Good morning kids! How are you all doing today?
Gooooood!
Great, I certainly am feeling good this morning too. I’m very excited to be here today to teach you all about a DANGER.
Oooooohhhh!
But before we get to learn all about this danger, can you all guess what my job is?
Firefighter!
That’s right! Many times a day, we firefighters get calls from around the city reporting fires. We have to be on call all day, always ready to leave the firehouse immediately. Our job is to get to the fire as quickly as possible in our big red fire trucks and put it out. So, I bet you all can now guess what this big DANGER is we will be learning about today?
Fires!
Yep. Fires are very dangerous, and you should not mess with them. You shouldn’t play with matches, because you might accidentally create a fire. So, how do we firefighters know there’s a fire to put out? What should YOU do until we get there? Well, I am going to tell you what to do in the event of a fire:
First of all, if you see or smell fire or smoke where it shouldn’t be, immediately pick up the phone and dial 911. It’s only three numbers you have to press. So what are the three numbers you press?
Nine-one-one!
Exactly! When the firefighter answers the phone, simply tell them that there is a fire. If you know the address of where you are, tell them that too.
The next thing you should do is run away from the fire. I bet I have some speedsters in here, am I right?
Yeah! I am! I’m the fastest!
Well that’s good, because fire can spread quickly, so the farther you are from it, the better. Tell others about the fire if they don’t already know there is one. Make sure they can get far away from the fire also.
Now, let’s pretend your shirt or hair has caught fire. Yes, it might look cool to have your hair on fire, but it can burn you terribly, and burns hurt a lot. So, can you all tell me what puts out fire?
Water!
Water does indeed put out fires. If you are near a sink or anything else with water, splash the water on yourself. However, if you aren’t near water, there are three things you need to do. This is very important, so listen carefully:
1) Stop.
2) Drop
3) And Roll.
These three steps are very simple and tell you exactly what to do. Wherever you are or whatever you are doing, STOP immediately. DROP to the ground, and ROLL. Keep rolling around, back and forth until the fire on you is gone. Isn’t that easy?
Yeah!
Very good, and its fun! Who wouldn’t want to roll around on the ground? I do it all the time!
Haha! Me too! Me too!
So, just to make sure you all have been paying attention, what is the first thing you do when there’s a fire?
Call nine-one-one!
Perfect. Then you should….
Run away as fast as you can!
You have been paying attention! Good! Now, for the toughest part. You are going to need to tell me three things. What should you do if there is fire on you?
Stop, drop and roll!
Congratulations, kids. You are now fire experts! Whenever you all are in danger with fire, you will know what to do. Thank you for being such good listeners! And remember, don’t play with fire! It is very dangerous stuff.
Have a great day!
Sunday, May 3, 2009
Sunday, April 26, 2009
WA#7: First Draft
Good morning kids! How are you all doing today?
Gooooood!
Great, because today you all will be learning one of the most important things you ever learn. But before we get to that, can you all guess what my job is?
Firefighter!
That’s right! Everyday, we firefighters get many calls reporting fires around the city. Our job is to get to the fire as quickly as possible in our big red fire trucks and put it out. Fires are very dangerous, and you should not mess with them. You should also not play with matches or lighters, because you might accidentally create a fire. So, how do we firefighters know there’s a fire to put out? What should you do until we get there? Well, here is what to do in the event of a fire:
If you see or smell fire or smoke where it shouldn’t be, immediately pick up the phone and dial 911. Those are the only three numbers you have to press on the phone. So what are the three numbers you press?
Nine-one-one!
Exactly! When the firefighter answers the phone, just stay calm and tell them that there is a fire. If you know where you are, tell them that too.
The next thing you should do is run as far away as you can from the fire. Fire can spread quickly, so the farther you are from it, the better. Tell others about the fire if they don’t already know there is one. Make sure they can get far away from the fire also.
Now, say you aren’t so lucky, and your shirt or hair has caught fire. Yes, it might look cool to have your hair on fire, but it can burn you terribly. Burns hurt a lot. So, can you all tell me what puts out fire?
Uhhh..
Water! Water puts out fires. If you are right next to a sink or anything else with water, get water on yourself where there’s fire as quickly as you can. However, most of the time, you will most likely not be right next to a source of water. If this is the case, and you have fire on you, there are three things I want you to do. This is very important, so listen carefully:
1) Stop.
2) Drop
3) And Roll.
These three steps are very simple and tell you exactly what to do. Wherever you are or whatever you are doing, stop immediately. Drop to solid, fireless ground, and roll. Keep rolling around, back and forth until the fire is gone. Isn’t that easy?
