tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3103273867894459832024-02-18T21:44:10.528-06:00The Fabulous FamiliarTaking the ordinary and making it extraordinary...Ashtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11609667280015021748noreply@blogger.comBlogger96125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-310327386789445983.post-66435207668478333202011-12-09T14:22:00.004-06:002011-12-09T15:27:04.783-06:00Perspectives<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg37jTOu_Gc3KTSwjE0ozBH1HZEkcq4tsgGjblGLGn7g8FAI5DpadZzbC9HN_HWi1H-clmnuuYbxB-bWbQmpMM3j4xQkBiAaPnaY_wem7PB5E6qMVSXEfC5dJYx4A1-UDMDgLQNRhuey-TU/s1600/helping_hand.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg37jTOu_Gc3KTSwjE0ozBH1HZEkcq4tsgGjblGLGn7g8FAI5DpadZzbC9HN_HWi1H-clmnuuYbxB-bWbQmpMM3j4xQkBiAaPnaY_wem7PB5E6qMVSXEfC5dJYx4A1-UDMDgLQNRhuey-TU/s320/helping_hand.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5684233876941874322" /></a><br /><br />Let me tell you a story about a girl. <br /><br />A girl who, for all her professions of pity for the unfortunate, had a tendency to be judgmental about how they got there. Though a great part of me felt bad when people couldn't afford a doctor's visit, the other part of me-- to fit into conversation--assumed they spent that money on themselves. <br /><br />It sounds harsh to actually spell it out-- but I'm going to. Being poor was laziness. Not having insurance was irresponsible. Living on the rough side of town called for stereotypes.<br /><br />So I went to college and graduated with a 3.98. I went on and got my Master's and got a 4.0. The more I succeeded, the more this poisonous message began to grow. Why couldn't people be like me? Why couldn't they stop asking for help and start becoming me?<br /><br />Then I began to look for a job. And I looked, and I looked, settling for one that would barely pay my bills, with no extra emergencies or unexpected car breakdowns allowed.<br /><br />Already paying off previous doctor bills, I did something out of the ordinary for me today. I walked into a low-income, sliding scale clinic to help me ward off this laryngitis, congestion mess I've been fighting for 7 days. Donning my purple sweater and scarf, I began to ask myself: "What if they wonder why I'm here? What if they think I don't need their help?" Perhaps because this might have been my conclusion years ago.<br /><br />I found out I needed an appointment. So I called some other clinics around town. $130. $120. Could be more than $200. Tears began to swell up and fall. It hit me that I am not going to be able to be completely independent. I am going to have to ask for help for the time being from parents and others. <br /><br />And I hate that. <br /><br />Why? Because we live in a society where being poor is an embarrassment. It's something to look down on people for in the same breath that we offer to adopt them for Christmas.<br /><br />I'm not saying that there aren't going to be people who abuse the system. And there are people who are going to continually take advantage of other people. <br /><br />But my eyes have been opened over the past year through the people I have met, through the children I have come in contact with. <br /><br />Forget politics. This isn't even about politics for me. It's about the woman who works at IHOP every single night, but still needs food stamps to feed her kids. It's about people I work with who can't afford to put their husbands on their overpriced insurance plan. It's about the girl who has her Master's degree and can't fix her car without calling her parents in tears. <br /><br />As Christians, we all too often study, "If a man shall not work, he shall not eat" more than we do the times in the Bible where Jesus gave things to the undeserving, the thankless and those who could do nothing in return. <br /><br />I guess now that I am vulnerable, now that I can often not return the favor, I am beginning to see this other side of Jesus. I know this topic is a very sensitive one for many people, which is why I have avoided it even being on my heart. But there's something about being on the other side of the glass that is so shocking that it will shame you. <br /><br />I work 10 hours a day every day. I don't smoke. I don't drink. I'm not on drugs. I didn't spend my entire paycheck on tattoos. I'm not in debt. And I'm struggling. I'm not ashamed to admit it. I also find myself looking at people a little differently now, in a softer light. <br /><br />The people I see on a daily basis that I place judgment on should magically have the logic and reasoning skills of a well-educated, economically-conscious, raised-in-a-Christian-home person. It just makes no sense. They weren't raised like me. I don't know what they've gone through in their life and whose example they are following. But the fact is-- they need help. And their children need to eat and go to school. <br /><br />My transparency is not intended to be a pity party, but rather, a call to humility and compassion. I have seen crowds cheer on someone saying "Let him die" when talking about someone without insurance. And these are people on a Christian platform. These are people who are supposed to be representing us. <br /><br />Something needs to change. And making someone take a drug test to make sure they're the right kind of poor and other such plans are not the avenue. Accountability and responsibility are important, but they are also vital on the other side. And I think that is what we have been missing.<br /><span style="font-style:italic;"><br />"If you could actually stand in someone else's shoes to hear what they hear, see what they see, and feel what they feel, you would honestly wonder what planet they live on, and be totally blown away by how different their "reality" is from yours. You'd also never, in a million years, be quick to judge again." Author unknown</span>Ashtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11609667280015021748noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-310327386789445983.post-3157811649112246342011-10-15T11:11:00.005-05:002011-10-15T12:02:30.864-05:00The Mushy Post<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHcVU2JJzYasbl66-57LrajbK5pF-rwYTB9BTyRZzO4AlWQ-G0WqUGkDhXI9TR6qjhBE0Ufim-ZhDTWbnY5tdwPQBSeUrv_IPBuMipNjLRNKUydX_Ku4dgmrsPBQ2mgd8siakhKYTrkfZd/s1600/meandjustin.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 213px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHcVU2JJzYasbl66-57LrajbK5pF-rwYTB9BTyRZzO4AlWQ-G0WqUGkDhXI9TR6qjhBE0Ufim-ZhDTWbnY5tdwPQBSeUrv_IPBuMipNjLRNKUydX_Ku4dgmrsPBQ2mgd8siakhKYTrkfZd/s320/meandjustin.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5663762378984882786" /></a><br /><br />I always intended for this blog to be more than just an online diary, a chronicle of every thought, crush and annoyance I had in my head. Therefore, some of you may have felt a little left in the dark on the progression of my relationship with Justin. I wanted to let it grow in its own time and blossom into something more beautiful than a premature blog post I wrote on our second date.<br /><br />But with our recent engagement at hand, I figured it was time to release the mushy butterfly from its holding. <br /><br />Most people, if you asked them when they KNEW someone was "the one," they may recount a story of sparks, fireworks and poetic lines that made their heart sing. While I once thought that this was the parting of the clouds moment for everyone, I soon realized that God had a different plan for me. <br /><br />We were supposed to meet halfway one night in Tuckerman; I was coming from Searcy, he was coming from Jonesboro. In my normal fashion, I took a wrong turn. A wrong turn that began to lead me farther and farther away from my destination. My GPS began chirping at me to turn around and the flood of tears from my eyes made it more difficult to read the map. Our short span of time together began to wither away as I found myself in good 'ol Weiner, Arkansas.<br /><br />I had avoided calling him for several minutes, but decided it could not wait any longer. "I-I-I'm lost," I managed to get out in between bursts of sobs. Any normal guy who hadn't been with a girl very long would RUN at this point. I even kind of knew it would happen as I continued my emotional debut.<br /><br />"It's ok," he said soothingly. "Where are you?" <br /><br />I felt like I was in a goofy sitcom as I exclaimed, "I'm in WEINER!" More tears.<br /><br />He told me to pull over somewhere, stop my car and he would come and find me. For the first time all night, I did what I was told and parked my car at a small business. Several minutes later, I saw the best thing I had seen all night: a blue Mazda Tribute coming to rescue me. <br /><br />I melted into his arms, crying some more and trying to explain myself. He began to comfort me-- you know-- the person who HADN'T been driving all around Arkansas trying to find another person. <br /><br />And from that moment, he has rescued me every day since. I have decided to spare you of every event that boy has gotten me out of-- although you would probably find them quite entertaining. <br /><br />Before him, I always thought I was one of those needy, unassured girls who needed constant affirmation from guys in order to function in a relationship. Those insecurities disappeared with him because he provided that stability without me even asking for it. He is proud to have me on his arm, and I have longed for that my whole life. <br /><br />Even when I almost ruined his engagement plans, he reacted with the same calmness that he always does, saving his plan. I asked if I could go eat dinner with some friends on Monday and he said, "I only have about an hour tonight. Why don't you do something with them tomorrow when I'm gone all day?" There was no waiver, no anger in his voice. It made sense.<br /><br />"Ok, I'll re-schedule. See you in a little bit!" <br /><br />When I arrived at my apartment complex, his car was not in the parking lot so I assumed I had beaten him there. I walked in to find a dozen pink roses in a vase on my counter, a jewelry box and a note that said, "Open me!" <br /><br />I stood there stunned. I looked at the box, but didn't do as the instructions said. "Um, Justin, Justin. Are you here?"<br /><br />He stepped out from my room and had a smirk on his face. "You didn't open the box. That's all you had to do," he said, with that same expression he has when I get lost in Weiner.<br /><br />So I shakily opened the box and saw what was inside: a gorgeous vintage-inspired, princess cut engagement ring. I think what commenced next was a combination of shrieking, jumping and some "Are you for real?"s. He asked the question in between my calisthenics, but later said that he had wanted to get down on one knee. <br /><br />"Do it again! Do it again!" <br /><br />So he got down on one knee, I calmed down momentarily and he asked me to marry him once more. Then to the good part: He got two Upper Crust pizzas out of the oven (my favorite restaurant to go to in Jonesboro) and we gobbled them down like we normally do. Fancy occasions are no reason to leave good pizza for another day.<br /><br />It was simple, personal and just how I would have wanted it. I once told him if he did the scoreboard, ballgame thing, I would kill him. I guess he wanted to live. <br /><br />It's funny how we think we know ourselves better than God does. Then he throws us a curveball (say, a younger guy who is friends with your brothers) and it just works. And there's no real explanation as to why it does, except that you feel like you've been completed.<br /><br />I may not locate most of my destinations (see above story), but I am oh so very glad that I found him. I know that, with him, I will never be lost-- in faith, in love, or in the car.Ashtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11609667280015021748noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-310327386789445983.post-71542564642086377202011-10-09T19:14:00.002-05:002011-10-09T20:05:07.804-05:00The Joneses<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm6rnH1PcTNTgm_SqDgqu3LuwwobJcjeEPTb36Gs45UKD1IrC5G4EQEAN22xGXitjKwyZJjzwRIW-9F8z9spEwFcWdg2VwGIeS8a8TdAJCWmyXpDeSKVdYJFSLD0FaxHcRMlCDVLLmRtYa/s1600/jones.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 217px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm6rnH1PcTNTgm_SqDgqu3LuwwobJcjeEPTb36Gs45UKD1IrC5G4EQEAN22xGXitjKwyZJjzwRIW-9F8z9spEwFcWdg2VwGIeS8a8TdAJCWmyXpDeSKVdYJFSLD0FaxHcRMlCDVLLmRtYa/s320/jones.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5661650759168609954" /></a><br /><br />It's funny how dreams have a way of making your biggest concerns and insecurities seem absolutely irrelevant and childish. The other night, clear as day, a friend of mine from college appeared to me in a dream. Dressed in a powerful business suit with designer sunglasses, she began to make her way toward me-- with perfectly coiffed bangs that she gracefully tossed back and forth. She smiled and said, "Long time no see. I'm an important banker and living in the city. What do you do?" <br /><br />I gulped loudly, but I couldn't stop her from entering the door that lead the way to my life. Much to my dismay, she saw children running around with the characters from Mario Kart and several unicorns chasing them. I tried to stop the whole scene, wave the unicorns away and get the children under control. I began to ramble about what I did, trying to make it sound prestigious. But, by the look on her face, I soon realized that the mask was off. She now knew that my education led me to a playground of madness and imaginary figures.<br /><br />I woke up and suddenly realized that, as bizarre as that dream may seem, it was just as ridiculous as my recent behavior.<br /><br />You see, the other day I had a mini-breakdown. I opened up Facebook, like I often do, but this time something was different. Everywhere I scrolled someone my age had bought a new big house, had a baby, was getting ready to have a baby, was planning a wedding or got the job of their dreams.<br /><br />By the 30th status or so, I began to cry. Like give me a bowl of ice cream so I can stick my head in it cry. It was then that I began to see my keeping-up-with-the-Joneses was beginning to take its toll. That I have been apologizing for my life for years now, hoping that one day I will have something to back it up.<br /><br />So here's the truth: I live in a very small apartment. Parts of it are cinderblock. Whereas before I may have said, "Don't judge it by the outside, it's a little shady," I now say-- judge it all you want. It may seem scary to you, but I have a redneck guy with a gun above me and a lady who looks like Madea across from me so I feel safe. <br /><br />As far as my current employment, I don't "accumulate the financial reports for food services and assist the Principal in administrative tasks." I help check the kids into the cafeteria. I file papers and run errands. I mop slush off the floor after school. I barely make ends meet. I may joke about why I don't wear a hairnet, but then I go in the bathroom and cry.<br /><br />I've had my car since high school. The steering wheel squeaks, my brakes squeak and my driver's seat looks like someone slashed it with a knife (no, it did not happen at my apartment complex!) But I love that thing. It has been ever faithful to me and seen me through many wrong turns, poor decisions and close calls with death.<br /><br />This has been immensely therapeutic. Why? Because I'm tired of trying to keep up. I'm tired of being envious of things that I don't have. I'm tired of trying to impress people who wouldn't even be impressed with better answers. The problem is not theirs-- it's mine. I am responsible for my happiness and for where I find my joy. And it's obvious that houses, cars, and careers are not where it's at. <br /><br />Truthfully, no one has been a harsher critic than I have been. I put thoughts of scrutiny and disappointment in your head that probably weren't even there. I felt like I was ranking in below my potential and have carefully avoided favorite professors and mentors, their expressions of disgust an illusion depicting my own face. Instead of being happy for you, I secretly coveted your blessings.