An Apology to the Expired Vegetables in my Fridge

I found this poem, deep in the heart of my computer.  If nothing else, maybe it offers a laugh.

An Apology to the Expired Vegetables in my Fridge

Oh Luscious Produce!

Your greens and yellows tantalize me

into freeing you from the supermarket’s crate.

Bedded in health, you grew under golden beams.

The hopes of creating something healthy, a salad

perhaps, were larger than the times allotted to me

for meals.

You are a well-meaning tempter, a seductress

signaling energy, nutrition, bettered life.

You beckon to me in the grocery store

like a shapely black dress on a sales rack.

“Pick me,” your vegetabled voice cries,

 “think of all the potential!”

And now, your stinking stench, your wretched wilted leaves

do overcome all other scent in my refrigerator.

Rolling fuzzy green fields

on your pored surface have sprouted

and queried by the roommates

the reasons for my “science experiment” are.

Optimism bought you; neglect will end you.

In a life whose hours are labeled “no vacancy,”

granola bars and shrink wrapped cheese define the norm.

So you, gracious green peppers and cheerful tomatoes

stoic lettuce leaves and earthy mushrooms

flowered broccoli and curvaceous bananas spotted brown

like a giraffe, are left to turn bad.

Your short-lived ripeness gives way

to ethylene overdoses and dark age splotches growing

increasingly larger.

Goodbye, my expired friends.

Your fragility and preparation demands

cannot coexist with the frenziness

of my life.

Mishaps with Monsters

I made a mistake today.   

Well, it ended differently than “mistake” typically implies, so perhaps a “misstep” is more fitting.  I broke nutritious status quo.  I drank a Monster midway through my Tuesday school day. 

And it had quite the effect. 

Now, my mental state entering the Monster-drinking incident was already quite delicate.  Finals week looms on the calendar, an unmoving stress sentence which denies rescheduling.  I tread the slippery slope of apathy in my classes; fewer credits this semester enabled a too-occasional lackadaisical attitude towards academics and learning.  Furthermore, my attitude involved something of a general questioning-of-life, should I be at this school, what if this is all chance, am I wasting my life-type of attitude. 

Yep, just average thoughts on a Tuesday afternoon in November. 

And then I drank the drink.  As a coffee-regular, caffeine normally pumps through my well-conditioned adrenal glands without issue, but this particular can of Rehab had the perfect blend of B-vitamins, Taurine, and Caffeine to send my anxiety and re-thinking and analyzing and general freaking-out into overdrive.  And so, in the middle of Doug Down’s 3:05 p.m. Popular Science Writing for Non-Fiction class, my brain catapulted into:

What if straight out of high school I had pursued a scholarship at Stanford or Columbia or Harvard? If I had worked hard enough, I probably could have gotten one.  What if I should have pushed hard for a different career?  Computer programming, instead of English?  Why did my friend Aaron die?  Why can’t I seem to get over him?  What was it about his light and knowledge, his potential, that I somehow feel lacking without?  What I am wasting ME?  What if Montana State isn’t facilitating my mind in the best possible way?  I see my inner greatness; is it being fostered?  Life is this giant room with so many doors, and we get to choose one.  And what if we should have chosen another, a different route?  What if the engine that operates on an entirely new level with an alternative fuel will not be created because I did not pursue Mechanical Engineering?  Or the case that needed to be won, to change the future of women’s rights, will not be passed because I didn’t go to Law School?  What if I could have made it big in the music industry?  Am I getting the best education I could, here?  Am I empowering myself to the highest extent?  But then there’s also….

You understand, right?  And so my frenzy of thoughts went on.  Class ended at 4:20.  My nervous daydreams followed me out the door.  My anxious questions accompanied me across the courtyard of the English building.  The fearful second-guesses shadowed me through the brick arch, as disorienting and unsteadying as the icy concrete sidewalks.

And then, a friend was waiting to pick me up from school.  One who listened to my flow of fears and thoughts and worries and unanswered questions.  Here I sit now, at my dining room table.  I am coming off my hyper-induced anxiety attack, realizing some core truths of which I needed reminding:

1.      Where I am right now is not by chance.  How prideful I am to assume total control over the circumstances and happenings in my life, as if my current state were the sole work of my doing.  Also wrong is to assume my life is aimless.  There is One who shifts my life each way, with a specific purpose always.

