My husband and I just returned from Star Wars Celebration VI this past week in Orlando Florida. Overall, it was a good con and we had a lot of fun. The con was over four days, and they flew by before we could even really get homesick. We went to SWC V in 2010, and we kind of knew what we were in for this year. While the con panels and activities are very entertaining and informative, there is a power game that is played by the people who actually "run" the con. The biggest example is line queues. While I understand that there is a large number of people that attend the panels, this absolute need for lining us up like cattle to slaughter is unnecessary and somewhat hostile. In 2010, the line control police (LCP) were somewhat unorganized and had us lined up anywhere there was space. Usually shouting at us to group up four across and "leave no space" between us. Um, it's a con. NO ONE wants to be that close to each other. This year, they had dedicated rooms with metal railings to line us up with again "no space between us". Hundreds of people in the room waiting to be ushered into a much bigger room where there was no real direction and we were now in the free for all seating mind-set that most of us veteran con-goers are used to.
I made a promise to Scott and myself that I wouldn't go on my tirade about LCP's and their authoritative ways while at the con. Mostly, I was able to keep that promise because I realize it just drags down a good time to constantly gripe about something I can't really change. I was struck, however in 2010 and again this year in the differences in con-goers. Scott and I are experienced con-goers, and especially Gen Con. I am amazed at how the SWC goers are more docile than the Gen Con goers. There is no way the LCP's would be able to control the Gen Con goers in the same manner they control the SWC goers. Not without actual police force members there to back them up. I would say the same amount of people go to each con, so it's not a numbers issue. And, it's not a space issue either. The Orange County Convention center in Orlando is HUGE. Gigantic huge. I can't even really fathom the square footage of this building, and even the SWC con was in a small part of the building. The Indiana Convention Center is nowhere near that big, yet they seem to do just fine with the large crowds that attend Gen Con. So, that's not it. I don't think I will ever really understand why there is a difference other than gamers may be more non-conformist than Star Wars fans.
Some good things:
We got to see George Lucas on a panel when he unexpectedly showed up. He was not expected to be at SWCVI at all, but there he was. We got some good pics and it's always fun to hear him in his quiet, dead-pan voice, talk about Star Wars. The room we were in held roughly two thousand people, and when he walked in, it was complete cheering and applause that would have given a jet engine take-off competition for decibel levels.
I got the cutest poster tube holder known to man. It looks like a fat light saber and was definitely a hot ticket collectible on the dealer's floor. I didn't anticipate, but Scott warned me, that it wouldn't fit into our suitcases. It didn't, but luckily the flight crew did not even take notice of it and it fit into the overhead compartment (phew!). The hotel we stayed at gave me a very large clear garbage bag to put it in, and security at the airport didn't even glance at it. Then again, it is cardboard and plastic so x-rays should have gone right through it. I'm really glad I didn't have to trash it and got it home just fine.
Scott got several neat animated cell pictures that are matted and ready for framing. I got a Greedo one. There was also an Indiana Jones cell that is pretty cool.
Scott got encased in carbonite. There was a booth that took a detailed panoramic picture of you, and then a laser-guided computer carves your likeness into "carbonite" just like Han Solo. It's pretty cool, and will be a neat piece for our collection.
We saw a lot of people in really good costumes, and some we didn't really understand. I think there may have been a cosplay crossover so that was kind of weird. There were some really bad costumes too. Yikes. We were also shocked at the number of people who had tattoos. Again, some really good, and some really bad, and some so head-scratchingly confusing that neither of us could figure them out. There was a dedicated area in the dealer's room for tattoo artists, and there was no lack of paying customers. I'm not sure that spur of the moment tattoos are the best, let alone the ones of the fever induced from being immersed for four days in Star Wars fandom only to get home and have buyers remorse of the giant tattoo on your kiester of Darth Vader.
It was good to get home on Tuesday, as both Scott and I came down with some food bug or virus Tuesday morning before we left. So glad that if it was going to happen, that it happened after the con. We made it home and for the first time since May, I got a migraine sometime during the night. It's back to reality tomorrow with work and as always, vacation goes way to fast.
Wednesday, August 29, 2012
Sunday, August 5, 2012
After the fact
It was an interesting day today. I took a break from writing my research paper because I hit a mental block and it was so nice out, and I had a 25% off coupon for a certain crafts store that was burning a hole in my pocket. And, I've been working on this paper for three straight days and I was a bit shack wacky as Kathie would say. So, off to Sheboygan I zoomed and happily noticed how things are starting to green back up a bit after the rains of last week. I can't mention the store, or the names of the people I ran into at this store for mostly reasons that will become apparent, but I don't think anyone would really be able to ID the people of interest in this story anyway.
My husband tells me that I have a personality trait that people and strangers find enticing. Basically, what this means, is that complete strangers will tell me their life stories if given a chance. I never noticed that I could have this affect on people until I started dating Scott and we would constantly run into people who either knew me, or strangers would just talk to me and Scott thought I knew them. I can be in any store or location and if I wanted to I can, and have had, entire conversations with people I don't know for hours. I'm not particularly social, in fact I usually shy away from these contacts because I easily get sucked into their predicaments and I feel bad if it is a bad story, or bad if I can't help them, or some other level of unhappiness that makes me ponder their lives. Today was no different. While browsing around the store looking for things to buy, no less than four people who were looking in the same areas I was starting talking to me and telling me why they were there and what they did for hobbies. I don't mind talking hobbies with anyone because you can find out a lot of information from other people, but I'm not sure I want to know why you came to the store (fight with husband!). Sometimes I think I look like I work at these stores or locations and maybe that's why people talk to me, but after a minute or so it becomes apparent that they just want an anonymous person to listen to them.
After that, I started running into people I do know, some good, some really bad. I saw my next door neighbor and we chatted a bit and lamented about having to cut the grass now. We joked we should have car pooled and that this store needed to organize a bit better. But, then the bad happened. I had a stalker a few years ago and I ran into her walking down the aisle towards me. Needless to say, I didn't recognize her immediately, but she recognized me and made a beeline for me, yelling out my name in the store for EVERYONE to hear. I was close to getting a restraining order on this person when in the midst of this saga a few years ago, but my workplace merged and I moved to a different office building and she moved to a different clinic. However, she still lives in my town but I haven't see her (that I know of) in two years. Luckily, I had a cart which I used as a shield and kept moving away from her and trying to get away in a different aisle. I was happy it was busy in there and there were other people who were getting in the way and I made an escape to a different part of the store and was going to circle around to check out and leave. But, I ran into a fellow classmate and we struck up a conversation.
