Mid Life Crisis
“I can’t believe he’s fifty years old and he’s driving around in a new Mustang!”, my sister said. We laughed as we watched the middle-aged man wave and smile as he slowly drove by showing off his new set of wheels. I was twenty years old at the time and couldn’t imagine why a middle-aged person would want to act like a teenager. It was absurd! I had heard the term “mid life crisis” but I never really truly knew what it meant…..until it happened to me--thus prompting me to do some soul searching into the symptoms of mid life crisis. Of course, the urge to purchase sporty vehicles, younger looking clothes, changing your appearance in an effort to look younger are symptoms of mid life crisis. However, I would like to outline the issues that I am currently experiencing which pertain to my children getting older, my aging parents, and my uncertainty with “what I would like to be when I grow up.”
My parents are seven years apart and were married when they were in their twenties. My dad was in the Marines and when he got out he went to work in the woods and bought a pulp truck. My mom couldn’t drive when my father met her; so he taught her how to drive after they got married. They seem to “offset” one another. Dad doesn’t say too much; whereas, my mother never runs out of things to talk about. Dad is seventy-three and still hauls wood almost every day and mom is sixty-six and keeps the cleanest house around. I have noticed small physical changes through the years with both of my parents but like most children—I have always been able to “overlook” it until the past couple of years. My mother has developed spinal stenosis and requires painful injections in her back with little to no relief. Her hair has gone from brown to gray and her finger joints have developed arthritic changes. She can still do housework and go places but she needs to take Vicodin to get through the pain. My father used to be a rugged two hundred twenty pound man but over the past few years he’s developed type II diabetes and recently started insulin therapy. He’s lost at least fifty pounds over the past year and is very thin. A lot of people ask me if he’s every going to “retire”….or they’ll ask me if he’s “ok” due to his weight loss. I am struggling psychologically with the idea of the two of them getting older and cannot imagine my life without them. Realistically speaking, I know that the time will come when I’ll have to face the inevitable but for now I guess I get mad at myself for recognizing their “aging process”. I can’t bury my head in the sand anymore. The books say that my emotions are emotions that are often seen when you go through mid-life crisis. I have to wonder….is this mid-life crisis or just plain common sense?
I couldn’t wait to have children when I got married. My husband and I knew that we wanted children and were in fact trying to conceive shortly before my wedding. We were blessed with a son; who is now twelve, and a daughter; who is eleven. I worked for a physician for twelve years prior to having my children. It was never uncommon to work a twelve hour day five days a week. That was the only life that I knew—and was the only thing that I was passionate about. My career began even before I met my husband. However, I remember sitting on the couch crying because I didn’t want to go and leave my son in daycare to return to work. What was wrong with me? Why would I want to throw my career away to stay at home with my kids? It didn’t matter…what mattered the most to me at that time was the fact that I was their mother and I didn’t want someone else raising my children. My husband works at least sixty hours a week and works at least one hour away from home; so I needed to ensure that I would be around to take care of them. I took another job working in our local school district and now have the same hours that my kids have with summers off. My job has no stress, is boring—but it’s worth hanging onto right now because of the hours….because of the kids. My son will have his license four years from now….they’ll be looking at colleges seven years from now….it seems like yesterday when they were toddling around and I can foresee that the next seven years will fly; as well. I can see my life at a standstill when they leave for college. The book says that the “empty nest syndrome” is all a part of mid-life crisis…. but I cannot imagine a parent not missing their child when they leave home. (Please keep in mind that I have not experienced the teenage years yet…so hold that thought!)
My final symptoms of mid-life crisis has been happening to me for over the past five years. I’m not sure what I want to be when my kids are grown and gone. I certainly could stay at home and clean and cook, garden, take long walks, fish, shop, spend time with my husband should he decide to retire from his construction business—or I could go on to college and reenter the work force for another fifteen years. I certainly know that I don’t want to work in the health clinic at school forever putting on band aids, etc. I have always had a medical background; therefore, I’ve been contemplating going on to nursing school. I should have done this five years ago but my kids were still pretty small and I couldn’t be away from them for that length of time. I have taken five college courses through the past few years—to include college composition. I keep thinking that I could quit my job this year and go to school full time; but then I worry about my parents health and tell myself that this isn’t a good idea. So, for now, I’m just dabbling around with some general electives—not even sure if I would even want to be a nurse. The book says that not being able to make a career decision or wanting to switch careers is a part of mid-life crisis.
Symptoms of midlife crisis can be broken down into different subcategories, but I chose to reflect on the above three that relate to my current situation. I believe that everyone goes through a lot of the symptoms of mid life crisis at one point in their life. In closing, I do realize that it’s normal to worry about aging parents, watching your children grow up and dreading the day when they spread their wings and fly, and exploring new career opportunities. What kind of a world would we be living in if noone worried or never set longterm goals?
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Thursday, March 24, 2011
Process Essay Christmas Wreaths
WREATHS
Winter time often brings magical memories that last a lifetime. Families head out in search of their perfect Christmas tree and decorations are hung all through the house. Cider is simmering on the stove and the smell of balsam is in the air. My hands are cracked and covered with sap and there are boughs all over my kitchen table.. There are small grooves in my index fingers from pulling the wire so tight to ensure that the traditional holiday decoration that I’ve made will look perfect on our front door and dormer windows. The traditional decoration that I’m making is the Christmas wreath. My front door is open….come in, have a seat and some cider and I’ll show you the process of how to make a Christmas wreath.
The first step involved with making Christmas wreaths is to gather tips for your wreaths. It is always highly advisable to get landowner permission when gathering tips; unless you are getting boughs from your own personal property. Always remember to wear something orange when out in the woods; as it’s typically November when I tip for wreath making. You will need to bring along several large trash bags to put your tips in.
One large trash bag will typically make around three 12 inch wreaths. Once you’ve found the perfect tree that has plenty of healthy looking full boughs—go back around 10-20” from the tip of the bough if you plan to make a 12” standard sized wreath and gently snap the branch off. In summary, landowner permission, wear orange, trash bags, look for healthy boughs, break off only what is needed for the size of the wreath that you plan to make.
So, now that we’ve trapsed around the woods and gathered up our bags of boughs…now the fun begins! Take your wire ring that can be purchased at any craft store for about fifty cents each; and your roll of floral wire. Take your wire and loop the wire around the ring four to five times and pull tightly to anchor the floral wire on to the wreath wire. Take a few boughs and lay them on top of each other—then fan the boughs out with one bough on each side and one bough in the middle. Put them on top of your wire ring and then loop your floral wire around the broken end of the bough three times and then pull tightly—but be careful not to pull so tightly that the wire snaps. Continue this process until you have almost covered your wire ring. Once you get back to where you started place a few boughs going in the opposite direction and secure with wire. We can hide this area with our bow; so don’t fret about it not looking symmetrical. Take your floral wire and finish the wreath off by going around the last boughs that were placed four to five times. Then take your wire and cut a one foot long piece of wire. Triple the wire up and loop it around the top of your wreath and twist it to make a hook.
Now that we’ve gone through the process of how to gather boughs for our wreath and how to place them on the ring; our final step is to decorate our Christmas wreaths. This is my favorite part of wreath making because we can decorate our wreaths in whatever fashion we desire. I have used twisty berries, pine cones, candy canes—or I have simply left them plain and tied on a gorgeous red, burgundy, or even a red and black checkered country looking bow. This portion of wreath making is based solely on what the person making the wreaths desires for decorations. It is a chance to display your own inner talent.
Aaahhh….we’re finished. Now we can sit back, relax, sip on some cider and rest a bit before we head out into the cold to hang our wreaths. Once hung, we can reflect back onto the process that was involved in making our gorgeous wreaths that “don” our front door, dormer windows, mailboxes, lamp posts, and garages. We will feel a sense of accomplishment when we reflect on our cracked, sticky fingers; and all of the compliments we have received about our festive Christmas wreaths.
Winter time often brings magical memories that last a lifetime. Families head out in search of their perfect Christmas tree and decorations are hung all through the house. Cider is simmering on the stove and the smell of balsam is in the air. My hands are cracked and covered with sap and there are boughs all over my kitchen table.. There are small grooves in my index fingers from pulling the wire so tight to ensure that the traditional holiday decoration that I’ve made will look perfect on our front door and dormer windows. The traditional decoration that I’m making is the Christmas wreath. My front door is open….come in, have a seat and some cider and I’ll show you the process of how to make a Christmas wreath.
The first step involved with making Christmas wreaths is to gather tips for your wreaths. It is always highly advisable to get landowner permission when gathering tips; unless you are getting boughs from your own personal property. Always remember to wear something orange when out in the woods; as it’s typically November when I tip for wreath making. You will need to bring along several large trash bags to put your tips in.
