Adjectividation (Personal Pick-me-Up-&-Go)

I haven't really written anything this month.

I'm sure you all noticed. And I'm sure this concerned you.

My last writing post got called "morbid" By someone whose opinion I hold way too high for my own good.

That piece of writing is probably one of my favorites. It's incredibly honest, well, one sided metaphorically honest. I think they didn't catch the metaphorical part.

Either way... I took that hard. too hard. And I personalized it. I started to feel like they didn't just call my writing morbid... But because my writing was so important to me, They had called me morbid.

Which would mean I was this:

mor-bid

[mawr-bid]

-adjective 1. suggesting an unhealthy mental state or attitude; unwholesomely gloomy, sensitive, extreme, ect.: a morbid interest in death. 2. affect by, caused by, causing, or characteristic of disease.

So. For the past month, that is the label I took on. I couldn't bring myself to write because, Who would want to read unwholesomely gloomy writing?

From an unhealthy mentally sick person?

Till today.

As much as I value their opinion... They were wrong. are.

What happened today? Well it seems as if people I surround myself with, who see me, who know me now, have been using very uplifting adjectives (or maybe today I listened) Which ever it is Here are the list of my favorite adjectives used, from a rather paramount self-esteem-boosting-day.

al-lur-ring

[uh-loor-ring]

-adjective 1. very attractive or tempting; enticing; seductive. 2. fascinating; charming

wise

[wahyz]

-adjective 1. having the power of discerning and judging probperly as to what is true or right; possesing discernment, judgement, or discretion. 2. characterized by or showing such power; judicious or prudent; a wise decision. 3. possessed of or characterized by scholarly knowledge or learning learned; erudite: wise in the law.

Free Spirit

-noun

1. a person with a highly individual or unique attitude, lifestyle, or imagination; nonconformist.

per-son-a-ble

[pur-suh-nuh-buhl]

-adjective 1. of pleasing personal appearance; handsome or comely; attractive. 2. having an argeeable or please personality; affable; amiable; sociable.

Aren't those great? I'm not saying I completely agree 100% or all the time. But... why would they use those selected words if they didn't believe it? They have nothing to gain from it. so. Those. Are my new labels.

(hopefully)

(I saved the best for last) This one... is used rarely. By one person. Rare, because it's special, But often enough for me to know That that is how they've labeled me. No matter what is going on, no matter who is around, no matter what media is used, whenever they use this word, I feel incredible.

lovely

[luhv-lee]

-adjective 1. charmingly or exquisitely beautiful: a lovely flower. 2. having a beauty that appeals to the heart or mind as well as to the eye, as a person or a face. 3. delightful; highly pleasing: to have a lovely time.

idunno

So. I'm finally at that age.

The age I can remember other people reaching.

My aunts, dance teachers, young women leaders, and brother's friends.

The age that, while I was growing up, everyone "here" seemed to know.

Know exactly where they were going.

Know exactly what they were doing.

Know exactly who they were.

~

Where everyone was

Moving out.

was/getting married

Graduating College

Starting their career

Having Children

Starting their own "families"

Staring in their own world.

~ I remember being younger.

Saying I wish I was that age.

I wish I was there.

If only I were done with this "stage"

~ Everyone told me to stop.

Not to wish my life away.

That I would miss those years.

That I would long to have them back, When really they should have said

"Hillary, I have no idea what the freak I'm doing"

~

Or did they?

Did they all... somehow, have it as

..."figured out"...

As it appeared?

~

People ask me all the time

"What's your major?"

With a smile and fantastic posture I answer

"The Social Science Composite Teaching Major"

...I want to be a teacher...

I want to be a teacher

I love teaching.

(I Think)

~

I get asked that on a regular basis.

I answer it confidently e.v.e.r.y.t.i.m.e.

When really... I'm maybe 77% sure.

(82% on a good day)

(95% if a teacher is complimenting my "skills")

~

So this makes me wonder

Was everyone I talked to just

Mostly Sure Or Pretty Sure

And did they asnwered confidently (like I do)

To avoid

Questions

Confused looks

Not welcomed advice

and incorrect labels

~

So.

To everyone who "has"

how sure were you really?

To everyone who "is"

how sure are you really?

(I finally got my grandfather to admit that school was hard. That sometimes it felt never ending. That once in a while.... he just wanted to quit.

I took a huge sigh of relief while driving home)

Research

Looking ahead at my English assignments, I decided I want my end of semester portfolio to be themed. I want each of my papers to have one word tittles, and for each paper to revolve around one word; how it has effected me, it's true meaning, and life changing (or altering) moments due to one word.

I'm supposed to be writing a paper on a "significant event" in my life. While I've had plenty of moments that run through my mind, none of them can seem to be said in 3-4 pages of double spaced 12 pt. times new roman font allotted. So, I've had to think of smaller events, not huge events to where my entire being changes, but simple events to where my view of being is slightly altered.