She told me some very interesting things that I really can't relate here about school and some of the teachers. Again, I always take gossip with a huge grain of salt because it is gossip. And, as I don't live in Sheboygan, I really don't get the full understanding of the community because I'm really just a visitor and now that I've transferred to UWM, I hardly go to Sheboygan anymore. Unless I have a 25% off coupon. Anyway, as I was trying to desperately calm myself from the shock of seeing my stalker, my classmate preceded to relate these stories with no real hesitation or real discretion at all. I kept trying to sway the conversation to something different, but it kept coming back to school, because, really, that's all we have in common. And again, I was reminded that people tell me stuff they probably shouldn't with very little prompting at all. Some things I just don't want to know. But, I didn't see my stalker coming after me and I talked with my classmate for a good length of time so that I could put more time between her and myself. And, I did some grocery shopping just in case she followed me. And, yes, she has. And, on several occasions even when Scott was with me.
The grocery store proved no different as in the check out line, the person behind me wanted to tell me about their groceries. Maybe it's because I can't just give them a stare that shuts them down, or if I do it's not mean enough. Maybe I don't want to do that because I don't want to get good at that either. Even though I don't think I'm particularly social, I don't mind helping someone if they have a question. It's always fun to see their reaction when they realize I don't work at the store. But, after the stalker reminder, I really wasn't in the mood for chatting with strangers. In fact, I think that's how I got the stalker to begin with. 1st shift employees at the Columbia campus had to be shuttled into work because we didn't have adequate parking for us, doctors, patients, visitors, and the scofflaws of UWM students who parked in our structure and weren't supposed to. Anyway, to solve the parking dilemma, the peons had to be shuttled into work. While waiting for the shuttles, we talked with one another and my coworkers were no different than any other stranger I would meet off the street. This person, however, became a problem and I never realized it until it was too late and after the fact. I'm a bit naive sometimes, actually more often than I should be at this point in my life. I began to realize there was a problem when she first insisted I tell her where I live. And then Scott noticed she was following us home one night. And another night, and another night after that. And then she was mad when we kept driving past our house and left Random for Sheboygan. We don't have a police dept, although I think Fredonia has a marshal. She would time getting to the shuttle lot so that she could confront me on why I didn't go home the night before and so that she could be on the same shuttle as I was. It didn't bother her that other people saw these outbursts, and I would try to diffuse the situation by saying we had errands. Wow, I really had "forgotten" a lot of this until I saw her again today. There is so much more to this story as this took place over several years until the merge.
So, I paid a kindness to this person and that was the thanks I got. After the fact I realized it was not the smartest thing in the world to talk with her, but part of me absolutely rebels at the abject meanness of not returning conversations with people. We have so much apathy in society anyway, that to not even return a greeting or pass time waiting in a line with a quick comment or two seems a lost opportunity to restore some humanity to ourselves that gets lost in the walls of insular distrust we put up when "out in public". I still am not sure what it is about me that complete strangers find appealing on a Dr. Phil level. This doesn't happen to Scott and if we are out together, people still only talk to me, not him. So it is me. Even some of my friends have noticed this on occasion, although we never really talk about it in depth. It's something I can't quite put my finger on, but I know, almost immediately if someone will talk to me or not.
I've mentioned before on this blog the story of how I was labeled a storyteller. Not the lie-like-a-rug-make-stuff-up storyteller, but a person who likes stories, loves telling a good story, and appreciates the art of telling stories. And, after reflecting on this, I agree. So does Scott, who is my captive audience. There used to be an art form of this, and maybe somewhere it still lives, but I wonder if the people who made their livings in the "olden" times of telling news and stories had this trait of getting people to open up to them. They could get people to tell them things with just the right question asked and the ability to listen. Now, if I could just turn that into a profession that someone would pay for in today's time, I'd be set.
My husband tells me that I have a personality trait that people and strangers find enticing. Basically, what this means, is that complete strangers will tell me their life stories if given a chance. I never noticed that I could have this affect on people until I started dating Scott and we would constantly run into people who either knew me, or strangers would just talk to me and Scott thought I knew them. I can be in any store or location and if I wanted to I can, and have had, entire conversations with people I don't know for hours. I'm not particularly social, in fact I usually shy away from these contacts because I easily get sucked into their predicaments and I feel bad if it is a bad story, or bad if I can't help them, or some other level of unhappiness that makes me ponder their lives. Today was no different. While browsing around the store looking for things to buy, no less than four people who were looking in the same areas I was starting talking to me and telling me why they were there and what they did for hobbies. I don't mind talking hobbies with anyone because you can find out a lot of information from other people, but I'm not sure I want to know why you came to the store (fight with husband!). Sometimes I think I look like I work at these stores or locations and maybe that's why people talk to me, but after a minute or so it becomes apparent that they just want an anonymous person to listen to them.
After that, I started running into people I do know, some good, some really bad. I saw my next door neighbor and we chatted a bit and lamented about having to cut the grass now. We joked we should have car pooled and that this store needed to organize a bit better. But, then the bad happened. I had a stalker a few years ago and I ran into her walking down the aisle towards me. Needless to say, I didn't recognize her immediately, but she recognized me and made a beeline for me, yelling out my name in the store for EVERYONE to hear. I was close to getting a restraining order on this person when in the midst of this saga a few years ago, but my workplace merged and I moved to a different office building and she moved to a different clinic. However, she still lives in my town but I haven't see her (that I know of) in two years. Luckily, I had a cart which I used as a shield and kept moving away from her and trying to get away in a different aisle. I was happy it was busy in there and there were other people who were getting in the way and I made an escape to a different part of the store and was going to circle around to check out and leave. But, I ran into a fellow classmate and we struck up a conversation.
She told me some very interesting things that I really can't relate here about school and some of the teachers. Again, I always take gossip with a huge grain of salt because it is gossip. And, as I don't live in Sheboygan, I really don't get the full understanding of the community because I'm really just a visitor and now that I've transferred to UWM, I hardly go to Sheboygan anymore. Unless I have a 25% off coupon. Anyway, as I was trying to desperately calm myself from the shock of seeing my stalker, my classmate preceded to relate these stories with no real hesitation or real discretion at all. I kept trying to sway the conversation to something different, but it kept coming back to school, because, really, that's all we have in common. And again, I was reminded that people tell me stuff they probably shouldn't with very little prompting at all. Some things I just don't want to know. But, I didn't see my stalker coming after me and I talked with my classmate for a good length of time so that I could put more time between her and myself. And, I did some grocery shopping just in case she followed me. And, yes, she has. And, on several occasions even when Scott was with me.