One large trash bag will typically make around three 12 inch wreaths. Once you’ve found the perfect tree that has plenty of healthy looking full boughs—go back around 10-20” from the tip of the bough if you plan to make a 12” standard sized wreath and gently snap the branch off. In summary, landowner permission, wear orange, trash bags, look for healthy boughs, break off only what is needed for the size of the wreath that you plan to make.
So, now that we’ve trapsed around the woods and gathered up our bags of boughs…now the fun begins! Take your wire ring that can be purchased at any craft store for about fifty cents each; and your roll of floral wire. Take your wire and loop the wire around the ring four to five times and pull tightly to anchor the floral wire on to the wreath wire. Take a few boughs and lay them on top of each other—then fan the boughs out with one bough on each side and one bough in the middle. Put them on top of your wire ring and then loop your floral wire around the broken end of the bough three times and then pull tightly—but be careful not to pull so tightly that the wire snaps. Continue this process until you have almost covered your wire ring. Once you get back to where you started place a few boughs going in the opposite direction and secure with wire. We can hide this area with our bow; so don’t fret about it not looking symmetrical. Take your floral wire and finish the wreath off by going around the last boughs that were placed four to five times. Then take your wire and cut a one foot long piece of wire. Triple the wire up and loop it around the top of your wreath and twist it to make a hook.
Now that we’ve gone through the process of how to gather boughs for our wreath and how to place them on the ring; our final step is to decorate our Christmas wreaths. This is my favorite part of wreath making because we can decorate our wreaths in whatever fashion we desire. I have used twisty berries, pine cones, candy canes—or I have simply left them plain and tied on a gorgeous red, burgundy, or even a red and black checkered country looking bow. This portion of wreath making is based solely on what the person making the wreaths desires for decorations. It is a chance to display your own inner talent.
Aaahhh….we’re finished. Now we can sit back, relax, sip on some cider and rest a bit before we head out into the cold to hang our wreaths. Once hung, we can reflect back onto the process that was involved in making our gorgeous wreaths that “don” our front door, dormer windows, mailboxes, lamp posts, and garages. We will feel a sense of accomplishment when we reflect on our cracked, sticky fingers; and all of the compliments we have received about our festive Christmas wreaths.
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
Graf 10 To Fly or To Drive?
GRAF 10 TO DRIVE OR TO FLY
Have you ever been so desperate for a vacation that you think that hopping in your car and driving to Florida with your family sounds appealing? I’ve been doing a little research lately (actually I do this every year in search of a good deal)--about driving to Orlando, Florida versus flying. I work for a school district and they are very strict about not using a personal day to extend a vacation; so, I can only take off Friday, April 15 after school until Sunday, April 23. Of course, Allegiant Airlines had a “deal” of $450 per ticket for travelers who want to leave on Wednesday or Thursday prior to vacation; but if I want to do it “legally” it would cost our family $600 per person to fly to Florida. Of course, to drive to Florida would deduct at least four days out of my nine day vacation, we’d probably all be exhausted when we arrived in sunny Orlando. However, it would cost us $600 total for gas, we’d spend around $250 in hotel rooms, but would save $500 for a rental car. It’s obvious that my fun-filled vacation would be a heck of a lot cheaper if we chose to drive--however, I can already foresee the kids asking “how much longer?”, and hearing my husband state….”we’re gonna have to leave to head home a day earlier so we can take our time getting back”………Unfortunately, due to the high cost of jet fuel…we’ll be staying home this April vacation.
Have you ever been so desperate for a vacation that you think that hopping in your car and driving to Florida with your family sounds appealing? I’ve been doing a little research lately (actually I do this every year in search of a good deal)--about driving to Orlando, Florida versus flying. I work for a school district and they are very strict about not using a personal day to extend a vacation; so, I can only take off Friday, April 15 after school until Sunday, April 23. Of course, Allegiant Airlines had a “deal” of $450 per ticket for travelers who want to leave on Wednesday or Thursday prior to vacation; but if I want to do it “legally” it would cost our family $600 per person to fly to Florida. Of course, to drive to Florida would deduct at least four days out of my nine day vacation, we’d probably all be exhausted when we arrived in sunny Orlando. However, it would cost us $600 total for gas, we’d spend around $250 in hotel rooms, but would save $500 for a rental car. It’s obvious that my fun-filled vacation would be a heck of a lot cheaper if we chose to drive--however, I can already foresee the kids asking “how much longer?”, and hearing my husband state….”we’re gonna have to leave to head home a day earlier so we can take our time getting back”………Unfortunately, due to the high cost of jet fuel…we’ll be staying home this April vacation.
Thursday, March 17, 2011
Contrast Essay
Contrast Essay:
JORDAN AND MILEY
I’ll admit that I’m a golden retreiver fanatic! Don’t get me wrong; I like all dog species but I just melt whenever I see a golden retriever. When I see a golden with their owner I will typically go over and say to the owner “what a gorgeous dog”--just to sort of feel the owner out to see if it’s ok for a stranger to pet their prize posession. Then, I’ll lean over and pet the dog’s head and scratch behind it’s ears. I will carry on a conversation with the owner about my retrievers in an effort to stay awhile longer to socialize with the dog. Within the past twenty years I have been very fortunate to have owned two golden retrievers. Jordan, my first golden, lived to be eleven years of age. Miley, is currently three and will be lucky to live to age four. Jordan had a few bad habits that could easily be overlooked. However, Miley is completely different than Jordan. I hope you find the following differences between my two “girls” to be somewhat amusing.
Jordan was a birthday present from my husband before we were married. I saw the ad in the Bangor Daily News, rode to Amherst and paid two hundred dollars to pick out the little ball of fur. Her mother was well cared for and this was her first litter of healthy pups. Miley, on the other hand, was born at the Lincoln Humane Society. Her mother was rescued from a family that used her as a “puppy mill”--and was on her fourth litter of pups. It had been two years since Jordan had passed away and I didn’t care about the circumstances with the pups….I wanted to get another golden retriever to fill the void of losing Jordan; so thirty dollars was spent along with a promise that I would have her spayed--and Miley had a home.
Jordan was very easy to house train. I remember spending a few weeks outside on cold fall nights with my bedroom slippers on and bathrobe walking around the lawn with her saying…”ya gotta go pee?” hoping that she’d catch on. It took a couple of weeks and she did. I remember pacing outside trying to get Miley to pee and poop for one to two months. She would have good days; and other days would go outside and pee only to come inside and poop in a corner somewhere. Jordan had a bad habit of grasping your sleeve and holding onto it with her teeth. She also had a habit of being a couch potato. I would leave for work at seven a.m. and would have to drive her off of the couch at six p.m. to make her go outside and pee. Miley was the typical pup who liked to play and was full of vigor but seemed to have more aggressiveness in her personality compared to Jordan. She had plenty of dog toys but preferred to chew up the kids sneakers, my socks and personal undergarments, my husbands hats, the kids toys, etc. I cannot leave anything on the sideboard for food or she will jump up and cruise around the sideboard and scoffle down anything that she can find. I have to keep a baby gate against our trash bin or she will dive into it and strew trash throughout the house. She likes to steal the tub of butter off of the kitchen table if left unattended. She will run downstairs where my laundry shoot is and will grab wash cloths and chew holes in the center of them.
I’m sure that Jordan didn’t know what to think when my first child, Tyler, was born in 1999. She sat by my side all hours of the night with her head tilted off to the side whenever he would cry. Tyler learned how to crawl at eight months. Jordan would lie on the floor and he would crawl up on her side and use her to keep his balance. Pretty soon, Katelyn came along in 2000. Jordan had her hands full with lapping the floor from where the baby food spilled from Katelyn, and being Tyler’s buddy when he decided to wander around on the front lawn. Miley loves to be near the kids; however she came along when the kids were seven and eight, so she mostly lays at their feet when they are listening to their Ipod or playing the Wii. She loves to run out back in our field and thinks she’s “ten feet tall and bullet proof” but actually is afraid of her own shadow. Jordan would sit in the lake at camp with the kids for hours on end--and when they finally decided to call it a day…she would, too. She was very protective around my children. If they decided to swim out beyond the wharf when they were eight and nine years old--she would bark nonstop until they came back in closer to her. Miley has the same protective instinct but tends to chase frogs around along the shoreline and will leave the kids sight--but will scramble over to the kids if they are goofing off in the water. Once she senses everything is ok she will go lay down in the grass. Jordan would never do that. She would sit in the water all day long until the kids got out. Miley loves to be with the kids and helps me say goodnight to them each night. She lays on the floor next to my bed and when my husband leaves for work she quickly jumps into bed and snuggles with me--like Jordan used to.