<br /><br />People who so routinely say, "Ya gotta start somewhere" to people dealing with this problem don't quite grasp the severity of the issue. Instead, at first, I would say: Quit apologizing for your life. Stop putting yourself and everything you own down before you even give other people the chance to. Don't wait for everything to line up before you start your life. It will pass you by before you do.<br /><br />So here's me saying I'm NOT sorry. I don't want to be here forever-- actually, I want to be out say...tomorrow. But I can't. But I'm not going to hibernate until I have something that the world says is presentable. So, feel free to join me in my old Toyota, meet my new neighborhood and visit my place of work. <br /><br />And I can breathe easily knowing I don't have to put on a show anymore, complete with unicorns and Mario Kart characters.Ashtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11609667280015021748noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-310327386789445983.post-45432955294159208592011-10-03T18:20:00.003-05:002011-10-03T19:09:23.402-05:00Stuck in the Gray<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghyYL3kaGbWhpf6P27PpBZCPqo1tS1YcL1_SGP6QwN2YjwkUZwDtbxmR06_vyGB23YYW7Lc1RJy5xfzL1rBEBK813Z7Zol_105RML_M3y8oUJOBK1xPueG1hJNCls01DzbtPdtTJP0Fc-F/s1600/greylady_0.preview.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 211px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghyYL3kaGbWhpf6P27PpBZCPqo1tS1YcL1_SGP6QwN2YjwkUZwDtbxmR06_vyGB23YYW7Lc1RJy5xfzL1rBEBK813Z7Zol_105RML_M3y8oUJOBK1xPueG1hJNCls01DzbtPdtTJP0Fc-F/s320/greylady_0.preview.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5659410171054499858" /></a><br /><br />I was informed today (as if I had not already noticed) that I am getting an increasing amount of gray at the front of my hair. Not only was I made aware of this quite loudly, but so was everyone within earshot. My initial, unuttered response was, "Well, two of these have your name on it, lady."<br /><br />That's right. I am convinced that each gray hair we possess has someone's name on it. I went to a museum in college and every tree represented a person who protected people during the Holocaust. Each tree had a name attached to it. Likewise, and less sentimental, every gray hair that pops up was planted there by someone who inwardly makes you want to scream.<br /><br />I have always been a patient person. I have always seen the humor in most every situation. As much as I strive to maintain this clean record of positivity, I am convicting myself of you-drive-me-bananas in the first degree. That's right. It's gotten so bad that the person doesn't really even have to do anything.<br /><br />I want to know when the Ebenezer Scrooge fairy snuck in and replaced my previous model with the gray, cranky downgrade. It's like things that I didn't notice before are now proclaimed through a magnifying glass of scrutiny. <br /><br />She says "like" too many times. He smacks when he eats. Could she really have any more hand gestures when she's telling a story?<br /><br />Don't act like I am the only one who has been around the same people for any length of time and thought this. You know that one more question from your cubicle partner or micromanaging action of your boss has been enough to warrant some hair pigment loss. <br /><br />All I can say is thank the Lord for hair dye (Because you're worth it) and thank the Lord for his patience and endurance with me:<br /><br /><br />"For you have need of steadfast patience and endurance, so that you may perform and fully accomplish the will of God, and thus receive and carry away [and enjoy to the full] what is promised." Hebrews 10:36. <br /><br />Though every gray hair may or may not have been caused by a stressful person or situation in my life, I find comfort in the fact that God can count every hair on my head. He has shown patience for my faults, my repeated mistakes and the annoying idiosyncrasies that are wound into the thread that makes me unique. <br /><br />Surely I can buy some Nice 'N Easy and do the same.Ashtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11609667280015021748noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-310327386789445983.post-54791773728797876422011-09-28T18:11:00.004-05:002011-09-28T18:38:14.674-05:00Slush Duty<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipBN-zy6ibO2H9-6ls9u_5dcA3BGX1F3KblOouLnt4jlMcN0uTzjNPS299gVU4BftHsQ_4CzsumRUHmTC3AlFl-Dg4XyjnujlPpPRL1f2i6bwblivI8MjhlpcC8YR5-YSQR5HuAZq5M232/s1600/slush.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 198px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipBN-zy6ibO2H9-6ls9u_5dcA3BGX1F3KblOouLnt4jlMcN0uTzjNPS299gVU4BftHsQ_4CzsumRUHmTC3AlFl-Dg4XyjnujlPpPRL1f2i6bwblivI8MjhlpcC8YR5-YSQR5HuAZq5M232/s320/slush.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5657552375738955042" /></a><br /><br />Today, as I embarked on my afternoon slush-making adventures, things didn't quite go as planned. As usual, I carefully removed the slush puppy figurine that rotates on top of the machine. With each rotation, he smugly looks down at me, seemingly taunting, "Yeah, you're making 150 slushes. Didn't learn that in school, did ya?"<br /><br />I carefully mix my flavors. I once thought it would be neat to be a barista at a quaint coffeehouse downtown. Now I'm questioning whether green apple goo and cherry goo will be a harmonious combination. I have come to the conclusion that you could mix dirt with a slushy base and kids will go nuts for it. Another thing they don't teach you in school.<br /><br />The conclusion of my mixing drinks leads the way for the fun part: the lever pull. This is always quite the surprise because it can result in a streamline shot of syrup or a slush spray. Today, it decided to spray straight down instead of directly into the designated pitcher. <br /><br />My cute flats are now drenched in slush. I carefully walk to the kitchen, dragging my slushy foot as if it is completely incapable of walking in general. Step, drag. Step, drag. The worst part is that no one is in the cafeteria to commiserate with me. So naturally, I am grumbling under my breath: "Stupid slush machine. Whose bright idea was it to give kids slushes? How can they be responsible for slushes when I can't seem to manage the stuff?" <br /><br />Life goes on. I decide to pour it into the first cup. The juice has decided to migrate toward the top of the pitcher, leaving the concentrated ice mass at the bottom. Juice begins to quickly fill up the glass while the ice stands at attention until the dramatic conclusion.<br /><br />PLOP.<br />Plop. Plop. Plop.<br /><br />After Sergeant Slush releases them from their stronghold, the ice slams into the juice-- resulting in a splash. It was like a fat man jumped into my cup of juice, causing a large wave to erupt from the top of the cup onto the table. By this point, I want to punch the rotating slush dog puppy thing in the face. Like I don't want him to ever spin again.<br /><br />I think if it were not for humor, this somewhat untrue threat might have actually occurred. I've just had to tell myself that service is service. It's easy to serve when it is within your time frame and your comfort zone. Everyone likes kids when they're clean and they smell good and they're well-behaved.<br /><br />But I get the chance-- as much as I may dread it-- to give them a cup of joy.<br /><br />And that's a joy that is worth sharing-- even if it may be shared on the floor, in my hair, in my shoes and other places that I don't want to mention.<br /><br />Oh-- and don't be surprised if I have a public meltdown upon entering a 7/11.Ashtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11609667280015021748noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-310327386789445983.post-13790055386289499222011-09-14T18:37:00.004-05:002011-09-14T19:30:06.630-05:00The New, Old Me<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG6Sb9TKTfFejkWdJv8a92bbkr6ugovj-6CMoyoyKnYPuV-E6K9F82BN-0v9-yI3DyVIVGCaInRAOhBNrRtXjzVWEikdCQTMoZre5ytIEK7u8ooYH_ufk-iC5Mx0hNAtDsxMtLjX8AhcgC/s1600/Tired.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 222px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG6Sb9TKTfFejkWdJv8a92bbkr6ugovj-6CMoyoyKnYPuV-E6K9F82BN-0v9-yI3DyVIVGCaInRAOhBNrRtXjzVWEikdCQTMoZre5ytIEK7u8ooYH_ufk-iC5Mx0hNAtDsxMtLjX8AhcgC/s320/Tired.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5652364102719711090" /></a><br /><br />Today, during one of my breaks, I found a dark crevice in one of the hallways. I snuck in, sat in a chair made for a very small person, and stared at a wall. I have never been so content in my life. No one was touching me. No one was shouting my name. No one was getting syrup on my dress. I didn't have to hear the phone ring. It was then that I realized that the transformation was taking place. I no longer want to have fun, nor do I seek constant entertainment. I just want to wear sweatpants. That's all.<br /><br />I have never felt so far removed from the "college version" of me than I have over the past few weeks of full-time work. I used to look forward to intramural games that started at 10 p.m. and have coffee talk with friends at 11 to get us ready for a night of homework. <br /><br />I no longer try to find things to do to occupy my brain. I no longer want to be occupied. I want the vacancy sign to light up in my already overworked head. <br /><br />When you become an adult and start working 10 1/2 hours a day, you suddenly return to infancy-- where you are consumed with the basics. I'm driving home and I can't stop thinking, "Must get food. Must get couch. Must get sleep." Where are thoughts of an hour-long workout that once floated around in my thought process? Gone. I used to think I was one of those girls who "just loved to exercise." I would inwardly scoff at people who said they "just couldn't make time for it." The truth? I just wasn't busy enough. I used to wake up late, eat lunch and then go exercise. No wonder I thought I was Jillian Michael's best friend. I didn't know that riding an elliptical isn't fun when you feel like you just got hit by a Mack truck.<br /><br />I got invited to a concert a few weeks ago. A concert I would have DIED to see a year ago. I had to do a pros and cons list in my head to decide whether staying up that late was worth it. Luckily, the old me won (despite the fact that I made a list at all) and I went. Where's the spontaneity that once ruled?<br /><br />I know that once I get the hang of this new routine, things will become easier. I will be able to function on less sleep and less energy. <br /><br />But, for now, don't call me past 8 p.m.Ashtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11609667280015021748noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-310327386789445983.post-10862649991644123772011-08-27T15:29:00.002-05:002011-08-27T15:53:33.714-05:00Identity Crisis<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv09ijJ72nF1Hd1lNDJO-W1hMXKYvzbExBw5wHSlE_I-L33P4I0QMQUpOvcNSz76VGPBlXbfyj4UlTNHLDNcE575efO5j239hh1Vv1A0T8gJII2tg5ToiadYMvANXx28UBevy4aDwNHQ-3/s1600/children.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 252px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv09ijJ72nF1Hd1lNDJO-W1hMXKYvzbExBw5wHSlE_I-L33P4I0QMQUpOvcNSz76VGPBlXbfyj4UlTNHLDNcE575efO5j239hh1Vv1A0T8gJII2tg5ToiadYMvANXx28UBevy4aDwNHQ-3/s320/children.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5645635815912853170" /></a>
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<br />As most of you probably know, I recently got a job at Baldwin Elementary in my childhood hometown of Paragould.
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<br />Some of you may be scratching your heads, thinking, "I thought she was a print journalism graduate and had her MBA. And she's in an elementary school?"
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<br />You wouldn't be alone. You may even be joined by me. Regardless of its unexpected arrival in my life, it is a job in a jobless economy, and I am thankful for it. It may not be what I had envisioned for myself, but the experiences I have and the children I come in contact with will one day have an effect on what I end up doing-- this I know for sure.
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<br />The first week of school took its toll on everyone, especially those little kindergarten kids on their own for the first time. Trying to smoothly get them through the lunch line was quite a feat.
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<br />A sweet little girl, toting her lunch box, would enter. "What's your name, sweetheart?" I'd ask softly.
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<br />Her nose would wrinkle and her smile would slowly fade. "Um...I don't really know," she would respond.
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<br />"Who is your teacher?" I'd say, attempting to get some information on where she should go.
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<br />"I don't know," she'd say nonchalantly, as if insight into who you are and where you should go was simply a formality.
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<br />This continued for most of the day. Boys, girls, no one knew who they were. Occasionally, I'd throw out, "Smith?" and the boy would nod with a burst of enlightenment, "Oh yeah! Smith!"
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<br />I got to thinking, though-- maybe I'm being too hard on these kids. If I'm being honest with myself, I feel pretty much the same way.
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<br />Why do you work at at an elementary school?
<br /><span style="font-style:italic;">I don't know.</span>
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<br />Where do you want to end up?
<br /><span style="font-style:italic;">I don't know.</span>
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<br />Are you going to be able to pay rent and buy groceries this month?
<br /><span style="font-style:italic;">I don't know. </span>
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<br />I have a problem with letting pride get in the way. I want, when people ask me questions, to have a carefully formulated answer. Unfortunately, not many people ask me what my name is anymore. I have that one down now.
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<br />But I am trying to put a little bit of me into everything that I do. It may just be a stepping stool, it may just be future writing material, but these "I don't knows" will one day be ever present and understood in my life.
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<br />The next time you see me in the grocery store, just ask me what my name is. It's what I'm proud of, it's what I know and it's going to make all of this uncertainty bearable.
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<br />Ashtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11609667280015021748noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-310327386789445983.post-19687901030548313392011-08-17T20:37:00.005-05:002011-08-17T20:56:04.000-05:00A Little Help<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-8dpkc1013Tq5hCXgqFEoFBg8BB-sC5-BWaFrehn402HFybSd2576dTfEk7zTrBQ7TB1tU0-V7FHtFVVNj3nrfjWMRBSKw4_AT9PAVz9c5hIHt8G46ehSYU-9JoEJp8Ne_4VzMZs37J8Q/s1600/help.png"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 211px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-8dpkc1013Tq5hCXgqFEoFBg8BB-sC5-BWaFrehn402HFybSd2576dTfEk7zTrBQ7TB1tU0-V7FHtFVVNj3nrfjWMRBSKw4_AT9PAVz9c5hIHt8G46ehSYU-9JoEJp8Ne_4VzMZs37J8Q/s320/help.png" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5642004329113904034" /></a>
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<br />You're not imagining things. It has indeed been FOREVER since I updated this blog. Blame no internet. Blame whatever you want-- but I have once again neglected my love of writing.
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<br />I once again found unconventional inspiration to begin anew. I watched "The Help" this afternoon and found myself relating to Skeeter, the heroine and aspiring journalist in the film. She sees injustice, she sees a problem-- and she wants to expose it. She uses her compassion for other people to fuel her writing material.
