It’s a nice day today, which can’t always be assumed for a July 6 in Indiana. It’s not too hot or humid. So I have my window open in my small apartment.
I decided I would sit in the chair by the window and read. Things were going great. The sound of the cars driving on nearby streets became rhythmic with each page I turned. Then I heard the sound of a voice. I kept reading. I heard “Margo” and then some whistling.
I became curious as to why someone outside kept yelling and whistling, so I looked out the window. I saw a woman who was my age and a dog. It was a pit bull, and it was behaving most impressively. The dog was not on a leash. So I became mesmerized by this well trained dog. The woman kept yelling “Margo.” It was at this moment when I realized she had taken two dogs, sans leashes, outside. Naturally, I started scanning the area for the second dog. I didn’t see anything. Then the woman looked across the street and saw Margo frolicking in the giant grassy field of the church.
The woman tried to get Margo, but Margo was having more fun playing on her own. With this, I thought, “Should have had those dogs on leashes.” I got up to get more coffee, which I can’t begin to describe how thankful I am that I became bored with watching this woman try to corral her dog. I was facing the coffee pot when I heard it.
Almost at the same time, I heard a soft, odd thump and a high pitched shrill. Instantly, I knew what happened. I was frozen. I started to feel my knees get weak, and my whole body started to shake.
I didn’t want to look out the window, afraid of what I might see. I stood there, frozen, for a few moments. I slowly turned and out of the corner of my eye I saw a couple of cars had stopped outside. I listened very closely. I didn’t hear any sobbing or wailing. I decided to look out the window. I looked out the window, and I saw a group of four people hovering over two dogs that were in sitting positions. Neither dog was wincing.
A man picked up Margo. It was then that I realized the dog that got nicked by the car was the perfectly behaved pit bull.
One of the women picked up the pit bull and examined one of its feet. The dog owner came out of her apartment with paper towels and a plastic bag, which she put over one of the dog’s feet. She immediately got in her car, wet hair and all, and headed for the animal hospital. (I know this because one of the women from the group was giving her directions.)
I hope the pit bull will be OK. The injuries didn’t appear to be life threatening.
I wanted to write this blog to remind all dog owners that something terrible can happen in a split second. It doesn’t matter how trained your dog is. If you live near a busy road, put your dog on a leash when you take her out, especially if you’re taking two dogs out.
Sometimes, we can take life for granted. It just takes a split second to be reminded how fragile it really is. Luckily, there were no casualties from this instance. I hope something will be learned from this incident, and I hope at least another life can be saved from this reminder of the fragility of life.
Sunday, July 6, 2008
Monday, June 30, 2008
Dynamite with a laser beam...Guaranteed to blow your mind...Anytime.
Today I got an e-mail that cracked me up. Here it is in full:
My flight was being served by an obviously gay flight attendant, who seemed
to put everyone in a good mood as he served us food and drinks.
As the plane prepared to descend, he came swishing down the aisle and told
us that “Captain Marvey has asked me to announce that he'll be landing the
big scary plane shortly, so lovely people, if you could just put your trays
up, that would be super.”
On his trip back up the aisle, he noticed this well-dressed and rather
Arabic looking woman hadn't moved a muscle. “Perhaps you didn't hear me over those big brute engines, but I asked you to raise your trazy-poo, so the main man can pitty-pat us on the ground.”
She calmly turned her head and said, “In my country, I am called a Princess,
and I take orders from no one.”
To which (I swear) the flight attendant replied without missing a beat,
“Well, sweet cheeks, in my country I'm called a Queen, so I outrank you. Tray up, bitch.”
My flight was being served by an obviously gay flight attendant, who seemed
to put everyone in a good mood as he served us food and drinks.
As the plane prepared to descend, he came swishing down the aisle and told
us that “Captain Marvey has asked me to announce that he'll be landing the
big scary plane shortly, so lovely people, if you could just put your trays
up, that would be super.”
