My first personal essay

Well, I just finished my first true peice of full creative writing. We were given the assignment of writing a personal essay, and that's it. Just write a 5 page, 250-500 words per page personal essay. Well I was pretty stumped as to write about. I mean how do you just write about you, about yourself, I mean? Well, Gene solved this problem for me by suggesting I write about the Big House. Problem solved. :) Here are a few excerpts from the paper. I couldn't pulish the entire thing since, well, it's five pages long. But Gene picked out his favorite parts. Hope you enjoy this little treck down memory lane.

"As I said before, the back stairs emptied into the kitchen. The kitchen was an old prairie style kitchen with large window sills for holding pies and impossibly tall cabinets for keeping cookies and sugar out of the hands of greedy children. It even had the requisite black and white tiled linoleum floor. It was as if a giant chess or checkerboard has set up residence in our kitchen. I think my physics major roommates ruminated buying life-size pieces and requisitioning the room for the ultimate geek tournament. However, make no mistake; this was no idealized grandmother’s kitchen. Dirty dishes grew attached to the side of the sink. The old built-in ice chest now served as a makeshift liquor cabinet – very well too I might add. There were rat traps behind the refrigerator and a bottomless pile of junk and detritus on the table. One day I was alone in the house and walked into the kitchen to find a pot of water boiling itself away on the stove. No one was in sight and there was no note as to its purported use; so I turned off the burner and walked away shaking my head. Later that night discovered one of my male roommates in the kitchen watching the same pot boiling the same water. When I asked him what was going on, he replied that he was “cleaning it.” “The water?” I asked. “No, the pot. I’m sanitizing it. I didn’t want to wash it out so I’m just boiling it to death.” I nodded my head and backed out of the room resolving never to use that pot again. There was also the wall of drunkenness and nudity. Actually it was the back of the back door, but it served to commemorate the various drunken and al fresco debauchery that took place in the Big House. Various photos and Sharpie™ drawings chronicled the progression of inebriation that lead to bare-skinned push-ups and pull-ups in the kitchen, unclad Chinese fire drills around the house, and disrobed physics on the whiteboard."

"Despite the eccentricities of the Big House, it still remains as one of the best and most vivid memories of my college experience. Perhaps it was due to not the singular nature of the house itself, but primarily to the events that happened there. There was the night of the flies when somehow from the deep recesses of our stygian and cell-like basement out came a horde of black flies. The fly paper strips were instantly black with the buzzing, vibrating bodies of the invaders. We later surmised that something had died in the basement, but none of us was brave or stupid enough, depending on your interpretation, to venture into its subterranean enclosures. We left that for the next tenants. Or maybe it was the drive-off from the lawn. A local transient with whom two of my roommates were acquaintances came to our door making a nebulous comment about needing to use the restroom, and then promptly took off through the house and out the front door. A persistent honking began from the Lumina parked on our lawn clued us in that this was more than unusual. The transient owed the guy in the car money and had told him he would get it from us. Needless to say the man was less than pleased when we informed him that a) the transient had run-out on him and b) we were poor college students who had about $27 among us, so he drove through the back, side, and front yard of the Big House to show his displeasure.
I returned to the Big House recently while accompanying two students on a scholarship audition to Drake. It has new paint and the tangled shrubs ensconcing the house had been taken away. It looked better cared for, but it still seemed lonely. It lacked the life that only a half dozen poor college students could give it. It was empty, a hollowed out hull that had once held just hopes, just dreams. I fantasize about what it would be like to buy it and restore it to its former glory. Yet, in a way, I think in doing that it would lose something very elemental, very vital to its very nature. This house carves itself into your memory, into your essence; to change the house itself would be to change the memories and the life that existed there, and who would want to change perfection? "

A Hut of One's Own

Alright since no one got the last literary allusion - the Doomsday Approacheth = The Iceman Cometh? Sigh. Well the title of this one should be easy enough.

This was an exercise from my Teaching Creative Writing grad class at IA State. I will warn you, it is long - so I made the font smaller.

“Hut” – from Okakura’s The Book of Tea – “an ephemeral structure built to house a poetic impulse…devoid of ornamentation except what may be in placed in it to satisfy some aesthetic need of the moment…purposely leaving some thing unfinished for the play of the imagination to complete.”

Where is it located? Be specific.

My hut is located on a grassy knoll, lightly shaded by hundred year old oaks. The knoll overlooks rolling hills of something green – corn, hay, it doesn’t matter. There are light to medium breezes that come off the hills, rippling the green stuff like waves. It looks like my backyard when I was little – only without the row of farm houses and Interstate by-pass in the background. It could be in the farmland anywhere, Iowa, England – anywhere rural and remote. There is flowing water nearby – either a gently lapping lake or softly running stream.

To what is it orientated?

It is orientated to overlook the hills, but facing west to catch the sunsets. The water is farther down in front of it, but obscured by a rise or tree.

