Worth the Wait: Wonder Woman, an inspiration! 

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When I entered the theater to see Wonder Woman I didn’t know my expectations would be exceeded so much. This movie I declare as a remarkable hit and has great life lessons beyond the magic of the theater. The movie Wonder Woman was so inspirational and absolutely brilliant. I was completely blown away, from the beginning where young Diana begins her training to going to the front to save people from suffering in the world to end all wars once she grows up and is faced with real danger. Not just because it shows woman kick butt. But because of how the iconic character of Wonder Woman brought to life by Gal Gadot. The dialogue was really well done, and Chris Pine was able to create a great character in Steven. His pack of misfits that he brings on the journey are also well developed. The movie is packed with action and brilliant cinematography. The scenes with the bath from Diana’s native land, juxtaposed with the battle scenes later in the film show the remarkable range this movie has. It’s extremely witting, intelligent, and entertaining. She says, “I’m willing to fight for those who cannot fight for themselves”. In this way and many others, Diana shows cunning, caring, and strength. When she is questioned, she says “I am man.” This sends a powerful message to all women about the strength that we do have as women that we need to embrace and harass to make the world a better place. Just because we cannot save the world like Wonder Woman because we don’t have her powers, doesn’t mean we can’t still to great things as regular people making a difference as strong, courageous women. The work that is so often done by men is done by one woman in this movie, and it demonstrates how that can translate to real life. We need to ignore those who believe we can’t and prove them wrong with actions, like Wonder Woman does over and over. It goes without saying that I say, Wonder Woman is a 100% worth seeing! I give it two thumbs up!

Ode to Ceramics (Throwback)

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To walking in late the very first day

To immediately start by getting dirty in clay

And meeting my complete opposite

But one of my best friends, Sammi

Ode to Anna’s laugh and

Not caring what everybody says

Ode to Erin’s vase and everlasting patience

Thank you for being skeptical

So I knew the quote on my cup was bogus

To Olia’s rose that by no other name

Would smell as sweet

To Caitlin Coursey’s cup of Squares

An array of sharp, yet shunning symmetry

Ode to Brad’s lightening and peacock feathered cup

To all his clean, careful, and tidy work

Ode to professor’s pot of Gold inspiration from real life

To Irena’s reindeer and fruit treats

Ode to her dragon

To Maria’s chimney and stunning deep planet Plate

To her Imagination Land Boat and love for brick detail

Ode to Patricia Pineda’s Vase with interweaves of vines

Ode to Bridget’s humor and unique pieces

To never surrendering to

The coil or the raku

Ode the Lime I-pod

The medley of music

That calms us

Ode to recycling the clay that doesn’t make until it is reborn

The method to my “madness”

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There are a few things (men, politics, and death) that are more complex than the psych behind writing. It is sporadic, impulsive, indiscriminately, timeless, impossible, and delightful. Writing is a journey with stepping stones: great leaps or tiny steps, it’s going forward that’s important. The steps I go through during a writing assignment depend on what kind of time limit there is and what type of essay it is. Is it a poem? Is it a twenty page research paper? I always start brainstorming ideas for the main point of the paper no matter if it is big or small. Ideas and inspiration come to me at the most awkward times (the bus, the bathroom, at a movie). I group together these ideas into a topic before the real work begins.

I usually do not consider my audience too much at this time. I work in such a fashion fervently, and although I know it is for a teacher’s eyes only, I write to a universal audience, hoping all my efforts were not in vain. Poetry is the art form I adore, and I generally can captivate a large audience with. I use elements such as rhyming or repetition in my poetry and in my writing. Another way that I mesmerize the audience is when I write to the sound of classical music. When I write it makes me feel like I am on a journey, and I am taking my audience with me.