The grocery store proved no different as in the check out line, the person behind me wanted to tell me about their groceries. Maybe it's because I can't just give them a stare that shuts them down, or if I do it's not mean enough. Maybe I don't want to do that because I don't want to get good at that either. Even though I don't think I'm particularly social, I don't mind helping someone if they have a question. It's always fun to see their reaction when they realize I don't work at the store. But, after the stalker reminder, I really wasn't in the mood for chatting with strangers. In fact, I think that's how I got the stalker to begin with. 1st shift employees at the Columbia campus had to be shuttled into work because we didn't have adequate parking for us, doctors, patients, visitors, and the scofflaws of UWM students who parked in our structure and weren't supposed to. Anyway, to solve the parking dilemma, the peons had to be shuttled into work. While waiting for the shuttles, we talked with one another and my coworkers were no different than any other stranger I would meet off the street. This person, however, became a problem and I never realized it until it was too late and after the fact. I'm a bit naive sometimes, actually more often than I should be at this point in my life. I began to realize there was a problem when she first insisted I tell her where I live. And then Scott noticed she was following us home one night. And another night, and another night after that. And then she was mad when we kept driving past our house and left Random for Sheboygan. We don't have a police dept, although I think Fredonia has a marshal. She would time getting to the shuttle lot so that she could confront me on why I didn't go home the night before and so that she could be on the same shuttle as I was. It didn't bother her that other people saw these outbursts, and I would try to diffuse the situation by saying we had errands. Wow, I really had "forgotten" a lot of this until I saw her again today. There is so much more to this story as this took place over several years until the merge.
So, I paid a kindness to this person and that was the thanks I got. After the fact I realized it was not the smartest thing in the world to talk with her, but part of me absolutely rebels at the abject meanness of not returning conversations with people. We have so much apathy in society anyway, that to not even return a greeting or pass time waiting in a line with a quick comment or two seems a lost opportunity to restore some humanity to ourselves that gets lost in the walls of insular distrust we put up when "out in public". I still am not sure what it is about me that complete strangers find appealing on a Dr. Phil level. This doesn't happen to Scott and if we are out together, people still only talk to me, not him. So it is me. Even some of my friends have noticed this on occasion, although we never really talk about it in depth. It's something I can't quite put my finger on, but I know, almost immediately if someone will talk to me or not.
I've mentioned before on this blog the story of how I was labeled a storyteller. Not the lie-like-a-rug-make-stuff-up storyteller, but a person who likes stories, loves telling a good story, and appreciates the art of telling stories. And, after reflecting on this, I agree. So does Scott, who is my captive audience. There used to be an art form of this, and maybe somewhere it still lives, but I wonder if the people who made their livings in the "olden" times of telling news and stories had this trait of getting people to open up to them. They could get people to tell them things with just the right question asked and the ability to listen. Now, if I could just turn that into a profession that someone would pay for in today's time, I'd be set.
Sunday, July 22, 2012
All things considered, time does help heal wounds
I realized this morning (July 22nd 2012), that it will be 25 years since I went to Europe for a month, next month. For those of you doing the math in your head right now, I'll save you. I was 19 when I left, celebrated a birthday and was 20 when I came back. I left on Aug. 4th and returned Sept. 3rd. I flew to Belfast, Northern Ireland to stay with a pen-pal I had met through my high school's program to foster contact and friendships between international students. I forget what the actual name of the program was called, but I signed up for several pen-pals, and only one stuck with it long enough to correspond for several years. When my grandmother passed away in April of 1986, she left a small amount of money to her grandchildren and with my mother's approval, this is what I used my money for. My grandmother loved travel and adventure and even though she didn't get to travel and have all that many adventures, she talked often with fond nostalgia about the few trips she did have. She would have loved to go to Europe, and I'm sorry that she didn't get to go, so I like to think that with her financial help, she traveled through me.
I was invited by my pen-pal (does anyone still use this term?) and his family to come stay with them for the month. I gladly accepted and for a year and a half we planned our trip. This was all done with snail airmail letters because an international telephone call was more expensive than gold in that time period (and no, no email either). I called them the day before I left just to make sure everything was set, and that was the first time I actually talked with him "in-person". So, the next night, off I flew for eight hours to Heathrow, and then had to transfer to British Airways to go to Belfast. A small diversion here: Traveling to Belfast in 1987 was akin to traveling to Yemen today. I was searched, my luggage was THOROUGHLY searched, every canister of film (all 25 of them) was opened and searched (no such thing as digital cameras then), and questioned as to why a single, female traveler was going to Belfast. This was in the midst of one of the worst times of their "Troubles" so, yeah, I guess it did seem kind of suspicious when I look back on it now. It took about two hours to get through the security gate, including a phone call to my host family to confirm I was going to stay with them. But, I digress.
I finally got to Belfast, met up with my friend, and started my adventure. I'd like to say that it was a perfect friendship that evolved between us, but it wasn't. We really clashed. It was no one's fault really, and I chalk it up now to not understanding one another's backgrounds and cultures at all. He expected me to be submissive and not question anything he said or did (including walking six paces behind him in public at all times), and I, a head-strong, independent American teenager (and a girl yet!) had no problems being assertive and didn't understand the male dominate society that was (and is?) the United Kingdom, and Northern Ireland in specific. The first clue that I wasn't a shrinking violet to him should have been the fact that I flew BY MYSELF from my home to his. At 19. His family, however, was wonderful. His mom and sister were in awe that I had done something like this, and I just didn't get why they thought that. I do now, but again as time went by and I was able to put some mature perspective on the whole situation, I get it now.
We had planned side trips to England and Norway for two weeks, and it was within those two weeks that any semblance of a friendship was removed. I still didn't get "the male must make all the decisions (including what I eat)" attitude and I started to go off on my own which just made the situation worse. Ok, enough of those details, I don't want to re-live that whole thing again. We flew back to Belfast for my last week, and I mostly hung around his sister. We had a great time, (although escorted by him), and at the end of the week, I flew home. My flight home is a blog in and of itself and a good study on what goes wrong with airports and airplanes, but needless to say, 28 hours later, I was home. In tears, shock, and full of regrets. I've never been able to fully verbalize the whole situation between he and I, and it was a huge lesson to me on how word manipulation and mental games can really mess with a person. I'd love to just casually toss the "we were young and stupid" line in here, and I guess I just did, but it has taken a very, very long time to not have the internal gut-clench every time I think about him. I loved seeing the sights and being in London and Oslo, Bergen, and Oystese, Belfast and Dublin. I had a great time going to the various tourist places (The Giant's Causeway is fantastic!) and being in all that history. But, it's tinged with that regret of losing a friendship. His mother wrote me a letter shortly after I got home and said I was welcome to come back and that she was sorry for any bad feelings that had happened. He didn't write that letter, his mother had to. I wrote her back and thanked her for the letter and tried to explain that it was not her fault, he and I just didn't get along. That's all there was to it. Our cultures were so very different that at that young age there was no way we could see each other's point.