Briefly describe the exterior and interior of the hut:

The exterior of the hut is composed of mesh screens so the walls are completely transparent, but the mesh is so fine you can’t even tell it’s there. It just looks like an ornate roof and several columns with nothing in between. The roof is tiled with clay or ceramic tiles so that when the rain hits it sounds like wind chimes. In fact there are wind chimes hanging from the outside, wind chimes of all sizes and compositions so there are many different timbers. The curve of the roof and columns looks Asian – an anachronism, like a mini pagoda in an English countryside.

The interior has several benches and columns that look like tree trunks with branches painted on the ceiling as though the outside were inside as well. But in the middle of the room are two long, plush chaise lounges, once again anachronisms. They face opposite directions so that I can lie or sit either way and see everything around me. There are a few tables held up by books and holding books – very English library/studyish. There is one long low table to one side from which I serve tea. We sit on oversized plush pillows and look out at nature.

What is it made of?

It is made of a dichotomy of things. Clear mesh for the walls, dark, smooth wood for the columns, clay or terra cotta for the roof, and of course just grass for the floor.

Describe a ritual you would enact that would be appropriate in you hut and express things fundamental to you.

There would be a daily afternoon tea, but it would be a cross between the English social gathering and the Japanese ceremony. I would have people over like English tea-time, but it would be far more formal and reflective like the Japanese tea ceremony. It would be a time for conversation and reflection, for togetherness and introspection, for being at one with the world.

Create a tribute to someone important to you.

This tribute is about my great-grandmother – my maternal grandmother because I was lucky enough to know one of both my maternal and paternal great-grandmothers. Her name was Alice, and she died this spring at the age of 98. My great-grandmother has a profound influence on my life. Starting when I was six months old my mother took me to visit her once a month until I started college. She used to winter down in Arizona, and she would fly my mother and I out to see her because she was lonely and missed us. My great-grandmother was a true wonder woman – a woman in every sense. She never went out without full make-up and hair. When she had a near heart attack five years ago, she wouldn’t let the male nurse into her room until I helped her put her “face” on. She loved dancing – she literally danced in the street. After her first husband, my great-grandfather, died she and her sister had a rivalry to see who could get more men to dance with them – and who could steal the other’s boyfriend! This at 65. Yet, she was always true to her man. She remarried ten years after my great-grandfather died and stood by her second husband’s side through better and much worse. She watched him wither away in a nursing home, a victim of Alzheimer’s. She stood by him, visiting him everyday even when he no longer remembered her – only that she was the nice lady who visited him. She walked a mile every day until 95, and then still walked to church and to get groceries after that. She was truly the most amazing woman I have ever known.

Choose a particular music that would be played in your hut. Under what circumstances?

I would play a variety of music – depending on my mood. Generally it would be new age/mystical music to help free the mind and spirit. Sometimes it would be Broadway show tunes, so I can sing along. Other times it would be something – just completely out there – for a change.

What smell would be prominent in your hut?

Natural smells – flowers, grass, rain, fields of drying crops, whatever came in on the breeze.

What living person would you bring to your hut?

I would bring a friend I haven’t seen in two years, my friend Greg. I would bring Greg, because he would understand the draw of nature and the country.

If possible to raise the dead, which famous dead person would you like to bring to your hut?

I’d like to bring my ancestor Eleanore of Aquitaine because I would like to know what she thinks of me and what has become of her line. I would like to know what she thinks of a great to the nth power grandchild of hers living on a continent that hadn’t even been discovered when she was alive, what she thinks of what we have done since then, whether she would be proud. I would also want to know what her life was really like – what she was really like.

List three personally important objects you would display inside:
1. My cedar hope chest – because it contains all my memories
2. A photo of my great-great grandparents taken on their wedding day, 12/25/1890
3. My animals – because they are love

What would someone close to you discover about you by visiting your hut?

They would discover that I am more mystical and meditative than they know. They would discover that I am much more in tune with nature and the world than they think.

What about you would most interest someone after a visit to your hut?

I think the complete dichotomy between East and West, natural and comfort, old and new would interest people most. I also think the worship of nature within the hut would interest people.

What one food would you serve there?

Sushi. J Well, sushi and the occasional really good chocolate cake – make that not so occasional. Sushi is such a feel good food and so is chocolate cake – just not together.

What one memory would you commemorate? How?

The one memory would be the collective hard work of all the women in my family. I would commemorate all the memories but retelling, at least to myself, the story of one female ancestor a day. I would retell and in a sense relive her life in order to celebrate everything she did so I can be where I am today.

What one photograph of yourself would you include?

I would include an old photo taken my senior year of high school. It shows me as an eager, enthusiastic, ambitious young woman on the verge of everything. It shows me before disappointment.

What photograph of another?

I would display the wedding photograph of my great-great grandparents because of the look in my great-great grandmother’s eyes. It is the same look that is in my senior picture.

What one thing you’ve made?