My heart broke when I found Jordan lifeless on my bedroom floor. I knew that the rust colored fur had turned white under her chin and that she had had a hard time “keeping up” with us walking on the camp road one week prior. I could see it coming--but wanted to run as far away from the issue as possible. It seemed so unfair to see my best friend go just like that--but I often reflect about what a wonderful life she had with us; as we had with her. Miley is twenty-one in human years and still acts like the typical teenager/early adult but I know that there will come a day when I’ll see white under her chin. She has been a handful to say the least; but at the end of the day I’m sure that I will be just as broken hearted without her as I am without Jordan. I will just reflect on the wonderful life she’s had with us; as we have had with her. Despite their contrast in personalities-- I have found my two Goldens to both be faithful companions, the “twenty-four hour babysitters“, the snugglers, the keeper of secrets…..the trusted friend.
JORDAN AND MILEY
I’ll admit that I’m a golden retreiver fanatic! Don’t get me wrong; I like all dog species but I just melt whenever I see a golden retriever. When I see a golden with their owner I will typically go over and say to the owner “what a gorgeous dog”--just to sort of feel the owner out to see if it’s ok for a stranger to pet their prize posession. Then, I’ll lean over and pet the dog’s head and scratch behind it’s ears. I will carry on a conversation with the owner about my retrievers in an effort to stay awhile longer to socialize with the dog. Within the past twenty years I have been very fortunate to have owned two golden retrievers. Jordan, my first golden, lived to be eleven years of age. Miley, is currently three and will be lucky to live to age four. Jordan had a few bad habits that could easily be overlooked. However, Miley is completely different than Jordan. I hope you find the following differences between my two “girls” to be somewhat amusing.
Jordan was a birthday present from my husband before we were married. I saw the ad in the Bangor Daily News, rode to Amherst and paid two hundred dollars to pick out the little ball of fur. Her mother was well cared for and this was her first litter of healthy pups. Miley, on the other hand, was born at the Lincoln Humane Society. Her mother was rescued from a family that used her as a “puppy mill”--and was on her fourth litter of pups. It had been two years since Jordan had passed away and I didn’t care about the circumstances with the pups….I wanted to get another golden retriever to fill the void of losing Jordan; so thirty dollars was spent along with a promise that I would have her spayed--and Miley had a home.
Jordan was very easy to house train. I remember spending a few weeks outside on cold fall nights with my bedroom slippers on and bathrobe walking around the lawn with her saying…”ya gotta go pee?” hoping that she’d catch on. It took a couple of weeks and she did. I remember pacing outside trying to get Miley to pee and poop for one to two months. She would have good days; and other days would go outside and pee only to come inside and poop in a corner somewhere. Jordan had a bad habit of grasping your sleeve and holding onto it with her teeth. She also had a habit of being a couch potato. I would leave for work at seven a.m. and would have to drive her off of the couch at six p.m. to make her go outside and pee. Miley was the typical pup who liked to play and was full of vigor but seemed to have more aggressiveness in her personality compared to Jordan. She had plenty of dog toys but preferred to chew up the kids sneakers, my socks and personal undergarments, my husbands hats, the kids toys, etc. I cannot leave anything on the sideboard for food or she will jump up and cruise around the sideboard and scoffle down anything that she can find. I have to keep a baby gate against our trash bin or she will dive into it and strew trash throughout the house. She likes to steal the tub of butter off of the kitchen table if left unattended. She will run downstairs where my laundry shoot is and will grab wash cloths and chew holes in the center of them.
I’m sure that Jordan didn’t know what to think when my first child, Tyler, was born in 1999. She sat by my side all hours of the night with her head tilted off to the side whenever he would cry. Tyler learned how to crawl at eight months. Jordan would lie on the floor and he would crawl up on her side and use her to keep his balance. Pretty soon, Katelyn came along in 2000. Jordan had her hands full with lapping the floor from where the baby food spilled from Katelyn, and being Tyler’s buddy when he decided to wander around on the front lawn. Miley loves to be near the kids; however she came along when the kids were seven and eight, so she mostly lays at their feet when they are listening to their Ipod or playing the Wii. She loves to run out back in our field and thinks she’s “ten feet tall and bullet proof” but actually is afraid of her own shadow. Jordan would sit in the lake at camp with the kids for hours on end--and when they finally decided to call it a day…she would, too. She was very protective around my children. If they decided to swim out beyond the wharf when they were eight and nine years old--she would bark nonstop until they came back in closer to her. Miley has the same protective instinct but tends to chase frogs around along the shoreline and will leave the kids sight--but will scramble over to the kids if they are goofing off in the water. Once she senses everything is ok she will go lay down in the grass. Jordan would never do that. She would sit in the water all day long until the kids got out. Miley loves to be with the kids and helps me say goodnight to them each night. She lays on the floor next to my bed and when my husband leaves for work she quickly jumps into bed and snuggles with me--like Jordan used to.
My heart broke when I found Jordan lifeless on my bedroom floor. I knew that the rust colored fur had turned white under her chin and that she had had a hard time “keeping up” with us walking on the camp road one week prior. I could see it coming--but wanted to run as far away from the issue as possible. It seemed so unfair to see my best friend go just like that--but I often reflect about what a wonderful life she had with us; as we had with her. Miley is twenty-one in human years and still acts like the typical teenager/early adult but I know that there will come a day when I’ll see white under her chin. She has been a handful to say the least; but at the end of the day I’m sure that I will be just as broken hearted without her as I am without Jordan. I will just reflect on the wonderful life she’s had with us; as we have had with her. Despite their contrast in personalities-- I have found my two Goldens to both be faithful companions, the “twenty-four hour babysitters“, the snugglers, the keeper of secrets…..the trusted friend.
I Search Background
I Search Background
I remember asking my dad when I was around eight or nine years old who his boss was. His response was “noone…I’m my own boss..I’m a sub contractor for a logging company.” All of my other friends parents had a “boss” and worked for someone--I thought at the time that this was not cool. As the years progressed and after I’ve been working for twenty years for a “boss”--I admire my fathers ability to provide for our family on his own. The older I get the more I seem to wish that I had something of my own to build from the ground up and run and be successful at.
I know absolutely nothing about running a business; other than in order to be successful in this day and age you need to be present and physically be at the business. My husband worked at several gas stations when he was a teenager and he runs his own construction business; so he’s aware of the risks involved with running your own business. I do all of his payroll/quarterly taxes; so am familiar with that.
Running a gas station/store/lunch counter came to mind a few years ago. Our local gas station went up for sale for 200 thousand dollars and the building is over thirty years old. I inquired about it but my husband said that you’d need to build the building in the ideal location and have it sit back further away from the road. It didn’t make sense to sink that amount of money into an old building that needed major improvements.
We purchased a lot at the beginning of our street that is in an ideal location at the only major intersection in town. A Take Out in the summertime was tossed around but we also have ITS81 snowmobile trail going across the property which would be ideal for snowbladers for gas, etc.
I have never taken economics or ever worked in a gas station/restaurant. I have the work ethic and the desire to be successful--as I ran a busy medical practice for seventeen years. I’m used to working twelve hour days.
The question at this point in my life is…do you want to run your own business and be tied to it? Will I be able to sell it thirty years down the line and make a profit? My answer early on….is “probably not” because we live in such a small town. I would I’ve seen many businesses come and go--even in bigger towns. The economy is in terrible shape.
However, you do hear stories about the “American Dream” and how people make a go of their businesses and do fairly well. I’m Isearching this topic to “put a rest” to my idea--or perhaps realize that this can be doable.
I remember asking my dad when I was around eight or nine years old who his boss was. His response was “noone…I’m my own boss..I’m a sub contractor for a logging company.” All of my other friends parents had a “boss” and worked for someone--I thought at the time that this was not cool. As the years progressed and after I’ve been working for twenty years for a “boss”--I admire my fathers ability to provide for our family on his own. The older I get the more I seem to wish that I had something of my own to build from the ground up and run and be successful at.
I know absolutely nothing about running a business; other than in order to be successful in this day and age you need to be present and physically be at the business. My husband worked at several gas stations when he was a teenager and he runs his own construction business; so he’s aware of the risks involved with running your own business. I do all of his payroll/quarterly taxes; so am familiar with that.
Running a gas station/store/lunch counter came to mind a few years ago. Our local gas station went up for sale for 200 thousand dollars and the building is over thirty years old. I inquired about it but my husband said that you’d need to build the building in the ideal location and have it sit back further away from the road. It didn’t make sense to sink that amount of money into an old building that needed major improvements.
We purchased a lot at the beginning of our street that is in an ideal location at the only major intersection in town. A Take Out in the summertime was tossed around but we also have ITS81 snowmobile trail going across the property which would be ideal for snowbladers for gas, etc.