So, here it is, 25 years later. Even though I know what happened was nothing more than stubbornness and misunderstanding on both our parts, I'm thankful that the adage of "time heals all wounds" is particularly true in my case. And, maybe it should be "time seals all wounds with scars" instead. I wouldn't want to meet with him, even after all this time. I think everyone at some point in their lives, comes across a person that leaves such a mark on them. Hopefully, you only have that happen to you once and you put it away for reference and experience. It's also what shapes us into understanding one another. I learned a very harsh lesson at a young age that not everyone has the same value set I do. It's neither good nor bad, it's just that what I believe is not necessarily what someone else believes. And whether or not I agree with it, it is that person's core belief system that shapes them and I will never be able to change that. Nor should I. And, at that point you either accept it and revel in your differences or reject it and separate. To do anything else causes nothing but misery to both people and will never solve your problems.
I was invited by my pen-pal (does anyone still use this term?) and his family to come stay with them for the month. I gladly accepted and for a year and a half we planned our trip. This was all done with snail airmail letters because an international telephone call was more expensive than gold in that time period (and no, no email either). I called them the day before I left just to make sure everything was set, and that was the first time I actually talked with him "in-person". So, the next night, off I flew for eight hours to Heathrow, and then had to transfer to British Airways to go to Belfast. A small diversion here: Traveling to Belfast in 1987 was akin to traveling to Yemen today. I was searched, my luggage was THOROUGHLY searched, every canister of film (all 25 of them) was opened and searched (no such thing as digital cameras then), and questioned as to why a single, female traveler was going to Belfast. This was in the midst of one of the worst times of their "Troubles" so, yeah, I guess it did seem kind of suspicious when I look back on it now. It took about two hours to get through the security gate, including a phone call to my host family to confirm I was going to stay with them. But, I digress.
Big Ben and the Houses of Parliament
I finally got to Belfast, met up with my friend, and started my adventure. I'd like to say that it was a perfect friendship that evolved between us, but it wasn't. We really clashed. It was no one's fault really, and I chalk it up now to not understanding one another's backgrounds and cultures at all. He expected me to be submissive and not question anything he said or did (including walking six paces behind him in public at all times), and I, a head-strong, independent American teenager (and a girl yet!) had no problems being assertive and didn't understand the male dominate society that was (and is?) the United Kingdom, and Northern Ireland in specific. The first clue that I wasn't a shrinking violet to him should have been the fact that I flew BY MYSELF from my home to his. At 19. His family, however, was wonderful. His mom and sister were in awe that I had done something like this, and I just didn't get why they thought that. I do now, but again as time went by and I was able to put some mature perspective on the whole situation, I get it now.
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We had planned side trips to England and Norway for two weeks, and it was within those two weeks that any semblance of a friendship was removed. I still didn't get "the male must make all the decisions (including what I eat)" attitude and I started to go off on my own which just made the situation worse. Ok, enough of those details, I don't want to re-live that whole thing again. We flew back to Belfast for my last week, and I mostly hung around his sister. We had a great time, (although escorted by him), and at the end of the week, I flew home. My flight home is a blog in and of itself and a good study on what goes wrong with airports and airplanes, but needless to say, 28 hours later, I was home. In tears, shock, and full of regrets. I've never been able to fully verbalize the whole situation between he and I, and it was a huge lesson to me on how word manipulation and mental games can really mess with a person. I'd love to just casually toss the "we were young and stupid" line in here, and I guess I just did, but it has taken a very, very long time to not have the internal gut-clench every time I think about him. I loved seeing the sights and being in London and Oslo, Bergen, and Oystese, Belfast and Dublin. I had a great time going to the various tourist places (The Giant's Causeway is fantastic!) and being in all that history. But, it's tinged with that regret of losing a friendship. His mother wrote me a letter shortly after I got home and said I was welcome to come back and that she was sorry for any bad feelings that had happened. He didn't write that letter, his mother had to. I wrote her back and thanked her for the letter and tried to explain that it was not her fault, he and I just didn't get along. That's all there was to it. Our cultures were so very different that at that young age there was no way we could see each other's point.
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| Hardinger Fjord, Oystese Norway |
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| Giant's Causeway, Northern Ireland |
So, here it is, 25 years later. Even though I know what happened was nothing more than stubbornness and misunderstanding on both our parts, I'm thankful that the adage of "time heals all wounds" is particularly true in my case. And, maybe it should be "time seals all wounds with scars" instead. I wouldn't want to meet with him, even after all this time. I think everyone at some point in their lives, comes across a person that leaves such a mark on them. Hopefully, you only have that happen to you once and you put it away for reference and experience. It's also what shapes us into understanding one another. I learned a very harsh lesson at a young age that not everyone has the same value set I do. It's neither good nor bad, it's just that what I believe is not necessarily what someone else believes. And whether or not I agree with it, it is that person's core belief system that shapes them and I will never be able to change that. Nor should I. And, at that point you either accept it and revel in your differences or reject it and separate. To do anything else causes nothing but misery to both people and will never solve your problems.
Saturday, June 23, 2012
Tolerance
Way back when I first started this blog, I made an entry about tolerance and how people treat different subcultures of their fellow human beings. Specifically, how science fiction and fantasy people were seen as freaks to some in the public who do not like these genres, don't understand them, or, will not admit they like the genre for fear that they too will be made fun of by their friends, family, and other people who make fun of anything that isn't what they are "in" to. In various stages of my life (so far), I have had more than enough opportunity to be involved in and interested in subjects that many in "normal" society deem strange, weird, and just plain stupid or a waste of time and money. And yet, over the years, I have noticed that the same things that I've been ridiculed for are now the trend in vogue.
A few weeks ago, I spent a considerable amount of time, money, and energy at the Bead & Button Show in Milwaukee. This was my 7th or 8th show, and it was a really good show this year. I first got into beading when my friend Kathie, who had moved to Ohio, came to visit me and asked if we could go to the Bead Show. I also have another friend, Jill, who had already been going to this show and had been beading for awhile. As I was a dedicated quilter by this time (this was wwwaaaayyyyy before I went back to school in 2008), I didn't need another hobby. But, Kathie came for a visit and Jill told me if I found anything I like I could give it to her and she'd make a piece for me. It was a truly eye-opening experience for me the first time I walked into the dealer's room of the (then) Midwest Express Airlines Center. The ENTIRE upper floor was filled with tables and booths of dealers from around the world, and had every item related to beading, buttons, and the accouterments to store, house, and complete all things beady. I bought one thing, gave it to Jill, and she made a necklace for me. Kathie came back the next year, and I bought a few more things, including a seed bead kit that is a thimble holder. Because every quilter needs a thimble holder.
