Walk on Water

I thought I would give you all a taste of what kind of poetry I mean by the psalms to God, the poetry I am passionate about :) Hope you enjoy, or at least can appreciate it.


Walk on Water

“Take courage! It is I. Don’t be afraid.”

I eye the water
strap on my lifejacket
over my mistrust
and advance with caution.

“Come,” he said.

I lift one leg over.
The water is cold,
wind harsh on my face.
Securing the straps
I step.

Eyes filled with distrust
disbelief I would walk,
so I sink.

“You of little faith,” he said, “Why did you doubt?”

Forgive me my fears, Lord.
No reason to mistrust you.
Help me remove my hesitations
so I may walk on water
certain of your guidance.

What I learned about my grandma

So I got back last night from Portland, after a great weekend visiting with family. I figured that it would only be right to write down what I learned about my grandma, so I can remember it later.

-She is obsessed with roosters. They are everywhere! Porcelain figurines, painting, calendars. It's so grandmotherly!
-Now that she is retired, she goes to estate sales and buys other people's stuff.
-She owns the movie Bruno. How that happened, I have no idea. But it is on her DVD collection. (Grandkids were probably the reasoning behind it...I hope)
-She loves cats and has two of them. A creepy wild cat and a cute black cat named Twilight. I thought of Stephanie Meyer's book instantly.
-She has a good collection of books, which includes the 50 greatest books collection (or something to that affect.) She has a few Nora Roberts books, but the Mythology book and Hemmingway made up for it.
-As we were leaving the party, I told her we were headed to her house to party some more. Her exact words "Well, as long as there is gonna be hard liquor. It's my 80th birthday and I still haven't had any liquor." Haha it was pretty great.

Just some quick memories that I don't want to forget!

I want to hear more about the grandma!

In two hours I will shove my bag into the back of my brother's car and my family will travel down to Portland, Oregon for Memorial Day weekend. My grandma turned 80 on Tuesday so one of my aunts planned a massive surprise party tomorrow. All of the family on my dad's side will be gathered to celebrate, honor, and reminisce about her.

I haven't seen my grandma in three years, the last time being when I graduated high school. She came up for the weekend, spent a little bit of time with us, and I haven't seen her since. She visited a year ago for my brother's graduation, but I had already left for Summer Project. Due to stressful family situations, we slowly stopped our yearly visit to Portland. So, needless to say, I am pretty excited to see her. But if I am being honest, the party scares me. We are supposed to be thinking of memories we shared with her-but I can hardly think of any. When I was younger I was less focused on her and more on the fact that after we saw her, we were going to the beach. I don't know who she is, her personality, whether she likes to bake, or if she does the cute grandma stuff. Whenever I hear friends talk about their grandparents, all the memories of being spoiled and the necessity of grandma-time, I admit that I get a little jealous. I never had that kind of time. And it hurts a little that I don't have those memories of my grandma.

As I contemplate my future, hopefully full of a husband and children, I know without doubt that I wand grandparents to be in my kids' lives.I recognize that distance has alot to do with the frequency of visits, but I want my parents and my future husband's parents to be involved and investing in my children's lives. I want my children to know more about their grandma.

Two types of poetry

While cooking spaghetti tonight, I began to contemplate the contents of my final portfolio for my senior Capstone.Reflecting on the poetry I had written over the years, I had a realization. I write two types of poetry. The first is the poetry I write for school, for workshops, for people to be impressed with my poetic ability. They center around little events, western towns, and random images. I play with lines and punctuation. I even got one into Northwest Boulevard, a small press at EWU. It's all very impressive and meant to be shown to the public.

My other poetry is the words of my soul. I rarely share them with the world. I write psalms to the God that I love. My anger, my fear, my joy-all is reflected in my poetry. I admire the poetry of David and his Psalms. No matter how lost he was or desperate his situation, he always returned to praising the Lord. I try to model mine after David. This is the poetry I long to write, to display, to show to others. The baring of my soul's anguish and frustration, but all the while returning to praise and worship. Who knows if anyone would even be interested in the struggles of my heart!? I don't really know if there is a place to publish my poetry, since I am currently unaware of the booming market for Christian poetry, if there even is a market.