Yeah!
Very good, and its fun! Who wouldn’t want to roll around on the ground? I do it all the time!
(Laughter).
So, just to make sure you all have been paying attention, what is the first thing you do when there’s a fire?
Call nine-one-one!
Perfect. Then you should….
Run away as fast as you can!
You have been paying attention! Good! Now, for the toughest part. You are going to need to tell me three things. What should you do if you have fire on you?
Stop, drop and roll!
Congratulations, kids. You are now fire experts! Thank you for being such good listeners! And remember, don’t play with fire! It is very dangerous stuff. Have a great day!
Gooooood!
Great, because today you all will be learning one of the most important things you ever learn. But before we get to that, can you all guess what my job is?
Firefighter!
That’s right! Everyday, we firefighters get many calls reporting fires around the city. Our job is to get to the fire as quickly as possible in our big red fire trucks and put it out. Fires are very dangerous, and you should not mess with them. You should also not play with matches or lighters, because you might accidentally create a fire. So, how do we firefighters know there’s a fire to put out? What should you do until we get there? Well, here is what to do in the event of a fire:
If you see or smell fire or smoke where it shouldn’t be, immediately pick up the phone and dial 911. Those are the only three numbers you have to press on the phone. So what are the three numbers you press?
Nine-one-one!
Exactly! When the firefighter answers the phone, just stay calm and tell them that there is a fire. If you know where you are, tell them that too.
The next thing you should do is run as far away as you can from the fire. Fire can spread quickly, so the farther you are from it, the better. Tell others about the fire if they don’t already know there is one. Make sure they can get far away from the fire also.
Now, say you aren’t so lucky, and your shirt or hair has caught fire. Yes, it might look cool to have your hair on fire, but it can burn you terribly. Burns hurt a lot. So, can you all tell me what puts out fire?
Uhhh..
Water! Water puts out fires. If you are right next to a sink or anything else with water, get water on yourself where there’s fire as quickly as you can. However, most of the time, you will most likely not be right next to a source of water. If this is the case, and you have fire on you, there are three things I want you to do. This is very important, so listen carefully:
1) Stop.
2) Drop
3) And Roll.
These three steps are very simple and tell you exactly what to do. Wherever you are or whatever you are doing, stop immediately. Drop to solid, fireless ground, and roll. Keep rolling around, back and forth until the fire is gone. Isn’t that easy?
Yeah!
Very good, and its fun! Who wouldn’t want to roll around on the ground? I do it all the time!
(Laughter).
So, just to make sure you all have been paying attention, what is the first thing you do when there’s a fire?
Call nine-one-one!
Perfect. Then you should….
Run away as fast as you can!
You have been paying attention! Good! Now, for the toughest part. You are going to need to tell me three things. What should you do if you have fire on you?
Stop, drop and roll!
Congratulations, kids. You are now fire experts! Thank you for being such good listeners! And remember, don’t play with fire! It is very dangerous stuff. Have a great day!
Sunday, March 29, 2009
WA#6: Final Draft
Introductions first take place. The Father, blind, is named Jafar. The mother, Sittina. The eldest child, a girl, Dalila. Jamani, a boy, is the middle child and Kwame, the baby boy. The hired translator tells them my name is Eric.
I first tell them my story:
“I am traveling through your country on business.” (Pause, translation). “I am a photographer for a magazine called National Geographic. Our next issue highlights life in Sudan. I am capturing shots that entail all aspects of life here.” (Pause, translation). “If you consent, your family may be displayed in a public magazine. Of course I must first inquire: would you all so graciously allow me to take a picture of your family?” (Pause, translation).
Sittina cradles her baby intently, looking as though we foreigners may reach for the child at any moment. The two elder children gaze wildly around at my jeep, photography instruments, and fellow white coworkers. Jafar keeps his head at a constant tilt as though looking into the sky, absorbing every word coming from the translator’s mouth. They keep close to each other, still apprehensive towards us foreigners.
Jafar is the first to move after a long pause that succeeded my question. He slowly brings his head down until it faces me, as though his blind, swollen eyes can see me. I can sense he is sizing me up, in his own adapted way, considering my question. After another pause, he speaks. His words are directed to the translator, but the powerful look on his face remains directed at me. He speaks slowly but with immense pride. I don’t speak his language, but a strong demeanor and a mind of wisdom is a universal language of its own.
The translator says, “Will this disgrace our family name?”