But, my husband said something to me that released the mental gate in my head that was holding back the whole "yes, I really do need a new hobby" thought. He said to me, "Beads are small, they don't take up as much room as fabric". Now, he and Kathie were joking with me at the time because I kept denying that I was going to start beading. I was going to give this kit to Jill and had every thought that she would be ok with this and make it for me. Well, when I showed it to her, she rolled her eyes and laughed at me. I was such a newbie to the whole beading hobby, that it never occurred to me that there are subcultures within subcultures. She flat out denied making the holder for me and I took it home. But, the frugal person I am, was not about to let that kit go to waste. So, never having done any beading before, I dumped out the seed beads, grabbed the directions, and made it myself. And, that, is how I came into the world of beading. Little did I know that this was an advanced project that no newbie in her right mind would have ever taken on. But, make it I did, and I did a really good job of it too. I also needed three cortisone shots in my left arm because I knew nothing of beading ergonomics, but that's a whole 'nother blog.
The title of this blog is "Tolerance" and I'm getting to that point. I love seed beading, and a few years ago when Kathie showed me a chain maille bracelet she had made, I was instantly smitten with the medium. It was a calling to me, one I can't really explain, and ever since I always have a piece I'm working on. I switch back and forth and sometimes coincide working on seed beading and chain maille, and when I went to the Bead Show this year, I took two classes on chain maille instead of beading. I'm self-taught for chain maille too. Everything I've learned has been from the internet, magazines, or eye-ballin' other people's work. Now, there's really nothing new in chain maille as far as standard weaves are concerned so there is no chance of copyright infringement. If the smithy's from ancient times thought that the armor they were making would eventually be fine jewelry, they would have laughed in your face. But, here it is. Pieces at the Bead Show were in high three figures price ranges and every one of them I could make, or learn to make. It's just too bad that most women, and some men, think that chain maille is of a lower class in the jewelry world and wouldn't even think of wearing a piece unless it comes from a high priced jeweler. There is no tolerance for something that isn't from the "normal" world of jewelry, and there still persists the notion that unless it has a recognizable name brand, it isn't "real" jewelry. Very snobbish and intolerant. Thus, the title of this blog.
My favorite chain maille are the micro mailles. The smaller the ring, the better. I'm currently making a Jens Pind 3 in 24 gauge 1/16th inch gold rings. If this measurement means nothing to you, the ring is about the size of a small tapioca pearl. Not the large ones, the SMALL ones. I had taken the class Jens Pind 5 at the bead show and the teacher showed us on much larger rings which were gigantic for me. I had on one of my favorite chain maille necklaces, a roundmaille in fine silver, 5 across. Roundmaille is made with Euro 4-in-1, rolled together and "zipped" up to form a tube. I made this necklace in the same 24 gauge 1/16th size ring. Now, the Jens Pind weave is a very advanced weave and I took this class because I was having trouble starting the weave. And, come to find out, many and most people do. In fact, the teacher works at a store where they SELL the started weaves for people! But, because I don't know any better, I asked her to show me how to start the weave. She was shocked that I wanted to learn this, and I was expecting to learn it because me, being the frugal person I am, am not going to pay someone else to start a weave for me when I'm perfectly capable of doing my own work.
The teacher comes over to show me how to start the Jens Pind 5 weave, and she shrieks "OMG! Your necklace is roundmaille??! I thought it was just a chain! Let me see it!" This is a common thing at the Bead Show. People are always looking at other people's stuff. In fact, it's the only place I've ever been to where it's acceptable to run up to someone, grab whatever is on them and fondle it. It's a bit disconcerting at first, but you quickly get used to it. I'm not a touchy person unless I know you really well, so it's still uncomfortable for me when people do this. And, it's usually a necklace at a particular level that isn't really appropriate for public touching, but it's never like that. There's so much to be in awe over, that you really can't help touching or staring. Odd, but I digress. I take off my necklace, give it to her and she scrutinizes it for several minutes and then looks up to me and says, "you have an incredible tolerance for annoying things". And, in all this time I've never once thought of chain maille as annoying, although sometimes the rings get frustrating when they don't cooperate.
The word "tolerance" however, stuck in my mind as something that I wouldn't need to ever associate with chain maille, yet recently when a person I know said to me (and you know who you are :o)) "I used to make fun of those kids that were into science fiction and fantasy, but now I love the genre and realize what I missed out on all those years" when we were talking about chain maille and the book series "Game of Thrones". (And yes, you're forgiven) I've known for many years that if people were truly honest with themselves, yes, they too would like this genre and the fact that there are very good stories to be told within them, and that the uniqueness of this world is the very same "something different" they are craving in their lives. A coworker just told me that she didn't know what she was going to do with herself when she retired. And yet, my thought is, I have so much I want to do, why can't I retire now? That, in a nutshell, is the difference between someone who has lived her life in the "normal" world and someone who keeps a foot in both worlds. Because you never know when a good hobby and story are going to come along. She also insists that UW Sheboygan is a "crafty" college and said that she would never pay for "crafty" lessons. I'm not sure where you start with intolerant people like her because even when I correct her, she still persists in saying these things because it's her passive/aggressive way of making fun of me. I almost always have a chain maille piece on me, and occasionally she will ask if I've made that from one of my "crafty" lessons. Her questions are done in such a way she thinks she is being nice, but she is so transparent that most times I pretend I haven't heard her. There is no winning with intolerant people like her, and she is so full of jealousy because she won't allow herself to embrace something "out of the normal" world. Her loss.
I have an incredible tolerance for annoying things. Even a teacher of chain maille, and I might add, she is making her wedding dress from rings, finds what I do and crave annoying. Maybe that is my skill in life. All those small things need to be put together to make a bigger picture. And, because it was established in a certain Spanish class that I can't adapt well to just the parts, I need to see that finished piece in the big picture. That is where my tolerance comes from, knowing that eventually there will be a bigger picture. I just need to add one more ring....
A few weeks ago, I spent a considerable amount of time, money, and energy at the Bead & Button Show in Milwaukee. This was my 7th or 8th show, and it was a really good show this year. I first got into beading when my friend Kathie, who had moved to Ohio, came to visit me and asked if we could go to the Bead Show. I also have another friend, Jill, who had already been going to this show and had been beading for awhile. As I was a dedicated quilter by this time (this was wwwaaaayyyyy before I went back to school in 2008), I didn't need another hobby. But, Kathie came for a visit and Jill told me if I found anything I like I could give it to her and she'd make a piece for me. It was a truly eye-opening experience for me the first time I walked into the dealer's room of the (then) Midwest Express Airlines Center. The ENTIRE upper floor was filled with tables and booths of dealers from around the world, and had every item related to beading, buttons, and the accouterments to store, house, and complete all things beady. I bought one thing, gave it to Jill, and she made a necklace for me. Kathie came back the next year, and I bought a few more things, including a seed bead kit that is a thimble holder. Because every quilter needs a thimble holder.
 |
| The black holder is my first seed bead project |
The title of this blog is "Tolerance" and I'm getting to that point. I love seed beading, and a few years ago when Kathie showed me a chain maille bracelet she had made, I was instantly smitten with the medium. It was a calling to me, one I can't really explain, and ever since I always have a piece I'm working on. I switch back and forth and sometimes coincide working on seed beading and chain maille, and when I went to the Bead Show this year, I took two classes on chain maille instead of beading. I'm self-taught for chain maille too. Everything I've learned has been from the internet, magazines, or eye-ballin' other people's work. Now, there's really nothing new in chain maille as far as standard weaves are concerned so there is no chance of copyright infringement. If the smithy's from ancient times thought that the armor they were making would eventually be fine jewelry, they would have laughed in your face. But, here it is. Pieces at the Bead Show were in high three figures price ranges and every one of them I could make, or learn to make. It's just too bad that most women, and some men, think that chain maille is of a lower class in the jewelry world and wouldn't even think of wearing a piece unless it comes from a high priced jeweler. There is no tolerance for something that isn't from the "normal" world of jewelry, and there still persists the notion that unless it has a recognizable name brand, it isn't "real" jewelry. Very snobbish and intolerant. Thus, the title of this blog.