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<br />I realize that this blog hasn't started a movement. It hasn't fought mistreatment or changed the world.
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<br />But it is my truth. And it is my story. And, like the book, it is an avenue to personal freedom.
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<br />I got a little lost. I strayed from the path. It seems that I just needed a little shove, a little help.
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<br />Ashtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11609667280015021748noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-310327386789445983.post-40246841319296438552011-01-30T19:36:00.007-06:002011-01-30T19:51:46.975-06:00Groovy.This is the closest "The Fabulous Familiar" has come to resembling my wonderful cousin Hannah's adorable blog, "The Freckled Key," which artistically delves into her arts, crafts, recipes and travels. I have taken on a little project of my own. <br /><br />Being a poor graduate, I've had to kind of make the best of free stuff. My grandparents gave me some of their 70s furniture that resided in their game room. I was a little worried about if I could make this furniture work with my style, but I think I have managed to make it happen. Pretty good for the mean time. :) <br /><br />Check out some pictures. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZisERPmFrS9dDYwuGOUZLzenJMUQwIr8GV6Oh1WO4aQR-QIBAzy4BkjyQcvLx7pXa31uCnOGEVXECett4F9RkB4mZIDxE_EkdE4zeUpON4UvFSQ1RZMnM6Oc1xN8V01Iw_gRgwyk_IPZH/s1600/room5.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZisERPmFrS9dDYwuGOUZLzenJMUQwIr8GV6Oh1WO4aQR-QIBAzy4BkjyQcvLx7pXa31uCnOGEVXECett4F9RkB4mZIDxE_EkdE4zeUpON4UvFSQ1RZMnM6Oc1xN8V01Iw_gRgwyk_IPZH/s320/room5.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5568160175451712642" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOJ6GFOn6-UBQQDAvFX55Ait70DP2aWt7iTSzY9_YU9JxaZOSJVDvw0U4v8DtdRjgg0Ok9RhN61Hxkt_ylVveAY7ZbWiZ7uYMWfAqm0CNZWF-WqmXaAyn9x65IB6jvdsLG3R_gIOx-ofv8/s1600/room4.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOJ6GFOn6-UBQQDAvFX55Ait70DP2aWt7iTSzY9_YU9JxaZOSJVDvw0U4v8DtdRjgg0Ok9RhN61Hxkt_ylVveAY7ZbWiZ7uYMWfAqm0CNZWF-WqmXaAyn9x65IB6jvdsLG3R_gIOx-ofv8/s320/room4.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5568160593160352562" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjijdPJQhKYRWcsZjgLZvUtzJJ4KmcIme55PFmXHM6UlLm5MU23jqk7zWVSlL3eCQSxiIs8-6O2gOZlUbh1KlRnns1wOcJxU6YoYItk4c_mNNIVXjiJBIWCU3b-adSRAVgIlTWnf23H1U0F/s1600/room3.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjijdPJQhKYRWcsZjgLZvUtzJJ4KmcIme55PFmXHM6UlLm5MU23jqk7zWVSlL3eCQSxiIs8-6O2gOZlUbh1KlRnns1wOcJxU6YoYItk4c_mNNIVXjiJBIWCU3b-adSRAVgIlTWnf23H1U0F/s320/room3.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5568160818263035138" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipFW34eRQMFOUA3oJtSgMu_y-vkntGhQvqURDk7ZqrhJBLPopucgXuf0NT24tYro1bnRhyQjtSU6WFCX7yhCDd2lvoqkCasuEU22YdTgJU6J1iy8wpgGbe2S3vbNoBaz6hAfySFzpXNrY1/s1600/room2.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipFW34eRQMFOUA3oJtSgMu_y-vkntGhQvqURDk7ZqrhJBLPopucgXuf0NT24tYro1bnRhyQjtSU6WFCX7yhCDd2lvoqkCasuEU22YdTgJU6J1iy8wpgGbe2S3vbNoBaz6hAfySFzpXNrY1/s320/room2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5568160987404308818" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLpuBvl5gzvKqZrokcsm1sPUvCk53VYQp6h0TA6pZp8evYRiGWhTpKNwSgNWcrOM5d91Hi09k3y3eqw7A8EMzM1iDQIwNVXKPyBsSlRAWYyHMXBMM4-ThYvl78tGL8Juhx6HCfLkBioQDd/s1600/room1.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLpuBvl5gzvKqZrokcsm1sPUvCk53VYQp6h0TA6pZp8evYRiGWhTpKNwSgNWcrOM5d91Hi09k3y3eqw7A8EMzM1iDQIwNVXKPyBsSlRAWYyHMXBMM4-ThYvl78tGL8Juhx6HCfLkBioQDd/s320/room1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5568161262073438802" /></a>Ashtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11609667280015021748noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-310327386789445983.post-55677174028466816102011-01-30T19:20:00.002-06:002011-01-30T19:29:16.866-06:00The Wind-Up Toy<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8GCBHpwhBcuZEXYdPVm2EJUWpAPvFPV5l8mzaK-DnezC6gTTpka4Hpg7ZKupfJZPonCN89O0Vp7rZCfOYBOY8zuq_YyNOzRb4OmWa872X6Nc9w8txOtS0w86VAQzc7OHNlqSkHq852Qi3/s1600/windup.gif"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 225px; height: 263px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8GCBHpwhBcuZEXYdPVm2EJUWpAPvFPV5l8mzaK-DnezC6gTTpka4Hpg7ZKupfJZPonCN89O0Vp7rZCfOYBOY8zuq_YyNOzRb4OmWa872X6Nc9w8txOtS0w86VAQzc7OHNlqSkHq852Qi3/s320/windup.gif" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5568155980467587378" /></a><br /><br />Sometimes, I must admit, I am like a wind-up toy. Stick me in an open land, wind me up and watch me wander all over the place until I stop. I will occasionally tip over if an object gets in my way and make that really obnoxious sound that alerts the nearest person that I am still wound up, but not making headway. Subsequently flick me back onto my feet and I will continue scampering every which way.<br /><br />I thought I was satisfied with this hurried life of mine. I felt that when my winding contraption gave that final click and I was stuck in a still, solitary state, that I would go absolutely mad. <br /><br />So I ignored the signs, the quiet whispers,<br /><br />Telling me to rest, to find a good book and curl up with it, to take time out to just talk to God. <br /><br />Instead, I stubbornly went after my own ambitions, thinking rest, prayer and solitude were for those less determined. <br /><br />In its place, however, I found that those who neglect such things end up with mono. And job disappointment.<br /><br />Both were like large stop signs to me. If this isn’t mono, it is truly its twin sister. It sucks all the energy out of you; it produces viral sores on the mouth and tongue, and slowly makes food lose its appeal (and for those of you who know me, food hardly ever loses its appeal!)<br /><br />I must admit that the first day spent in bed was not one of my best days. I had just gotten under the covers, coping with my new diagnosis, and the phone rings. Seeing that it is the area code from a job I had been wanting, I actually manage to answer with a voice that slightly resembles me on a good day.<br /><br />“Is this Ashton?”<br /><br />Disregarding my initial notion to say, “What’s left of her,” I sweetly say, “Yes, it is,”—fighting the gunk that is trying to clog my airways.<br /><br />My forced smile gradually begins to sink as I catch the main parts of a “We went with someone with more qualifications” speech. Before I could close the deal with a sense of professionalism, the doctor’s voice begins to ring through again: “I’m almost positive you have mono. We’ll do a blood test in 7 days to confirm.” I choke up slightly, but politely thank the girl for letting me know.<br /><br />Perhaps I overly share in my writing, but I only do it because I know others of you have been there. And I know that by choosing realness, I am letting you know that your thoughts have been thought before, your feelings have been felt before. <br /><br />I use that to preface the following: I spent the next several minutes calling out to God. I would like to say that I said nice things, things that could go in a book and inspire generations to come, but I didn’t.<br /><br />I was hurt. I was sad. And yes, I was a tad angry. <br /><br />That’s the thing with us wind-up toys. We wind ourselves up and then are disillusioned enough to feel like our mechanical, overworked ways are the Lord’s ways. Then we look ridiculous when we’re stuck in a corner, still moving our legs like we’re making progress. <br /><br />We don’t get to where we wanted to go and then we look up at the toymaker like, “Hey, why did I even work myself to death if I’m not going to get anywhere?”<br /><br />That’s when he looks down at us and softly admits, “You didn’t have to. My grace is sufficient for you, for power is perfected in weakness.”<br /><br />I am proud to say that the last few days have become better than the first. My throat has never felt worse, but my heart has never felt better. I am more fatigued than I have ever been, but I have also never been so aware of God’s strength. <br /><br />It took forced quiet time for me to realize how important a personal relationship with God is; and how moments of peace and prayer feed that relationship like gasoline on a fire.<br /><br />{“Most gladly, therefore, I will rather boast about my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may dwell in me. Therefore, I am well content with weaknesses, with insults, with distresses, with persecutions, with difficulties for Christ’s sake; for when I am weak, then I am strong.”} 2 Corinthians 12:9-10Ashtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11609667280015021748noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-310327386789445983.post-55527962484968916122011-01-19T12:45:00.007-06:002011-01-19T13:45:10.152-06:00The Job Hunt<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDStzmby2f2p7JNs3z-fjUVgz2JUA6X79zDjexycfj_WVsIl4bmt4ofl8oKokjg3iuxCb9sZdKwtwahHciYp6iDPt9e-8nR4NhWU5_BvvReNy-9cnHzxInfF-kzAKlC63iIebXCAKzN_mP/s1600/job+hunt.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 237px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDStzmby2f2p7JNs3z-fjUVgz2JUA6X79zDjexycfj_WVsIl4bmt4ofl8oKokjg3iuxCb9sZdKwtwahHciYp6iDPt9e-8nR4NhWU5_BvvReNy-9cnHzxInfF-kzAKlC63iIebXCAKzN_mP/s320/job+hunt.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5563982332557246962" /></a><br /><br />My black and white dress and red sweater hang up in the bathroom. I brush my teeth for an extra 30 seconds, nervously going over what I'm going to say. It dawns on me that shaving before an interview is probably fairly important so I quickly begin the process, staring down at my phone for the time. Realizing it's almost time to be on my way, I begin shaving in double time. <br /><br />A very sharp pain begins to throb around my ankle. I mumble, 'Great,' under my breath, figuring it was a tiny nick on my ankle. I go on with my make-up routine and mind preparation. I drop something on the floor.<br /><br />When I bend over to pick up the item, I see a pool of blood around my feet. Forgetting my earlier shave, I immediately begin to think I am dying. I have just begun the job-searching process and the stress has already taken its toll on my malfunctioning body that has gone into hemorrhage mode.<br /><br />I put Band-Aid after Band-Aid on the wound, but it is quickly overcome. I finally put a large bandage around the injured area. 'This sure doesn't match my outfit,' I mumble to myself.<br /><br />Slightly defeated already, I make it to the store. "How are you doing, mam?" says the greeter. I irrationally feel like he can see the bandage around my ankle, which by this time, has probably tripled in size. I take a deep breath and say, "I'm doing well, thank you." I give myself bonus points for saying "well" instead of "good." Surely they notice details like that, right?<br /><br />They ask me to tell them about myself; I wonder if this elicits my experience with online dating sites or if they just want me to read my carefully doctored resume aloud. I figure a little bit of both will suffice. <br /><br />Fast forward to the next day: <br /><br />I'm almost to the office and I look down and quickly peruse my shirt to see if any crumbs reside. I am known for getting more food and make-up on my clothes than in my mouth or on my face. Instead, where my sparkled buttons on my cardigan should have been, I saw nothing but black material. Irrational once again, I figure that my buttons must have fallen off for an initial second. When that made absolutely no sense, I quickly realize that my cardigan is inside out. Nothing says professional like, "I can't dress myself." I flip the sweater around, fall out of the car and apply pressure to my bandage to make sure it's secure. Leaving a half-mangled bandage on a possible boss's floor is more traumatic than a wardrobe mistake.<br /><br />I have another interview tomorrow, and I can't wait to see what my crazy life has in store for me. Everyone has their own advice for you before you enter the job hunt process, most of which can be summed up by, "Be yourself." So laugh all you want, but I am following this wisdom fervently. It's hard to let interviewers know the true answer to "Who are you?" <br /><br />The truth is, I'm not a fancy business suit, crisply ironed. I'm an outfit I hurriedly picked up at Target because the interview suddenly came up; I'm a bandaged ankle, but I keep on walking. I'm an inside out sweater that hopes my inner beauty outshines sparkling buttons. I'm a girl with broccoli in between my teeth who keeps on smiling. <br /><br />And one of these days I know I will find a job that appreciates my gumption; my ability to learn-- and laugh as I do. This process isn't easy. It's printing out resumes on expensive paper, only to be told to apply online. It's reading a description that sounds appealing and finding that the only requirement is that you can carry 150 pounds. It's showing up at a location and being greeted by barefoot, pregnant women who want to know "what you want." I wish I could say that these were hypothetical and that my resume is not displayed on my parents' fridge like a 1st grade report card. But I can't. It's life. <br /> <br />I need your prayers as this process commences. Not for un-bandaged knees and perfect outfits put together, but for a strong heart and spirit. And maybe when I see those qualities radiating within my own being, others will begin to see it too.Ashtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11609667280015021748noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-310327386789445983.post-70177214027329067842010-12-22T16:41:00.002-06:002010-12-22T17:18:46.191-06:00Sing and Be Happy<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghAQAsMF96qiIQkTc_rJdGI1i9zat_gHvVCW8tt_3a4xMugqurR9Ty2jFFTolf8cQwJyJaibLQTrriygBWUlJrmpVfYf_BsrT9E10rOqdOabNI4IXK7ZcinAGmlmDLrCBvkdWCrxPCYPEW/s1600/loramy.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 238px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghAQAsMF96qiIQkTc_rJdGI1i9zat_gHvVCW8tt_3a4xMugqurR9Ty2jFFTolf8cQwJyJaibLQTrriygBWUlJrmpVfYf_BsrT9E10rOqdOabNI4IXK7ZcinAGmlmDLrCBvkdWCrxPCYPEW/s320/loramy.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5553640812237579890" /></a><br /><br />The past week has been a very emotional one for me. I have parted ways with two beloved friends, one who was my roommate for the past four years. Considering most celebrity marriages don't even last that long, it was quite hard to see a U-Haul drive off carrying years of memories with it.<br /><br />The distraction of graduation and the chaos that surrounds it kept me an arm's length from a true emotional reaction. When I returned to the house on Sunday, however, I opened the door to find a giant space in my living room and kitchen. When I peered into the room that used to be hers, I only saw two mattresses against the wall. You can probably only imagine the cry fest that ensued. Luckily Justin (poor fellow) was there to pick me up out of the puddle of my own misery and assure me that everything was going to be okay. In between bursts of sobs, I let him know that a big chunk of my young adult life had wandered off without my consent; it was like a vapor that finally disappeared and left a gaping hole behind. <br /><br />Before she moved back to Indiana, we had a karaoke party finale. Moving into the house, without any furniture to our name, we set up our karaoke system first. We invited friends to sing with us and we had a ball in this vacant house that would soon be ours. Singing "How Do I Live?" on Saturday, however, found itself to be bittersweet. How in fact do you say goodbye to the person who taught you how to change your oil, parallel park and not take yourself so seriously? Will driving around with my windows down singing country at the top of my lungs ever be as enjoyable again?