I would display the dresses I have sewn as well as the costume sketches I have drawn and painted. I like the flow and texture of the dresses as well as the permanence of the renderings.

Teaching Creative Writing

I was going to write a long incisive description of what my first graduate class has been like. But after only three days, I've only really realized a few things. Some English graduate students are really just self-absorbed, self-righteous ass-holes. It seems that the majority are very nice, introspective writers who write because they feel a need/want/desire to express things in their lives, emotions, or world. However, there are definitely those English graduate students who are, in their inflated opinions, writers because they are "ahhhtists." This means that every conversation and discussion must center on them, their writing, and their technique. Everyone else and their writing is inferior. Anyone who has an opposing view is a senselessly misguided, Neanderthal with their anterior shoved up their posterior.

Otherwise my class is good. There are only 11 people and I'd say at least half are teachers of some kind, but most are going back for their Master's in English. The professor is a neat older guy, who obviously hasn't seen the inside of a high school classroom since Carter or even Ford was in office. He is your quintessential creative author - manic about imagination and leery of any kind of censoring. I have learned a lot in only three days, and I think this class will be very good for me. I have a 5-page personal essay due in class on Friday, and I have no clue what I am going to write about. Maybe my hut.

My hut. This was one neat exercise we did. I really liked it and went a little overboard. I'll post it here too. Oh, and Colleen I need to interview you before next Wednesday, as in a week from today. I have to interview someone who has taken a creative writing course. I can email you the questions if you want - once I write them.

Well, I am tired and this is all for tonight.

Countdown to doomsday...

...otherwise known as GRE test day.

So, I have figured out that I remember nothing from math - epecially alegebra. I mean I took algebra when I was in 8th grade - that was in - god...1993-1994? I haven't taken a math course since I was a senior in high school - specifically since Deember of 1998. So my math skills - a little rusty. In the way that, oh if the Titanic were raised and left on a humid, hot coast line, it would be rusty. I also rediscovered why I Hate math. This is hate with a capital H here - it's because whenever I tried and try ro figure things out on my own - teachers (all men except for my Calc teacher senior year I might add) told me I was wrong - and that even though my anser was correct - I still couldn't do math. This is continueing to this day via my grandfather and Gene. Now, I don't want to go on a male bashing frenzy here - both of them are looking out for my own good and trying their best to help me study. However - it only demonstrated to me why I have a deep-seated and inherent Hatred of mathematics.

So, it is two more days of intensive study via computer generated test and then D-Day or rather the T-Day approacheth at 9:00 a.m. Saturday.



The T-Day approacheth - I knew I was an English person. Now 10 points if you can name the title of the play from which I pulled that. - and Colleen you have to give the other's a fighting chance - no fair coming in with your Master's in English and knockin them out ;)

More to-do

So, since apparently I won't do anything unless pressed to by public attention, here is my most recent to-do list. Ignore as you see fit - this is mostly to force myself to get some things done.

1. Call the local Curves about membership fees and direct withdrawl
2. Clean out my car - and vacuum it
3. Contact landlord about fixing toilet and window screen
4. Buy Just Whites egg whites and make a batch of Cocoa Meringue Kisses - sorry MB running out of time - the house must be clean and laundry must be done before we leave
5. See what books are needed for ISU grad course
6. Study my ass off for the GRE in a week
7. Relearn math before the GRE in a week
8. Restudy antonyms before the GRE in a week
9. Mail letters tomorrow
10. Finish laundry tomorrow
11. Pack for MB's visit to DSM before 4:30
12. Go to Strike for Miss Nelson is Missing - which if anyone in MC wants to help - i.e. Mike (sorry Laura you can't come :( )

And at some point over the summer

1. Read the plays for next year - some Agatha Christie mysteries, & Up the Down Staircase
2. Finish Grandpa Burton's genealogy - which ties into Grandma Burton's genealogy, but is in a different file so I have to retype it all
3. Start working out at Curves
4. Put together the cookbook from all the magazine clippings
5. Clean out the filing cabinet

sigh...it never ends.

Grad School

So, I am officially a grad student. I was accepted as a non-degree seeking student at Iowa State. I didn't realize this however, since they forgot to include my student ID and number in the acceptance letter they mailed to me. However, upon calling the graduate program at ISU, I was put in touch with a very nice lady, who promptly gave me all that information. It was perhaps the quickest and most informative call ever made to a beauracracy. She not only informed me of my ID and password, but that I had an advisor. I haven't had an advisor for four years; it's a new concept. Thus with my newly provided ID, password and advisor, I was able to register for classes, there being only one class for which I was eligible. Therefore, I am now a proud student in the "Teaching Creative Writing" summer course. Taught by "Pitt." No, not Brad, someone with the first initial "S" - I have no idea who they are, just that they are teaching my course.

I will keep you updated on the progress of my new academic adventures.

I'M FREEEEEEEEEEEE

SUMMMER!!!!!!





and people think it's only kids who can't wait for summer vacation.