I was taken aback by this question. I had prepared myself for more detail-oriented questions, even flat out rejection to taking the picture. This question was beyond me and my cultural upbringings. Of all things, he was most concerned about his family name? I was sure there couldn’t possibly be more than one person within 800 miles from here that even subscribes to National Geographic. I was lost for words. After a minute, I fumbled out, “Oh um, well, no. No I suppose not. I mean, oh no, of course not. This picture is for positive purposes. Your family will remain entirely anonymous. Unless you would like to have your family name in the magazine?” (Pause, translation).
Jafar spoke again and the translator said, “No. Anonymous.”
“Very well. If you would just spare me a minute.” ( Pause, translation).
I took some time to absorb the surroundings. It was practically a barren wasteland. There was no sign of water anywhere. About eight ‘huts’ embodied the village, if one could even refer to them as such. These ‘huts’ were made from cardboard, straw and canvases. They looked about as effective as strainers in terms of sheltering from wind and rain. I noticed one piece of cardboard on their hut said “VELVEX. Super Soft Napkins.” There was a small box of those stored in the glove compartment of my jeep for me to wipe my mouth with after eating. I suddenly felt guilty about my sanitary needs.
I shuffled the family until they stood between their hut and a neighboring hut. I made sure the “VELVEX” was showing. The setting sun was at their backs. That was all the rearranging I had to do as they immediately fell into the familial positioning I was looking for. They gathered around each other, holding hands and shoulders. As I looked through my lens, a secure, loving, loyal family stared back at me. I peered above the camera, smiled wide and pointed to my animated grin. The children lost their fascination with the camera and were now mesmerized with the jeep and my white coworkers. Jafar and Sittina, however, turned the ends of their lips up ever so slightly, maintaining their solemn pride.
Click.
I first tell them my story:
“I am traveling through your country on business.” (Pause, translation). “I am a photographer for a magazine called National Geographic. Our next issue highlights life in Sudan. I am capturing shots that entail all aspects of life here.” (Pause, translation). “If you consent, your family may be displayed in a public magazine. Of course I must first inquire: would you all so graciously allow me to take a picture of your family?” (Pause, translation).
Sittina cradles her baby intently, looking as though we foreigners may reach for the child at any moment. The two elder children gaze wildly around at my jeep, photography instruments, and fellow white coworkers. Jafar keeps his head at a constant tilt as though looking into the sky, absorbing every word coming from the translator’s mouth. They keep close to each other, still apprehensive towards us foreigners.
Jafar is the first to move after a long pause that succeeded my question. He slowly brings his head down until it faces me, as though his blind, swollen eyes can see me. I can sense he is sizing me up, in his own adapted way, considering my question. After another pause, he speaks. His words are directed to the translator, but the powerful look on his face remains directed at me. He speaks slowly but with immense pride. I don’t speak his language, but a strong demeanor and a mind of wisdom is a universal language of its own.
The translator says, “Will this disgrace our family name?”
I was taken aback by this question. I had prepared myself for more detail-oriented questions, even flat out rejection to taking the picture. This question was beyond me and my cultural upbringings. Of all things, he was most concerned about his family name? I was sure there couldn’t possibly be more than one person within 800 miles from here that even subscribes to National Geographic. I was lost for words. After a minute, I fumbled out, “Oh um, well, no. No I suppose not. I mean, oh no, of course not. This picture is for positive purposes. Your family will remain entirely anonymous. Unless you would like to have your family name in the magazine?” (Pause, translation).
Jafar spoke again and the translator said, “No. Anonymous.”
“Very well. If you would just spare me a minute.” ( Pause, translation).
I took some time to absorb the surroundings. It was practically a barren wasteland. There was no sign of water anywhere. About eight ‘huts’ embodied the village, if one could even refer to them as such. These ‘huts’ were made from cardboard, straw and canvases. They looked about as effective as strainers in terms of sheltering from wind and rain. I noticed one piece of cardboard on their hut said “VELVEX. Super Soft Napkins.” There was a small box of those stored in the glove compartment of my jeep for me to wipe my mouth with after eating. I suddenly felt guilty about my sanitary needs.
I shuffled the family until they stood between their hut and a neighboring hut. I made sure the “VELVEX” was showing. The setting sun was at their backs. That was all the rearranging I had to do as they immediately fell into the familial positioning I was looking for. They gathered around each other, holding hands and shoulders. As I looked through my lens, a secure, loving, loyal family stared back at me. I peered above the camera, smiled wide and pointed to my animated grin. The children lost their fascination with the camera and were now mesmerized with the jeep and my white coworkers. Jafar and Sittina, however, turned the ends of their lips up ever so slightly, maintaining their solemn pride.