<br /><br />I realized that throwing yourself a pity party is always the easiest option, but that it is no way to live your life. Instead, like we did the other night, you should go out singing.<br /><br />After all, I have so much to sing about.<br /><br />Especially considering that sophomore year I cried to my mother claiming that I was never going to make any true friends in college; that they were all superficial and surface relationships. That is when God began to work in my life and paired me up with a very unlikely candidate.<br /><br />She came from a very large family, mine was small and compact. She grew up doing hard labor, I grew up painting my toenails and writing in my diary. She knew how to change her alternator, I didn't know how to pump my own gas. We weren't friends-at-first sight. As she likes to remind me, I supposedly snubbed her during an attemped interaction freshmen year and on a sophomore mission trip my thoughts were consumed by the cute boys on the trip (that is probably accurate, unfortunately).<br /><br />Yet God had a plan for us. He knew that I needed someone to guide me as I came into my own; and that she probably needed to find a passion for scarves and accessories, as well as learn to deal with girls who often cry for no good reason at all. The combination created a circus act that I wouldn't have traded for anything in the world.<br /><br />Some call us sisters. Some claim we resemble an old married couple. Whichever is the case, we were a duo. <br /><br />The duo may have been split by distance, but in our hearts, our friendship still remains as strong as ever. <br /><br />Whenever I pick up a microphone, no matter how many years down the line, the dedication automatically goes to the girl in Indiana who understands that a karaoke machine is the only furniture you need.<br /><br />And that singing is the avenue to happiness and the bond of a long-lasting friendship.<br /><br />Love you Loramy Jane! Love you Ashley :) Thanks for all the memories!Ashtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11609667280015021748noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-310327386789445983.post-36551936188781230122010-12-17T18:47:00.003-06:002010-12-17T18:51:49.018-06:00Life with an iPhone<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihqlY-MeVpxofFk96oNpzPJAP286c1vz5dF5LQRkkH9k2by5cJplMDU6_xtC4BuWftEBJf_TvOyuRw8gSkqhF39NTKmH-L5vs4XmRSoQ0PKZpGdQ9uWtRt3EPDT1k9Yy-gQmo66tfCnMyT/s1600/iphone-parallels.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 274px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihqlY-MeVpxofFk96oNpzPJAP286c1vz5dF5LQRkkH9k2by5cJplMDU6_xtC4BuWftEBJf_TvOyuRw8gSkqhF39NTKmH-L5vs4XmRSoQ0PKZpGdQ9uWtRt3EPDT1k9Yy-gQmo66tfCnMyT/s320/iphone-parallels.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5551817915869848818" /></a><br /><br />Ever since the iPhone’s release, I have adamantly turned down the offer to get one. They were too flashy, had more apps than I could possibly need and they created cell-phone addicted zombies. <br /><br />One by one, members of my family began to get one. It started off with the technologically-savvy Kelsey and slowly trickled down to Dad, who upgraded from a black brick with duct tape on the back to hold the battery in place.<br /><br />It was when I began to sit in on family gatherings while they playfully bantered about the latest “Words with Friends” defeat that I began to feel left out.<br /><br />It was like family game night, yet I wasn’t awarded a game piece.<br /><br />My mother saw this unfairness and bought one for me for graduation. People would say that opening that box and laying eyes on that shiny, black rectangle of joy is not anywhere comparable to peering into the face of your newborn in the delivery room for the first time. <br /><br />I have yet to look into the face of my own baby so I am going to, for the time being, say it was fairly equivalent in initial excitement and pride.<br />Though I felt slightly hypocritical for buying into a device I previously scoffed at, I still promised myself that it would just be like any other phone; and would not subsequently fill up my thoughts.<br /><br />Wrong.<br /><br />It changes you.<br /> <br />My dad now plugs in what he eats into his iPhone calorie calculator. He plays “Words with Friends” on his bathroom breaks at school.<br /><br />Whereas previous daydreams may have involved the next time I was going to eat, promotion to the job of my dreams or ways I could change the world, it now involves the next time I will be able to launch a bird via slingshot to kill green pigs for 5,000 points.<br /><br />I readily await my mother’s 10 consecutive questions by way of texting so that I can work up my typing speed on the touch-screen keyboard.<br /><br />Someone please check for a fever.<br /><br />The funny thing is, I am way behind on this phenomenon so my amazement often elicits a “That’s so six months ago” shake of the head. At least I’ll be fairly cool until the next big thing comes out.<br /><br />This device will in no way overtake my entire being; I promise. I will still communicate with the outside world and maintain friendships. That is, if you don’t mind getting beat with a 100-point, two-letter word on Words with Friends. <br />Otherwise, you may just find me huddled by my space heater flinging birds until I reach 3 stars.Ashtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11609667280015021748noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-310327386789445983.post-81254708919192674982010-12-06T10:52:00.004-06:002010-12-06T11:50:41.605-06:00The Joyful Janitor<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXFagrzNTaUKxbCz5SsVEl129Ap42rridy7JwN6HrTBLAd3fnZsjb3q64u6knItz5AXSzee_6utlgbu10SALTMnbKJ_hOP-R7I2TitNCIePHYqazabKPATlFd3hDduJk_KTReJB36-HYQN/s1600/SuperStock_1829-12396.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 215px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXFagrzNTaUKxbCz5SsVEl129Ap42rridy7JwN6HrTBLAd3fnZsjb3q64u6knItz5AXSzee_6utlgbu10SALTMnbKJ_hOP-R7I2TitNCIePHYqazabKPATlFd3hDduJk_KTReJB36-HYQN/s320/SuperStock_1829-12396.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5547627354084070530" /></a><br /><br />I apologize immensely for my lack of writing lately. I blame the usual culprits: school, work, graduation. More than anything, though, I blame a state of self-pity. <br /><br />With graduation looming and unemployment with it, I have dug myself a hole and climbed in it, toting my bag of "Woe Me's" behind me. I realize that sadness and a tinge of uncertainty is normal when you are parting ways with friends and a life you have become accustomed to. <br /><br />A constant looming cloud of doubt and anger, however, is not an acceptable response. But it was the one I chose. I half-heartedly filled out job applications online, knowing the whole time that I was not going to be chosen. I detached myself emotionally from friends because I knew I was about to lose them to distance. <br /><br />My inspiration to take back the written word came today from an unlikely source: the janitor.<br /><br />We have always had very kind janitors, but we have recently been sent a new one. He is an older man, with a Santa Clause beard and a hearty laugh. He happily talks to himself as he scampers from one area to the next with a vacuum or broom. <br /><br />I was buried deep in my Corporate Strategy book when he appeared at my desk. He smiled really big and told me that his German Chocolate cake and cookies had won first place at the fair recently. I knew I should probably finish my homework problem, but something about his spirit instead caused me to recount the humorous story of the time I attempted to make a three-layer German chocolate cake myself. Before you could say "new friend," I learned that he was one of three boys and that his mother insisted that they all know how to "cook, clean and do the dishes."<br /><br />As he left, he caught me off guard. He said, "Have a good day, Ashton." This parting phrase is not out of the ordinary except for the fact that I don't have a name tag or nameplate on my desk. He somehow took the time to find out what my name is and use it to make me feel special. It's something so small, yet so significant. <br /><br />I don't know this man's story. I don't know if he's ever been married or if he's lost someone he loved dearly. All I know is that he has a job not many would envy, but he does it with a cheerful heart. He even remarked to me, "I'm so glad I took the janitorial position because the food service industry isn't doing so well." He is so thankful for where he is right now, yet I can't even muster thankfulness to God for the opportunity to finish my master's degree. <br /><br />You see, a week or so ago, I wouldn't have even noticed him or made a correlation to my life. I would have shrugged off the silly old man who mumbles about my snack selections as he grabs my trash can.<br /><br />But today, as my heart is beginning to make a turnaround, he is a lighthouse with a broom in hand, pointing me in the way of non-circumstantial joy. It's easy to be happy when things are going right; it's simple to be thankful when you feel you have been given everything you asked for.<br /><br />It is in the silent times that this joy is most needed, yet those are the moments that I tend to toss it to the wayside-- only to replace it with sadness and regret.<br /><br />He will probably never be aware that he blessed my life today, but I want to take this chance to let the rest of you know that <em>you </em> have. I realize, for those close to me, that it hasn't been the easiest time to be my supporters and confidants. I appreciate your kind words despite my pessimism and your encouragement to press on when I wanted to give up.<br /><br />Consider this my new motto: <br /><br /><em>Ecclesiastes 11:9<br /><br />"Be happy, young [wo]man, while you are young, and let your heart give you joy in the days of your youth. Follow the ways of your heart and whatever your eyes see, but know that for all these things God will bring you to judgment."</em><br /><br />I am young, so loved and -- most of all -- cared for by a God who is concerned for the sparrow. Why I felt that he wasn't concerned for a living, breathing, talented daughter of his is beyond me. He cares about the wellbeing of a silly bird for goodness sakes.<br /><br />This isn't going to be an overnight process; years of negativity and venting aren't easy to overcome. I do see a need for a change though; a need for a constant state of thanksgiving -- thanksgiving that does not depend on specified conditions in order to take residence in my soul.<br /><br />It just took a little bit of nudging from those I love; and an encounter with a sweet man who empties out more than just my leftover granola bar wrappers; with it, he helped me empty out selfishness, pride and a lack of gratitude.<br /><br />And for that, I am truly thankful.Ashtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11609667280015021748noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-310327386789445983.post-89010917800115875622010-11-05T09:06:00.002-05:002010-11-05T09:32:09.330-05:00This I Know...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieQjGDT2VC7i_2Q8K9KwKUBE6VAgxxXDjYXcoioKoambGNJcXIHbPxUzyPeEWPb7BlPG63G4L6NQX8t4z11BdzAakHWLRvRCfwb5v1NIHe3uVLc1OFEWVk2MUjy2a1NiLGwUnnpLLI6AF4/s1600/to_do_list_crop380w.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 211px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieQjGDT2VC7i_2Q8K9KwKUBE6VAgxxXDjYXcoioKoambGNJcXIHbPxUzyPeEWPb7BlPG63G4L6NQX8t4z11BdzAakHWLRvRCfwb5v1NIHe3uVLc1OFEWVk2MUjy2a1NiLGwUnnpLLI6AF4/s320/to_do_list_crop380w.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5536067618919009506" /></a><br /><br />The class outline for the day may read: “Cover Chapters 4 and 5 from the text.” As soon as the teacher uses the segway, “Now on to Chapter 5,” I get out my blue notebook and draw a line through the number 4. <br /><br />Why?<br /><br />Because we are done with it. Because we said we were going to cover it. And we did.<br /><br />If I am making out a to-do list, I often include items I did prior to making the list just so I can draw a line through it and feel a sense of accomplishment. While seeing “brush your teeth” on a piece of paper with a line through it may not seem impressive to you, it somehow provides me with some sort of satisfaction.<br /><br />I set reminders on my phone reminding me to set reminders for later. I work from 8-12, eat a frozen meal from 12-1, take a nap from 1-2, workout from 2-3, go to my night job for the rest of the night. Every. Day.<br /><br />In other words, I'm a girl with a plan. I'm a girl who doesn't like to get off track. I'm a girl who flips out if you stick me in an unfamiliar situation, with unfamiliar people when I wasn't expecting it ahead of time.<br /><br />As many of you know, I had a pretty tentative plan for life post-graduation in December. I kind of had it in my head that things were going to be one way. Though I was a little unsure, it was a plan-- and I like plans. I like them a lot actually. I like being able to confidently tell people what's going down.<br /><br />That plan was kind of tossed to the wind yesterday; it's like I was sitting there reading this e-mail full of words, but all I registered was, "Ashton, get a new plan." It's like the whistle blew on the basketball court and Coach Moon was yelling, "Zipper" when he had previously told me to run another play. <br /><br />I think my disappointment lied more in the fact that I was left without a proper move on the chessboard of life than it was that I didn't get what I thought I wanted. God is whispering to me right now that sometimes not having a plan is better than having a plan just for the sake of saying you've got it all together.<br /><br />It's kind of like saying, "Well, I brushed my teeth today. Check!" instead of waiting out something that's really worth crossing off.<br /><br />I'm going to honestly admit that I don't have a real plan right now. I have no idea what's in store for me. But I just have to hold out and have faith that it is going to far exceed the crumbled up plan that's now in my trashcan. <br /><br />Proverbs 19:21 says, "Many are the plans in a man's heart, but it is the LORD's purpose that prevails." This is one of those verses that pricks the heart of self-admitting anti-spontaneous individuals like myself.<br /><br />As is probably apparent by now, I don't know a whole lot. I can't predict the future. But it is time to focus on the things I DO know. I know my Heavenly Father's love; I know the earthly love I am blessed with every day by friends and family; I know the peace that comes with God closing a door so you don't have to. <br /><br />I know that a beautiful spirit can't be broken by the likes of mere disappointment; I know that one day I will look back with a quaint, wrinkled smile and admit to my Creator that his Plan A couldn't have happened without the enactment of my Plan B.Ashtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11609667280015021748noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-310327386789445983.post-2084443038217342062010-11-04T11:33:00.006-05:002010-11-05T08:56:07.192-05:00You are What You...Watch<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCJebQ4T6XTGSBsJIpLytnEAZL_n_D1PPpt7x5t7Pd4wzWLBn68D5cO0LmWMiJWHVWjgZCQ64QgfRUETLT5Y3FvACIwBBiFMO2hoP3_-UjAkHp6hESSYyOUbzZubBZEp2tNHfGjIsSLdW4/s1600/the_office.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCJebQ4T6XTGSBsJIpLytnEAZL_n_D1PPpt7x5t7Pd4wzWLBn68D5cO0LmWMiJWHVWjgZCQ64QgfRUETLT5Y3FvACIwBBiFMO2hoP3_-UjAkHp6hESSYyOUbzZubBZEp2tNHfGjIsSLdW4/s320/the_office.