2.      The greatness I seek, to take the world and shake it, is not bound to one career trajectory.  Greatness is a permeating light which can shine through numerous materials, proving extremely difficult to blocked.  If I know God calls me to greatness, I cannot simultaneously believe He can be hindered by any happening in my life.  One the contrary, each event and change must be leading to that greatness (if I give it to Him.)

3.      The facilitation of educational achievement is based less on environment than my personal choice.  Am I engaging my classes?  Am I inviting relationships which feed my intellect and emotional maturity? Am I blessing others, one of the greatest ways to learn?  Greatness is not contained by environment.  If seeking impact, I must first allow other things to impact me.  Namely, God’s truth and my relationship with Him, alongside educational opportunities.

It has been a long day.  It is still going.  There is reading and writing to be done. 

But!

My greatness is not hindered by environment.  It comes down to this: do I trust God, enough to surrender my “best ways” to Him, and accept the present as my opportunity to explore the greatness to be birthed from today?  I did make a mistake today.  I allowed myself to entertain the idea that success in life is on me; Anjeli versus the world.  As if this greatness within was somehow my own doing, or that God would leave in my inept hands.  

That was my Tuesday.

Remnants

            It rained the evening of your funeral.  I remember, because the smooth sole of my heels slipped on the wet pavement as I walked from my car to the MSU Alumni Building.  It was how I felt: treadless.  Unable to move in the heavy downpour that had recently thundered in on my heart.

            I didn't know you for long.  I was attracted to your writing posted on our class forum before I ever saw your face.  I mentioned it as we walked side by side in Wilson Hall after class.  You said you admired mine as well.  You said it “re-inspired you to the core of your being.”  You were strong, carelessly handsome, laughed without concern, thought with great depth, and wrote with uncanny guts.  Effortlessly we would slide into conversations about our cavernous souls, the order of the cosmos, and virtue.  Your writing egged me on, sparking my thoughts into an ever-increasing blaze of idea and admiration.  We had a few meals together, a walk in the dry fields behind your house, and late-night study sessions in the Library.  I was touched by your intriguing soul, and the way in which you were continually confused at my self-consciousness.  Life happened, and we drifted apart come the end of the semester.  I thought you were upset at me. 

I saw you again twelve days before Spring Break, in front of the printers where I could nearly guarantee to find you (English majors print everything) and you gave me an immediate tight hug.  You delved into questions regarding my job writing for the University Paper, and shared with me your opportunity to go to London on a Senior trip.  You were every bit as ecstatic, intellectual, and intelligent as always.  My brief romantic feelings for you had long passed, replaced by great respect and desire to know the man you were.  I was happy for our brief reunion.  It touched my soul. 

Then over Spring Break, I received an email from our mutual professor, Doug Downs.  You had been in a fatal accident in London.

My friend, the one with the insatiable mind, the one who always doubted his own skills and pushed harder and harder to achieve greater heights, the one touched with the gift of amazingly creative and talented writing, the one with whom I fixed that high-tech blender that wouldn't start, the one who always encouraged and applauded my writing.

            You were gone.  Still are.

I miss those ugly blue shoes you wore far too often; I miss seeing them in front of the printers.  You pushed me, you encouraged me, you made me believe I could be something greater.  The world was touched for a very brief time by a very bright light, and is dimmer for its absence.  You loved the quote "Let be be finale of seem," from a poem by Wallace Stevens.  I now realize it means it's okay to let you go.  But it's not actually the end.

I miss you, Aaron.  You were touched by God’s incredible handiwork.  And in turn, you touched me.  

The Exposition

               I lacked any poetry writing skill in the most absolute sense...until lately.  A creative writing class seems to have spurred in me a latent poetry vein.  It's fun, and intriguing, and surprising.  And now you are let in on the secret, too.

The Exposition

Now that the storm is over,

we still shrink and hide;

avoiding the certain presence of rain

that had become so engrained into our subconscious.



Now that the sleet has stopped,

the thick masses of grey clouds

seem willing to yield.



What once seemed an impenetrable sky,

an impregnable fortress formidable

behind grey billowing towers;

is giving way.



Sunlight still hides, somewhere

behind cumulous and smog.

We will not speak of color

nor beams of light, for it is far too soon.



