The Fiery Quill

I remember you, my sweet friend, the day I saw your furry little face looking back at me from inside your kennel. You stared defiantly, daring me to walk away. And, of course, I couldn't. And so began our time together. You stayed with me through the coldest winter in 50 years, keeping my feet warm as I slept through the night. You greeted me everyday with that kitty smile, that demanding meow; "I'm hungry," you said. Yes, I had to clean up plants that you knocked over and vases that you broke.....but that was who you were. You were naughty, playful, furry. You were always accepting, always there even when I was at my lowest point. You knew when I was sad and quietly came up and snuggled next to me on my beat-up couch. You made me laugh when you attacked your bowl of cat food like it was a wild beast. You'd shake your mouthful of crunchies as if you had a mouse in a death grip. And then you bravely made a 17-hour drive with me, scared at first, but gradually accep...

I was 10 years old then. I had never been on a sail boat before, much less one that lazily traversed the shores of the British Virgin Islands. This was the first time I watched the stars without so much as a streetlight to interrupt them. There were new ports every night, new tastes, new people at every stop. At one of the ports, there was a cafe on the beach. I remember torches flickering and our waiter wore a black-and-white striped shirt. There was music coming from speakers behind the bar, a few people were dancing on the sand. Our waiter saw me, ponytail bobbing to the music, eyes bright and curious. In a lilting Caribbean accent, he asked me for a dance. Eighteen years later, I still remember the feel of the breeze on my cheek and the sand beneath my feet. It was the beginning of a love affair with travel. This experience paved the way for many adventures to come.

Adderall: the newest designer drug for unruly kids. It seems like some parents would rather turn their child over to a powerful drug, then find out why their son/daughter is acting the way they are. However, the lines have gotten so blurred that parents can't tell the difference between a child in need of medication, or one who just might need more attention. The alternative is to spend more time with their child. Instead, I see 8-year-old boys who are too comatose from Adderall (fill-in other ADHD drug) to even respond to a simple question. They just stare, uncomprehending in a drug-induced haze. I wonder if just a little extra discipline (and God-forbid, love) would do far more than a little white pill in an orange bottle? I'm certain it is less expensive to sit and read a book with a child, look into their eyes while you talk to them, then to pay a co-pay at the doctor. And I'm also pretty sure that it is a good deal more satisfying.

It really baffles me what someone would do for a chair (or four). What started out as a simple shopping trip, ended up as something far more sinister. We just wanted to get four little chairs with some padding on the seat for our Thanksgiving dinner. The chairs in question were rudely snatched out of my friend's hand by a tall, fashionably dressed snake with flat hair and skinny arms. The best part is that because my friend is on the shorter side, this woman was able to lift the first two chairs right over her head. This is when she asked the offending party how many chairs she needed. The woman replied that she also needed four, and preceeded to take the remaining two without so much as backward glance. We, the innocent shoppers, stood there with our mouths hang open. And yes, it was mine that the stream of comments and muttered insults came from. It was just that "hag" seemed like an appropriate comment at the time. The snake actually had the nerve to tell her companio...

I was reminded this evening of how hard it was to be an almost teenager. Middle school was one of the worst times while I was growing up. My world revolved around school: what happened there, who liked me, who didn't, what I was going to wear while I was there...It was tough for someone like me who didn't really fit in. I got picked on, had few friends and the teachers didn't seem to care too much. If they paid any attention to me at all, it was mostly to yell or embarrass me. I do not look back fondly on that experience and certainly wish it could have been different. But if this was true for me, it was doubly true for Bryan Jackson. Bryan Jackson was my friend. We had gone to school together since we were in 1st grade. Bryan was kind of geeky, sensitive, never wore the right things. He got picked on....alot. But he was such a nice guy, the kind that couldn't have been mean even if he had tried. We both had a tough time in 7th grade. There were a couple of teachers who...

