Things Graf 5
It was a place to go when I needed to be alone during my teenage years. I spent a lot of time out there in the hot summer months with my boom box listening to Def Leppard and Quiet Riot. It had two bays with 25’ doors, some grease on the floor and a lot of tools--this place was my dads truck garage.
My father has always worked in the woods driving a pulp loader truck. He is a self-contractor; which means that whenever there is a breakdown he would spend numerous hours in the truck garage repairing his truck. I was always guaranteed to find him out there whenever I was bored and just needed to come hang out and watch him work….in the truck garage.
I typically would listen to music, obscess about the new boyfriend in my life, what I wanted to be when I grew up, and sweep the floor with the big three foot wide broom that he had. I would straighten out his workbench and make sure all of his sockets were in the right socket set, the wrenches were put away in order by size, and frequently would wash his truck and clean out the inside of it…..in the truck garage.
I made the tennis team! Gosh, the snowsled is stuck again! I can’t believe he dumped me! I wonder if there is any gas for the four wheeler. I’ve got to go find Dad and tell him that I left the road and dented the car by driving too fast down the camp road. I wonder if Dad will take me fishing. I’m not sure if I’m ready to get married. I think I’ll quit my job and go back to school. How do I make my kids mind? I could find all of the advice or solutions to my dilemmas by going into the truck garage.
Yes, I believe that the actual “thing” that means the most to me is actually the quiet presence of my dad when I was growing up right into my adulthood. He is a great listener and friend. The truck garage just happens to be the spot where I could always find him when he wasn’t working in his truck.
I don’t get a chance to hang out in the truck garage as much as I used to. I guess I really don’t like to pick up greasy nuts and bolts. The kids clothes usually get covered with soot and grease whenever they are out there. However, I did a lot of growing up in that garage. I hope that my kids get to experience some freedom of their own out there one day--and savor the fond memories of their grampie in his truck garage.
Monday, January 31, 2011
Sunday, January 30, 2011
Unique Graf #4
Graf #4 Unique
I don’t have tattoos anywhere on my body, my hair is brown but if I don’t dye it it would be gray. I have a great complexion. I am overweight for my height but am aware of this issue and the need to lose thirty pounds in order to attempt sliding back into a normal bathing suit. I enjoy vegetable and flower gardening. I love to take off and walk around my field with my two kids and two dogs. I typically stay in my p.j.’s until ten o’clock on weekends if I have nowhere to be. I love to fish in the summertime up to my camp and can even bait my own hook and can tolerate getting worm dirt under my nails. I enjoy picking up brush and building wood fires at our camp. I have drove my husbands front end loader and enjoy playing around with his excavator. I was always used to being around a truck garage when I was little; as my father drives a pulp loader truck. I’m not afraid to pitch in and get my hands dirty if someone needs assistance. I truly enjoy trout fishing in our secret stream where we catch 22” trout one after the other. I enjoy going up in my husbands plane and looking at the gorgeous scenery that the great State of Maine has to offer. I like to sit on the dock and drink a cold Budweiser on a ninty degree day while my kids frolic in the water.
I don’t have tattoos anywhere on my body, my hair is brown but if I don’t dye it it would be gray. I have a great complexion. I am overweight for my height but am aware of this issue and the need to lose thirty pounds in order to attempt sliding back into a normal bathing suit. I enjoy vegetable and flower gardening. I love to take off and walk around my field with my two kids and two dogs. I typically stay in my p.j.’s until ten o’clock on weekends if I have nowhere to be. I love to fish in the summertime up to my camp and can even bait my own hook and can tolerate getting worm dirt under my nails. I enjoy picking up brush and building wood fires at our camp. I have drove my husbands front end loader and enjoy playing around with his excavator. I was always used to being around a truck garage when I was little; as my father drives a pulp loader truck. I’m not afraid to pitch in and get my hands dirty if someone needs assistance. I truly enjoy trout fishing in our secret stream where we catch 22” trout one after the other. I enjoy going up in my husbands plane and looking at the gorgeous scenery that the great State of Maine has to offer. I like to sit on the dock and drink a cold Budweiser on a ninty degree day while my kids frolic in the water.
Graf Week #2 Inventory
Week #2 Inventory
Jr. Strength Tylenol, adult Tylenol, Excedrin migraine, Benadryl allergy, Imodium, Sudafed cold and sinus, digital thermometer, ace wraps, bandaids, Neosporin, Bacitracin, Kanka medication, Nyquil, Robitussin cough syrup, emery board, nail polish, nail polish remover, nail clippers, shaving cream, and razors.