I have never taken economics or ever worked in a gas station/restaurant. I have the work ethic and the desire to be successful--as I ran a busy medical practice for seventeen years. I’m used to working twelve hour days.
The question at this point in my life is…do you want to run your own business and be tied to it? Will I be able to sell it thirty years down the line and make a profit? My answer early on….is “probably not” because we live in such a small town. I would I’ve seen many businesses come and go--even in bigger towns. The economy is in terrible shape.
However, you do hear stories about the “American Dream” and how people make a go of their businesses and do fairly well. I’m Isearching this topic to “put a rest” to my idea--or perhaps realize that this can be doable.
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
I Search Brainstorm
I SEARCH BRAINSTORM:
Gas station
Convenience store
Fresh sandwiches
Lunch counter--only for breakfasts
Pizza oven
Is lot big enough for fuel tanks?
RISK
Can town support two gas stations?
Need something else to lure people to stop--?car wash: town has never had one
Parking--is lot big enough or 10 parking spaces
Smal town
Bad economy
Self run business….no business…no check
Self run business: need to work there full time
Is it really worth the hassle?
Can you make it profitable?
Debit/credit card machines
Food prep bar, grill, pizza oven, stove, dishwasher, sinks, grease hoods/ventilation,
Codes to follow
?movie rental--no place in town to rent movies
Nothing in town--just a place to drive through leading to somewhere bigger.
Would have to rely on tourists--people headed to the Mountain in the summertime and passing through snow sledding in the winter time.
Gas station
Convenience store
Fresh sandwiches
Lunch counter--only for breakfasts
Pizza oven
Is lot big enough for fuel tanks?
RISK
Can town support two gas stations?
Need something else to lure people to stop--?car wash: town has never had one
Parking--is lot big enough or 10 parking spaces
Smal town
Bad economy
Self run business….no business…no check
Self run business: need to work there full time
Is it really worth the hassle?
Can you make it profitable?
Debit/credit card machines
Food prep bar, grill, pizza oven, stove, dishwasher, sinks, grease hoods/ventilation,
Codes to follow
?movie rental--no place in town to rent movies
Nothing in town--just a place to drive through leading to somewhere bigger.
Would have to rely on tourists--people headed to the Mountain in the summertime and passing through snow sledding in the winter time.
Monday, March 14, 2011
I Search Why & What
I Search Why: Opening a Gas Station/Convenience Store
Personal history: My husband and I own a corner piece of land at an intersection at the end of my street that could be an ideal location for a business--perhaps a gas station/convenience store. We live in a small town of around 900 citizens. There is an old gas station about two miles down the road that is currently up for sale. We joked around about purchasing the old gas station but it’s in a bad location--and our property would be the ideal location. I truly doubt if we will ever do anything with this property; but the fascination about running my own business is the real reason why I’m pushing forward with this topic in an effort to research the following questions:
Is the property zoned for commercial use?
Is the property large enough to install gas tanks/DEP certified?
Is the property in an ideal location for the flow of traffic?
What other services could the gas station/convenience store offer?
What types of traffic go through the town?….winter vs. summer….destination.
What other types of permits are required?
Inspection of kitchen equipment? Who do you notify? How soon do they come?
Tax ID number? Tobacco/alcohol sales number?
What else could we add for an added attraction/feature to our gas station/store to make it more appealing to public?
Employees--how many? Part time vs. full time
What types of items would sell in the store to benefit the local community?
I Search What:
I know that the property is located at the only intersection in town that leads West toward Medway/East Mill/Millinocket and Baxter State Park. Located on Route 2 running North towards Houlton--last gas station for 50 miles if headed north. Next gas station headed West would be about 15 miles. Gas station headed South would be about one mile.
Logging trucks go through town--would need diesel fuel as well as regular
ITS 81 snowmobile trail is groomed across the property…would benefit to have a gas station that sold 24 hour gas with credit/debit card for those sleds who come into town late at night and need gas; whereas other station in town doesn’t and isn’t located on the trail.
I think one to two full time employees, myself, and 2-3 part time employees.
Personal history: My husband and I own a corner piece of land at an intersection at the end of my street that could be an ideal location for a business--perhaps a gas station/convenience store. We live in a small town of around 900 citizens. There is an old gas station about two miles down the road that is currently up for sale. We joked around about purchasing the old gas station but it’s in a bad location--and our property would be the ideal location. I truly doubt if we will ever do anything with this property; but the fascination about running my own business is the real reason why I’m pushing forward with this topic in an effort to research the following questions:
Is the property zoned for commercial use?
Is the property large enough to install gas tanks/DEP certified?
Is the property in an ideal location for the flow of traffic?
What other services could the gas station/convenience store offer?
What types of traffic go through the town?….winter vs. summer….destination.
What other types of permits are required?
Inspection of kitchen equipment? Who do you notify? How soon do they come?
Tax ID number? Tobacco/alcohol sales number?
What else could we add for an added attraction/feature to our gas station/store to make it more appealing to public?
Employees--how many? Part time vs. full time
What types of items would sell in the store to benefit the local community?
I Search What:
I know that the property is located at the only intersection in town that leads West toward Medway/East Mill/Millinocket and Baxter State Park. Located on Route 2 running North towards Houlton--last gas station for 50 miles if headed north. Next gas station headed West would be about 15 miles. Gas station headed South would be about one mile.
Logging trucks go through town--would need diesel fuel as well as regular
ITS 81 snowmobile trail is groomed across the property…would benefit to have a gas station that sold 24 hour gas with credit/debit card for those sleds who come into town late at night and need gas; whereas other station in town doesn’t and isn’t located on the trail.
I think one to two full time employees, myself, and 2-3 part time employees.
Contrast Essay: Jordan and Miley
Contrast Essay:
JORDAN AND MILEY
I’ll admit that I’m a golden retreiver fanatic! Don’t get me wrong; I like all dog species but I just melt whenever I see a golden retriever. When I see a golden with their owner I will typically go over and say to the owner “what a gorgeous dog”--just to sort of feel the owner out to see if it’s ok for a stranger to pet their prize posession. Then, I’ll lean over and pet the dog’s head and scratch behind it’s ears. I will carry on a conversation with the owner about my retrievers in an effort to stay awhile longer to socialize with the dog. Within the past twenty years I have been very fortunate to have owned two golden retrievers. Jordan, my first golden, lived to be eleven years of age. Miley, is currently three and will be lucky to live to age four. Jordan had a few bad habits that could easily be overlooked. However, Miley is completely different than Jordan. I hope you find the following differences between my two “girls” to be somewhat amusing.
Jordan was a birthday present from my husband before we were married. I saw the ad in the Bangor Daily News, rode to Amherst and paid two hundred dollars to pick out the little ball of fur. Her mother was well cared for and this was her first litter of healthy pups. Miley, on the other hand, was born at the Lincoln Humane Society. Her mother was rescued from a family that used her as a “puppy mill”--and was on her fourth litter of pups. It had been two years since Jordan had passed away and I didn’t care about the circumstances with the pups….I wanted to get another golden retriever to fill the void of losing Jordan; so thirty dollars was spent along with a promise that I would have her spayed--and Miley had a home.
Jordan was very easy to house train. I remember spending a few weeks outside on cold fall nights with my bedroom slippers on and bathrobe walking around the lawn with her saying…”ya gotta go pee?” hoping that she’d catch on. It took a couple of weeks and she did. I took her to obedience classes when she was six months old--she disliked this so much that she chewed up her diploma on the way home from class. I’m sure that Jordan didn’t know what to think when my first child, Tyler, was born in 1999. She sat by my side all hours of the night with her head tilted off to the side whenever he would cry. Tyler learned how to crawl at eight months. Jordan would lie on the floor and he would crawl up on her side and use her to keep his balance. Pretty soon, Katelyn came along in 2000. Jordan had her hands full with lapping the floor from where the baby food spilled from Katelyn, and being Tyler’s buddy when he decided to wander around on the front lawn. Jordan would sit in the lake at camp with the kids for hours on end--and when they finally decided to call it a day…she would, too. She was very protective around my children. If they decided to swim out beyond the wharf when they were eight and nine years old--she would bark nonstop until they came back in closer to her. Jordan would steal a hunk of meatloaf off of your plate if you turned your back from her and she had a bad habit of easily grabbing onto peoples sleeves whenever company would show up. However, I forgot about all of that when she snuggled in bed with me. My heart broke when I found her lifeless on my bedroom floor. I knew that the rust colored fur had turned white--that she had had a hard time “keeping up” with us walking on the camp road one week earlier. It seemed so unfair to see your best friend go just like that--but I often reflect about what a wonderful life she had with us; as we had with her.