The stillness of this interim,

we shall not risk.



Now that the storm is over,

we bask in overcast skies,

in a grey ceiling—

for it is far better than the gale.


We shall not ruin the reprieve by wishing

for what could be.

That may come, but we don’t say it.

We hardly even wish it.

Our souls have begun to dry out,

and for now, that is enough.

Hidden in the Cracks of my Mind

             Focus evades me.  It slips away like the smallest rocks in a sieve, unable to be caught by square holes.  Here in the Library, I sit with my affects surrounding me—an open Linguistics book, study sheets, an empty iced coffee and a marked-up page of dialogue.  The test that awaits tomorrow will not move; will not come closer nor go further away. Yet even the assuredness that I will exam tomorrow, no sense of urgency presents itself.  Instead my mind wanders to the table at ten-o’clock, the one where he and I sat before his accident over Spring Break.  The woman a floor below me, whom I can see through clear glass panels, wears a teal lace headband which coordinates nicely with her blouse.  My mind wanders to a poem I need write before Tuesday, the focused nature of the woman across from me.  She has not looked up from her computer in the hour I have been here. Her black wire-framed glasses and pursed lips suggest focus; intention anyway.  It feels good to write again.  The most I have done recently are assignments for my Creative Writing class, which has proven difficult, because how does one assign creativity?  Certainly everything I write has glimmers of uniqueness, of the creation of something new; perhaps just to varying extents.  The hum of voices surrounds me; the loud whistle of steam from the espresso bar in the Library, and the incessant clicking and clacking of keys creates its own sort of harmony.  The harmony of minds, applied. Of those who wish to be something greater.

            College is talked up to be grander then it is.  At least, at many moments it feels that way.  A disagreement with a professor, dealing with frustrating University policies, or the inadequacy of many faculty to meet the needs of their students, all detracts from the grandeur and novelty originally experienced.  And then there are these moments, when not everything is line, but everything is in place.  When work awaits but it can stay there, waiting. When I consciously break the barrier of my mind inside my head and look out.  There is hope. And it's everywhere. It does not beckon, nor call attention to itself.  It wears no crown of jewels nor demands recognition for its existence.  But if you call, it will answer; unmistakably. 

Inviting the Unexpected

We shall not cease from exploration.  

And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time. –T.S. Eliot

I was raised on a small farm in the Mission Valley, Montana.  A small creek flowed through the valley that marked our ten acres of forested land, the terrain that was my backyard.  My two sisters and I would routinely adorn ourselves in princess dress-ups, and then set out to explore the “wild wilderness.”  This setting encouraged imaginations to run wild, resourcefulness to develop, and our sisterly bond to strengthen.  We allowed ourselves to encounter the unexpected and surprising, like sighting a spotted fawn or realizing that teepees are best built when fastened together before being raised.  Because our lives were not entirely planned or pre-consumed, space was open for creativity, discovery, and exploration.   

In Sherry Turkle’s Alone Together, she speaks of our current communications and technology culture, and its consuming attributes.  Provocative and compelling, her book stirred in me many realizations, ideas, and intentions.  This paper focuses on one in particular: how technology reduces the incredibly valuable act of exploration.  Often the greatest life lessons, most profound discoveries, best relationships, deepest conversations, and valuable character development come from the unplanned, unmediated, and unexpected occurrences.  Turkle states, on page fourteen:

“(Management consultants) say they used to talk to each other as they waited to give presentations or took taxis to the airport; now they spend that time doing e-mail.  Some tell me they are making better use of their “downtime,” but they argue without conviction.  The time they once used to talk as they waited for appointments or drove to the airport was never downtime. It was the time when far-flung global trams solidified relationship and refined ideas.”

