always saying that nothing is completely good and they should touch on the less positive aspects of things, that shall be the topic of my next post.