I am torn about whether to include some of these poems in my final portfolio for my Capstone class. I'm typically reluctant to bring in anything too religious so I don't offend or annoy my classmates. But this is who I am and what I am passionate about? I am still working through this as I write now, trying to understand who I want to please with my poetry. My classmates or myself? In reality, I lean towards pleasing others, but I long to please myself. Who knows. I am still contemplating.

Proust Questionaire

I stole this from my friend Megan. After all, she encouraged it!


Your Chief Characteristic:

- Laughter

The quality that I desire in a man.

- Humor.

The quality that I desire in a woman.

- Vulnerability

What I appreciate most about my friends.

- They love me despite my faults, and laugh at my bad jokes

My main fault:

- Stress

My favorite occupation:

- Spending one on one time with people

My dream of happiness:

- A sunny day with my man by my side

What would be my greatest misfortune?:

- To lose my family. They are everything to me.

What I should be like:

A mini-Jesus haha. I wish! I should be disciplined too

- The country where I should like to live:

Spain would be cool. But I don't mind the US

My favorite color:

- Blue

The flower that I like:

- I have a growing fondness for tulips

My favorite bird:

… I am not the biggest fan. Maybe flamingo?

My favorite prose authors:

- I am terrible at this question! Sherman Alexie, Jane Austen, Donald Miller, and Dee Henderson

My favorite poets:

- John Berryman. Robert Frost. Stevie Smith. Theodore Roethke. Richard Hugo.

My favorite heroes in fiction:

- Mr. Darcy :)

My favorite heroines in fiction:

- hmm...no idea off the top of my head.

My heroes in real life:

- My parents; Evelyn; those who have invested in my life over the years.

My heroines in history:

- Mother Theresa; Rigoberta Menchu maybe?

My favorite names:

- Jack. Melanie.

What I hate most of all:

- the word hate.

Historical figures that I despise the most:

- Hitler.

The military event that I admire most:

- Battle of Bunker Hill. Simply because it happened the same day as my birthday :)

The reform which I admire most:

- The fight for equality by MLKJ

The gift of nature that I would like to have:

- Not sure what this means...I wouldn't mind having the gift of running?

How I want to die:

- How God wants me to die. And knowing that I served His kingdom to my last breath.

My present state of mind:

- Trying not to stress out.

Faults for which I have the most indulgence:

- Impatience

Your favorite motto:

- One of them is: Do you believe you are saved from something or saved for something?

My Ode to Richard Hugo

I thought I would share a poem I wrote after reading Richard Hugo's book :)

Outlaw’s Return: Ode to Richard Hugo

This god-forsaken town hated me.
They hated the very thought of me.
Tainted, they claimed,
Ruined by poor judgment and
lack of all belief in the system.
I bruised their feeble egos
and was politely asked to leave.

The dull gray water tower
peeled and faded with
the town’s life and pride.
The once eager gold fever moved
to a new part of California, leaving
behind broken windows and empty
hotels, fences on rusty hinges,
dust thick in the stale air of abandonment.
No longer did the town hold that
John Wayne bravado,
swagger of pride to defend its
so-called honor from
outlaws like me.

I walk, confident, past
weather-worn planks and
cracked leather saddles
dulled with age,
prepared to take back what I lost.

The Triggering Town

Spurred by a class discussion, I wanted to share a craft book for poetry that really helped me out! It's by Richard Hugo, called The Triggering Town: Lectures and Essays on Poetry and Writing. It has nine chapters and goes through tips on how to start writing, what assumptions to use, different thoughts while he was teaching, an essay on his trip back to Italy, and bits of his own writing. I found it very helpful in my own writing. It would apply to both poetry and fiction writing (non-fiction would have a rough time, since non-fiction is based in truth while Hugo says to make stuff up.)

The most helpful part of the book is chapter three, “Assumptions”. Hugo bases most of his writing off creating assumptions for the little towns he passes or visits. To help readers generate ideas for their own town, he lists over seventy different assumptions to help get him into the right mindset for a poem. If you need a starting point, look there. And if you read this book and feel inspired to write a poem or story about some dinky little town, then Hugo succeeded in my opinion.

It is a great craft book and really helped me start figuring out my own style of poetry. I would definitely recommend it!