Click.
Monday, March 23, 2009
WA#6: First Draft
Introductions first take place. The Father, blind, is named Jafar. The mother, Sittina. The eldest child, a girl, Dalila. Jamani, a boy, is the middle child and Kwame, the baby boy. The hired translator tells them my name is Eric.
I first tell them my story:
I am traveling through this country on business. (Pause, translation). I am a photographer for a magazine called National Geographic. We are doing a special on life in Sudan. I am capturing shots that entail many aspects of life here. (Pause, translation). If you consent, your family may be displayed in a public magazine. Of course I must first inquire: would you all so graciously allow me to take a picture of your family? (Pause, translation).
Sittina cradles her baby intently, looking as though we foreigners may reach for the child at any moment. The two elder children gaze wildly around at my jeep, photography instruments, and fellow white coworkers. Jafar keeps his head at a constant tilt as though looking into the sky, absorbing every word coming from the translator’s mouth. They keep close to each other, still a little apprehensive towards us foreigners.
Jafar is the first to move after a long pause that succeeded my question. He brings his head down and points straight at me, as though his swollen eyes can see me. I can sense he is sizing me up, in some way, considering my question. After another few seconds he speaks, still facing me, but his words are directed to the translator. He speaks slowly but with immense pride. I don’t speak his language, but a strong demeanor and a mind of wisdom can be recognized universally.
The translator says, “Will this disgrace our family name?” I was taken aback by this question. I had prepared myself for more detail-oriented questions, even flat out rejection, but this was past me and my cultural upbringings. Of all things, he was most concerned about his family name? I was sure there couldn’t possibly be more than one person within 800 miles from here that even subscribes to National Geographic. I was lost for words. After I minute, I fumbled out, “Oh um, well, no. No I suppose not. I mean, oh no, of course not. Your family will remain entirely anonymous. Unless it would please you to have your family name in the magazine?” (Translation).
Jafar spoke again and the translator said, “No. Anonymous.”
“Very well. If you would just spare me a minute.” (Translation).
For the first time, I really took in the surroundings. It was practically a barren wasteland. There was no sign of water and maybe 8 or so ‘huts’ with other natives occupying them. These huts were hardly huts though. They were made from cardboard, straw and canvases. I noticed one piece of cardboard on their hut said ‘VELVEX. Super Soft Napkins.’ There was a small box of those stored in the glove compartment of my jeep for me to wipe my mouth and hands with after eating my fruits and steaks. I felt guilty about my fruits and steaks comparing to housing material.
I shuffled the family closer to the hut, so the ‘VELVEX’ showed and the setting sun was at their backs. My goal for the picture was to capture a sense of family. I didn’t have to rearrange the family one bit to get that sense in the picture. As I looked through my lens, it was clearly a family staring back at me as they gathered around each other, holding hands and shoulders, standing with a sense of security. I peered above the lens, smiled wide and pointed to my mouth. I told the translator to say smile. The children were now fascinated with everything but the camera, but Jafar and Sittina grinned slightly.
Click.
I first tell them my story:
I am traveling through this country on business. (Pause, translation). I am a photographer for a magazine called National Geographic. We are doing a special on life in Sudan. I am capturing shots that entail many aspects of life here. (Pause, translation). If you consent, your family may be displayed in a public magazine. Of course I must first inquire: would you all so graciously allow me to take a picture of your family? (Pause, translation).
Sittina cradles her baby intently, looking as though we foreigners may reach for the child at any moment. The two elder children gaze wildly around at my jeep, photography instruments, and fellow white coworkers. Jafar keeps his head at a constant tilt as though looking into the sky, absorbing every word coming from the translator’s mouth. They keep close to each other, still a little apprehensive towards us foreigners.
Jafar is the first to move after a long pause that succeeded my question. He brings his head down and points straight at me, as though his swollen eyes can see me. I can sense he is sizing me up, in some way, considering my question. After another few seconds he speaks, still facing me, but his words are directed to the translator. He speaks slowly but with immense pride. I don’t speak his language, but a strong demeanor and a mind of wisdom can be recognized universally.
The translator says, “Will this disgrace our family name?” I was taken aback by this question. I had prepared myself for more detail-oriented questions, even flat out rejection, but this was past me and my cultural upbringings. Of all things, he was most concerned about his family name? I was sure there couldn’t possibly be more than one person within 800 miles from here that even subscribes to National Geographic. I was lost for words. After I minute, I fumbled out, “Oh um, well, no. No I suppose not. I mean, oh no, of course not. Your family will remain entirely anonymous. Unless it would please you to have your family name in the magazine?” (Translation).