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5535738680500743298" /></a><br /><br />I just read an article from “Advertising Age” that I found quite interesting. According to psychographic ad targeter Mindset Media, the TV shows you watch say a lot about your personality. The article went on to expand on popular TV shows and what people were found to tune into them the most. <br /><br />“Mad Men,” though I have never watched it, attracts creative people. According to the research, creative people were 41% more likely to watch than their less creative counterparts. They tend to be intellectually curious and consider themselves dreamers rather than realists. Advertisers who appeal to them include Apple and Audi A6, while Microsoft and GMC Sierra would be less likely to grab their interest. Often times, “Mad Men” viewers tend to be more liberal.<br /><br />While I would LOVE to recount the article word for word, I have decided instead to explore and dissect my own media smorgasbord. Every Tuesday, I eagerly await “Glee.” The article asserts that Gleeks tend to be very open people who believe that imagination and intellectual pursuits contribute to a good life, and that they go out in search of unique and varied experiences. Brands that connect: Volkswagen Jetta; brands that don't: Quaker cereal and Chevy Silverado. <br /><br />Hold up. It's like they know me. This coming from the girl who will open up about anything (I say as you read my blog), who is pursuing her graduate degree (intellectual pursuit), and who studied in Europe for a semester to experience the world. Looks like there is some reason that I sit on my couch each week singing "Faithfully" with a bunch of high school misfits.<br /><br />Another show I can't get enough of is "The Office." For all you fellow Office viewers out there, we apparently tend to think we are superior to others. They found that 47% of alpha dogs were fans of the show and that fans tended to prefer being in charge as opposed to being directed. Part of me would love to shout, "No! How dare they say this about me!" But I am quickly quieted by the MBA student who insists on compiling the paper every week just to make sure it is done well. And the girl who has to subdue her inner urge at work to say, "This just isn't practical. This could be done so much more efficiently." <br /><br />I only wish that "Law and Order: SVU" had made the list. Why? Because FOR YEARS I have had an adrenaline-pumping experience every time I hear the voice-over at the beginning and the theme song. I almost squeal every time I hear "These are their stories" because I know that crazy opening scene is right after the "Bum. Bum." sound. I used to watch the marathons for days on end and my dad once brought over a bedpan to the couch "just in case I needed it." <br /><br />Besides the obvious attraction, Detective Stinkin-Hot Stabler, I haven't quite figured out my life-long fascination with the show. Say what you will. Maybe I like justice; maybe it's my longing to help people who are in dire need of it; maybe I just like to watch a proper body-slam on the pavement go down. Whatever it is, I can't get enough of it. If this whole journalism thing doesn't work out, maybe I can always obtain a badge and become Olivia Benson.<br /><br />While plenty of humble people may love "The Office" and plenty of agenda setters may look forward to "Mad Men" every week, this study is still very appropriate and interesting in many facets. Take a minute to consider what you consume and why you may consume it. <br /><br />Maybe self-awareness is just a remote control away.<br /><br />For the full article, please visit: http://adage.com/article?article_id=146779Ashtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11609667280015021748noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-310327386789445983.post-65331831385270827822010-10-25T16:55:00.003-05:002010-10-25T16:58:03.220-05:00Interview with Papa<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeRBeGsdIElrVv-Zc8hhyHfC4K9pb6pJsKMYdR1W7iQ6SofpbziVSfS7QSGJSplUrY9ZfGHzcjdXKvkkZXw8uRgoZ4MMmpWH9PD5sTBuegkxS2usWxFqx4xJvCoE8F3u5lT3i5568saqmU/s1600/meandpapa.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 239px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeRBeGsdIElrVv-Zc8hhyHfC4K9pb6pJsKMYdR1W7iQ6SofpbziVSfS7QSGJSplUrY9ZfGHzcjdXKvkkZXw8uRgoZ4MMmpWH9PD5sTBuegkxS2usWxFqx4xJvCoE8F3u5lT3i5568saqmU/s320/meandpapa.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5532105855449865938" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">I am so excited! I was sifting through old documents and found this interview I did with my Papa a number of years ago. I wanted to post it because I think it is so important to just sit down and talk to your family. Find out about where you came from. Learn something about your great uncle you never knew. You may even find some things that surprise you.</span><br /><br />AR: What were your parents’ full names, dates of birth and places of birth? If you don’t know the dates, that’s OK.<br /><br />RH: My dad was born in Montague County which is in northeast Texas. My mom was born in Camanche County in Oklahoma. <br /><br />AR: What were their names?<br /><br />RH: Montie Elaine Jones and James Henry Huddleston<br /><br />AR: What were the occupations of your parents?<br /><br />RH: My parents did a number of things. They made their living primarily by farming, but also owned a country grocery store. <br /><br />AR: How many children were in your family? Where were you in the line-up?<br /><br />RH: There were two children in my family, plus my mom and my dad. I was the oldest child and their only son. My sister, Jerrilyn was the only girl in my family.<br /><br />AR: How much younger was she?<br /><br />RH: There was 3 years difference in our age. I was 3 years older than she was.<br /><br />AR: Generally speaking, what was your childhood like?<br /><br />RH: Generally speaking, my childhood was one of farming. My dad taught me to drive a tractor when I was about 11 years old and so I spent a lot of time driving a tractor. <br /><br />AR: What one or two stories do you remember most clearly about your childhood?<br /><br />RH: Of course, there’s so many it’s hard to point out one exact story. I think probably the way we lived during the end of the Depression was the one thing that affected me most because there was two things happening—World War II was coming to an end and the Depression was coming to an end. We still couldn’t get things and didn’t have money much. We would gather eggs—we had chickens out on the farm and would gather eggs and sell them; then we’d milk the cows and save the cream to make butter. That’s what we lived on. <br /><br />AR: What kind of relationship did you have with your sister growing up?<br /><br />RW: My sister and I got along pretty well. She did housework in the house and my mother and the rest of us worked in the fields. <br /><br />AR: Did you have any childhood pets?<br /><br />RH: I had a dog all my life that stayed outside the house. The first dog I remember was an English bulldog. He got ran over by a truck out on the country road there. The next dog I remember was a dog we called, “Badger.” He was part pit bull and part somethin’ else—I don’t know what. We had a lot of cats. In fact, cats would get so thick that we would have more than we could feed. My mother would actually ask me to kill some cats to get them out of the barn. <br /><br />AR: What area of Texas did you grow up in and do you remember any childhood friends that lived around you?<br /><br />RH: I lived on what was called the South Plains, which was in the panhandle of Texas. It was very level, very dry, very flat country. There was a set of twins that lived ¾ of a mile from us. They were the Nelson twins. We played together a lot. Mainly we built what we called rubber guns. It was a strip of rubber half an inch wide over a Y. We’d put the rubber strips on that, rear back and let loose.<br /><br />AR: Oh, like a slingshot!<br /><br />RH: Yeah, a slingshot. We played slingshots a lot and we hunted with our slingshots a lot.<br />{Phone interruption} <br /><br />AR: I think we were talking about childhood friends and the games you played. <br /><br />RH: To the north of us was a boy named Lyndell Kenley and he played with us too. Further north was the Carey boys and they were older than I was. The youngest was named Burl and he taught me how to milk a cow. I haven’t decided if that was the best thing I ever learned or the worst thing. I came home from playing over there and when I got home I told Dad I could milk a cow. He said, “You can milk them every night from now on and I’ll milk them in the morning.” So, it was a job after that.<br /><br />AR: What do you remember about your mom and dad as a child? Were they rough on you? How did they approach discipline?<br /><br />RH: Mom and Dad were very easy to get along with. My dad would have me go to the field with him to hoe cotton and I learned to drive a factor. Mom really had to do things like feed the chickens or feed the geese. Every night I had to close the chicken house and lock the door. I would always be so brave marching out there at night to close the chicken house, but the further I got from our house, the more nervous I would get. When it came time to get back to the house, I would run back as fast as I could.<br /><br />AR: What were some of your favorite toys?<br /><br />RH: When I was a child during WWII, they didn’t use metal to make toys so we built our own toys out of wood. My favorite thing I did was to take a 2x4 and cut a block about an inch long and put two skids under each side so that when I pulled it through the ground it would make a borough, just like these fields here looked when they’ve been plowed. It made it look like I had plowed with the tractor. That plus the slingshot were the two things I remember playing with.<br /><br />AR: What was your earliest memory of watching TV or listening to the radio? <br /><br />RH: My dad got us a radio, which we listened to at the house after the sun went down and we got all cleaned up in the evening. We would sit down, I would sit down in the floor by the radio and Mom and Dad would sit in chairs and we would listen to programs that were funny. One that I recall was called Fibber McGee and Molly. Fibber McGee always had a big closet and every time he opened his closet, all the pots and pans and junk would fall out of his closet. They had two black actors that were white, but they talked like someone who was black, called Amos and Andy—and they were funny. The program I listened to was the Lone Ranger. We mostly listened to the news and the progress of WWII. We didn’t see TV because there wasn’t a TV when I was a kid and the radio reception wasn’t really good. <br /><br />AR: What was your least favorite chore as a kid? What did you hate the most?<br /><br />RH: I guess driving a Ford tractor and cultivating was the least thing that I liked because it was only two rows at a time, whereas the big tractor that we had was four rows at a time.<br /><br />AR: What church did you grow up going to?<br /><br />RH: I grew up going to the Gordon Church of Christ, which was a mile and ¾ north of my house. <br /><br />AR: When you were a teenager, what did you do for entertainment? Did you just work or did you have time for play to?<br /><br />RH: We played baseball. We had a team made up of boys around Gordon and Grassland, which were two little communities south of our house. My dad was a manager, sort of like Little League now except not as organized. We’d just say, “We’ll play next Sunday.” <br /><br />AR: What kind of cars did you have growing up?<br /><br />RH: I didn’t own a car until I was a senior in college so at the end of my junior year in college, Dad bought a Plymouth. It was a 1950 model Plymouth and that was the car I had through my senior year at college. I was married my senior year so it was Maxine and I’s first car. <br /><br /><br />AR: Did you just work on the farm or did you have another job as a young man?<br /><br />RH: I would work on the farm for us and then I worked for our neighbors to earn money. I worked for one neighbor who had a farm to the west of us. He paid me $6.00 a day to work from sun up to sun down. <br /><br />AR: What was your favorite food growing up? <br /><br />RH: Of course, we ate what we could raise on the farm and we had the grocery store so we had a lot of food there. My favorite was probably fresh peaches, but we didn’t have those very often because we had to get them when they were in season. We didn’t ship food in those days like they do now. <br /><br />AR: How did your family celebrate Christmas and other holidays? <br /><br />RH: Well, my mom’s folks lived in Oklahoma. We went up there just about every Christmas. They would have a Christmas tree. Someone would cut down a pine or some other type of tree that they had there. We had gifts. I can’t remember gifts other than clothes and pants. The first thing I remember is that I got a little tractor with a little disc plow behind it. <br /><br />AR: Did you get spanked much as a kid or get in trouble?<br /><br />RH: It seems like my mother was spanking me every other day, mostly cuz I was picking on Jerrilyn. She and I were always having fights—it was never a serious thing, but Mom would spank me for doing it. Dad never spanked me—he would just look at me and we all would melt. I never did a get a whipping by him because I knew when he gave me one it would be a sincere, painful event.<br /><br />AR: Do you recall an embarrassing moment as a younger person?<br /><br />RH: One time my mother was making something and she needed some eggs so she told me to go down to the neighbors and get some eggs so I went down to the Kinley’s and got 3 dozen eggs and came home and I told Mom, “They didn’t have any eggs either. I went down to get the eggs and they didn’t have any. They said they didn’t have any.” Then, I flat out lied to her. I said, “But I saw them. She had some eggs. She had 3 dozen eggs on the table there.” Later on, we were in town and Mom talked to Bertha and found out that I had lied about the eggs. When we got home, Mom confronted me and asked me why I had lied. Mom made me walk down to Bertha’s and tell her I was sorry for lying. <br /><br />AR: What did you want to be when you grew up?<br /><br />RH: I think that I probably wanted to be a farmer at first, but then as I got older and looked around and saw what was going on in this world, I noticed that the people who made the most money were the doctors. Then I started wanting to be a doctor. <br /><br />AR: Do you remember who your first kiss was and what you thought about it?<br /><br />RH: I remember it very well. One of my classmate’s mothers got me a date with her sister-in-law’s daughter. I didn’t know anything about dating much but I went and picked her up after she had been in a play and asked to take her home. I took her home and walked her to her house, walked her up to the porch. When I got to the door, I opened the door and she grabbed me and kissed me real big. I started backing up and I backed off the porch—almost fell and broke my neck. It was a surprise—a very pleasant surprise. It was my first kiss. <br /><br />AR: In school, did you have any favorite teachers? What was your favorite subject and what subject did you not like at all?<br /><br />RH: My favorite subject was biology and science. I went to school at Southland so they only offered four courses a year and I had to take what they offered. The course I liked the least was English. <br /><br />AR: When you met Maxine, what drew you in? What made you want to pursue her?<br /><br />RH: Maxine, when I first met her, was very shy person. She was very gullible. She’d believe anything you told her. She had come from California to Texas to go to school at ACU and she was interesting to talk to and interesting to know. I just liked her for some reason.<br /><br />AR: What was her prettiest physical feature?<br /><br />RH: Her prettiest physical feature?<br /><br />AR: Keep it clean. {laughs}<br /><br />RH: It’s hard to say. She had nice, big breasts.<br /><br />AR: {erupts into laughter} I am not typing that! I am not! Let’s have a rated PG answer. Did you like her eyes?