A few assumptions:
“No one dies, makes love, or ages.”
“I am on friendly terms with all couples, but because I live alone and have no girlfriend, I am of constant concern to them.”
“Once the town was booming, but it fell on hard times around 1910.”
“Two whores are kind to everyone but each other.”
“The jail is always empty.”

The rest you will have to read for yourself!

Robin Hood!!

The legend of Robin Hood is by far one of my favorite stories. I hear it and think either of Kevin Costner or Disney's singing animals, depending on which version I saw most recently. With this background I walked into the new movie "Robin Hood."

Now, you know the movie can't be terrible. It's Russel Crowe, after all! But my brother warned me it wasn't great. A little disappointed, I went to see it anyways.

ATTENTION. SPOILER ALERT.

It was awesome :) It is before Robin Hood becomes an outlaw, so we get lots of back story. Though the plot was different from Disney, it was still fun. Lots of action. Cate Blanchett did better than I thought she would. Just remember that it's a slightly different take, and you will enjoy it alot more.

If you like Robin Hood, or at least Russel Crowe, you should definitely go see it :)

girls think this. guys think that.

After a long discussion on ‘feelings,’ my boyfriend kept referring to what he was dealing with by generalizing. Guys deal with this. Guys think this. I wanted to scream at him. I am not interested in what other guys think or say. I want to know how he, as an individual, thinks and operates. Why do I care what the other billions of men typically do in a situation?

Now I don’t want to take my anger out at him, but I find that people often fall into the trap of generalizing. Even that statement was a generalization! I generalize because I don’t want to own up to what I am feeling. It’s easier to cast my feelings on a large group rather than isolate myself. If I say that girls generally need affirmation, it means that I, specifically, need affirmation. There may be women that do not need as much affirmation as I do, and some may need more. So why do I say it? Why can’t I be my own person? Why do I have to be generalized?

Now that I realized generalization is a pet peeve, I constantly worry that I am going to generalize myself. I correct myself when I start saying it. I glare at my boyfriend when he says that guys enjoy winning, or guys like sports. But we will keep working on it!

Spokane Lilac Parade

The 2010 Armed Forces Torchlight Parade. Also known as the Spokane Lilac Parade. My aunt, little sister, and I go every year. It’s the one weekend reserved for girl time with my aunt and it is one of the highlights of my year. It’s tradition.

Our preparation for the night involves going to the dollar store and buying at least two bags of candy each. Sour skittles and chocolate covered pretzels are my favorites. We park far away and walk towards the crowds, carrying lawn chairs, blankets, and all the junk food we bought. We weave through packed sidewalks, searching for an open spot to set up our chairs. The early bird gets the worm, so if you come late, you usually end up sitting on the curb or behind a big group.

We typically sit in the same general area every year. Right by the bank and close to the bathrooms. Setting up the lawn chairs, we quickly spot the smokers and the annoying little kids. It’s not a true parade if you don’t have kids running everywhere. Waiting for the parade, we break open the candy and people-watch. The parade starts when you hear the police sirens. Five or six police cars drive the course, blaring their horns to clear the streets.

If you ever attend this parade, here is what to expect: you are going to stand a lot and clap a lot. Did you read the official title? It says “Armed Forces.” Every five minutes you are back on your feet, cheering and clapping, giving high-fives to soldiers running back and forth. Army. Navy. Air force. They are everywhere. The three of us try to find the cute ones; no one can resist a man in uniform. Interspersed are the vets-Vietnam, Prisoners of War, Purple Heart awards, even a few WW2 vets, though there aren’t many left. This parade is for them, so you keep clapping even when your hands start to hurt.

Aside from the armed forces, there are Rodeo Queens, banks, muscle cars, television personas and the mayor, floats with waving Queens and Princesses, and high school marching bands. My favorite people to cheer for are the pooper-scoopers. They are the poor kids who follow behind the horses and pick up the droppings. They need a little encouragement. As for the high school bands, my aunt is the expert. She had two kids go through band in high school and knows her stuff. We can’t even enjoy the music before we start commenting on the line formations. It’s the first thing we notice by default now.