Jafar spoke again and the translator said, “No. Anonymous.”
“Very well. If you would just spare me a minute.” (Translation).
For the first time, I really took in the surroundings. It was practically a barren wasteland. There was no sign of water and maybe 8 or so ‘huts’ with other natives occupying them. These huts were hardly huts though. They were made from cardboard, straw and canvases. I noticed one piece of cardboard on their hut said ‘VELVEX. Super Soft Napkins.’ There was a small box of those stored in the glove compartment of my jeep for me to wipe my mouth and hands with after eating my fruits and steaks. I felt guilty about my fruits and steaks comparing to housing material.
I shuffled the family closer to the hut, so the ‘VELVEX’ showed and the setting sun was at their backs. My goal for the picture was to capture a sense of family. I didn’t have to rearrange the family one bit to get that sense in the picture. As I looked through my lens, it was clearly a family staring back at me as they gathered around each other, holding hands and shoulders, standing with a sense of security. I peered above the lens, smiled wide and pointed to my mouth. I told the translator to say smile. The children were now fascinated with everything but the camera, but Jafar and Sittina grinned slightly.
Click.
Monday, March 2, 2009
WA#5: Final Draft
Part One
Grandpa Albert dozes in the corner, as he has been since finishing his third slice of wedding cake. The cousins are drunk, the hopeless romantics are drunk, even Grandma Bernice is a bit tipsy. She found a friend in the champagne to console her frustration with Albert’s lack of lively presence.
The pronouncement of man and wife occurred hours ago, when the sunlight nurtured and flaunted my fuchsia. The reception has been long and undoubtedly giddy, but I have unfortunately been forced to watch the days’ exciting events unfold from a spare, lackluster vase perched in the hands of the wedding planner. She rewards my remarkable patience with undying protection.
Exhilaration mounts in me as I see the reception ending. YES! The bride is making her way towards me! My guard doesn’t turn her shoulder, but jubilantly pulls me out of my hindering vase and carefully hands me to the bride. It is a sad parting from my loyal guard, but I feel equipped for what’s next. The bride tenderly grasps my stems and ties a lovely pink ribbon around them. What a nice lady. He’s a lucky man.
We climb the stage and the ladies obligingly congregate below. The dying energy in the room now feels animated and alive again. Even Grandpa Albert shows signs of life as he snorts and a long dribble of drool escapes his mouth. The ladies draw into a tighter pack, shoving for the most central spot. All eyes are on me. What a chick magnet I am!
The bride turns her back to the eager crowd of women (the men look apprehensively through drunken eyes in the shadows of the room, beer in hand). I’m soon tumbling through air approaching the mob. What a sight. Their greedy faces make me feel like a stack of a billion dollars. With what seemed to be a thousand arms outstretched, unthinkable joy mounts in me. I’ve never felt so wanted.
I feel a hand close firmly around my stems. My winner is rather piggy looking, but one happy pig at that. She prances around in circles, holding me proudly above her head. The surrounding mob of ladies is now horrified; I am no longer that stack of a billion dollars.
Part Two
I sense the guests becoming impatient. Grandpa Albert dozes in the corner, and many guests are drunk. Even Grandma Bernice is looping around. John, my husband, slows his steps as we dance: he too senses it is time to wrap up. Catching me eyes, he nods towards Lilly, my wonderful wedding planner.
Hoping to let Lilly enjoy herself during the reception, I gave her the small task of simply keep the bouquet in sight so as not to lose it. However, it is her nature to exceed expectations, so she is gripping the bouquet firmly, hiding, rejecting any company. She is guarding that bouquet with her life.
She looks slightly relieved to see me coming over, and I could have sworn the bouquet seemed to straighten up a bit too. I smile and thank Lilly, and she gratefully, yet still a bit apprehensively, hands over the bouquet.
I navigate through the congregation; the ladies excitedly follow me and group around the stage. On stage, I search for Bella, my niece, who I promised would be a lucky girl tonight, and there’s no satisfaction like that of seeing a naïve 7 year old triumph over desperate 40 year olds. I spot Bella, wink at her, and then turn around.
Holding the bouquet close to my chest, I peer down and consider its significance. It’s my right of passage, signifying me from the women standing below. I take in the moment, steal one last glance at the bouquet, and toss it. I spin around in time to see it land in the hands of… Cousin Maggie!