What is it about people who interact with someone whose job is to help them? What is it that makes it ok ,under these circumstances, to treat said persons like they are either stupid or subservient? I've never actually gotten my blood pressure tested, but after a day on the job, I certain it is quite high after "serving" my fellow citizens. I'm convinced that in ordinary situations at home or spending time with friends, these same people are probably fairly "normal." But when you put them in situations where a paid employee is available to help them, they turn into individuals with no manners and a couple of personalities. Regardless of the fact that some of these persons may indeed actually have a couple personalities. Recall the person who called wanting to cancel a certain order she had placed. A few days later, her other personality called back demanding to know why she had not received said order yet. I'm afraid this sort of thing happens a lot mor...

This is a poem that I wrote in August of 1998. I was 20, a sophomore at ASU. Silent phone...friend or foe? Crouched there on my desk, mocking me with its calm quiet. All day I run from you, yet not escaping at all; for it is you that sleeps next to my bed, lingering like a nightmare. Every time your voice pierces the air, my expectant heart jumps, hoping to hear that melodious tone on the line.

Just me and my couch....hanging out with icy glass of something sweet. The cat is sleeping in the closet and a candle is flickering on the counter. Jamiroquai keeps me company, the trumpet soft and low. Abe Lincoln leans with the latest copy of Women's Health on the bookshelf. My friend Sim smiles out from her perch on the shelf above. My mother looks serene in her gilded frame, contradicting the jumble of books and papers that line the cubes below. A striped kitten guards the television set, facing off against the cable guide and some Boston Bruins fans. A couple embrace above the blinking lights of the AIWA, looking pristine in their evening wear. And I recline on the couch, laptop in lap and smile on face.

Upon recently adding another birthday notch to my lipstick case...I feel I need to reflect a bit on the decade that came before. At 18 I was no different from most high-school graduates trying to figure out how to make their mark in the world. So I, like many, went off to the hallowed halls of higher education. Welcome to Appalachian State University: Home of the Mountaineers, hacky-sack circles, hippies, wannabe Warren Buffets....and yours truly. Me. With too-big pants, dorky, but still enthusiastic. ALWAYS enthusiastic, even when the idea or activity didn't end up being a great idea. Fast forward 4 years. I have not only managed a BA in Journalism with a minor in English Lit....But I actually had pulled almost a 4.0 (3.98 to be exact), joined a sorority (I know, I know), been inducted into an honor society, lived overseas, and brainwashed myself into deciding on law school as my next career/life move. My brilliance is staggering, isn't it? Moving on..I lasted two years and ch...

Technology, if nothing else, has given back to me one of my dearest friends. There is alot about technology that sometimes just doesn't work. But this time it did. She Googled, and she found. Becky was one of those friends that everyone has had. The kind that make you wonder what happend to them. I met Becky almost 13 years ago at a camp for aspiring writers. I still remember what it was like to meet her for the first time....She had this amazing red hair and an electric personality to match. There was never any question that we would be friends. I'm happy to report that not much has changed. Becky and I picked up where we left off on that sad summer day in '94. Only this time...she's blonde.

It all started with a pair of shoes. An an assuming pair of nursing clogs that I like to wear to work (I'm on my feet the majority of the day). They are mild mannered enough, I suppose. But yes (sigh), they were born a rather loud shade of orange. It's not their fault, they didn't ask to be orange! Their color sets them apart from the rest, belies but a corner of their layered personality. They also have a tendency to squeak. A sweetly-toned , consistent little squeak. The squeak can be reassuring after a particularly difficult patient (or co-worker!). The squeakiness is friendly, softens the edges of a shoe that might otherwise alarm. Beware, the balding stalwart who object to any departure from the normal! To those who fear them, this simple pair of clogs has an air of insouciance, even an unspoken threat. "Be gone", they say. But even when they are not walking the sterile halls ...this small pair of shoes lives on. Like the wearer, they are not afraid to be bol...