This year will be a little different. For the first time, my sister will be in the parade, rather than on the sidelines. I’m not quite as talkative as her, but I am hoping to have fun regardless. Oh. And one of the best perks: I get to embarrass her in front of her friends. I love being the older sister.

If you want to go, it’s this Saturday at 7:45 to midnight. You don’t have to stay the whole time, but it is totally worth experiencing!

Bloomsday traditions

Bloomsday: 50,00 people crammed onto Spokane's streets and run/walk 7.46 miles just for a T-Shirt. Worth it? Heck yes.

This is my fourth year doing Bloomsday, and I confess it's starting to grow on me. I typically try and jog it, obsessed with my time and finishing no matter the cost. This year I chose to walk the course. I took my sweet sweet time and finished in 2 hours and 56 minutes. Under 3 hours, baby! I walked with a good friend of mine from last summer and my boyfriend, both first-timers to Bloomsday. I excitedly explained to them all the exciting traditions of the day. Anyone who has experienced Bloomsday, whether participating or one of those jerks who sit on their lawn barbecuing while starving runners water at the mouth, know the traditions. But if not, I want to share what makes Bloomsday much more than a race.
1. The trade show. You pick up your packets the day before in the Convention Center located downtown. Organizers conveniently place the activation lines for your timers to lead you straight to the vendors. Salespeople set up their booths, trying to sell the latest athletic wear, new vitamins, even ring-cleaner. As you wander through the booths, you pick up free samples, like the free cookies from Safeway, and are bombarded with advertisements. Making it to the end of the booths, you walk out and try and find where you parked your car.
2. The trees on Riverside. Every year the tree lining Riverside are covered in clothing. People bring extra clothes they want to donate and litter the trees with extra sweatshirts, pants, etc. Afterwards, volunteers pick up the clothing and donate them.
3. The costumes. People want to get on the news, so we get kids in Slurpee outfits, Star Troopers, gorillas, Spiderman, and neon-colored hair.
4. The random bands on the side of the streets. It's a competition. We are supposed to vote for our favorites. The acordian-playing Elvis; skaa band with a saxaphone; old men rockin' out to Sweet Home Alabama. It's all there.
5. The T-shirt. No one knows what they look like before the race. It's kept a secret from everyone. But people who finished before you often spoil the surprise when they walk by you as you head to the finish line. But still, the T-shirt is the proof that you survived Bloomsday. You get total bragging rights. An unspoken rule is that everyone wears it the next day.

Well, those are some fun Bloomsday traditions. Anyone who didn't participate this year should definitely plan for next year. Whether running or walking, it is a great experience.

The things we do for the men in our lives

NBA Playoffs started last weekend. The first round of seven-game series is halfway through. The Lakers are 2-1 against the Oklahoma City Thunder, the former Sonics (They aren't bad, they aren't good, they are just OK! Hahaha. I found it rather humorous.) Kobe Bryant is playing with a broken finger on his shooting hand and his foot is bothering him, yet he still wins games. Pao Gasol is monstorous. Derek Fisher chokes until the last minute. Adam Morrison, former GU Bulldogs star, sits on the bench, apparently because of his mustache. I think this basketball stuff is rubbing off on me.

I never really watched basketball before. My parents watch GU religiously, but other then March Madness, basketball wasn't big in my house. The NBA became important a year ago. My boyfriend loves the Lakers. He lives and breathes basketball, and knows way too many stats. But he loves it, therefore I must learn to love it. The things we do for the men in our lives!

Tuesday night is Glee night. One of my favorite shows. But through the entire Madonna-tribute episode, all I thought of was whether the Lakers were winning. I even forced my friends to watch the last five minutes. I talked about the players, acted like I knew what I was talking about. I accidentally kicked the remote across the room when they won at the last few seconds. A friend asked me how long I had been a fan. Well, I can tell you the exact day I became a fan. The day I started dating a Lakers fan. It's so strange how we adopt new likes, new dislikes just to be able to connect with our significant other. Do I feel guilty for cheering for the Lakers? Not a bit. They are playing this Monday and I plan on watching, cheering for both my team and my man.