On his trip back up the aisle, he noticed this well-dressed and rather
Arabic looking woman hadn't moved a muscle. “Perhaps you didn't hear me over those big brute engines, but I asked you to raise your trazy-poo, so the main man can pitty-pat us on the ground.”
She calmly turned her head and said, “In my country, I am called a Princess,
and I take orders from no one.”
To which (I swear) the flight attendant replied without missing a beat,
“Well, sweet cheeks, in my country I'm called a Queen, so I outrank you. Tray up, bitch.”
Friday, June 27, 2008
8,401
That's how many days I have been alive. Which also breaks down to 1,200 weeks or 276 months. And roughly 201,624 hours or 12,097,440 minutes or 725,846,400 seconds as of midnight.
Today's my 23 birthday.
I feel as if this is the year. This is the year things are going to happen. Don't ask me why. Or how I know. I don't know. I just feel it.
I am not going to lie and say I have the world figured out. I don't. And if someone tells you they do, they're lying. I do, however, have myself figured out. For the most part. Sometimes I still do and say things I don't understand. But I know who I am and what I want and where I'm going, which is an amazing feeling.
I plan to chronicle my 23rd year of life with this blog. This year I will be in grad school, working toward a license to teach high school journalism and a master's in secondary education. I will be observing classrooms and student teaching. This year is going to have its ups and downs. But it is going to be a good year. Good things are going to happen.
After all, this is the year. I can feel it.
Today's my 23 birthday.
I feel as if this is the year. This is the year things are going to happen. Don't ask me why. Or how I know. I don't know. I just feel it.
I am not going to lie and say I have the world figured out. I don't. And if someone tells you they do, they're lying. I do, however, have myself figured out. For the most part. Sometimes I still do and say things I don't understand. But I know who I am and what I want and where I'm going, which is an amazing feeling.
I plan to chronicle my 23rd year of life with this blog. This year I will be in grad school, working toward a license to teach high school journalism and a master's in secondary education. I will be observing classrooms and student teaching. This year is going to have its ups and downs. But it is going to be a good year. Good things are going to happen.
After all, this is the year. I can feel it.
Thursday, February 14, 2008
Love always
Feb. 14, 2008. Valentine’s Day. Maybe next year.
I wore black today, as has been my tradition since my freshman year of college. In college, I usually wore my black hooded Ball State sweatshirt and jeans, so most people didn’t even pick up that I was wearing black in honor of St. Valentine. But I knew. This year, I couldn’t cling to my trusty black sweatshirt, which I had done the four previous holidays. This year I had to go to work on Valentine’s Day. So, I wore my black polo layered over a purple tank top and white thermal shirt that was paired with my super cute purple plaid faux Chucks. So, no one at work picked up that I was wearing black as a silent protest to the day. But I knew. And that was enough.
The reason I don’t like this particular holiday of love – and you should know that I love holidays and I love love – is because of a card.
I was a junior in high school when I receive this card. He was a senior. He give it to me on Feb. 15 when I was standing at my locker. I was sick on Valentine’s Day and didn’t go to school, so he gave it to me the following day. Weird the things you remember. When it was given to me, it meant nothing to me but has picked up value over the years.
A simple Hallmark card with a whimsical city-like scene in vibrant blues, greens and purples on the front. There is a road that does a couple loops, which makes the shape of a heart. On the road is a red car with red hearts that trail after it. At the top of the card it reads: It’s Valentine’s Day! Opening it reveals the contents inside: Spread a little love everywhere you go. Underneath that in slowly-written-but-still-a-little-sloppy cursive handwriting is
“Happy Valentine’s Day
Love always,
Chris”
I use his real name because the chances of him reading this are rarer than me voting Republican. He’s the first boy I’ve ever loved, but I didn’t realize this fact until it was about 4½ years too late. He and I were masters of the cat and mouse game. We played for about three years, trading roles back and forth. The game ended when he was the cat and I was the mouse. I was too mean, too inconsiderate and too fickle. I hurt him. He stopped chasing. At the time, I didn’t care that he stopped chasing. About a year and a half later, I grew up. I realized I wasn’t perfect. I realized I didn’t deserve to be on a pedestal if I wasn’t willing to return the favor. And, I realized that I wanted him back in my life, so I tried to fix what I had done and the pain that I had caused, but it didn’t work.