What a pig! She ruined the night of a precious 7 year old! The bouquet gleams in the reflection of Bella’s watering eyes. I can’t bear the sight. I jump off stage into John’s arms and escape the scene before it mounts to chaos. Just as we turn out the door, I catch one last fleeting glance of Grandpa Albert stirring in the corner. What commotion a single bouquet can cause!
Grandpa Albert dozes in the corner, as he has been since finishing his third slice of wedding cake. The cousins are drunk, the hopeless romantics are drunk, even Grandma Bernice is a bit tipsy. She found a friend in the champagne to console her frustration with Albert’s lack of lively presence.
The pronouncement of man and wife occurred hours ago, when the sunlight nurtured and flaunted my fuchsia. The reception has been long and undoubtedly giddy, but I have unfortunately been forced to watch the days’ exciting events unfold from a spare, lackluster vase perched in the hands of the wedding planner. She rewards my remarkable patience with undying protection.
Exhilaration mounts in me as I see the reception ending. YES! The bride is making her way towards me! My guard doesn’t turn her shoulder, but jubilantly pulls me out of my hindering vase and carefully hands me to the bride. It is a sad parting from my loyal guard, but I feel equipped for what’s next. The bride tenderly grasps my stems and ties a lovely pink ribbon around them. What a nice lady. He’s a lucky man.
We climb the stage and the ladies obligingly congregate below. The dying energy in the room now feels animated and alive again. Even Grandpa Albert shows signs of life as he snorts and a long dribble of drool escapes his mouth. The ladies draw into a tighter pack, shoving for the most central spot. All eyes are on me. What a chick magnet I am!
The bride turns her back to the eager crowd of women (the men look apprehensively through drunken eyes in the shadows of the room, beer in hand). I’m soon tumbling through air approaching the mob. What a sight. Their greedy faces make me feel like a stack of a billion dollars. With what seemed to be a thousand arms outstretched, unthinkable joy mounts in me. I’ve never felt so wanted.
I feel a hand close firmly around my stems. My winner is rather piggy looking, but one happy pig at that. She prances around in circles, holding me proudly above her head. The surrounding mob of ladies is now horrified; I am no longer that stack of a billion dollars.
Part Two
I sense the guests becoming impatient. Grandpa Albert dozes in the corner, and many guests are drunk. Even Grandma Bernice is looping around. John, my husband, slows his steps as we dance: he too senses it is time to wrap up. Catching me eyes, he nods towards Lilly, my wonderful wedding planner.
Hoping to let Lilly enjoy herself during the reception, I gave her the small task of simply keep the bouquet in sight so as not to lose it. However, it is her nature to exceed expectations, so she is gripping the bouquet firmly, hiding, rejecting any company. She is guarding that bouquet with her life.
She looks slightly relieved to see me coming over, and I could have sworn the bouquet seemed to straighten up a bit too. I smile and thank Lilly, and she gratefully, yet still a bit apprehensively, hands over the bouquet.
I navigate through the congregation; the ladies excitedly follow me and group around the stage. On stage, I search for Bella, my niece, who I promised would be a lucky girl tonight, and there’s no satisfaction like that of seeing a naïve 7 year old triumph over desperate 40 year olds. I spot Bella, wink at her, and then turn around.
Holding the bouquet close to my chest, I peer down and consider its significance. It’s my right of passage, signifying me from the women standing below. I take in the moment, steal one last glance at the bouquet, and toss it. I spin around in time to see it land in the hands of… Cousin Maggie!
What a pig! She ruined the night of a precious 7 year old! The bouquet gleams in the reflection of Bella’s watering eyes. I can’t bear the sight. I jump off stage into John’s arms and escape the scene before it mounts to chaos. Just as we turn out the door, I catch one last fleeting glance of Grandpa Albert stirring in the corner. What commotion a single bouquet can cause!
Monday, February 23, 2009
WA#5: Revised Draft
It has been a long day and I can sense the guests are becoming fidgety and impatient. Grandpa Albert is already dozing in the corner- it must be a sugar crash from all that cake, and too many family members are drunk. And- Oh my word! Grandma Bernice is looping around, flirting with her nephews! Well, its definitely a good thing Albert is long gone. John, or my husband as I can now call him, slows his steps as we dance around the floor. He too senses it is time to wrap up the reception. Catching me eyes, he nods me towards Lilly, my wonderful wedding planner.