Speaking of journeys, the method I take is not organized. Its profile fits only the essay to which it was assigned. My support method behind it is not a method so much as it is a vision. After I research or consider ever angle I deceiver and deduct which is not just the strong point but the one I want to bring to attention. Lists are very helpful way for me to find ideas that work and ideas that don’t such as diction. I must often change, flip and rearrange my wording but syntax is something I don’t feel I achieve too often. The last element which I find related to syntax is the proofreading, which I do. Usually I have a sibling check my work as well and in the past multiple teachers have viewed my writing. I am not too pleasant while hearing criticism, but I will take it and try to spin a better story. As for a four hundred work limit, I am not use to word limits. So checking the word count is now like stopping for gas on my writing journey. I cannot go on to write without it.

“For, in the end love is a language we are all desperate but not quick to learn.”

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I love you. Those simple three words. Some people might never hear them, some may hear them so often that they lose meaning entirely. In Beauty and the Beast those three words were enough to lift the spell and for everyone to “live happily ever after”. Belle uttered them and the beast survived and transformed into a prince. Three words. If only it were so simple (once you factor out living with talking candle sticks, being chased in the woods by wolves, and being trapped forever of course). Love. Although it is intangible and technically immeasurable it is a part of out lives whether we want it there or not.
It is important to see we do not choose love, rather it chooses us. It hears all sees all, but also is blind. It can be the best feeling or perhaps the worst when not returned for money reasons, status differences, ethical, religion or they just can’t love you back.. Although nowadays one can match themselves up on a dating website or go speed dating, or perhaps if you’re really bold go on a reality T.V. show looking for love, therefore the basic building blocks of love have far from changed, but rather people’s approach to love have shifted. I suppose it is when one can say “I love you” and know the other person might not respond, they have let down the wall and allowed themselves feelings. Well, in the time of my grandparents (although there were still arranged marriages) there was a key element that reigned true. This element of true love being forever may not be the same as the blind eye of love but perhaps a helping factor is that lack of sight. Although love itself has not changed between now and my grandparent’s time, some of the components of the game have.
A key building block in love that remains even though it has changed is not perhaps love itself, but the way it is expressed. People seem to feel a need to act well not themselves for reasons of scrutiny by their peers or others. It seems that old-fashioned love is exactly that – old fashion. Wearing your heart on your sleeve especially for males seems not to be the case but even more so in today’s times men will downplay how much they care about someone in front of their friends because it has become socially acceptable. Women on the other hand, seem to be carried away with having a boyfriend, although they may feel the world about someone else the following week. Saying “I love you” or how far you go in a relationship based on time seems to have changed. Although sometimes it is “love”, my grandparents would never behave so impulsively and indiscreetly about their love. My grandparent’s time had something which was unheard but soon became common place now which is P.A.D. (public display of affection) Most people are not interested in watching a couple exchange saliva in public. Although I believe this has changed more from my grandparent’s time to now, courtship has changed a lot recently and such be noticed.
The way we “court” our love is also something that has changed immensely. We know have the internet, personal ads in the newspaper, even speed dating all new different things people try as a means of frankly finding love I don’t know is there. They have success stories, but speed dating – jeez. It is definitely different then the time my grandparents met by chance when my grandmother went to visit a farm for work and he was the employer. Now, the ways in which we go about finding love have even found their way onto the internet where youtube.com was recently how a woman declared her divorce. Can you imagine something like that? Although over 50% of marriages do end in divorce in America they are painful and placing it on the internet seems indecent. This would not be done in my grandparent’s time, computers or not. From the time of my grandparents to today’s time, looking for love seems to have definitely altered its general view. Sure the old options of dating, of meeting people through friends or by chance are there, I think those opportunities are overshadowed by people thinking that they can just find love like it is a tangible, easy attainable thing.
The satiety of marriage no longer seems to bare its mark on love either. Getting married in my grandparent’s time was more than just about love. It was a bond, it meant forever. It just seems that back then people were much less inclined to marry for the wrong reasons. Not to say all people of today’s times marry for the wrong reasons but some do. There is the classic marrying for love, marrying too soon, or marrying thinking that having a child will mend the marriage. People seem to be marrying for thousands of crazy reasons and my rationale behind that is the divorce rate in this country. Besides ourselves, I believe the times can also be blamed for love just not being all it was once cracked up to be. Like in Jane Austen novels, love seemed like a magic spell and it is very reminiscent of my grandparents and perhaps a now old-dated version of love.
So it is really not love that has changed, but the way we view it, the sanctity of marriage, and our means of courtship that have altered love and furthermore marriage “for better or worse”. Real love although it will always be changing the basic concept or intention always will say the same. For, in the end love is a language we are all desperate but not quick to learn. It is this learning that forever changes the meaning of love.