Miley was adopted in November of 2008. I remember pacing outside trying to get her to pee and poop for one to two months. She would have good days; and other days would go outside and pee only to come inside and poop in a corner somewhere. She was the typical pup who liked to play and was full of vigor but seemed to have more aggressiveness in her compared to Jordan. She had plenty of dog toys but preferred to chew up the kids sneakers, my socks and personal undergarments, my husbands hats, the kids toys, etc. I cannot leave anything on the sideboard for food or she will jump up and cruise around the sideboard and scoffle down anything that she can find. I have to keep a baby gate against our trash bin or she will dive into it and strew trash throughout the house. She likes to steal the tub of butter off of the kitchen table if left unattended. She will run downstairs where my laundry shoot is and will grab wash cloths and chew holes in the center of them. However, she loves to be with the kids and helps me say goodnight to them each night. She lays on the floor next to my bed and when my husband leaves for work she quickly jumps into bed and snuggles with me--like Jordan used to. Miley will leap out the window of my SUV when we arrive at camp and will dash into the lake with the kids. She will chase down frogs along the shoreline but still keeps a watchful eye on the kids and will hang around the water until they get ready to get out--similar to Jordan.
As you can see, Jordan and Miley are Goldens but their personalities are very different from one another. I know that Miley’s bad habits have been a struggle for me, however, at the end of the road I am sure that I will be just as heartbroken when her life is gone. I will just reflect on the wonderful life she’s had with us; and us with her. I have found my two Goldens to both be faithful companions, the “twenty-four hour babysitters“, the snugglers, the keeper of secrets…..the trusted friend.
JORDAN AND MILEY
I’ll admit that I’m a golden retreiver fanatic! Don’t get me wrong; I like all dog species but I just melt whenever I see a golden retriever. When I see a golden with their owner I will typically go over and say to the owner “what a gorgeous dog”--just to sort of feel the owner out to see if it’s ok for a stranger to pet their prize posession. Then, I’ll lean over and pet the dog’s head and scratch behind it’s ears. I will carry on a conversation with the owner about my retrievers in an effort to stay awhile longer to socialize with the dog. Within the past twenty years I have been very fortunate to have owned two golden retrievers. Jordan, my first golden, lived to be eleven years of age. Miley, is currently three and will be lucky to live to age four. Jordan had a few bad habits that could easily be overlooked. However, Miley is completely different than Jordan. I hope you find the following differences between my two “girls” to be somewhat amusing.
Jordan was a birthday present from my husband before we were married. I saw the ad in the Bangor Daily News, rode to Amherst and paid two hundred dollars to pick out the little ball of fur. Her mother was well cared for and this was her first litter of healthy pups. Miley, on the other hand, was born at the Lincoln Humane Society. Her mother was rescued from a family that used her as a “puppy mill”--and was on her fourth litter of pups. It had been two years since Jordan had passed away and I didn’t care about the circumstances with the pups….I wanted to get another golden retriever to fill the void of losing Jordan; so thirty dollars was spent along with a promise that I would have her spayed--and Miley had a home.
Jordan was very easy to house train. I remember spending a few weeks outside on cold fall nights with my bedroom slippers on and bathrobe walking around the lawn with her saying…”ya gotta go pee?” hoping that she’d catch on. It took a couple of weeks and she did. I took her to obedience classes when she was six months old--she disliked this so much that she chewed up her diploma on the way home from class. I’m sure that Jordan didn’t know what to think when my first child, Tyler, was born in 1999. She sat by my side all hours of the night with her head tilted off to the side whenever he would cry. Tyler learned how to crawl at eight months. Jordan would lie on the floor and he would crawl up on her side and use her to keep his balance. Pretty soon, Katelyn came along in 2000. Jordan had her hands full with lapping the floor from where the baby food spilled from Katelyn, and being Tyler’s buddy when he decided to wander around on the front lawn. Jordan would sit in the lake at camp with the kids for hours on end--and when they finally decided to call it a day…she would, too. She was very protective around my children. If they decided to swim out beyond the wharf when they were eight and nine years old--she would bark nonstop until they came back in closer to her. Jordan would steal a hunk of meatloaf off of your plate if you turned your back from her and she had a bad habit of easily grabbing onto peoples sleeves whenever company would show up. However, I forgot about all of that when she snuggled in bed with me. My heart broke when I found her lifeless on my bedroom floor. I knew that the rust colored fur had turned white--that she had had a hard time “keeping up” with us walking on the camp road one week earlier. It seemed so unfair to see your best friend go just like that--but I often reflect about what a wonderful life she had with us; as we had with her.
Miley was adopted in November of 2008. I remember pacing outside trying to get her to pee and poop for one to two months. She would have good days; and other days would go outside and pee only to come inside and poop in a corner somewhere. She was the typical pup who liked to play and was full of vigor but seemed to have more aggressiveness in her compared to Jordan. She had plenty of dog toys but preferred to chew up the kids sneakers, my socks and personal undergarments, my husbands hats, the kids toys, etc. I cannot leave anything on the sideboard for food or she will jump up and cruise around the sideboard and scoffle down anything that she can find. I have to keep a baby gate against our trash bin or she will dive into it and strew trash throughout the house. She likes to steal the tub of butter off of the kitchen table if left unattended. She will run downstairs where my laundry shoot is and will grab wash cloths and chew holes in the center of them. However, she loves to be with the kids and helps me say goodnight to them each night. She lays on the floor next to my bed and when my husband leaves for work she quickly jumps into bed and snuggles with me--like Jordan used to. Miley will leap out the window of my SUV when we arrive at camp and will dash into the lake with the kids. She will chase down frogs along the shoreline but still keeps a watchful eye on the kids and will hang around the water until they get ready to get out--similar to Jordan.
As you can see, Jordan and Miley are Goldens but their personalities are very different from one another. I know that Miley’s bad habits have been a struggle for me, however, at the end of the road I am sure that I will be just as heartbroken when her life is gone. I will just reflect on the wonderful life she’s had with us; and us with her. I have found my two Goldens to both be faithful companions, the “twenty-four hour babysitters“, the snugglers, the keeper of secrets…..the trusted friend.
Thursday, March 10, 2011
Contrast Revision
Hi Mr. Goldfine,
I added the "bridge" about my goldens. I put it underneath the comment section below your suggestion. I will await your comments.
Thanks! Lisa
I added the "bridge" about my goldens. I put it underneath the comment section below your suggestion. I will await your comments.
Thanks! Lisa
I Search
OK....have decided to make the Isearch more about something that I
am personally connected to. So, instead of writing about medical
disease and diagnoses of students...how about.....Isearching about what it
takes to open up a gas station/convenience store. My husband and I own a corner
lot in our small town and we've hashed around the idea of starting a gas
station/lunch counter/convenience store. It's current..I'm connected to it...and I think I could find plenty to talk about.
Let me know if this is ok w/you and I'll roll with my "what and why" tonight and post it.
Thanks,
Lisa
am personally connected to. So, instead of writing about medical
disease and diagnoses of students...how about.....Isearching about what it
takes to open up a gas station/convenience store. My husband and I own a corner
lot in our small town and we've hashed around the idea of starting a gas
station/lunch counter/convenience store. It's current..I'm connected to it...and I think I could find plenty to talk about.
Let me know if this is ok w/you and I'll roll with my "what and why" tonight and post it.
Thanks,
Lisa
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
Intro Contrast: Take Two
I'll admit that I'm a golden retriever fanatic. Don't get me wrong; I like all dog species but I just melt whenever I see a golden retriever. I typically will go over and casually say "what a gorgeous dog"--just to sort of feel the owner out to see if it's ok for a stranger to pet their prize possession; then I'll lean over and pat the dog's head. Then, I'll scratch it's back and behind it's ears. I'll carry on a conversation with the owner about my retrievers in an effort to just stay a little longer and socialize with the dog. Jordan was the angel retriever who had a few bad habits in her lifetime that were tolerable. Miley is my domineering retriever who has a lot of bad habits. She certainly tests my sanity on most days.
I Search Background--Take Two!