<br /><br />RH: Yeah, I liked her eyes. <br /><br />AR: How did you end up popping the question to her?<br /><br />RH: There was some mesquite trees out in front of McKenzie dorm and we would sit under those mesquite trees and talk. We were sitting under those trees and I asked her to marry me. <br /><br />AR: Tell me about your wedding ceremony. What year and where was it?<br /><br />RH: The year was the fall of 1957. September 3rd.<br />AR: Was it a big wedding or just a few friends and family?<br /><br />RH: As usual, it started out to be just a small wedding with friends, but Maxine’s mother and dad were pretty well-known through 3 congregations of the church in Sacramento and Chico and northern part of California so most of those people showed up. It was a very hectic day because we had the wedding outside in the backyard and spent the day gathering flowers and greenery and all kinds of stuff to make the yard look pretty. We spent that first day working for Maxine’s mother getting everything ready. After we got married, we went to Roseville. Then we went up to Lake Tahoe, which is the most beautiful place you can ever imagine seeing if you’re a West Texas boy. <br /><br />AR: When you first had your kids, what was something you said you’d NEVER do—perhaps something that your parents had.<br /><br />RH: I said that I wouldn’t embarrass my children in front of other people. That was one of the things that my dad would do. I would want a nickel to get a coke or a candy and he would be sitting around talking to the other farmers and I would sort of ease up there and tap him on the shoulder and ask for a nickel and he would say, “Boy, what do you need a nickel for?” He would always say it loud and he would embarrass me. I always said I wouldn’t do that. <br /><br />AR: How did you get each of your kids’ names?<br /><br />RH: Ronda was the girl version of Ron. I just liked the name Kevin and Paul came from some people we knew named Paul—when we were driving to the hospital, I was thinking of the apostle Paul. Chiara was named after a little girl in Tanzania. Every time we went to Tanzania, we would shop in the morning and get done about noon time. We would go to the hotel and eat lunch. The people that ran the hotel had a little girl that they named Kiara and I thought the girl was very pretty and I thought it was a pretty name. <br /><br />AR: What were the most memorable family vacations and trips that you took with your family?<br /><br />RH: Of course, the trip that affected my life the most was when we went to Tanzania. The trips we took with regularity was to Kingfisher, Oklahoma to see my grandma’s folks on my mother’s side.<br /><br />AR: Didn’t ya’ll go the lake quite often?<br /><br />RH: After the kids got old enough to ski and when I got to where I could afford a boat, we skied and boated a lot and all enjoyed it. <br /><br />AR: What leisure time activities were you involved in?<br /><br />RH: Fishing, boating, hunting during different seasons.<br /><br />AR: What role would you say your beliefs have played in your life and what would you tell your children about your faith?<br /><br />RH: They played a big role in my life. I was baptized when I was 13 and we went to church at Gordon. Later on, I went to Tanzania. Going to church was a big, big thing in my family. We did it regularly and we wouldn’t miss at all. <br /><br />AR: What were the most joyous, fulfilling times of your life?<br /><br />RH: Although I didn’t realize it at the time, it was when my first child was born. <br /><br />AR: Did you have any difficult times in your life that you dealt with and learned from?<br /><br />RH: I had a real good friend in college. His last name was Harrison. He had a subdural hematoma and he died very suddenly one night. He and I were studying in the library together and we both were married. We talked about meeting the next day and studying some more because we were trying to get in medical school. The next morning someone came up and asked if I had heard about Harrison. I, at first, thought they were telling me a lie for shock value. <br /><br />AR: If you could do one thing differently, what would it be?<br /><br />RH: I would do a residency in family medicine and become more of a specialist. <br /><br />AR: What have you learned over your lifetime that you would like to share with future generations?<br /><br />RH: Stay off of alcohol and dope. <br /><br />AR: Did you see in your own life how this affected people?<br /><br />RH: I saw a lot of people whose lives were destroyed by alcohol in the states and in Tanzania. <br /><br />AR: What were your family’s favorite jokes or pranks if they had any?<br /><br />RH: We didn’t have plumbing to the house. We had to carry water from the well to the house. We had a big tub that we used to take baths in and we would heat up the water and put it in the tub. One time, I remember that my dad got in the tub and was sitting there and it was a little bit cool—so he called Mom and told her to bring him some warm water. She instead poured cold water on him. He picked up the hot water off the stove and threw it at her to get her back! <br /><br />AR: Who was the family comedian within your own family?<br /><br />RH: I don’t know the answer to that. We weren’t a very comedic family. I guess Kevin would be it. <br /><br />AR: Besides family, what are you most grateful for?<br /><br />RH: My education would be the thing. I enjoyed being a doctor and knowing things—that would be the thing I enjoyed the most, although that was also a lot of work. Now that I have Parkinson’s disease, I wish I had done more boating and fishing and less hard work.Ashtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11609667280015021748noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-310327386789445983.post-58832056175283917142010-10-19T22:19:00.003-05:002010-10-19T22:23:36.607-05:00Serving up Social Anxiety<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL-QZWK1a_IopMJg8w-m9qNU6WrPUFXvjOE9kKJpzRlA6oh3alA84p9Wy0Ivx4Ld2L_7VsyBLWbQy8kEN47RXJJ_a2esm8y7u_94Wzi-DljbYrodK6vCTdPpWzduOWwboHu_J-QInNYWbc/s1600/chinese-buffet.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL-QZWK1a_IopMJg8w-m9qNU6WrPUFXvjOE9kKJpzRlA6oh3alA84p9Wy0Ivx4Ld2L_7VsyBLWbQy8kEN47RXJJ_a2esm8y7u_94Wzi-DljbYrodK6vCTdPpWzduOWwboHu_J-QInNYWbc/s320/chinese-buffet.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5529963298933224274" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">My family went to eat at our weekly Chinese buffet on Sunday, stirring up old feelings of buffet anxiety. I knew I had written about my fear of buffets before for "The Bison," and went on a search for the article itself. I decided to share where I think my true fear began. </span><br /><br />I am not a fan of buffets. The funhouse mirrors—set up to make the food supply look endless—along with the constant bumping and nudging from hungry strangers is enough to ruin the whole experience for me. As you head for the sweet and sour chicken, you are forced into this relentless do-si-do dance routine with Bubba John Jenkins, who is trying to simultaneously get in line for the chow mein. And let us not forget the patience that is required as you wait for the sweet little old lady in front of you to wrestle with the tongs and grab each green bean individually as if she is fishing for a plush toy in “The Claw” arcade game.<br /> <br />This phobia is very inconvenient when you are born into a family of buffet lovers. Almost every Sunday, without fail, we head to New China Buffet for lunch. A few moments of silent meditation, an inner pep talk and a deep breath is all I need to get my feet moving toward the crowds of hungry people—who all seem to agree that 25 different types of meat constitutes a light lunch. <br /><br />A few Sundays ago, I was minding my own buffet business when the dreaded do-si-do began with an older man. We were, for about 15 seconds it seemed, mirror images of each other. I would step right. He would still be in front of me. I would change directions—so would he. A few teeth showed as he creepily grinned at me, as if he was enjoying this game. Finally, in my Arkansas drawl, I politely said, “’Scuse me sir,” as I forced myself around him and headed for the rice. I could feel his eyes follow me as I made my way through the different lines. Suddenly—I felt a hand on my arm and turned to see my dear mullet-wearing friend. My heart stopped for a moment. “Hey, awallago (a while ago), did you say … ‘Squeeze me?’” he taunted. The laugh. The wink. My world went black. Was this really happening to me? The buffet was only $8.00—this was way more than I bargained for. <br /><br />I try to convince my family that menu restaurants cost more for a reason. Yes, Dad—buffets allow you to combine any selection of food on your plate. A cornucopia of colors, your plate can host cinnamon rolls next to corn-on-the-cob or macaroni and cheese that blends in with your pudding. Menu restaurants, however, offer comfort and security. I like nothing more than sliding into a booth and knowing that no one can touch me, accuse me of wanting to be squeezed or awkwardly dance with me as we try to change lines. A waiter or waitress in a classy black outfit will cheerfully greet me with his or her name as they pour me my water; I breathe a sigh of relief because I am free of the soda fountain disaster that buffets offer. Why do I always get behind the kid mixing all of the sodas together to make a “graveyard” or “tornado” concoction? <br /> <br />My brother, a football player, commented the other day that he likes the buffet atmosphere because it is an understood rule that you can run into people and cut in front of them as long as you apologize. This must be an unspoken, testosterone-driven law of buffet behavior. I, on the other hand, do not like to risk my life for green jello—despite its wiggly goodness. <br /> <br />Knights in shining armor, riding up on white stallions, are so overrated. Girls aren’t in a deep sleep, needing true love’s kiss to wake them up. Their hair isn’t hanging down from the top of a tower. Buffets are the way to go. Let your girl loose at Ryan’s and swoop in and save her from the scary masses. We lack the killer instinct to survive in the buffet world. On second thought, ride up in your ’95 white Honda Accord and take her to Doc’s Grill or Colton’s—even Arby’s will put her at ease.Ashtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11609667280015021748noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-310327386789445983.post-1204496334978109042010-10-18T10:29:00.004-05:002010-10-18T10:30:23.940-05:00Pearls and Playdough<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnfyCVahCg-oRI1rmwVSvGf0iS2_X3O6dxRgzey3rSwbkaFqdMKqs8QfdbUiFSkn1Q2rspH28l_r4rWXopjB3SkblWlZq_M6KCLRlhyLK9AO8gbpj_83mwDzb1ufemvDAM9-uAFg8YmrxD/s1600/june_cleaver.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 254px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnfyCVahCg-oRI1rmwVSvGf0iS2_X3O6dxRgzey3rSwbkaFqdMKqs8QfdbUiFSkn1Q2rspH28l_r4rWXopjB3SkblWlZq_M6KCLRlhyLK9AO8gbpj_83mwDzb1ufemvDAM9-uAFg8YmrxD/s320/june_cleaver.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5529408724924497874" /></a><br /><br />Most of you probably heard or read somewhere that Barbara Billingsley, who played the legendary June Cleaver in “Leave it to Beaver,” died Saturday at the age of 94. Her gentle, nurturing spirit has made her the legendary picture of the perfect stay-at-home mother and housewife.<br /> <br />Growing up in the 90s and 2000s, I have often heard her name used in a slightly condescending tone, referencing women who have chosen to forego careers as powerful businesswomen for the livelihood of the home. It seems that women today almost cringe if they are even put in the same category. I have even heard such remarks as, “Don’t get all June Cleaver on me.” <br /><br />I do feel like times have indeed changed and the home situation is a far outcry from the “Leave it to Beaver” set. I feel the need, however, to write a tribute to the modern-day June Cleavers and assert the notion that it is not something to be ashamed of, but rather a badge of honor that should be worn proudly. <br />As I have gotten older, my respect for my mother has grown because I have been able to see what a talented, brilliant woman she really is. When we were little, however, she traded in her stethoscope for cloth diapers and her European college travels for nights in at home with us.<br /><br />Those that oppose the June Cleaver stereotype often assert that this is the point at which women are settling; that they are not reaching their intellectual potential. Rather than an alternative path to life as she knows it, I am here to say that it is probably the greatest form of a loving sacrifice; and a humbling decision that will forever leave an imprint on her child’s heart. <br /><br />My heart also goes out to mothers who work to support their family and still come home and get on all fours to play with their babies. Though you may not be wearing pearls and an apron or have a three-course meal on the table when your husband gets home, your modern-day June Cleaver feats are an impressive display of the deep love you have for your family. My mother would come home from a hard day at the hospital and instantly be responsible for getting us to soccer practice, basketball practice, piano lessons and church events. When we got home late that night, she helped us glue our science projects together. <br /><br />Motherhood isn’t put together in a cardigan-wearing, pearl-decorated world. It’s messy. It’s Kraft Macaroni on the stove. It’s sacrificing your own fashion at times so your kids can look adorable. It’s consoling your kid after a big loss. It’s parent teacher conferences. It’s play dough on the carpet and watching “The Little Mermaid” a bazillion times. It’s crying when your baby leaves for college. It’s making their favorite dessert when they come home. <br /><br />Writing this with such passion, you would think I was a mother myself. I am far away from that day, but it is definitely an aspiration that I can’t wait to fulfill. I have realized lately that there is no shame in having two degrees and telling people you can’t wait to be married and be a mother. For a long time, I felt like that was such a slap in the face to 6 straight years of college education. Don’t get me wrong, I want to do great things with my career; I want to accomplish my goals; but I also want to leave this world knowing that I set up another human being to do the same.<br /><br />So whether you are a stay-at-home mother or a mom who dons work clothes one minute and a Gerber-splattered garment the next, know that you are truly fulfilling one of life’s great endeavors. Don’t ever let someone make you feel like you didn’t live the American dream; or didn’t use every talent God gave you in its right manner. You are the builders of dreams; the nurturers of dreams; the pillow of comfort when those dreams don’t come true. <br /><br />And that trumps a casserole on the table and high heels in the kitchen any day.Ashtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11609667280015021748noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-310327386789445983.post-45716126403490186252010-10-15T10:56:00.003-05:002010-10-15T11:39:48.999-05:00The Question Game<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTRxHN5060CJ6IjBaCZtHAwsPiGgAvXFm53mK3abmoEf8jCGgGRoAv6xqfLDY0HTV2RwYtZ32tYQm0THE0QBe6Xk7pqFHdvYcpslBxOdpHdsOhj2_Oam8AYD90vLP-BtD02K-75gN1C1sD/s1600/question.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 212px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTRxHN5060CJ6IjBaCZtHAwsPiGgAvXFm53mK3abmoEf8jCGgGRoAv6xqfLDY0HTV2RwYtZ32tYQm0THE0QBe6Xk7pqFHdvYcpslBxOdpHdsOhj2_Oam8AYD90vLP-BtD02K-75gN1C1sD/s320/question.