“We’ll Begin with a Spin in my World of Pure Imagination, What You’ll See will Defy Explanation” – Willy Wonka

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(A blast from my past)

You would never think a room the size of a storage closet would have an allure. A calling. You wouldn’t think it would be worthy to mentioning. William Shakespeare once said, “No legacy is so rich as honesty”. Let me be honest, let me be frank – this room has enchantment, the glitter that hits your vision causing that magnetism, something I almost hunger for. Oh. I’m sorry. I haven’t explained. This is a cozy, claustrophobic room to the left of the ticket booth in the back of the auditorium. It is behind the main seating area down the double doors and camouflaging with the paint of the wall. A flat, mind-numbing shade but it’s acceptable. Upon entry, one realizes you have just stumbled upon the King Tut’s tomb of prop rooms, and that paint color no longer matters at all.

Just recently, I was asked to clean the prop room by my colleague and instructor Mr. Waites. The journey was nerve-wrecking, what will I actually be doing? Is this even worth my time? Is it going to be complicated? However, my group mates were polar opposites of me- they had attachments to the props, and knew their history. So after Steve and Beth (mostly Steve) figured out the suitable key and then the light switch went on like a hose bursting, flooding my vision with wonder.

I absorbed my foreign surroundings and realized the enormity of the situation at hand. While deciding where to start, my eyes became sponges as they absorbed all of the miscellaneous objects: glasses and gold goblets and international plates, and almost too fine china took up much of the right shelf. I became a private collector and a mother, meticulously handling and arranging the wine glasses so that each one had a partner. There, underneath the shelf of old mason jars, was a tin filled with a bundle of journals. Beth pulled one out and read aloud eagerly, “What is up with Peter Rabbit? What’s so great about him anyway? I’m human being. He’s just a rabbit, an animal, nothing special about a stupid, puny rabbit. If there can be books about this ridiculous excuse for a rabbit, how about a book about me?” That was the exact moment I came across a music box. This box was black marble with a white frame and played the most enchanting tune. The tune sounded like something angels would hear in heaven.

I sorted 17th century swords, pitchforks, canes, crutches and remarkable wands with azure streamers.

“No we are not putting the box of swords, canes, and other potential threats in the middle and then moving it to the right side to save room on the left!” I yelped suddenly my voice cracking from lack of use. I realized I hadn’t spoken in quite a while, which is rare for someone who loves to engage in conversation.

“Why on earth not?” Steve said confused. “It would save a considerable amount of space and you just said you wanted to save space, remember?”

“Let me put it this way. All of the fragile glassware is in that vicinity. If someone pulled something such a sword out in a back handed motion and went too far the disaster of glasses shattering everywhere would be unavoidable.”  I demonstrated this potential motion after my epiphany, and we all were in accordance.

Beth read to us from the journal about the hate of Peter Rabbit, me completely confused as to who has time to write such an expository. Now, telephones, adorable tea sets, and delicate tiffany bags saturated in dust and memories. Skulls, oversized Q-tips, polished silverware, and bitter smelling champagne bottles, things you won’t come across just anywhere.

Now we were immersing ourselves in work. The two antique shelves in the back vicinity of the room were so trim, the mother was proud of her children, the private collector satisfied. Tights in Nordstrom boxes, blue jars, boxes of pure imagination were in every nook and cranny. The dust was beginning to pester me. It was not easily visible, but when I blew, I got a stale coffee taste, the dust momentarily suffocating my lungs with gray flakes.