I Search Background:
When I was young I can recall hearing about older people passing away from cancer and I thought that it was strictly a disease that was meant for elderly people. As a child, I never wondered if it was lung, bone, breast, brain, pancreatic, liver, etc--it was just cancer. I graduated from high school and went on to college for two years and became a Medical Assistant and worked for a Family Practitioner. I saw numerous patients that had cancer and understood the origin of the cancer and where certain cancer cells typically like to metastasize to. I saw many women in our office that were battling breast cancer. Some of the women that I had known had lost their battle with the disease but many others were still going through treatment regimes or were in remission. All of the women that I could recall with the disease were age fifty and over. I knew something was wrong as I was having breast pain. I went to the doctor and was told that it was stress and to return in one month for a follow up. The pain persisted; so I took action and called asking for a mammogram. I was told that mammograms typically don’t pick up on cancers in younger women; so an ultrasound was ordered. The ultrasound was normal. I persisted with the mammogram . I knew something was definitely alarming when the technician came back into the room asking to get more views and stated that “it’s small”. I left the hospital hysterical and an appointment was made with a surgeon. You can imagine how shocked and distressed I was to hear that I, myself, at thirty two years of age--was being told by my surgeon that I did, indeed, have breast cancer. I had a paternal aunt that was currently battling breast cancer; but other than that, there were no other family members that had a history of the disease. Several questions went through my mind: am I going to live?, what were my risk factors for getting the disease?, are there any women under forty in my area that have breast cancer?, what are my treatment options?, what is my risk for recurrence?, what are the chances of my young daughter inheriting the disease when she gets older?. There are many unknowns with any type of cancer--the disease is not “cookbook”. However, I am going to research the above questions and give to you, the reader, or the person whose mother was just diagnosed, the young woman who just found a breast lump and is in turmoil wondering what her next step should be--the most up-to-date information that medical research has to offer.
When I was young I can recall hearing about older people passing away from cancer and I thought that it was strictly a disease that was meant for elderly people. As a child, I never wondered if it was lung, bone, breast, brain, pancreatic, liver, etc--it was just cancer. I graduated from high school and went on to college for two years and became a Medical Assistant and worked for a Family Practitioner. I saw numerous patients that had cancer and understood the origin of the cancer and where certain cancer cells typically like to metastasize to. I saw many women in our office that were battling breast cancer. Some of the women that I had known had lost their battle with the disease but many others were still going through treatment regimes or were in remission. All of the women that I could recall with the disease were age fifty and over. I knew something was wrong as I was having breast pain. I went to the doctor and was told that it was stress and to return in one month for a follow up. The pain persisted; so I took action and called asking for a mammogram. I was told that mammograms typically don’t pick up on cancers in younger women; so an ultrasound was ordered. The ultrasound was normal. I persisted with the mammogram . I knew something was definitely alarming when the technician came back into the room asking to get more views and stated that “it’s small”. I left the hospital hysterical and an appointment was made with a surgeon. You can imagine how shocked and distressed I was to hear that I, myself, at thirty two years of age--was being told by my surgeon that I did, indeed, have breast cancer. I had a paternal aunt that was currently battling breast cancer; but other than that, there were no other family members that had a history of the disease. Several questions went through my mind: am I going to live?, what were my risk factors for getting the disease?, are there any women under forty in my area that have breast cancer?, what are my treatment options?, what is my risk for recurrence?, what are the chances of my young daughter inheriting the disease when she gets older?. There are many unknowns with any type of cancer--the disease is not “cookbook”. However, I am going to research the above questions and give to you, the reader, or the person whose mother was just diagnosed, the young woman who just found a breast lump and is in turmoil wondering what her next step should be--the most up-to-date information that medical research has to offer.
Monday, March 7, 2011
I Search Background
Am I going to die? What stage am I?
Breast cancer--not just a disease for forty and above--and my personal experience with having the disease
Risk factors
How did I get it?
What are my chances of recurrence?
What are my treatment options?
What issues do young women face with being diagnosed with breast cancer?
I want to meet someone my age that has survived with the disease
Do I need chemotherapy and radiation?
Genetic testing? What are the chances that my daughter will get the disease?
What programs are out there for women who can’t afford mammograms?
Awareness
Breast cancer--not just a disease for forty and above--and my personal experience with having the disease
Risk factors
How did I get it?
What are my chances of recurrence?
What are my treatment options?
What issues do young women face with being diagnosed with breast cancer?
I want to meet someone my age that has survived with the disease
Do I need chemotherapy and radiation?
Genetic testing? What are the chances that my daughter will get the disease?
What programs are out there for women who can’t afford mammograms?
Awareness
Sunday, March 6, 2011
Intro Contrast Essay
Intro Contrast Essay:
I adore golden retrievers. There is just something magnetic about their personalities that makes me want to run to every one that I see; whether it be in a car at the Mall or inside a pet store. I have never been fearful towards the breed and find them to be an overall great dog that is trustworthy around small children. However, I have owned two golden retrievers in my lifetime and can definitely see huge differences between the two dogs that I have raised with my family.
I adore golden retrievers. There is just something magnetic about their personalities that makes me want to run to every one that I see; whether it be in a car at the Mall or inside a pet store. I have never been fearful towards the breed and find them to be an overall great dog that is trustworthy around small children. However, I have owned two golden retrievers in my lifetime and can definitely see huge differences between the two dogs that I have raised with my family.
Baked, Mashed or Fried?
My husband, my two children and I are at one of most favorite restaurants. This restaurant is located in Linneus and we usually eat there two to three times a year. The restaurant is simply called “Grandmas”. It’s a little hole-in-the-wall restaurant in the middle of nowhere that attracts patrons from miles around because of the huge portions that they serve. The waitress comes to our table to take our order. “Would you like baked, mashed or fries with your broiled scallops?” “Baked, mashed, or fries…..baked, mashed, or fries”, I ask myself. Suddenly, I go back to my younger years and reminisce about the memories that come to mind when I think of baked, mashed or fries.
I’m sitting at the kitchen table struggling with my algebra homework while mom is getting supper ready. I can see the baked potatoes wrapped in aluminum foil on the rack of the oven and mom is trying to get ahold of my father on his cell phone to see what time he’ll be home from hauling wood. She declares that it’s best to eat baked potatoes when they are fresh from the oven vs. reheating. She finally gets in touch with him and throws two or three potatoes in a bowl in the oven, turns it on “warm” and declares..”it never fails..whenever I bake potatoes your father is always late for supper.” This continues to be an omen in the family--dad is still always late for supper whenever mom bakes potatoes.
My sister and I are sitting at the kitchen table eating supper with our parents. My sister is in fourth grade and her top “eye” teeth haven’t come through yet but she has her permanent top front teeth. Mom serves us some mashed potato along with steak and vegetables. My sister gives me the “look” and suddenly her two “eye” tooth holes become an automatic Play-Doh factory. She squirts the mashed potato out of the holes and they stream out of her mouth back like two thick pieces of spaghetti into her plate. My mother was totally disgusted; and of course, tried to reprimand us. We sure were bummed out when her permanent “eye” teeth came through. I often think of that memory when my two children are acting out at the supper table.
French fries…stringy, soggy with vinegar. We eat them while walking along the strip at Old Orchard Beach after spending a hot day at the ocean. Crisp, slender French fries….I remember going to JJ Newberry’s lunch counter with my Nana when I was little and eating a hotdog with French fries. There were numerous conversations at the lunch counter with Nana that I dearly miss the conversations that were discussed while eating those crisp, slender French fries. Short, wide, steak fries that used to be served at the “Rose Bowl” restaurant in Lincoln. I remember going there on Christmas Eve for dinner with my parents, sister, Nana, my cousin and her husband. I must have been eight years old and was anxiously awaiting the arrival of Santa Claus. It was a magical evening--everyone was happy, eating dinner, that was one of the best evenings of my life that I can remember as a child. I can’t remember what else I had to eat that evening but do remember the homemade steak fries.
I suddenly snapped out of the flashback of all of the fond memories that I have experienced being surrounded by family. I looked at my family and smiled. I realized that “baked, mashed or friend” has been incorporated in most of the best memories of my life. Oh, sure, we all feel this way whenever we think about Christmas or Thanksgiving--we visualize a ham or turkey sitting on the table but sometimes the biggest and best things in life aren’t the hams or turkeys. Sometimes the best conversations and memories happen over small side dishes; such as baked, mashed or fried.
My husband, my two children and I are at one of most favorite restaurants. This restaurant is located in Linneus and we usually eat there two to three times a year. The restaurant is simply called “Grandmas”. It’s a little hole-in-the-wall restaurant in the middle of nowhere that attracts patrons from miles around because of the huge portions that they serve. The waitress comes to our table to take our order. “Would you like baked, mashed or fries with your broiled scallops?” “Baked, mashed, or fries…..baked, mashed, or fries”, I ask myself. Suddenly, I go back to my younger years and reminisce about the memories that come to mind when I think of baked, mashed or fries.
I’m sitting at the kitchen table struggling with my algebra homework while mom is getting supper ready. I can see the baked potatoes wrapped in aluminum foil on the rack of the oven and mom is trying to get ahold of my father on his cell phone to see what time he’ll be home from hauling wood. She declares that it’s best to eat baked potatoes when they are fresh from the oven vs. reheating. She finally gets in touch with him and throws two or three potatoes in a bowl in the oven, turns it on “warm” and declares..”it never fails..whenever I bake potatoes your father is always late for supper.” This continues to be an omen in the family--dad is still always late for supper whenever mom bakes potatoes.