I did classic brainstorming, that resulted in a list, that slowly has been narrowed down. The final two, in the serious category, have now been chosen. "Didn't" and "Silent." I'm not going to get deeply into why each of those words are important, or what happened with each of those words, because that is not what this blog post is about. This blog post is about the light research, and it's findings, that took place while attempting to decide the final topic of the paper. "Silent" is the paper that I was leaning towards. It's about putting your phone on silent, and all the implications, and expectations that come from the act of holding down that ever famous #. (If I end up writing it, don't worry, I'll post it.) So of course, out of fear of writing something that has already been written, I look for it. Among other things, I google "Turning your phone on silent." And this is where my story begins.

Fifth from the top there is a link to ehow.com. Ehow? The website that informs, and teaches you how to do everything from build a bookself, to even mend a broken heart. This web result, can only result in great things. I click on it.

"How to Find a Lost Cell Phone That Is on Silent"

.

That, my friends, is the tittle of the article. While I think this is a completely ligitimate thing to worry about, it's the situation that came to my mind while reading this tittle (and article) that made me, literally, laugh out loud.

All of us, or at least I hope more then just I, have turned our phone on silent, then lost it. This always creates a slightly more paniced situation than just the usual, I can't find my phone. Because when you simply can't find your phone, just borrow someone elses, call it, and laugh when you find it in your coat pocket, on the couch, or still in your back pack. But when it's on silent... you have to sit, and think hard about where it could be. If it's late enough, aka dark enough, you can sometimes call it and see the flashing light. Yes, I've done this. Yes I understand it's a slightly more intense situation then the normal lost phone. What makes me laugh about this tittle is this, there have been people, who have been paniced enough about it, and confused enough about how to handle the situation, that it's been google'd. Someone knew someone who did not know how to handle the situation, that they wrote an entire step by step article, to ease their troubled mind.

While the tittle was funny to me, the steps just got more absurd and more hilarious at the thought of them actually happening. The thought of someone being that worried about their phone. Here are a few examples, and my thoughts pertaining to them:

3. Register your phone with a service such as AccuTracking if your cell phone company doesn't offer GPS locator services. AccuTracking is often used by parents to track the location of their children, but it can also be used to help you locate your lost phone.

I lose things alot... I really do. But... there is usually only about one of three, maybe five places they could be at. If you're getting to the point where you need a GPS for your cell phone, you my friend, are not mature enough to have a cell phone. That... or you're in too many places in too short of a time. To which I say, calm down.

5. Rent a metal detector and sweep the area where you think you might have lost it.

Couple things with this one. I understand getting attatched to material objects. I've got a stuffed animal I refuse to get rid of, and a ring I've been wearing for 13 years. But really? Your cell phone? This seems mighty extreme to me. But then I image a 14 year old girl, going balistic that she can't find her phone, renting a metal detector and completely terrorizing the house. No one has that pressing of information on their phone! All this being said... if any of you rent a metal detector to find your phone... please... I will pay for the rental if you allow me to take pictures and post them everywhere. You may not have your dignity afterwards, but at least you'll have your phone.

6. Call your phone, and walk around with a portable music device, preferably something older like a walkman with attached external speakers or an old boombox. If you are lucky, the ringing phone will cause distortion in the audio, which can help you pinpoint it's location.

This is hilarious because it specifies "walkman." Just imagine being with a friend, losing your phone (which unfortunately was on silent), and expressing disstress. Your friend calmly looks at you and replies "dude, no worries, I keep a walkman in my car for this exact reason."

So there you have it. Yet another post about how absurd I think cell phones, and the human connection to them are. I only posted 3 of the 6 suggestions to the epidemic issue of lost silent phones, but I felt they were the most needed. I hope this will solve all your problems of lost silent phones. Together, we WILL find a solution to this. ( Ivie for President... 2028).

Hardest thing I've ever done....

Hillary Ivie Writing 990 Salt Lake Community College . Luthando . Growing to love, what felt like a million crazy little kids, was not the hardest thing I’ve ever done. Working at Luthando, an orphanage in Cape Town South Africa, loving each of my 73 children felt so natural, I knew it was right. Saying “no” to their eager eyes and forgiving smiles seemed to be the more of a challenge than anything else. One in-particular, Sevi, to whom I had grown very attached, there was no way to say no to him. This stood true, “no” being next to impossible to say, till December 4, 2008, my last day there, when I quickly found out that the hardest thing to say was not “no”, but simply “goodbye”.

. The alarm goes off 5:45 am. Forty-five minutes earlier than normal. Today was different though. I didn’t want to waste any time sleeping- I could sleep later. Every second I could be awake, I wanted to be. I reach over and turn the alarm off, and slowly sit up in my bed, and lean forward. My feet touching the cold wooden floor that often feels frozen, however this morning it was more of a comfort. My back curved, head resting on my knees, arms dangling with hands near my feet. I take a deep breath in as the crisp air fills my lungs.