My favorite chain maille are the micro mailles. The smaller the ring, the better. I'm currently making a Jens Pind 3 in 24 gauge 1/16th inch gold rings. If this measurement means nothing to you, the ring is about the size of a small tapioca pearl. Not the large ones, the SMALL ones. I had taken the class Jens Pind 5 at the bead show and the teacher showed us on much larger rings which were gigantic for me. I had on one of my favorite chain maille necklaces, a roundmaille in fine silver, 5 across. Roundmaille is made with Euro 4-in-1, rolled together and "zipped" up to form a tube. I made this necklace in the same 24 gauge 1/16th size ring. Now, the Jens Pind weave is a very advanced weave and I took this class because I was having trouble starting the weave. And, come to find out, many and most people do. In fact, the teacher works at a store where they SELL the started weaves for people! But, because I don't know any better, I asked her to show me how to start the weave. She was shocked that I wanted to learn this, and I was expecting to learn it because me, being the frugal person I am, am not going to pay someone else to start a weave for me when I'm perfectly capable of doing my own work.
 |
| Roundmaille necklace |
The teacher comes over to show me how to start the Jens Pind 5 weave, and she shrieks "OMG! Your necklace is roundmaille??! I thought it was just a chain! Let me see it!" This is a common thing at the Bead Show. People are always looking at other people's stuff. In fact, it's the only place I've ever been to where it's acceptable to run up to someone, grab whatever is on them and fondle it. It's a bit disconcerting at first, but you quickly get used to it. I'm not a touchy person unless I know you really well, so it's still uncomfortable for me when people do this. And, it's usually a necklace at a particular level that isn't really appropriate for public touching, but it's never like that. There's so much to be in awe over, that you really can't help touching or staring. Odd, but I digress. I take off my necklace, give it to her and she scrutinizes it for several minutes and then looks up to me and says, "you have an incredible tolerance for annoying things". And, in all this time I've never once thought of chain maille as annoying, although sometimes the rings get frustrating when they don't cooperate.
 |
| Yes, that is the head of a standard pin next to the ring |
I have an incredible tolerance for annoying things. Even a teacher of chain maille, and I might add, she is making her wedding dress from rings, finds what I do and crave annoying. Maybe that is my skill in life. All those small things need to be put together to make a bigger picture. And, because it was established in a certain Spanish class that I can't adapt well to just the parts, I need to see that finished piece in the big picture. That is where my tolerance comes from, knowing that eventually there will be a bigger picture. I just need to add one more ring....
Tuesday, May 15, 2012
Things I learned in two semesters of Spanish
- Es is pronounced ACE! ACE! ACE! I will forever hear him yelling this at the class.
- I am terrible at speaking Spanish.
- I loved learning new words.
- I don't like Spanish verbs so much.
- One verb=one option, two verbs=two options. Do I get extra credit if I tattoo this on my forehead?
- Younglings learn at a much faster rate than their much wiser elders.
- When swearing, be sure your mouth is closed and you use your inside your head voice and don't do it when the class is stone silent and el profesor is writing answers to el señor pop quiz on the board.
- El profesor has the ears of a hawk.
- After swearing, be sure to bring in cookies.
- Cookies are the solution for EVERYTHING!
- Cookies are great for making friends, and making them happy. Lily gave me a hug!
- It was established that everyone loves cookies.
- I would not want to teach Spanish; too much drama and heartache.
- I have new emotions to deal with now.
- I didn't think I could have so many migraines in such a short period of time...and live.
- I am a black plague of English! And proud of it! MORE COOKIES!
- Without humor (see above) from el profesor I would not have made it.
- The Dude definitely abides.
- You're killin' me Smalls! (Great movie, thanks for the reference)
- You can't just add an "o" to the end of every word, Scott. It's el tenedor NOT el forko!
- Natalie is better at learning my flash cards than I am.
- I still want to give Jill my million dolares.
- I never knew a dictionary of just verbs existed.
- Secretly, I loved going to class and learning something new. I just wish I could have been better at it. I liked the mingles because I could get the kids to laugh. I think I made them feel better about making mistakes, especially when el profesor would pick (ON?) me to answer questions. (Sometimes twice and making it dependent on el señor pop quiz if I got the answer right or wrong) If I gave just one of them a pass in their mind that it is ok to make mistakes openly, verbally, and in front of everyone and live to tell about it - I would gladly do it all over again.
- I think in words; flow-chart style; big picture. I made a verb flow chart because I can't adapt to small parts without knowing how they fit into the world of language. Several of my classmates loved my verb flow chart and I'm quite honored that el profesor felt it was good enough to include on our D2L website for class.
- I know way more about English grammar by studying Spanish than I ever knew before taking Spanish.
- I take some satisfaction in knowing that the new gray hair on my head equals the number of gray hair I gave el profesor. Sorry about taking the years off your life though....
- There is much crying in Spanish.
- The epic battles of ser vs. estar, para vs. por, saber vs. conocer, and preterit vs. imperfect.
- There is ALWAYS an exception.
- And finally, I hope I never have to do this for college credit again. I would love to learn this for fun and without the pressure of college degree requirements. I would love to go to Spain and understand and speak and be understood. Maybe someday.
Thanks Professor Kendall for all your help, humor, movie quotes, and banter. It made a very difficult two semesters bearable for me. Again, sorry about the hair and years. No one should be THAT gray at 21!