My sister and I are sitting at the kitchen table eating supper with our parents. My sister is in fourth grade and her top “eye” teeth haven’t come through yet but she has her permanent top front teeth. Mom serves us some mashed potato along with steak and vegetables. My sister gives me the “look” and suddenly her two “eye” tooth holes become an automatic Play-Doh factory. She squirts the mashed potato out of the holes and they stream out of her mouth back like two thick pieces of spaghetti into her plate. My mother was totally disgusted; and of course, tried to reprimand us. We sure were bummed out when her permanent “eye” teeth came through. I often think of that memory when my two children are acting out at the supper table.
French fries…stringy, soggy with vinegar. We eat them while walking along the strip at Old Orchard Beach after spending a hot day at the ocean. Crisp, slender French fries….I remember going to JJ Newberry’s lunch counter with my Nana when I was little and eating a hotdog with French fries. There were numerous conversations at the lunch counter with Nana that I dearly miss the conversations that were discussed while eating those crisp, slender French fries. Short, wide, steak fries that used to be served at the “Rose Bowl” restaurant in Lincoln. I remember going there on Christmas Eve for dinner with my parents, sister, Nana, my cousin and her husband. I must have been eight years old and was anxiously awaiting the arrival of Santa Claus. It was a magical evening--everyone was happy, eating dinner, that was one of the best evenings of my life that I can remember as a child. I can’t remember what else I had to eat that evening but do remember the homemade steak fries.
I suddenly snapped out of the flashback of all of the fond memories that I have experienced being surrounded by family. I looked at my family and smiled. I realized that “baked, mashed or friend” has been incorporated in most of the best memories of my life. Oh, sure, we all feel this way whenever we think about Christmas or Thanksgiving--we visualize a ham or turkey sitting on the table but sometimes the biggest and best things in life aren’t the hams or turkeys. Sometimes the best conversations and memories happen over small side dishes; such as baked, mashed or fried.
Mr. Goldfine,
I'm frustrated. I'm using Microsoft Word (as I've done in all of my assignments). When I preview the post the paragraphs are all separated out and there are five. When I publish it and look at it it's one huge paragraph. Obviously, once it's posted I can't edit the post and when I try to go into comments and choose edit for that post...I can't edit anything. If you want..I can retype the whole thing straight on the blogger and post it--I just don't want technical issues screwing up my assignment grade.
Yes, you can use this piece for future reference. I agree so very much--the topic didn't really mean anything--I struggled with it...but went with the "memories" that came to mind when I look at baked, mashed or fried. I know that it's really not what you wanted...but I had a timeframe to get it done and I spent a lot of time "running with it"--but did find it enjoybable to do! You had also mentioned early on about using my first freestyle called "Hands" to put in the literary magazine. How do I do that?
Now I'm stressing over "contrast" and what I'm going to run with for a topic. I'll try to stay "focused" on that assignment.
**I, also, was looking over the assignment paper that I downloaded for our course and it mentions "9 long essays" along with freestyles and graf assignments. Have we done any long essays yet?--I'm lost!!
Thanks,
Lisa :)
I'm frustrated. I'm using Microsoft Word (as I've done in all of my assignments). When I preview the post the paragraphs are all separated out and there are five. When I publish it and look at it it's one huge paragraph. Obviously, once it's posted I can't edit the post and when I try to go into comments and choose edit for that post...I can't edit anything. If you want..I can retype the whole thing straight on the blogger and post it--I just don't want technical issues screwing up my assignment grade.
Yes, you can use this piece for future reference. I agree so very much--the topic didn't really mean anything--I struggled with it...but went with the "memories" that came to mind when I look at baked, mashed or fried. I know that it's really not what you wanted...but I had a timeframe to get it done and I spent a lot of time "running with it"--but did find it enjoybable to do! You had also mentioned early on about using my first freestyle called "Hands" to put in the literary magazine. How do I do that?
Now I'm stressing over "contrast" and what I'm going to run with for a topic. I'll try to stay "focused" on that assignment.
**I, also, was looking over the assignment paper that I downloaded for our course and it mentions "9 long essays" along with freestyles and graf assignments. Have we done any long essays yet?--I'm lost!!
Thanks,
Lisa :)
Classification Essay Repost
Baked, Mashed or Fried?
My husband, my two children and I are at one of most favorite restaurants. This restaurant is located in Linneus and we usually eat there two to three times a year. The restaurant is simply called “Grandmas”. It’s a little hole-in-the-wall restaurant in the middle of nowhere that attracts patrons from miles around because of the huge portions that they serve. The waitress comes to our table to take our order. “Would you like baked, mashed or fries with your broiled scallops?” “Baked, mashed, or fries…..baked, mashed, or fries”, I ask myself. Suddenly, I go back to my younger years and reminisce about the memories that come to mind when I think of baked, mashed or fries.
I’m sitting at the kitchen table struggling with my algebra homework while mom is getting supper ready. I can see the baked potatoes wrapped in aluminum foil on the rack of the oven and mom is trying to get ahold of my father on his cell phone to see what time he’ll be home from hauling wood. She declares that it’s best to eat baked potatoes when they are fresh from the oven vs. reheating. She finally gets in touch with him and throws two or three potatoes in a bowl in the oven, turns it on “warm” and declares..”it never fails..whenever I bake potatoes your father is always late for supper.” This continues to be an omen in the family--dad is still always late for supper whenever mom bakes potatoes.
My sister and I are sitting at the kitchen table eating supper with our parents. My sister is in fourth grade and her top “eye” teeth haven’t come through yet but she has her permanent top front teeth. Mom serves us some mashed potato along with steak and vegetables. My sister gives me the “look” and suddenly her two “eye” tooth holes become an automatic Play-Doh factory. She squirts the mashed potato out of the holes and they stream out of her mouth back like two thick pieces of spaghetti into her plate. My mother was totally disgusted; and of course, tried to reprimand us. We sure were bummed out when her permanent “eye” teeth came through. I often think of that memory when my two children are acting out at the supper table.
French fries…stringy, soggy with vinegar. We eat them while walking along the strip at Old Orchard Beach after spending a hot day at the ocean. Crisp, slender French fries….I remember going to JJ Newberry’s lunch counter with my Nana when I was little and eating a hotdog with French fries. There were numerous conversations at the lunch counter with Nana that I dearly miss that were discussed while eating those crisp, slender French fries. Short, wide, steak fries that used to be served at the “Rose Bowl” restaurant in Lincoln. I remember going there on Christmas Eve for dinner with my parents, sister, Nana, my cousin and her husband. I must have been eight years old and was anxiously awaiting the arrival of Santa Claus. It was a magical evening--everyone was happy, eating dinner, that was one of the best evenings of my life that I can remember as a child. I can’t remember what else I had to eat that evening but do remember the homemade steak fries.
I suddenly snapped out of the flashback of all of the fond memories that I have experienced being surrounded by family. I looked at my family and smiled. I realized that “baked, mashed or friend” has been incorporated in most of the best memories of my life. Oh, sure, we all feel this way whenever we think about Christmas or Thanksgiving--we visualize a ham or turkey sitting on the table but sometimes the biggest and best things in life aren’t the hams or turkeys. Sometimes the best conversations and memories happen over small side dishes; such as baked, mashed or fried.
My husband, my two children and I are at one of most favorite restaurants. This restaurant is located in Linneus and we usually eat there two to three times a year. The restaurant is simply called “Grandmas”. It’s a little hole-in-the-wall restaurant in the middle of nowhere that attracts patrons from miles around because of the huge portions that they serve. The waitress comes to our table to take our order. “Would you like baked, mashed or fries with your broiled scallops?” “Baked, mashed, or fries…..baked, mashed, or fries”, I ask myself. Suddenly, I go back to my younger years and reminisce about the memories that come to mind when I think of baked, mashed or fries.
I’m sitting at the kitchen table struggling with my algebra homework while mom is getting supper ready. I can see the baked potatoes wrapped in aluminum foil on the rack of the oven and mom is trying to get ahold of my father on his cell phone to see what time he’ll be home from hauling wood. She declares that it’s best to eat baked potatoes when they are fresh from the oven vs. reheating. She finally gets in touch with him and throws two or three potatoes in a bowl in the oven, turns it on “warm” and declares..”it never fails..whenever I bake potatoes your father is always late for supper.” This continues to be an omen in the family--dad is still always late for supper whenever mom bakes potatoes.
My sister and I are sitting at the kitchen table eating supper with our parents. My sister is in fourth grade and her top “eye” teeth haven’t come through yet but she has her permanent top front teeth. Mom serves us some mashed potato along with steak and vegetables. My sister gives me the “look” and suddenly her two “eye” tooth holes become an automatic Play-Doh factory. She squirts the mashed potato out of the holes and they stream out of her mouth back like two thick pieces of spaghetti into her plate. My mother was totally disgusted; and of course, tried to reprimand us. We sure were bummed out when her permanent “eye” teeth came through. I often think of that memory when my two children are acting out at the supper table.