. As I stand in the shower,no warm water again, although today I don’t seem to mind, I look up towards the shower head. The chilled water droplets beat down on my face. I close my eyes and feel the difference between the numbing shower water and the warm tears both seeming to blend. I’m not allowed to cry today, so this is where I have to do it. Silently in the freezing shower.

. Sitting in the front passenger seat, holding the rough dry hand of my driver who had become dear friend over the past months. I try to look closely at what we’re driving past, in a desperate attempt to absorb every image I can. The sun is blinding when I look out my window. I roll down the window and feel the cool breeze on my face, and the warm sun kisses my cheeks. I squint at the shacks lining the streets. They almost seem never ending. A small smile forms on my face. The mis-matched colors of blue, green, yellow, red, brown, and pink tin and scrap metal are somehow nailed together to create a simple box of 9x9x9, these embody more of a home and beauty than anything else I have seen.

. Pulling up to Luthando, the van slowing down to a crawl. Children are running in every possible direction, somehow effortlessly missing each other in what seems like should be major crashes with tears and bruises. But none of that happens, the children just run, scream, and smile. I laugh a little to myself as I reach back and grab my burnt orange back pack from behind the driver’s seat. My driver, Wonga, looks me in the eyes and whispers his deep raspy voice “be strong,” and then kisses my cheek. I bite my lower lip and nod in argument.

. I open the door to the van with a big sigh and a roll of the eyes and say loudly “here we go again!” Instantly the children all stop their running, turn towards me, and then there is the morning ritual stampede of little children charging me at full speed, yelling and screaming with arms waving uncontrollably in the air. They all tackle mento the ground, and before I’m allowed to stand back up, each child gets a hug and a kiss on the cheek good morning.

. Our day seems to be going normally. Breakfast, English, singing, wrestling, lunch, nap, and then dance. During lunch time I see one of the workers pull Sevi aside. Out of the corner of my eye I watch to try and understand what is going on, but I had no clue, all I knew was his eyes had never looked so hollow. His face lost what I had thought to be a permannet smile. He didn’t eat during lunch, and was restless during nap time. Before dance he came up and gave me a hug, and told me he loved me, followed by a quick kiss on my cheek.

. Dance time went longer than normal, which was fine by all of us. We sang every song we had ever danced to. The kids showed me their new dance moves, and I showed them some ballet. In fewer words then can do this justice, on this day, with 73 children all under the age of 6 and one teacher, we held the dance party of the century.

. Before I knew it my driver pulled up. The kids began screaming, stumbled outside, and began running in every direction.Once again somehow missing each other through their directionless sprints.

. Throughout all the noise, my heart sinks. My hands begin to shake as I gather all my material and put it back into my burnt orange back pack. I try to zip up the back pack and it won’t zip. I pull harder with each tug, the harder I pull the more blurry my vision becomes, I tast salty tears, and my lower lip throbs from biting it so hard. I give up and decide my back pack just won’t be zipped up. I don’t care. I can barely see. My hands are shaking. My heart is racing. My head is spinning, and I still have to walk to the van.

. I pick up my back pack and begin to walk. Glancing in the corner, through the tears, I see the workers standing there waving. One is choking back tears. I put my hand up to wave goodbye but can barely bring my hand up to such a height. They nod in understanding. My head turns back to my driver. All the noise around me blurs. The screaming and yelling from the kids becomes muffled and slow. I put one foot in front of the other and start making slow shaky steps towards the van.

. From the corner of my right eye I see Sevi sprinting towards me. His arms wrap tightly around my legs, and before I can even react to either of these things I look down and lock eyes with his big brown eyes that are filled with bigger tears than mine. My hearing focuses on what he’s screaming: “Don’t leave me! I’m sorry I was a bad boy! Please don’t leave me!”

. I bend down, drop my back pack, and pick him up in my arms. Although he’s the oldest and the biggest of all the children, he seems so light right now. His arms squeeze around my neck so tight I can barely breathe. His screams aren’t making much sense through his crying. I feel his tears against my cheek as he presses his cheek next to mine, uncontrollably sobbing. I hold him tighter and my tears are no longer silent, I am bawling hysterically. He knows this is goodbye. .

All the children stop their running and gather around. Quiet little whispers pass between them as they try to understand what’s going on. I continue to hold Sevi in my arms. His arms tighten around my neck as we both hear a van door open, a step, another step, the door closes. I try to look towards the van but can’t see through the tears that are now like fire in my eyes.

. I feel Sevi being pulled away from me, I loosen my grip on him but he holds tighter screaming “no!” I look at him, being held back by one of the workers. I lean forward, kiss his cheek, and hold his hands; I look him in the eyes and tell him one last time how much I love him.

.

Then say a word that as I say it my heart bursts and my stomach sinks all at the same time. I simply say one word that is the hardest thing I’ve had to say yet. I looked in his eyes and calmly say “Goodbye”.