Saturday, May 5, 2012
I failed something very important this week
I failed something very important this week. I failed my spoken final for Spanish 105, and it's 10% of my grade. Why I'm choosing to publish this as a blog is beyond me, other than the fact that I'm hoping somehow to make sense of what happened. The final consisted of two parts. A one-on-one interview with the professor, and a role play activity with another student. There is no one else in the room, just the teacher and the students taking the test. I sat down, looked at my professor, and my mind went blank. I couldn't even return his greeting which, any person off the street with absolutely no experience in the language could have greeted back. I felt like a deer in the headlights, and after three questions, he stopped the test and asked if he should go on. All I could do was stare at him, hands over my mouth, and see nothing in my head but a blinding light. No words, no thoughts, no emotions, nothing. When I didn't respond to him, he called my name and snapped me out of whatever trance I had fallen into. He said he didn't even know how to grade me, and my response, which will haunt me forever was "just fail me". And, he did. I didn't leave him much choice. I regret saying this, but it was so guttural and instinctual, that I could hardly even speak the phrase clearly.
He asked me to compose my face so that I didn't scare the confidence out of the rest of my classmates. Wow, that was a first for me.
So, here I sit, writing a blog about it and trying to figure out why I failed so utterly. Usually I can muster some type of response, or a verb or two, but I couldn't even think in English, let alone translate something into Spanish. I was aware of my surroundings, I saw the look on his face when he realized this was not going to go well, and I saw the look of disappointment (or disgust?) on his face when I gave up. Yet, only now, am I able to have some type of reaction to the whole thing, and luckily I'm the only one here to see the meltdown. I don't feel any better, in fact I feel worse because I can actually feel the emotions now.
I know we all fail at things in our lives, and we hope for the best when these things do happen. I had some inkling that the oral final was not going to go well early on in the semester. I found that I could hear the words volume-wise, but for the life of me, I couldn't comprehend what they were. They were nothing more than noise with no meaning to me. It doesn't help I have hearing issues, but as I've been able to understand English, albeit with several repeats sometimes, I assumed I could do the same with Spanish. Well, on the oral comprehension test, no. Repeats lower your grade. There was a good chance I would have failed this test anyway because I would have had to ask for repeats. So, I thought maybe he could spell, in Spanish of course, some of the words I couldn't understand. But, when it came down to it, I didn't understand the sentence to even be able to ask what words to spell. I'm not sure what grade I got on the role play, but with the interview at 40% of the overall grade I would have had to score a perfect grade to even get a D. And there is no way I scored a perfect grade. I can still do math, and that adds up to a big, fat F.
So, now what? I have the written composition and the written final left. In my heart, I believe I will pass this course, hopefully, but I need to ace both. The composition was handed in earlier in the week, but I worked really hard on it, took all the feedback into consideration and changed a lot of what I had written, and I hope that it will at the very least, cancel the oral final out. They are both worth 10% of my grade.
I really am not coming up with any answers for what happened other than panic and anxiety. And, I'm really tired of those two excuses. I want the old me back, where I could take a test without this drama and nonsense. If this is what my future is going to bring, yeah, it's a bright light alright. One that obliterates my memory only long enough for me to fail and then leave me with the scorching memory of that instead of the answers. I now question if that's what I really want out of school.
He asked me to compose my face so that I didn't scare the confidence out of the rest of my classmates. Wow, that was a first for me.
So, here I sit, writing a blog about it and trying to figure out why I failed so utterly. Usually I can muster some type of response, or a verb or two, but I couldn't even think in English, let alone translate something into Spanish. I was aware of my surroundings, I saw the look on his face when he realized this was not going to go well, and I saw the look of disappointment (or disgust?) on his face when I gave up. Yet, only now, am I able to have some type of reaction to the whole thing, and luckily I'm the only one here to see the meltdown. I don't feel any better, in fact I feel worse because I can actually feel the emotions now.
I know we all fail at things in our lives, and we hope for the best when these things do happen. I had some inkling that the oral final was not going to go well early on in the semester. I found that I could hear the words volume-wise, but for the life of me, I couldn't comprehend what they were. They were nothing more than noise with no meaning to me. It doesn't help I have hearing issues, but as I've been able to understand English, albeit with several repeats sometimes, I assumed I could do the same with Spanish. Well, on the oral comprehension test, no. Repeats lower your grade. There was a good chance I would have failed this test anyway because I would have had to ask for repeats. So, I thought maybe he could spell, in Spanish of course, some of the words I couldn't understand. But, when it came down to it, I didn't understand the sentence to even be able to ask what words to spell. I'm not sure what grade I got on the role play, but with the interview at 40% of the overall grade I would have had to score a perfect grade to even get a D. And there is no way I scored a perfect grade. I can still do math, and that adds up to a big, fat F.
So, now what? I have the written composition and the written final left. In my heart, I believe I will pass this course, hopefully, but I need to ace both. The composition was handed in earlier in the week, but I worked really hard on it, took all the feedback into consideration and changed a lot of what I had written, and I hope that it will at the very least, cancel the oral final out. They are both worth 10% of my grade.
I really am not coming up with any answers for what happened other than panic and anxiety. And, I'm really tired of those two excuses. I want the old me back, where I could take a test without this drama and nonsense. If this is what my future is going to bring, yeah, it's a bright light alright. One that obliterates my memory only long enough for me to fail and then leave me with the scorching memory of that instead of the answers. I now question if that's what I really want out of school.
Sunday, April 1, 2012
English, Then Spanish
I have to write a composition in Spanish on a movie we watched in class. This doesn't bother me except that I have an almost compulsive-like need to state exactly the word I want to use for the intended and inflected meaning. I've always had that problem, and it is one of the reasons why I keep a dictionary handy, especially when I write. And, well for spelling reasons, but that's a whole 'nother blog. In any case, I have to write about a topic from the movie, in Spanish, and without the use of the internet, friends, family, and coworkers who speak Spanish, and anything else that isn't our textbook, the Professor, or our classmates. I'm ok with that, I certainly understand why he wants that and I would do the same thing if I were teaching this course. We had to do the same for Spanish 1 too. My problem, however, is that I keep finding myself wanting to state exactly what I want to state but can't. My Spanish is no where near my level of English and I have to keep reminding myself that it's not really what I want to say, but HOW I say it. The grading rubric is 50% content and 50% grammar,and no movie summaries allowed. It is frustrating, and I find myself just wanting to write it in English and then translate it. He assures me this is the path to chaos and destruction, so I've been avoiding that very scenario. However, this morning, I woke up and the paper was pretty much formed in my head, in English, and now I'm really struggling to separate the two languages.
The paper in English is good. At least I think so, but what I'm able to type out in Spanish is not so good, not exactly what I want to say, and grammatically is horrible. I think. I'm never really sure about Spanish grammar because it's different that English. I've discussed this issue with my Professor, well the grammar issue and the paper in English issue, and he shrugs when I tell him that the paper is pretty much formed in my head and it's almost like taking dictation when I write my papers. There's always going to be room for correction and refinement, but for the most part, I put down on paper (type, actually) and let it be. And, it's usually after sleeping so I'm guessing my brain just figures it out and then lets me know. I really can't explain it, and for the longest time I thought that this is how everybody writes a paper. When I told my husband this, he looked at me oddly and said flatly, no, that's not how people write papers. I didn't believe him. I made the mistake of telling a coworker this, and she REALLY looked at me oddly and said that she hated people like me. I told my best friend and she looked at me shrewdly and said that yes, of course I would write a paper that way. Way back in the day, before computers, I typed her papers for her. I was a receptionist and could type, and still do, around 70wpm. It never once occurred to me to ask her how she wrote her papers. I just assumed she did whatever research she needed to and presto! there was a paper.