Tastebuds

Taste buds are so weird! I am sitting here eating a grapefruit. But if you asked me a few months ago whether I liked grapefruit, I would say no. I like apples, applesauce, and hot apple cider, but I can't stand the taste of apple juice. Plain milk is gross, but if you put at least two spoonfuls of Nesquik I am fine. I like oranges, but can't drink orange juice in the morning. Is it crazy to any one else that our taste buds change over time? I used to hate tomatoes. Now I eat them willingly. Or the fact that our psychological state affects our taste buds! I shudder whenever I see eggs because when I was younger my dad forced me to eat eggs when I didn't want to. I haven't eaten eggs since. Crazy! I might have to do some research about taste buds and figure out why they are so weird!

Equal Rights

the rumble of the dryer
faint background noise
to the many thoughts
shouting for equal rights
to be heard.
my head weighs heavy
as I try to ignore them all
and listen to the faint voice
crying out from my heart.


Jenna Ainslie

Memory Book

I finally opened my Memory Book from Lake Tahoe Summer Project. I admit, I was nervous. I didn't know what to expect-crying, laughter, nostalgia, yearning for the last summer. It all eventually came.

I don't really talk about LTSP much. I think I am still in Post-Tahoe recovery. Leaving an intimate, vulnerable, passionate group of Christians my age to return to normalcy and its apathy has been hard. Almost a year later, I still don't think I have fully adjusted. I yearn to experience that intense camp-high, feeling so passionately on fire for Christ that I couldn't help but talk about my faith and what I was learning. Now I am sitting in my apartment, wishing I could go back to that passion, that fire. Disappointment with my inability to attain such a high again cripples my faith. Why be ok with average faith when I have experienced such intensity? I don't know. I guess I am still trying to reconcile the fact that the "real world" is not like Lake Tahoe. I am not constantly surrounded by fellow Christians, who want to learn and experience their faith just like me. I had a 24/7 Christian bubble that I never wanted to leave. Coming back to my life where swearing is a constant and people constantly put down Christianity, it's been rough. I wish my leaders had prepared me for this. All I can do is soldier through it and hope that if I persist I will come out stronger.

And I know I ask questions alot-I was told it is frustrating for readers, since they don't know the answers to my questions. Well, I don't know the answers either. Sorry. Still working on it.

"If you want to be a writer...."

"If you want to be a writer, you must do two things above all others: read alot and write a lot." Stephen King On Writing.

That sentence smacked me across the face. I know what he said is true. Of course it is. Well, Jenna, if you know it's true, why aren't you doing it?....I have no idea.
I realized rather quickly that I am ignorant, at least in a literary sense. When I could have been reading 1984 or The Grapes of Wrath, I was busy scouring the library for the teen novels, ones I didn't have to think through and were fun. I regret it big-time. Being a senior in college, about to graduate with a Creative Writing degree, I have realized how little I have read. I mean, I have read ALOT. Just not read the right kinds. I am a lazy reader and don't want to do the work. But college has put me in an interesting spot.
I can't look at non-literature books without feeling guilty. I know I am supposed to read them. I shouldn't be reading Harry Potter, I should be trying to expand my understanding by reading The Scarlet Letter. I always desire to read classics, I just never do. And I get frustrated with myself! I claim I don't have time to read (which is partially true. There is little room for pleasure reading when you take Literature Survey classes.) But I still need to prioritize reading if I ever want to learn.
I hope it isn't bad to start reading important literature now. I might be a little burnt out by the time I hit summer, but I have to believe that I will still love books after being forced to read after 15 years of school. Cross your fingers!

Watching "A Vision of Students Today"

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dGCJ46vyR9o

I am in a Marketing class this quarter, trying to learn 'real-world' application skills, whatever that means. My professor decided to show us a Youtube video called "A Vision of Students Today." It shows some of the realities of students today. I'm pretty sure it's a little dated, maybe by only a few years, but it speaks the same truth. Students are busier than ever and even more distracted by technology.

The video shows many students holding up signs with proclamations such as "I buy hundred dollar textbooks that I never open," or "I get 7 hours of sleep at night!" I'm pretty sure that getting 7 hours of sleep would sound great to many college students, often working on 5 or 6 hours of sleep. The video brings up Facebook during class. Students who bring laptops to class and just play games or look on Facebook are becoming more frequent. (Sitting in class while watching this video, the guy I sat next to was chatting on Facebook the entire hour of class. Way to pay attention to the lecture, dude. RUDE.)