French fries…stringy, soggy with vinegar. We eat them while walking along the strip at Old Orchard Beach after spending a hot day at the ocean. Crisp, slender French fries….I remember going to JJ Newberry’s lunch counter with my Nana when I was little and eating a hotdog with French fries. There were numerous conversations at the lunch counter with Nana that I dearly miss that were discussed while eating those crisp, slender French fries. Short, wide, steak fries that used to be served at the “Rose Bowl” restaurant in Lincoln. I remember going there on Christmas Eve for dinner with my parents, sister, Nana, my cousin and her husband. I must have been eight years old and was anxiously awaiting the arrival of Santa Claus. It was a magical evening--everyone was happy, eating dinner, that was one of the best evenings of my life that I can remember as a child. I can’t remember what else I had to eat that evening but do remember the homemade steak fries.
I suddenly snapped out of the flashback of all of the fond memories that I have experienced being surrounded by family. I looked at my family and smiled. I realized that “baked, mashed or friend” has been incorporated in most of the best memories of my life. Oh, sure, we all feel this way whenever we think about Christmas or Thanksgiving--we visualize a ham or turkey sitting on the table but sometimes the biggest and best things in life aren’t the hams or turkeys. Sometimes the best conversations and memories happen over small side dishes; such as baked, mashed or fried.
Friday, March 4, 2011
Mr. Goldfine,
I previewed my post on classification and all of the paragraphs are separated out--and when i go back to look at it the paragraphs are still five paragraphs. However, when i post it it's one long paragraph. I dont know how to go in and edit it; as when I try to do this it looks normal.
The 2nd paragraph should start 7th line down with "I'm sitting"
The 3rd paragraph should start 16 lines down with "my sister and I"
The last paragraph shoudl start 25 line down with "French fries, stringy, soggy"
I'm sorry about this--all of my other pieces have posted appropriately.
Do you have any ideas?
Thanks,
Lisa
Classification Essay --Baked, Mashed or Fried?
My husband, my two children and I are at one of most favorite restaurants. This restaurant is located in Linneus and we usually eat there two to three times a year. The restaurant is simply called “Grandmas”. It’s a little hole-in-the-wall restaurant in the middle of nowhere that attracts patrons from miles around because of the huge portions that they serve. The waitress comes to our table to take our order. “Would you like baked, mashed or fries with your broiled scallops?” “Baked, mashed, or fries…..baked, mashed, or fries”, I ask myself. Suddenly, I go back to my younger years and reminisce about the memories that come to mind when I think of baked, mashed or fries.
I’m sitting at the kitchen table struggling with my algebra homework while mom is getting supper ready. I can see the baked potatoes wrapped in aluminum foil on the rack of the oven and mom is trying to get ahold of my father on his cell phone to see what time he’ll be home from hauling wood. She declares that it’s best to eat baked potatoes when they are fresh from the oven vs. reheating. She finally gets in touch with him and throws two or three potatoes in a bowl in the oven, turns it on “warm” and declares..”it never fails..whenever I bake potatoes your father is always late for supper.” This continues to be an omen in the family--dad is still always late for supper whenever mom bakes potatoes.
My sister and I are sitting at the kitchen table eating supper with our parents. My sister is in fourth grade and her top “eye” teeth haven’t come through yet but she has her permanent top front teeth. Mom serves us some mashed potato along with steak and vegetables. My sister gives me the “look” and suddenly her two “eye” tooth holes become an automatic Play-Doh factory. She squirts the mashed potato out of the holes and they stream out of her mouth back like two thick pieces of spaghetti into her plate. My mother was totally disgusted; and of course, tried to reprimand us. We sure were bummed out when her permanent “eye” teeth came through. I often think of that memory when my two children are acting out at the supper table.
French fries…stringy, soggy with vinegar. We eat them while walking along the strip at Old Orchard Beach after spending a hot day at the ocean. Crisp, slender French fries….I remember going to JJ Newberry’s lunch counter with my Nana when I was little and eating a hotdog with French fries. There were numerous conversations at the lunch counter with Nana that I dearly miss that were discussed while eating those crisp, slender French fries. Short, wide, steak fries that used to be served at the “Rose Bowl” restaurant in Lincoln. I remember going there on Christmas Eve for dinner with my parents, sister, Nana, my cousin and her husband. I must have been eight years old and was anxiously awaiting the arrival of Santa Claus. It was a magical evening--everyone was happy, eating dinner, that was one of the best evenings of my life that I can remember as a child. I can’t remember what else I had to eat that evening but do remember the homemade steak fries.
I suddenly snapped out of the flashback of all of the fond memories that I have experienced being surrounded by family. I looked at my family and smiled. I realized that “baked, mashed or friend” has been incorporated in most of the best memories of my life. Oh, sure, we all feel this way whenever we think about Christmas or Thanksgiving--we visualize a ham or turkey sitting on the table but sometimes the biggest and best things in life aren’t the hams or turkeys. Sometimes the best conversations and memories happen over small side dishes; such as baked, mashed or fried.
I’m sitting at the kitchen table struggling with my algebra homework while mom is getting supper ready. I can see the baked potatoes wrapped in aluminum foil on the rack of the oven and mom is trying to get ahold of my father on his cell phone to see what time he’ll be home from hauling wood. She declares that it’s best to eat baked potatoes when they are fresh from the oven vs. reheating. She finally gets in touch with him and throws two or three potatoes in a bowl in the oven, turns it on “warm” and declares..”it never fails..whenever I bake potatoes your father is always late for supper.” This continues to be an omen in the family--dad is still always late for supper whenever mom bakes potatoes.
My sister and I are sitting at the kitchen table eating supper with our parents. My sister is in fourth grade and her top “eye” teeth haven’t come through yet but she has her permanent top front teeth. Mom serves us some mashed potato along with steak and vegetables. My sister gives me the “look” and suddenly her two “eye” tooth holes become an automatic Play-Doh factory. She squirts the mashed potato out of the holes and they stream out of her mouth back like two thick pieces of spaghetti into her plate. My mother was totally disgusted; and of course, tried to reprimand us. We sure were bummed out when her permanent “eye” teeth came through. I often think of that memory when my two children are acting out at the supper table.
French fries…stringy, soggy with vinegar. We eat them while walking along the strip at Old Orchard Beach after spending a hot day at the ocean. Crisp, slender French fries….I remember going to JJ Newberry’s lunch counter with my Nana when I was little and eating a hotdog with French fries. There were numerous conversations at the lunch counter with Nana that I dearly miss that were discussed while eating those crisp, slender French fries. Short, wide, steak fries that used to be served at the “Rose Bowl” restaurant in Lincoln. I remember going there on Christmas Eve for dinner with my parents, sister, Nana, my cousin and her husband. I must have been eight years old and was anxiously awaiting the arrival of Santa Claus. It was a magical evening--everyone was happy, eating dinner, that was one of the best evenings of my life that I can remember as a child. I can’t remember what else I had to eat that evening but do remember the homemade steak fries.
I suddenly snapped out of the flashback of all of the fond memories that I have experienced being surrounded by family. I looked at my family and smiled. I realized that “baked, mashed or friend” has been incorporated in most of the best memories of my life. Oh, sure, we all feel this way whenever we think about Christmas or Thanksgiving--we visualize a ham or turkey sitting on the table but sometimes the biggest and best things in life aren’t the hams or turkeys. Sometimes the best conversations and memories happen over small side dishes; such as baked, mashed or fried.
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
Outro Classification Essay
Outro:
I suddenly snapped out of my flashback of all of the fond memories that I have experienced being surrounded by family, friends, holidays, vacations, and the day-to-day activities of everyday life. I looked at my husband and children and smiled. I realized that “baked, mashed or fried” is incorporated in most of the best memories of my life. Oh, sure, we all feel this way whenever we think about Christmas or Thanksgiving—we visualize a ham or turkey. However, “baked, mashed, or fried” remains a constant that I can visualize on the plate of my life.
Classification Intro comment
Mr. Goldfine,
I'm going to stick with baked, mashed or fried for my topic. I'm going to talk about the happy times that I've associated with in my lifetime that evolve around baked, mashed or fried. I hope this is ok to do; and is what you are looking for.
I await your comments!
Thanks,
Lisa
I'm going to stick with baked, mashed or fried for my topic. I'm going to talk about the happy times that I've associated with in my lifetime that evolve around baked, mashed or fried. I hope this is ok to do; and is what you are looking for.
I await your comments!
Thanks,
Lisa
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