Ever since the day I came to her, three months ago, seeking help for my wedding, she has stood firmly and faithfully by my side every step of the way. I gave her the small task of watching my bouquet during the reception; simply just keep it in sight so as not to lose it. My hope was she would be able to enjoy herself during the reception with such a small task, but I shouldn’t have been so naïve. It is her nature to exceed expectations, so of course she is holding the bouquet firmly in her arms, hiding in the corner the entire time and rejecting any company. She is guarding that bouquet with her life.
But it is indeed time to wrap things up, so I make my way over to her. She looks slightly relieved to see me, and I could have sworn the bouquet seemed to straighten up a bit too (of course it was probably just the champagne getting to my head). I smile and thank Lilly graciously, and she gratefully, yet still a bit apprehensively hands the bouquet over to me..
I make my way through the congregation of guests towards the stage, and as I pass through the crowd, the women being picking up the notion. They excitedly follow me and group around the stage. I look out into their eager faces and search for the youngest- Bella, my niece. I had promised her she would be the luckiest girl of the night, and there’s no satisfaction like that of seeing a 7 year old triumph over hopeless 40 year olds (yes, this is harsh, but so undeniably true just by looking at their greedy faces). I spot Bella, grin, make a mental note of her spot in the crowd, and slowly turn my back to them.
I hold the bouquet close to my chest and peer down at it. Behind its outer, fuchsia beauty lies its inner essence. This is not simply a bouquet. It is my right of passage, signifying me from the women who stand below me. I take the moment in, steal one last glance at the bouquet, and toss it high into the air. I quickly spin around just in time to see I land in the hands of- cousin Maggie!
What a pig! First of all, who would ever marry such a cruel, fat pig, and secondly, she just ruined the night of a precious 7 year old! The bouquet gleams in the reflection of Bella’s watering eyes. I can’t bear the sight. I jump off the stage into John’s arms and we escape the scene before it mounts to something unbearable. I feel confident Lilly will calm things down, and just as we turn out the door, I catch one last fleeting glance of Grandpa Albert stirring in the corner. What commotion a single bouquet can cause!
Ever since the day I came to her, three months ago, seeking help for my wedding, she has stood firmly and faithfully by my side every step of the way. I gave her the small task of watching my bouquet during the reception; simply just keep it in sight so as not to lose it. My hope was she would be able to enjoy herself during the reception with such a small task, but I shouldn’t have been so naïve. It is her nature to exceed expectations, so of course she is holding the bouquet firmly in her arms, hiding in the corner the entire time and rejecting any company. She is guarding that bouquet with her life.
But it is indeed time to wrap things up, so I make my way over to her. She looks slightly relieved to see me, and I could have sworn the bouquet seemed to straighten up a bit too (of course it was probably just the champagne getting to my head). I smile and thank Lilly graciously, and she gratefully, yet still a bit apprehensively hands the bouquet over to me..
I make my way through the congregation of guests towards the stage, and as I pass through the crowd, the women being picking up the notion. They excitedly follow me and group around the stage. I look out into their eager faces and search for the youngest- Bella, my niece. I had promised her she would be the luckiest girl of the night, and there’s no satisfaction like that of seeing a 7 year old triumph over hopeless 40 year olds (yes, this is harsh, but so undeniably true just by looking at their greedy faces). I spot Bella, grin, make a mental note of her spot in the crowd, and slowly turn my back to them.
I hold the bouquet close to my chest and peer down at it. Behind its outer, fuchsia beauty lies its inner essence. This is not simply a bouquet. It is my right of passage, signifying me from the women who stand below me. I take the moment in, steal one last glance at the bouquet, and toss it high into the air. I quickly spin around just in time to see I land in the hands of- cousin Maggie!
What a pig! First of all, who would ever marry such a cruel, fat pig, and secondly, she just ruined the night of a precious 7 year old! The bouquet gleams in the reflection of Bella’s watering eyes. I can’t bear the sight. I jump off the stage into John’s arms and we escape the scene before it mounts to something unbearable. I feel confident Lilly will calm things down, and just as we turn out the door, I catch one last fleeting glance of Grandpa Albert stirring in the corner. What commotion a single bouquet can cause!
Monday, February 16, 2009
WA#5: First Draft
What a day. Yet my chance to shine is still to come.
Grandpa Albert is dozing in the corner, as he has been since finishing his third slice of wedding cake, an hour ago. The cousins are drunk, the hopeless romantics are drunk, and even Grandma Bernice is a bit tipsy. She found a friend in the champagne as something to console her frustration with Albert’s lack of lively presence.