This person has a medicine cabinet full of items that could be used for the common cold, cuts, fevers, and diarrhea. It would appear that this person likes to be prepared for illnesses or injuries. This person also likes to keep her nails clipped and polished and believes in shaving.
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
Grafs #2 Worst Teacher
Graf #2 Worst Teacher
My freshman year of high school had just begun. The printed schedule stated that my last period was “Algebra IIB” which was in Room 208. I made my way up the stairs and down the long corridor to the last classroom on the left. There were seniors, juniors and sophomores mixed in the class along with many freshman. I was a middle-of-the-road math student who didn’t have any reservations about Algebra.
The instructor walked in and introduced himself. His hair was red, wavy and short. Everyone had nicknamed him “bacon head”. He was middle-aged, ran every morning, and had well conditioned biceps. He strutted around the classroom trying to intimidate the senior football players.
Two weeks passed and I watched “bacon head” leave class on several occasions and tiptoe into the student bathroom; which was one door down from our classroom. He would usually come out ranting and raving at a student who had left class without a hallway pass; or grab onto a student and push them against the lockers. Eventually the harassment overflowed into the classroom. He would throw erasers at students who answered the algebra problem incorrectly. I feared the man; as well as algebra. I could see my grades slipping but I certainly didn’t dare to ask the man for help for fear that he would make me look like an idiot in front of the class.
My parents went to my teacher conference and found out that I was failing the class and had forged my warning slip with my mothers signature--all because of the fear that I had for the instructor.
I consider “bacon head” to be my worst teacher because I was a good student when I initially walked into his classroom and his anger issues forced me into lying to my parents....and that's not the kind of person
that I am.
My freshman year of high school had just begun. The printed schedule stated that my last period was “Algebra IIB” which was in Room 208. I made my way up the stairs and down the long corridor to the last classroom on the left. There were seniors, juniors and sophomores mixed in the class along with many freshman. I was a middle-of-the-road math student who didn’t have any reservations about Algebra.
The instructor walked in and introduced himself. His hair was red, wavy and short. Everyone had nicknamed him “bacon head”. He was middle-aged, ran every morning, and had well conditioned biceps. He strutted around the classroom trying to intimidate the senior football players.
Two weeks passed and I watched “bacon head” leave class on several occasions and tiptoe into the student bathroom; which was one door down from our classroom. He would usually come out ranting and raving at a student who had left class without a hallway pass; or grab onto a student and push them against the lockers. Eventually the harassment overflowed into the classroom. He would throw erasers at students who answered the algebra problem incorrectly. I feared the man; as well as algebra. I could see my grades slipping but I certainly didn’t dare to ask the man for help for fear that he would make me look like an idiot in front of the class.
My parents went to my teacher conference and found out that I was failing the class and had forged my warning slip with my mothers signature--all because of the fear that I had for the instructor.
I consider “bacon head” to be my worst teacher because I was a good student when I initially walked into his classroom and his anger issues forced me into lying to my parents....and that's not the kind of person
that I am.
Graf Week #1 Hands
Hands…..so tiny but yet strong enough to hold a baby bottle and rattle….then they grew. My hands were a little larger and strong enough to hold a crayon and paintbrush when I was little….then they grew. I was able to grip the handlebars of my first bike and pedal down the driveway after daddy took my training wheels off. My hands were soft and flawless; except for an occasional scratch from one of my cats….then they grew. I remember boarding the school bus and waving goodbye to my mother. My hands worked diligently writing, painting, erasing and correcting mistakes….then they grew. My hands were tan from spending long summers riding my four wheeler, picking berries, playing badminton and catching fireflies…then they grew. My hands tightly gripped the wheel at ten o’clock and two o’clock position when I was driving around town with my permit….then they grew. My hand held onto his when we said our vows at the altar and he placed a beautiful diamond wedding band on my finger….then they grew. My hands suffered many bites and scratches when I brought Jordan, my golden retriever puppy, home. My hands were always available for my son and daughter to hold onto when they were first learning to walk…..then they grew. Now my hands wave goodbye to them when they get on the bus, and clap for them when they play baseball, softball, basketball, football and soccer. My hands never tire; although I know that someday they will. My hands savor hugging and tickling my children because….then they grew.
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