We moved crates out and rearranged the back two shelves. The shelves probably could have been a prop they were so amazingly well worn. These amazing stripped vases had lost their luster. A ship made entirely out of K- NEX. A bright fluorescent ship sailed to wherever my mind wanders. There was much wonder, bi-focals from long ago and chairs tousled with age. Once that was all structured, the crates found a place to dwell in this fun house.

Then Beth completely smothered me then herself, with glitter, my arms acting with the light as if to say, “I sparkle, I shine with a magic that’s all mine.” French signs fresh from the spring play; flags caked in dust. Old Technology and Beth reading what the Hell is up with Peter Rabbit (Wow. Someone has a bone to pick with poor Peter? There was silk, purple cloth (a purple that makes you smile a little) and the intangible quality of understanding.

The one thing that every object in this amazing island had was potential. Everything was covered, soaked in potential. So as I exited with pipes, electric outlets, a library book (Life of Pi) and a stool, I realized how much wonder fills that room. I notice that loneliness does not exist in this room. I turn on the music box just one more time, the tune, a lovely gentle gasp of life. I tenderly wound the bottom, caressing the marble, wishing I owned such a charming device as this. I hope get to visit my children again soon.

The Christmas suitcase -Magic

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The spellbinding suitcase

Appropriately scarlet in color

That splash of burgundy wine add to the allure

There was magic within

Every kind of wrapping paper was a win

Streamers and ribbon by the yard

Spill out of every corner as soon as you begin to unzip it

Being an aesthetically pleasing gift was not hard

The glitter and the satin nametags

Rolls of green and crimson and gold

Were something to behold

When I opened the zipper and peered inside

I was happy to abide by my mom’s wishes to find

The most beautiful paper

Which was a dilemma; they were all the epitome of beauty

So I closed the suit carrying what I found to be the only solution

One of everything, some silver, some gold, some green

All of it against the wall to lean

Until I venture here once more

What goes through my mind when I write…

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The Method of my “Madness”

There are a few things (men, politics, and death) that are more complex than the psych behind writing. It is sporadic, impulsive, indiscriminately, timeless, impossible, and delightful. Writing is a journey with stepping stones: great leaps or tiny steps, it’s going forward that’s important. The steps I go through during a writing assignment depend on what kind of time limit there is and what type of essay it is. Is it a poem? Is it a twenty page research paper? I always start brainstorming ideas for the main point of the paper no matter if it is big or small. Ideas and inspiration come to me at the most awkward times (the bus, the bathroom, at a movie). I group together these ideas into a topic before the real work begins.

I usually do not consider my audience too much at this time. I work in such a fashion fervently, and although I know it is for a teacher’s eyes only, I write to a universal audience, hoping all my efforts were not in vain. Poetry is the art form I adore, and I generally can captivate a large audience with. I use elements such as rhyming or repetition in my poetry and in my writing. Another way that I mesmerize the audience is when I write to the sound of classical music. When I write it makes me feel like I am on a journey, and I am taking my audience with me.

Speaking of journeys, the method I take is not organized. Its profile fits only the essay to which it was assigned. My support method behind it is not a method so much as it is a vision. After I research or consider ever angle I deceiver and deduct which is not just the strong point but the one I want to bring to attention. Lists are very helpful way for me to find ideas that work and ideas that don’t such as diction. I must often change, flip and rearrange my wording but syntax is something I don’t feel I achieve too often. The last element which I find related to syntax is the proofreading, which I do. Usually I have a sibling check my work as well and in the past multiple teachers have viewed my writing. I am not too pleasant while hearing criticism, but I will take it and try to spin a better story. As for a four hundred work limit, I am not use to word limits. So checking the word count is now like stopping for gas on my writing journey. I cannot go on to write without it.