After the video ended, my professor turned to us and asked "Did this video surprise anyone?" We all said no. "Well, it surprised me," he said. What a weird thought that it, that he had no idea what we students were going through. How multi-tasking is pure habit now, that we have more to do in a day than there are hours for; I already knew that, but my sixty-some year old professor had no clue. Weird.

I recommend watching this video. I hope it reveals truth about your own life as a student, or helps you understand students in general. Definitely worth the 4 minutes and 45 seconds.

Tonight, I cried in a movie theater

Since this is the first week of attempted blogging, I am exploring still.

Tonight I fulfilled my need for chick-flicks. I watched The Last Song, with Miley Cyrus and Greg Kinnear. It was a great movie. I didn't have my standards too high, as it is Miley/Hannah on screen, but she did a great job. I laughed alot, but most importantly, I cried. I will admit it. I bawled my eyes out the last half of the movie. I came into the movie knowing I would cry. It's a Nicholas Sparks book, after all? I have been told that every book is a tearjerker. (I have not read any books yet. I am struggling to decide whether reading his books is below me as an English major. I have been so overwhelmed with 'literature' that anything non-'literature' is difficult on my conscience to read now. One of the many hazards of being an English major.)
Anyways-back onto somewhat topic-I watched a sad, sad movie that made me cry and it made me wonder: why on earth do I put myself through that? I knew I was going to cry. I hate crying in public, though I'm an emotional person and cry easy. What was going on in my brain that decided, yes, I want to see this movie regardless of my impending emotional state? Who knows. For some reason, I am drawn to chick-flicks, cheesy romantic comedies, predictable plotlines, and unrealistic characters. Maybe I want to envision my life like theirs? I think I sit in the movie theater, images reeling by, and I wish life could be as easy as the movies. Everything will go great until a crisis hits, but everyone in the audience knows it will work out. It always works out. I do not watch movies where it doesn't work out. I want some sort of assurance that my life, in the crazy ups and downs, will be ok in the end. Is that too much to ask? I hope I am not too weird about this.
Another reason I love these movies is because I have a very active imagination. Put into practice, it looks like putting myself in the movie, running the scenes over in my head. How would I react if this happened to me? Would I say yes? Would I run away? How would I handle tragedy? Well? Badly? (...if you cannot tell yet, I think in questions and most likely think too much.) I think of it as mentally prepping myself for what 'might' happen. I can see it work out on the movie screen, so I have hope it will work out for me. Sounds a little weird, I know, but its true.
Anyways-I got my crying jag out of the way tonight and feel a little shell-shocked from it all. It felt good to cry, and I really enjoyed the movie. My heart is happy and that is really all I want out of my girly movies.

What I am passionate about

So I have this rant. Generally, I avoid going into it, as most people don't really want to know all about how I feel. But since this is my blog and it's titled Say Anything, why not say it?
I found my passion about foster care/adoption while reading Sherman Alexie's "Flight." The book focuses on a teenage boy named Zits, who is in and out of foster care. No one really wants him there and he constantly runs away or causes trouble. The story moves through historical characters, teaching Zits about how to deal with life, who he is as a person, and as a Native American. I felt a tug on my heart, hearing about the horrible parents he was subject to, knowing that those type of people really were out there. It made me angry! How could we do that to our own children? Shouldn't we be concerned about these children? Shouldn't we invest in families who really want those children in their homes? Yes, we should.
No, I am not toting adopting the adorable African babies or little Chinese girls. Yes, they deserve to have someone radically change their life circumstances, but I find that most Americans forget about their own children, especially Christians. Don't get me wrong, I grew up around families that invested in America's children, one family even having 24 children, all but seven adopted. But these types of families are few and far between. More Christians should turn their eyes toward not allowing innocent children to become products of the system.
I don't really have a solution yet or know how I can personally help. I know that this passion was placed in my heart for a reason. Someday I hope to adopt or volunteer in foster homes, maybe even be a foster parent. We shall see. For now, I just rant about how we need more foster parents committed to bringing foster kids up in healthy homes.