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5528302510495280274" /></a><br /><br />Normally, I would assert that my blog is much too sophisticated for silly childish games like the question game, but I am trying to kill another hour of student work time and thought I would give you a little more insight into who I am. At the end of the process, I hope to look at the clock and see that it has turned to 12:00 p.m. <br /><br />What's the best thing about living in this moment of history?<br />>>I would have to say all the advancements in technology and travel that are allowing people my age to truly make a difference and gain a worldview that the generations before us didn't have. <br /><br />What makes you feel like a child again?<br />>> Any time I am singing, dancing or laughing, I feel like I have such a young spirit. Also, when I go back to my grandparents' house and get spoiled, I still feel like the little kid they nurtured and took care of.<br /><br />What've you learned from past relationships, and what do you do differently now?<br />>>I used to mold myself to fit the other person's expectations instead of truly being myself. I would also settle for a lot less than I deserved and accept treatment that was not acceptable. Now that I have realized this, I try to only stick with guys that love me and accept me for who I truly am. And I make sure they hold the qualities that are Christ-like.<br /><br />Would you let someone share your toothbrush?<br />>>I try not to make a habit of it, but if they were desperate, yes. You can clean them, sterilize them or get a knew one. Repeated offenses? Never. <br /><br />What are you apathetic about?<br />>>I am pretty much passionate in some shape or form about all matters, but when it comes to everyday decisions like where to eat, what activity to do, etc., I usually don't care. I'm more about who I'm with than what I'm doing.<br /><br />What was your last adventure?<br />>>My last BIG adventure was traveling to Greece my junior year of college. This past summer, however, I made a trip to California for a conference and the next weekend headed to Pennsylvania with a friend.<br /><br />Tell me ten things you want to do before you die.<br />>> 1) Ride in a hot air balloon 2) Be in a musical or play 3) Be an amazing mother 4)Write a book 5) Change someone's life 6) Go to Tanzania to see where my grandparents lived 7) Go on a long road trip and stop at major places in the U.S. 8) Become a morning person 9) Learn at least one ballroom dance 10) Push myself to a physical limit of some kind (half-marathon, etc). <br /><br />Are you vain?<br />>>I do like to look at myself in the mirror (just ask my roommates) but I wouldn't consider myself vain. I'm more looking for flaws actually. I do worry a little too much about what people think of me, but I feel like vanity is not a huge part of my life and how I interact with others.<br /><br />Have you ever had to talk yourself into doing something?<br />>>Um, like every day of my life. I am not a huge fan of spontaneity, but I am getting better because of my friends. I like to have things go according to plan and when they vary from that I often have to convince myself to go along. I end up having a blast but it takes some coercing. <br /><br />What day would you love to live again?<br />>>Any day of the family cruise we went on my senior year would be amazing; or my mission trip to Costa Rica (I loved every minute!) <br /><br />If you could have one superpower, what would it be?<br />>>I would love to have a killer intuition about people and what they were thinking.<br /><br />Who's been the most influential person to you?<br />>>My whole family fits into this category, but I would have to say my mother has been the most shining example and influence in my life. She truly has a great spirit and love for others.<br /><br />What movie do you watch again and again?<br />>>"While you Were Sleeping" with Sandra Bullock is a beloved favorite of mine, as well as "Return to Me" with Minnie Driver.<br /> <br />What's your most valuable possession?<br />>>All of my diaries, journals and blog books probably, as well as my pictures. Anything that is sentimental and documents my memories.<br /><br />What's the best advice you've ever received?<br />>>Papa Huddleston is notorious for saying, "Better to remain single than to marry a bum." That's a good one. <br /><br />What's your happiest childhood memory?<br />>>Any time all the cousins were together was such a blessing. I remember times on the lake with my mom's side of the family and then Branson trips and other visits with dad's side. Any time I was playing dress up was a happy time.<br /><br />What's the hardest life lesson you've had to learn?<br />>>That sometimes you have to enact Plan B. That things aren't going to always go as smoothly as you would like and that you have to trust God in the meantime. For a long time, I always got what I wanted when I wanted it.<br /><br />What did you want to be when you grew up?<br />>>I wanted to be a police officer or a dolphin trainer at Sea World or a WNBA basketball player.<br /><br />What experience has changed your outlook on life?<br />>>I think the death of a friend in high school made me realize that I wasn't invincible and that I should live for each day and not waste my youth. My trip to Greece gave me a broader outlook on the outstretches of the world. <br /><br />What do you love most about your family? Why?<br />>>I love how everyone comes to each other's aid in times of need and the way we can all reminisce and laugh when we are together. The love of the Lord has tied us together and they are all beautiful examples to me. We are all so different, but all those quirks work together. <br /><br />Where's your ultimate vacation destination?<br />>>I want to go to a tropical island somewhere, like Tahiti or the Bahamas or something! <br /><br />Would you want to be famous? For what?<br />>>I would love to write a New York Times Best Seller!<br /><br />What's the best compliment you've ever received?<br />>>One of the families I wrote a story about said that I changed their outlook on their son's disease and inspired them to change how they look at it from now on. <br /><br />What talent do you wish you'd been born with?<br />>>I wish I had the voice of an angel. And I wish I could cook.<br /><br />What's the most spontaneous thing you've ever done?<br />>>I went through the carwash in the back of a truck once. Luckily, it was the one without the wax feature.<br /><br />What's a subject you wish you knew more about?<br />>>I wish I was more sound in the Bible and history. I wish there was a way to be completely knowledgeable on politics, too without getting involved in the mess. <br /><br />What did people tease you about growing up?<br />>>I had nerdy sports glasses. Kelsey called me "zit face" when I hit puberty. Some girls in the lunchroom made fun of my large derriere. <br /><br />Who in your family are you most like?<br />>>I have my dad's humor and goofy faces, but I am very sensitive like my mom. I have been told I have the best qualities of both :) <br /><br />What's the most fun you've had in the last year?<br />>>Any fun times spent with my crazy roommates :)<br /><br />Do you have a recurring dream? What happens in it?<br />>>Though it comes in different forms, I have dreams where I return to something like a locker or office that I see every day and EVERYTHING has changed. I just don't know what to do with myself.Ashtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11609667280015021748noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-310327386789445983.post-19244735350422901882010-10-14T08:53:00.002-05:002010-10-14T09:30:32.096-05:00Blown Out of Proportion<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkBNDtc-B_T2CDvr8dKX6535k_IV6TiaRSgxQv-xRbjBVfyCk71gf_wh8RejcJAXbwzkyH3mWm6xIplZH5x73qikjJ5m56cAcXqcD3iuD-hkbJgFy4KvJTRLFWpuGRlfuYkbiLpO0806xd/s1600/halloween.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkBNDtc-B_T2CDvr8dKX6535k_IV6TiaRSgxQv-xRbjBVfyCk71gf_wh8RejcJAXbwzkyH3mWm6xIplZH5x73qikjJ5m56cAcXqcD3iuD-hkbJgFy4KvJTRLFWpuGRlfuYkbiLpO0806xd/s320/halloween.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5527899952327000594" /></a><br /><br />One thing I have found especially interesting about my neighborhood is the holidays its residents choose to celebrate. Last Christmas, I hardly recall much decoration from my nearby neighbors; maybe a wreath here or a Christmas tree there. When it hit September 30 of this year, however, I drove by one night and surrounding me from all sides was an inflatable Halloween park. A blow-up black cat arched its back at me with glowing eyes and across the street, air-filled ghosts wound up a large tree. <br /><br />I honestly don't know what possesses people to use inflatable yard ornaments of any kind, much less make their house look like a demon-possessed Disneyland. If you put tombstones in your yard, I won't be coming over for dinner. That's just that. You may be a kindergarten teacher, but I automatically picture you casting weird spells and brewing strange potions in your kitchen. And if the principal mysteriously disappears, I'm calling the gravestone nearest to your oak tree. <br /><br />Maybe I am just bitter because my mother used to dress my brothers and I up in themed costumes of three. After entering a Halloween contest as Wilma, Fred and Barney, I was considerably crushed when Kelsey won as Barney. The kid was wearing a burlap sack with an "X" drawn in black Sharpie at the neck. A bone was wrapped carefully in my tight bun, and I wore a large stone pearl necklace with my outfit. Did the judges appreciate that? No...they gave it to the cute little boy who looked like he walked straight out of a Gap Kids catalog. <br /><br />It is the adult costumes, however, that intrigue me more than the kids' outfits. There is some underlying Halloween clause that says, "When you can't be creative, find an everyday career and make it absolutely inappropriate." <br /><br />Have you <span style="font-style:italic;">seen </span>a firefighter lately? <br /><br />Unless you are watching a different news channel than me, I'm pretty certain they don't wear plastic black shorts, a tied-up shirt and a makeshift helmet. And seductively swinging a red fire hatchet does nothing for ya either. <br /><br />Or what about the men and women who sacrifice their lives on a daily basis to keep us safe? Let's wear pretty much nothing but a badge and carry handcuffs. Too bad NYPD can't even fit across the length of that garment.<br /><br />Somehow when you dress up as a real teacher (cardigan, khaki skirt and Earth shoes), people are instantly puzzled as to what you may be. Come in with a white button-up not even buttoned, a short skirt and black glasses and people go, "Oh my goodness! You're so a teacher! That is so adorable!"<br /><br />Most of my Halloweens included costumes that were easily--yet not so easily--recognizable due to their practicality. My dad, the band director, once put me in a band uniform, with a whistle and a huge Q-tip hat. After a knock on the door, people would look down and question what I was. "I'm a band student," I would say matter-of-factly as I reached my hand into their giant candy bowl. Or what about the time I wore my friend's mother's scrubs and splattered fake blood down the front. <br /><br />"What are you, darling?" they would ask sweetly, their eyes disconcertingly perusing my get-up.<br /><br />"I'm a dead nurse." <br /><br />I was brilliant. <br /><br />I remember the end of my best friend's world was when her mother made her wear a turtleneck under her Jasmine, belly-revealing costume. "But Jasmine doesn't WEAR a turtleneck!" If only parents today would "turtleneck" their little Hannah Montanas, Miley Cyruses and Lady Gagas.<br /><br />Whatever your opinion on Halloween is, you have to admit that it is a very bizarre holiday because of everyone's different take on it. For people like me that aren't really into it, it becomes prime people-watching time. And that, my friends, is the real treat.Ashtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11609667280015021748noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-310327386789445983.post-73555901226769966072010-10-08T10:32:00.013-05:002010-10-08T11:27:30.531-05:00The Real Issue<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ4ZH03E9tau7UfdKyG6bll7cIvWD9xuVg7UX-VIWsAUlT1KdCALc_DEvNMXLGFRP0e99gll-k1DHHXSp5tzq5Ifw0W37B_d1j2AEN0-lz-Js81P9kxSt6JRbEBcnjD46plYVBdK9YuHbG/s1600/susan-g-komen.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 158px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ4ZH03E9tau7UfdKyG6bll7cIvWD9xuVg7UX-VIWsAUlT1KdCALc_DEvNMXLGFRP0e99gll-k1DHHXSp5tzq5Ifw0W37B_d1j2AEN0-lz-Js81P9kxSt6JRbEBcnjD46plYVBdK9YuHbG/s320/susan-g-komen.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5525699056729632674" /></a><br /><br />I preface this entry by saying that I have indeed loved my time at Harding, and I feel very blessed to have had the opportunity to study here. I do, however, feel the need to shed some light (as I see it) on recent PR nightmares that have negatively affected the culture that the university strives to create.<br /><br />If a quote or verse could be painted above the doorway of the offices of those who make decisions here, I would look to Proverbs 17:27, which says, "A man of knowledge uses words with restraint, and a man of understanding is even-tempered." <br /><br />I believe Harding falls under the context of James 3:1, which warns: "Let not many of you become teachers, my brethren, knowing that as such we will incur a stricter judgment." Though this verse correlates with our accountability to God, I also believe it implies that others will hold extra magnifying glasses of scrutiny in our direction. It seems that one misstep or mistaken word lands us in the Arkansas Democrat Gazette and on most Little Rock television stations. (Shall we remember the Robert Randolph concert or the lottery decision or the recent Susan G. Komen vs. bookstore fiasco?) <br /><br />I think my disappointment lies not in the fact that Harding makes these calls; it's that they do it in haste and end up reversing their previous decision. I feel like it's only <span style="font-style:italic;">after </span> a considerable amount of flack that they later realize, "Hey, maybe we were too quick in making that decision. Perhaps we should have researched it and thought it out a little more."<br /><br />My only fear is that the university will begin to make decisions based on a perhaps very logical fear that financial supporters or benefactors will pull the plug at a moment's notice if they disagree with what was done. I understand why, as a private institution, this would cause severe anxiousness. I feel like, however, that judgment calls should be based on the current situation, taking all factors into consideration-- not on whether or not someone is going to conveniently forget to sign their check this month. <br /><br />Pulling Susan G. Komen items off the shelf during the prime "Race for the Cure" season without proper investigation was not a good move. People are donning their pink shirts, changing their Facebook statuses and remembering their loved ones who have died of breast cancer. Beginning with support and then yanking it away because of a rumored connection, then putting them back sends a crazy mixed message to the student body and the community as a whole.<br /><br />It's the same mixed message that is sent when Jason Mraz can perform on the Benson stage high as a kite, but Casting Crowns can't sing about praising God in the storms of life. It's the same mixed message that is sent when those who admit the truth get expelled, while those who deny are allowed to stay. It's the same mixed message that is sent when 20-year-old kids are thought to be mature enough for married life, but are not yet responsible enough to go camping with friends of the opposite sex.