Now, he and I don’t even talk. And really, I don’t even know him anymore.
But what I want to say to him is “You wrote ‘love always.’ Did you really mean it? You shouldn’t have written it if you didn’t mean it.”
It’s been six years, and I still have that card. I keep that card on my bulletin board. It’s a reminder that sometimes I might not get that second or 22nd chance I expect. It reminds me that sometimes when you keep pushing at something it eventually breaks. I am reminded that some things just can’t be fixed.
I wish I had realized what was right in front of me. And I wish I wasn’t too afraid, too scare and too selfish to see what would have happened. Now, I am left with the pesky “what-ifs.” But, they don’t bother me too much. Just on one particular holiday.
I wore black today, as has been my tradition since my freshman year of college. In college, I usually wore my black hooded Ball State sweatshirt and jeans, so most people didn’t even pick up that I was wearing black in honor of St. Valentine. But I knew. This year, I couldn’t cling to my trusty black sweatshirt, which I had done the four previous holidays. This year I had to go to work on Valentine’s Day. So, I wore my black polo layered over a purple tank top and white thermal shirt that was paired with my super cute purple plaid faux Chucks. So, no one at work picked up that I was wearing black as a silent protest to the day. But I knew. And that was enough.
The reason I don’t like this particular holiday of love – and you should know that I love holidays and I love love – is because of a card.
I was a junior in high school when I receive this card. He was a senior. He give it to me on Feb. 15 when I was standing at my locker. I was sick on Valentine’s Day and didn’t go to school, so he gave it to me the following day. Weird the things you remember. When it was given to me, it meant nothing to me but has picked up value over the years.
A simple Hallmark card with a whimsical city-like scene in vibrant blues, greens and purples on the front. There is a road that does a couple loops, which makes the shape of a heart. On the road is a red car with red hearts that trail after it. At the top of the card it reads: It’s Valentine’s Day! Opening it reveals the contents inside: Spread a little love everywhere you go. Underneath that in slowly-written-but-still-a-little-sloppy cursive handwriting is
“Happy Valentine’s Day
Love always,
Chris”
I use his real name because the chances of him reading this are rarer than me voting Republican. He’s the first boy I’ve ever loved, but I didn’t realize this fact until it was about 4½ years too late. He and I were masters of the cat and mouse game. We played for about three years, trading roles back and forth. The game ended when he was the cat and I was the mouse. I was too mean, too inconsiderate and too fickle. I hurt him. He stopped chasing. At the time, I didn’t care that he stopped chasing. About a year and a half later, I grew up. I realized I wasn’t perfect. I realized I didn’t deserve to be on a pedestal if I wasn’t willing to return the favor. And, I realized that I wanted him back in my life, so I tried to fix what I had done and the pain that I had caused, but it didn’t work.
Now, he and I don’t even talk. And really, I don’t even know him anymore.
But what I want to say to him is “You wrote ‘love always.’ Did you really mean it? You shouldn’t have written it if you didn’t mean it.”
It’s been six years, and I still have that card. I keep that card on my bulletin board. It’s a reminder that sometimes I might not get that second or 22nd chance I expect. It reminds me that sometimes when you keep pushing at something it eventually breaks. I am reminded that some things just can’t be fixed.
I wish I had realized what was right in front of me. And I wish I wasn’t too afraid, too scare and too selfish to see what would have happened. Now, I am left with the pesky “what-ifs.” But, they don’t bother me too much. Just on one particular holiday.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)