This quote embodies the idea that there is value in unpurposed time; it is often these spaces that lend themselves to the best conversation, interaction, and imagination.  This past week I abstained from Facebook.  Originally I felt a bit isolated; the social media site connects me to my friends and family.  I now had blank spaces in my day.  Once purposed to networking, they were oddly empty.  It was tempting to fill them with a similar replacement, Pinterest, Twitter, Tumblr, etcetera.  Instead I chose to leave them open, and to see what naturally, or perhaps even fatefully, would fill them.  The results included: a spontaneous bike ride with my sister, laundry folded, experimentation with a stir-fry recipe, a phone call to my mother, and a conversation with a fellow student about the wonders of the outdoors.  I would have missed most, if not all, of these experiences had I been intentional not to “waste” time.  In my journal I noted, “It would seem that allowing ‘empty spaces’ in my life grants opportunities for the lovely and unexpected to fill it.” (pg. 6)  When all our downtime is filled with texting, online games, emailing, and networking, we do not leave ourselves open to involuntary beauty and value.  Additionally, we may also neglect our creative potential:     

“By far the number of new ideas occur during a state of reverie…It is a state of mind in which ideas and images are allowed to appear and take their course spontaneously…the creator need[s] to be able to be passive, to let things happen within the mind.” (pg. 272)

            Turkle continues to say that in our connected and highly digitalized life, these moments of stillness are “hard to come by.” (pg. 272)  When we are constantly plugged in, we allow no time for our minds to wander.  Oppositional to this is the argument that we can be highly productive when constantly devoting our minds to tasks, as seen through The Brain That Changes Itself.   This view is not entirely untrue; it is important to stimulate one’s mind.  Anytime we learn, including online, we are engaging our time and attention.  My purpose of this paper, as well as my new personal goal, is not to cease from focused mental engagement, but rather to allow times of “empty space,” to invite the unexpected.  To let our brains be free.   Although we feel the need to be efficient, the paradox is that often the best insights and ideas come during the mental reprieves.  Furthermore, Turkle references a study that linked the value of “downtime” to “maintain[ing] our ability to focus.” (pg. 167)

            My two sisters and I, the “three musketeers” as I named us, did more than just adventure in our woods.  We explored who we were, how we interacted with our environment, and our hopes and goals.  Nothing was off limits for our imaginations.  My three younger brothers now devote major portions of their free time to computer and Wii games.  Certainly their hand-eye coordination is improving, and I do sense camaraderie as they band together to defeat virtual enemies.  What I love more though, is when they build couch-cushion forts, go outside to craft bows from aspen branches, create robots from toilet-paper tubes, or experiment in the kitchen.  Poet, professor, and author Oliver Wendell Holmes said it well: “The human mind, once stretched by a new idea, never regains its original dimensions.”

Earth Tones

My Dear Audience,

I composed this poem in accordance with a creative project assignment, for my text-analyzing class at Montana State University.  We had recently been reading American Indian poetry, and I, confidently thought, "I could do that."  Yet as I wrote in their fashion, describing myself by ways of the earth, I realized it was not an effortless process.  I grew in respect and appreciation for the authors whose work I had been reading.  Additionally, I began to feel connected to nature as I used it as a vibrant and living dictionary.  I hope you enjoy this piece.

I am a stellar jay

flowing and dancing with the breeze as my dynamic partner.

Alighting on humans and locations

to catch a glimpse of souls hidden or be privy to the unseen heart.

I am a sunrise

quietly waiting and searching for opportunity to shine without warning.

Hoping to permeate the frigidity of night

with golden rays containing promise, concealing beauty no more.

I am a monarch

effortfully attempting not to camouflage my nature

But to be noticed and watched by a sea of shimmering eyes

as I soar by.

I possess wings

undeveloped yet one day they will expand stretching to fullest extent

When I have reached full potential.

But for now I flit by

no one can hold me down.

I am a mountain cougar

with a silent soldier’s resilient courage

I confront my fear

hesitantly do I approach.

Search my heart for control

then defend motives and purposes.

I resist attack

no one questions me.

I am a wolf

roaming the winter woods alone

Looking for companions

too proud and formidable to find any.

Strong, courageous, and intelligent

my lover is accomplishment

And to excel becomes my comrade.

Yet I long for friends

to be remembered for kindness

over intelligence.

I am an amalgamation of experience

relationships

choice

            and faith in something bigger than myself.

Highway Blues

A hug from my black labrador, leaving me with canine smell on a plaid blouse.

Gold in the sky, complimented by pink and orange setting clouds on fire.

I become familiar with lights against the night, my new companions.

Country music through old speakers, sounds of childhood.

Interstate commerce commence in their commutes.

A billboard for pancakes signifies approach into the city.

Vibrations and a tune notify my sister’s excitement to welcome.

New neighbourhood, new college, new work and friends.

Unprepared, excited, eager for awaiting adventure.

Change is about.