<br /><br />I am not trying to bash the school that I love or the people I respect greatly; I am only saying that I sometimes feel like in an effort to be held in high esteem, we end up doing ourselves in. Many of these instances remind me of Jesus and the adulteress woman that is recounted in John. <br /><br />An individual or group of individuals will approach someone with a complaint that is the modern-day version of, "Teacher, this woman has been caught in the act of adultery. Now the Law of Moses commanded us to stone such women. So what do you say?" <br /><br />Instead of playing Jesus and carefully revealing "the real issue" at hand, we tend to get overly concerned with the scribes and the Pharisees that are surrounding us with a question. <br /><br />I have no authority. I have no power or influence, even in the city of Searcy or at the university. But I am here to assert that we need to take our finger and begin drawing in the dirt. We need to not cave to the pressure of others and see people-- and specific instances-- as Jesus himself would. <br /><br />It is only then that the stones will begin to fall to the ground and the controversy will leave our midst.Ashtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11609667280015021748noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-310327386789445983.post-20592459587581148632010-10-01T19:33:00.010-05:002010-10-02T00:30:18.136-05:00The In-Between<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8jMrRbFZ4XwkU00ojdayStU4JM3hKoc10H60_o6o3vPkIM3FOUAuG6Er3_dOGJnnLXpmMBwp0-DpCc1j4_zHElQppgURJpyBdM67grwvGSGxiRp_IaKtkyv4X0WjLY4L2JMXxzDdMeds4/s1600/post_grad01.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 256px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8jMrRbFZ4XwkU00ojdayStU4JM3hKoc10H60_o6o3vPkIM3FOUAuG6Er3_dOGJnnLXpmMBwp0-DpCc1j4_zHElQppgURJpyBdM67grwvGSGxiRp_IaKtkyv4X0WjLY4L2JMXxzDdMeds4/s320/post_grad01.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5523298712965622946" /></a><br /><br />When I write about the in-between, I am not referring to the creepy after-death, before eternity state of being depicted in science fiction movies. I am talking about the stage of life that many of us post-grads find ourselves in at this very moment. No one ever tells you about this time of your life. When you're a little child, people ask you what you want to be when you grow up. You usually take another lick of your icecream, smile really big with your two front teeth missing and exclaim, "I'm going to be a doctor/nurse/baseball player/dolphin trainer/fireman." Fill in the blank with your particular preference.<br /><br />And for most of your young life you naively believe that this is how life works. You survive high school, go to college, become a {insert your preference here}, get married, have a family, etc. There is no question that these events happen smoothly in sequential order. <br /><br />Then, in your mid-twenties, you find yourself stuck in what I like to call "the in-between." <br /><br />This is when people stop asking you what you want to be when you grow up and begin to question when you are in fact going to get there. At least when you were in high school, you could tell fellow church members that you were well on your way to becoming a nuclear physicist. Most people don't know what one is (little do they know, neither do you) so they won't further question your ambitions. They will simply smile, nod their head and say, "That's great, honey. I wish you the best."<br /><br />After your degree is obtained and hunting for a job becomes a losing battle, you begin to wonder how to answer people's questions. I somehow find myself defending my life goals, almost in one breath as to avoid interruption. "So, what are you doing now?" someone might ask after a considerable absence from my life. This is the same person that I told years ago that I was a budding journalist, aiming my sights high.<br /><br />This is when professional in-betweeners like myself begin to shine. Rather than release the fact that you are in fact a glorified errand runner who gets coffee and checks the mail, you begin to talk about how you assist your boss in current projective goals. Your night job suddenly becomes a business experience rather than an exchange: answering phone calls and scanning for a month of electric and the luxury of taking a shower. I have started wearing business attire to work with power heels so that I can walk around Kroger during my lunch break like I own a bank or something. As the lady runs my milk, eggs and cereal across the checkout scanner, I whip out my debit card with the air of someone who has several zeros after the 1 in her bank account. Little does employee Rose know, I in fact wrote one freelance article so that I could buy the gallon jug instead of the half-gallon this week. <br /><br />A friend and I were comparing notes on this topic and came to the conclusion that we never pictured this phase of our life; no one ever asks you, "What are you going to do in the meantime of your life?" It's like we skip over it automatically. It's like we thought you could go up to the counter and say, "Oh, I would like to be a doctor, please" without actually considering entrance exams and the notion that not everyone is going to love you as much as your mama, grandma and Aunt Sue. That's the frustrating thing about job applications and interviews. There's no way that a one-page summary is going to present you in your fullest form.<br /><br />You've gone your whole life being told to follow your dreams, that you're talented and bright and the future has no boundaries. You read each rejection e-mail with tears forming on the brim of your eyelids and you think to yourself, "If they knew me. If they really, truly knew me." I want to tell them that I was Homecoming Queen in 6th grade. That I've managed to never break a bone and I eat gummy worms when I need to stay alert. I am a loving friend, family member and can recount an embarrassing story like you've never seen. But instead of a real peering into my soul, they see in boring Times New Roman font that I was in 5 honor societies and had a good GPA. <br /><br />My new motto for the "meantime" comes from the movie, "Post Grad," which is the theatrical form of my life and what I am talking about in this entry. One of the characters tells the main girl, "What you do with your life is just one-half of the equation; more importantly it's who you're with when you're doing it." The Lord has blessed me beyond measure during this time in my life with wonderful new people, experiences and life lessons. <br /><br />Though there is always a part of me that is slightly ashamed and discouraged when watching others around me make their dreams come true, I know that dreams come in many forms. I may not be a powerful business woman or journalist yet, but I have gotten to tell the touching stories of Searcy citizens; I may not have a fancy apartment, but I have had the chance to live with some amazing friends and make great memories. I may not be totally suited for several part-time, temporary jobs, but I have gotten to befriend some great people I never would have known otherwise.<br /><br />Sometimes, friends, the beauty is in the meantime. <br /><br />So...in the meantime, enjoy it.Ashtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11609667280015021748noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-310327386789445983.post-76327413738056752452010-09-27T11:26:00.003-05:002010-09-27T12:03:43.785-05:00Panty Hose and Perms<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN5VIdn_YA7AlVV0wVjndgzMNoh_7mR5MQ-n__5twOHiQ5daaYE7OUmzEWq-DoJbD1gbhbrKIRKrkXO3ybgyvZStC55KO6JhS8UqlFp2G59NWz6aZWd-FJrcB_tUOEMC0x054gX9b4WMtz/s1600/old+lady.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 250px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN5VIdn_YA7AlVV0wVjndgzMNoh_7mR5MQ-n__5twOHiQ5daaYE7OUmzEWq-DoJbD1gbhbrKIRKrkXO3ybgyvZStC55KO6JhS8UqlFp2G59NWz6aZWd-FJrcB_tUOEMC0x054gX9b4WMtz/s320/old+lady.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5521631442407068578" /></a><br /><br />As I walk around campus running errands for work, I have begun to see the demographic of the campus change. People are in the hallways laughing, catching up, getting ready for class. The only difference? About 50 years. <br /><br />It is indeed "Lectureship" season on Harding's campus, a time when ladies named Ezmeralda and Priscilla are allowed to roam the Student Center selling incense and special potions to cure your ailments. Any traditional hymn you've ever dreamed about can be yours with the purchase of a King James bible and a cassette tape. <br /><br />You can also spend your morning staring incessantly at the cryptic Christian t-shirts, wondering if your salvation depends on whether or not you grasp the deep meaning hidden behind their obscure symbols. I put my vote on an open tomb on the hoodie to the far left.<br /><br />My friends and I were at McAllister's last night and watched the two tables behind us. One table was full of older ladies and the table next to them was filled with their male counterparts. It became quite apparent that the women were humorously recounting their husbands' recent goof-ups, while the men attempted to explain why women do the things they do. One man, when he saw that his wife was chilly, went out to the car and brought in her jacket. Precious.<br /><br />Basically, I love older people. I guarantee if you just listen to them, your life will instantly become better. As I have walked around today, I have just seen how excited they are. They are reuniting with old friends, and going to class is an amazing time to brush up on the Bible and learn new things.<br /><br />All of this makes me wonder what I am going to be like, Lord willing, in 50 years. And how will my friends be?<br /><br />I have been sitting here, picturing my closest friends and I at the "Lectureship." This is what I have decided:<br /><br />I am going to be fabulous.<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">I am going to wear frilly hats, fancy scarves and lots of jewelry. I am not going to limit my stories or censor them because after 50 years of crazy moments, I deserve an ounce of redemption by being allowed to talk your ear off. <br /><br />I am going to buy pink jogging suits and join a gym. And take water aerobics and wear a swimming cap. <br /><br />I am going to buy a red convertible and whistle at the youth parked nearby as I speed past them, my floppy straw hat blowing in the wind. <br /><br />I am going to back up out of parking lots without looking. Because I am allowed to do that.<br /><br />I'm going to learn to tap dance and win the grand prize in Bingo.<br /><br />I am going to wear a ring on every finger and I am going to smell like the rose garden I have in my backyard.<br /><br />I'm going to drink tea, attempt to watch the news and then realize that laughing is more important and change the channel. <br /><br />I'm going to wear curlers in my hair to Wal-Mart and a housedress just because I want to.<br /></span><br />For a girl that is so worried about what everyone else thinks, I sure can't wait for the time when I don't have to care anymore.<br /><br />For a time when people will let me have my way and say, "That's just 'ol Mrs. Ashton for ya."<br /><br />Bring on the panty hose and the perms. I can't wait.Ashtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11609667280015021748noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-310327386789445983.post-43032653295712003212010-09-15T09:40:00.005-05:002010-09-15T10:29:39.536-05:00Snooze<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLQCH7dCQziJ67PQQvw7Xk7vNfSRkHFZ6FL7c0aDGZDqMkYsb4zZ4VLA6QWCdDUSRmoAIullx23OXxs7abfJ3fiQcaLhBpYzFtZSfd8puQWVSBQUv7t5NQcbtg0kFlo4EEnAs2PMKZ9uXX/s1600/Windup_alarm_clock.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 313px; height: 272px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLQCH7dCQziJ67PQQvw7Xk7vNfSRkHFZ6FL7c0aDGZDqMkYsb4zZ4VLA6QWCdDUSRmoAIullx23OXxs7abfJ3fiQcaLhBpYzFtZSfd8puQWVSBQUv7t5NQcbtg0kFlo4EEnAs2PMKZ9uXX/s320/Windup_alarm_clock.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5517151176200488226" /></a><br /><br />One of my professors posted a link to a news story about the University of Central Arkansas's new wake-up call feature for its students. The university apparently signed a $11,000 yearlong contract with a Maryland-based company that provides students with wake-up calls and various other test reminders throughout the day. As of the last report, 121 students had signed up so far after the announcement had been made. They expect many others to follow suit.<br /><br />The student center director compared the service to a hotel concierge and said it would be very helpful to freshmen especially who "are away from home for the first time and don't have parents around making sure they get out of bed for school." <br /><br />I feel like this is one more coal in the fire surrounding the assertion that this generation doesn't want to grow up. As if your mom calling all of your college professors to ask them about your assignments isn't embarrassing enough; now we have decided we need our college to wake us up too. Imagine the excuses that will come: "I'm sorry Dr. Smith, but Snoozeter set my alarm wrong this morning and forgot to tell me I had your test today."<br /><br />There are these cool little things called alarm clocks that someone invented. Also, most university bookstores sell planners. The cool thing about planners is you can-- get this-- write down when you <span style="font-style:italic;">have</span> a test on -- gasp-- the day you <span style="font-style:italic;">have</span> it. <br /><br />I was in one office on campus recently, which shall remain nameless, and some helicopter mother called the secretary asking all of these questions for her twenty-something son. When the secretary reported to the guy in charge, he simply said, "Tell the mother to have her son call me and we will work it out. I don't want to talk to her, I want to talk to her son."<br /><br />Though this sounded a bit harsh and the secretary didn't really know how to properly phrase that to the mother, I found it quite interesting--especially in respect to this topic. The man realized that there comes a time when you have to learn to fight your own battles; you have to start with waking yourself up on time and then expand that into getting a job, keeping that job and making something of your life.<br /><br />In my opinion, what this teaches kids is that they will always have someone catering to their needs. What boss in corporate America is going to call you at 7:00 a.m. to wake you up for the office meeting? Who wants a spouse that will forget to pick up the kids from school because you didn't call to remind them every day?<br /><br />I feel like, to the generations that paved the way for education, college was a time for growth in all facets of life. I often feel like my peers and those under me go to college because it's a fad. Like paying $100,000 for an education is equivalent to buying Ugg boots in 2008.<br /><br />Though I would be lying if I said that every class piqued my interest and that my attitude toward learning was always what it should have been, I still feel like college is a time for change; it is a time to dig deeper into yourself and find out what you believe. It challenges what you always thought you knew and teaches you that you are capable of so much more than what you told yourself growing up.<br /><br />This is a call for our society to cut the apron strings, so to speak. Ralph Waldo Emerson once said, "Trust men and they will be true to you; treat them greatly, and they will show themselves great." I feel like, in some instances, people only live up to your expectations for them. Is it any wonder then that our society sends kids to college with peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and the next second calls them lazy and incapable? <br /><br />I think, though this story is very small in the grand scheme of things, it is indeed an alarming wake-up call of its own.Ashtonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11609667280015021748noreply@blogger.com0