Now, after asking several people this question, I've come to realize that it is not usual, and that it also sounds like I'm bragging. So, I've stopped telling people this and just go about writing my essays and papers like I would normally. Which brings me to this morning, and needing to get something in English out of my system so I can try and write in Spanish. Thus, this blog. My hope is that I can get the compulsive need to communicate in my native tongue out of my system and hopefully finish my rough draft before Tuesday's class. Working full-time through the week leaves me with really only the weekend to get the bulk of my homework done, so I really need to get this finished today. So, purge myself of English and then switch to Spanish.
I'm trying to decide what classes to take this summer. I'm transferring to UWM, and my appointment to register is this Thursday. I'm trying to decide if I should take two Information Resources classes, or one IR class and math stats 215. I had a conversation with an advisor who tells me that I'm ONE science credit short (only six biology credits transfer from my eight and a five credit chemistry class. I need 12 total), and if I want to follow the pre-1998 graduation guidelines (two semesters of foreign language instead of four) then I need two classes on formal reasoning (I already have one). And, apparently, math stats 215 will cover both. So, I'm trying to figure out if I should take it this summer, on an accelerated path and probably less material or in fall when I would have more time, but more material. I'm leaning toward the summer because schedule-wise it would work out much better than in the fall. Summer evening classes, rather than fall day classes. I still am working full-time during the day, so the fall class will really mess my schedule up. The IR classes are online, so that's not an issue. I suppose I could try and take it in the summer and if I fail it, repeat it in fall. I'm not sure why I think I'll fail it, but that has become my first knee-jerk reaction for classes with scary names for me. Math stats.... Spanish....
I can't believe I'm transferring schools. I started at UW Sheboygan in the Spring of 2008, and kept thinking that transfer and major decisions were really, really far away. I'm very glad I went back, and also finished my Associate Degree, but finishing the Bachelor's seems just as far away as the Associate did when I first started. The thing that bothers me is this: When I started I had a very distinct path in mind. Repeat the classes I did poorly in, prove that I can do this, and then try and finish what I started so many years ago. I would have thought my confidence would be greater, but I find that the thought of transfer makes me a bit anxious. I have worked across the street from UWM for 21 years and at some point I should have lost the anxious feeling I get when I looked out my window. But I never did. And now, only a few weeks to summer session, here I am. A student of the same school I never thought I'd attend. I hope this is just transfer jitters and I will settle in at some point, but all the same, I'm really going to miss UW Sheboygan. A person grows with new experiences, and I hope my experience at UWM will be better than I expect.
Ok, that's enough English for now. Let's see how that paper is going to turn out in Spanish....
The paper in English is good. At least I think so, but what I'm able to type out in Spanish is not so good, not exactly what I want to say, and grammatically is horrible. I think. I'm never really sure about Spanish grammar because it's different that English. I've discussed this issue with my Professor, well the grammar issue and the paper in English issue, and he shrugs when I tell him that the paper is pretty much formed in my head and it's almost like taking dictation when I write my papers. There's always going to be room for correction and refinement, but for the most part, I put down on paper (type, actually) and let it be. And, it's usually after sleeping so I'm guessing my brain just figures it out and then lets me know. I really can't explain it, and for the longest time I thought that this is how everybody writes a paper. When I told my husband this, he looked at me oddly and said flatly, no, that's not how people write papers. I didn't believe him. I made the mistake of telling a coworker this, and she REALLY looked at me oddly and said that she hated people like me. I told my best friend and she looked at me shrewdly and said that yes, of course I would write a paper that way. Way back in the day, before computers, I typed her papers for her. I was a receptionist and could type, and still do, around 70wpm. It never once occurred to me to ask her how she wrote her papers. I just assumed she did whatever research she needed to and presto! there was a paper.
Now, after asking several people this question, I've come to realize that it is not usual, and that it also sounds like I'm bragging. So, I've stopped telling people this and just go about writing my essays and papers like I would normally. Which brings me to this morning, and needing to get something in English out of my system so I can try and write in Spanish. Thus, this blog. My hope is that I can get the compulsive need to communicate in my native tongue out of my system and hopefully finish my rough draft before Tuesday's class. Working full-time through the week leaves me with really only the weekend to get the bulk of my homework done, so I really need to get this finished today. So, purge myself of English and then switch to Spanish.
I'm trying to decide what classes to take this summer. I'm transferring to UWM, and my appointment to register is this Thursday. I'm trying to decide if I should take two Information Resources classes, or one IR class and math stats 215. I had a conversation with an advisor who tells me that I'm ONE science credit short (only six biology credits transfer from my eight and a five credit chemistry class. I need 12 total), and if I want to follow the pre-1998 graduation guidelines (two semesters of foreign language instead of four) then I need two classes on formal reasoning (I already have one). And, apparently, math stats 215 will cover both. So, I'm trying to figure out if I should take it this summer, on an accelerated path and probably less material or in fall when I would have more time, but more material. I'm leaning toward the summer because schedule-wise it would work out much better than in the fall. Summer evening classes, rather than fall day classes. I still am working full-time during the day, so the fall class will really mess my schedule up. The IR classes are online, so that's not an issue. I suppose I could try and take it in the summer and if I fail it, repeat it in fall. I'm not sure why I think I'll fail it, but that has become my first knee-jerk reaction for classes with scary names for me. Math stats.... Spanish....
I can't believe I'm transferring schools. I started at UW Sheboygan in the Spring of 2008, and kept thinking that transfer and major decisions were really, really far away. I'm very glad I went back, and also finished my Associate Degree, but finishing the Bachelor's seems just as far away as the Associate did when I first started. The thing that bothers me is this: When I started I had a very distinct path in mind. Repeat the classes I did poorly in, prove that I can do this, and then try and finish what I started so many years ago. I would have thought my confidence would be greater, but I find that the thought of transfer makes me a bit anxious. I have worked across the street from UWM for 21 years and at some point I should have lost the anxious feeling I get when I looked out my window. But I never did. And now, only a few weeks to summer session, here I am. A student of the same school I never thought I'd attend. I hope this is just transfer jitters and I will settle in at some point, but all the same, I'm really going to miss UW Sheboygan. A person grows with new experiences, and I hope my experience at UWM will be better than I expect.
Ok, that's enough English for now. Let's see how that paper is going to turn out in Spanish....
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