The pronouncement of man and wife occurred hours ago, when the sunlight still nurtured my well being and flaunted my fuchsia. The reception has been long and undoubtedly giddy, but I have unfortunately been forced to watch the days’ exciting events unfold from a spare, lackluster vase perched in the hands of the wedding planner’s assistant. I guess she is rewarding my remarkable patience with her undying protection, as whenever a girl approaches me, my guard turns a cold shoulder, flashes the evil eye and pulls me closer to her chest.
Anticipation and exhilaration mounts in me as I sense the reception coming to an end. Yes. YES! The bride is making her way towards me! At long last my moment of fame is approaching! As planned, my guard does not turn her shoulder this time, but jubilantly pulls me out of my hindering vase and carefully hands me to the bride. Indeed, it is a sad parting from my loyal guard, but I feel equipped for what lays ahead of me. The bride tenderly grasps my stems and ties a lovely pink ribbon around them, holding me together. What a nice lady. He’s a lucky man.
She climbs the stage, me in her hand, and all the ladies in the room obligingly congregate in front of the stage. The dying energy in the room has taken a turn and the air feels animated and alive again. Even Grandpa Albert showed signs of life as he snorted and a long dribble of drool escaped his mouth. The ladies drew into an ever tighter pack, shoving each other for the most central spot below the stage. All eyes were on me. Oh what a chick magnet I am!
The bride turns her back to the eager crowd of women (the men look apprehensively through their drunken eyes in the shadows of the room, beer in hand). Before I know it, I leave her delicate hands and I’m flying through the air, turning over and over, approaching the mob of women. What a sight. By the looks of their greedy, over-eager faces, one would’ve thought I was a stack of a billion dollars. With what seemed to be a thousand arms outstretched to get a hand on me, unthinkable joy mounted in me. I had never felt so wanted before.
My flight turned downward. I felt a hand close firmly around stems. I looked into my winner’s eyes. She was rather piggy looking, but one happy pig at that. I was her golden ticket. She began to prance around in circles, holding me proudly above her head. A mob of horrified ladies surrounded me and my piggy winner. In a split second I had turned from a billion dollars into the girl cheating with their boyfriends.
Grandpa Albert is dozing in the corner, as he has been since finishing his third slice of wedding cake, an hour ago. The cousins are drunk, the hopeless romantics are drunk, and even Grandma Bernice is a bit tipsy. She found a friend in the champagne as something to console her frustration with Albert’s lack of lively presence.
The pronouncement of man and wife occurred hours ago, when the sunlight still nurtured my well being and flaunted my fuchsia. The reception has been long and undoubtedly giddy, but I have unfortunately been forced to watch the days’ exciting events unfold from a spare, lackluster vase perched in the hands of the wedding planner’s assistant. I guess she is rewarding my remarkable patience with her undying protection, as whenever a girl approaches me, my guard turns a cold shoulder, flashes the evil eye and pulls me closer to her chest.
Anticipation and exhilaration mounts in me as I sense the reception coming to an end. Yes. YES! The bride is making her way towards me! At long last my moment of fame is approaching! As planned, my guard does not turn her shoulder this time, but jubilantly pulls me out of my hindering vase and carefully hands me to the bride. Indeed, it is a sad parting from my loyal guard, but I feel equipped for what lays ahead of me. The bride tenderly grasps my stems and ties a lovely pink ribbon around them, holding me together. What a nice lady. He’s a lucky man.
She climbs the stage, me in her hand, and all the ladies in the room obligingly congregate in front of the stage. The dying energy in the room has taken a turn and the air feels animated and alive again. Even Grandpa Albert showed signs of life as he snorted and a long dribble of drool escaped his mouth. The ladies drew into an ever tighter pack, shoving each other for the most central spot below the stage. All eyes were on me. Oh what a chick magnet I am!
The bride turns her back to the eager crowd of women (the men look apprehensively through their drunken eyes in the shadows of the room, beer in hand). Before I know it, I leave her delicate hands and I’m flying through the air, turning over and over, approaching the mob of women. What a sight. By the looks of their greedy, over-eager faces, one would’ve thought I was a stack of a billion dollars. With what seemed to be a thousand arms outstretched to get a hand on me, unthinkable joy mounted in me. I had never felt so wanted before.
My flight turned downward. I felt a hand close firmly around stems. I looked into my winner’s eyes. She was rather piggy looking, but one happy pig at that. I was her golden ticket. She began to prance around in circles, holding me proudly above her head. A mob of horrified ladies surrounded me and my piggy winner. In a split second I had turned from a billion dollars into the girl cheating with their boyfriends.
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