I'm Wisdomless, and glad about it!

Having my wisdom teeth removed was by far the worst, most painful experience to ever happen to me so far. I got them removed July 25 2010 (yes, I remember the date because it was THAT bad). I will recount my experience in this blog. I hope everyone who reads this has already had them removed because I don't want to freak anyone out.

I went into the doctors office wearing a TCU shirt, my glasses, and some nike shorts. I was told to dress comfy and to not have my contacts in. I remember talking to the doctors as they were preparing me for the surgery. By the time I was in the chair I was already slightly under the influence of some drug that made me less nervous. The nurse put the IV in my arm which was something I was really worried about the night before. I don't like IVs at all. But I don't even remember them putting it in. The last thing I remember is the doctor asking me who I knew that went to TCU since I was wearing a TCU shirt. I said, "Me! I go to TCU!" I don't think the doctor thought I was old enough to be in college.

Sometime later I woke up shaking because I was freezing. I was coming off of the anesthesia and I couldn't really function very well. I was shaking and kind of freaking out and my mom asks the nurse, "Is she okay? I mean I know Natalie is a drama queen but this is a little extreme." I was extremely offended by that comment and talked about how I wasn't a drama queen ALL the way home. The drugs were still in effect on the car ride home and well into the first hour I was at home. Not to brag or anything but I was hilarious on those drugs. I was cracking my family up so much that my dad got out the video camera and started taping me. We watch it a lot now. I was mad that the doctor didn't think I was old enough to go to TCU and I was still hurt that my mom called me a drama queen.

I finally fell asleep (much to my mother's delight) and when I woke up the pain set in. My first problem was that I was allergic to the Vicodin they gave me. NOT GOOD. My second problem was I had dry socket but I didn't figure that out until Friday after 5pm so there was nothing we could do until Monday to fix the problem. In case you didn't know dry socket is extremely painful. My third problem was that when the doctor finally did treat my dry socket with the clove oil some of the oil dripped all the way to the back of my throat and infected my tonsils. My fourth problem was that I got dry socket on the other side of my mouth later that week. My fifth problem was by day 8 post surgery I still couldn't open my mouth all the way. My mom told me that I was probably just still recovering so I dealt with that for a week. When spooning soup into my mouth was too hard to do I decided something was wrong. My jaw muscle had balled up on the left side and I had to take muscle relaxers to fix it, plus another antibiotic. Well, the muscle relaxers made me extremely sleepy and the antibiotic gave me acid reflux. I was still recovering from all of this when I got to TCU around the 20th of August for recruitment.

I am so glad that I only had four wisdom teeth. I'm glad new ones don't grow. And, I'm glad I never have to have them taken out EVER AGAIN. The only good thing that happened out of all of this is the endless amount of milkshakes provided to me out of pity. And, of course, the video my dad taped of me which I plan on entering into a contest someday.

Kathleen

I remember the first time I was introduced to my best friend Kathleen. We were on a school bus on our way to a basketball game somewhere in Oregon. My twin sister, Hilary, played for the high school JV basketball team and I was the JV team manager. I became team manager because Hilary didn’t like traveling around alone and being away from home. I signed up so I could watch her play, keep her company, and give her support. I kind of felt a little awkward when Hilary wasn’t with me during the away games because I didn’t really know many of the girls on the team. But, on one particular trip, Hilary made an effort to introduce me to more players.

I’ll be honest, Kathleen intimidated me when I first met her. She was a sophomore playing on JV and was swinging up to play varsity. She was a great player and was popular even with the senior girls on varsity. Kathleen was always making jokes with the coaches and other players. At school she was friends with a popular group and seemed to know everyone. She was tall and pretty and the life of the party so I deemed her way too cool to be my friend.

I immediately liked talking to Kathleen when we first met on that bus. She was nice and absolutely hilarious. Hilary and I laughed the whole time we talked to her. We bonded quickly over our love of Harry Potter and we almost never have a conversation that doesn’t involve the magical world of wizardry. We became friends during that basketball season and when it ended we began to talk in the hallways at school and started hanging out.

I don’t really remember when we actually became best friends. It just sort of happened. One day I was thinking Kathleen was too coo l for school and the next day I realized she was the most down to earth person I had ever met. Kathleen is easy going, and isn’t tied up in what other people think about her. She is a positive, glass half full type of person, and always knows what to say to cheer me up. When boys break my heart and girls crush my self-esteem, Kathleen is there. When I get homesick for Oregon I call her and she reminds me that being in Texas has been a great experience for me. On my birthday she called me two minutes after I turned 20. We celebrated graduating from high school together. And some nights we celebrate the joys of college with a simple text, “I love college.” She shares her ice cream cakes with me. Not to mention the fact that she never gets tired of watching SVU or Pride and Prejudice with me. During the summer we go on hikes, watch movies, grab drinks from our beloved Dutch Bros and generally have the time of our lives.

I tell Kathleen things I don’t tell anyone else. I don’t feel like I have to censor what I say, even if it’s silly, trivial, mean, or just annoying. She listens and responds accordingly. I feel like I can truly be myself around her, no questions asked.

I think some people come into your life as temporary friends. Some people you call for a few years when you want to go out or need a ride to the airport. Some friends I associate with here at TCU will probably not be my friends after I graduate from school. I understand that everyone I meet won’t make a huge difference in my life. Most people come and go, sometimes at their own convenience and sometimes at mine. Sometimes it’s hard to know who is here to stay and who isn’t.

Without a doubt Kathleen is here to stay. She has been with me through the pains of heartbreak and let down. She has been there for me when I felt like I didn’t have any one else to talk to. She will be there for me when I fall and most importantly, when I succeed. I don’t see anything coming between us. However, if we ever do get our acceptance letters to the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry we might have a problem. She’d get into Gryffindor with all of the cool kids and I’d in Ravenclaw with the witty nerd types. But I have confidence that even if we were in different houses she would still be my best friend.

Oh and while I’m writing I might as well wish Kathleen a HAPPY 20^th BIRTHDAY!!!!!

Office Supplies

Anecdote Number One: In my closet at home I have a box of old papers and pictures from my early school days. I still have the first story I ever wrote in first grade and the book report I wrote about Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of Nimh. My favorite keepsake from preschool is a questionnaire I filled out during preschool.

Name: Natalie Sharpe

Favorite Color: Red

Favorite Food: Rice

Favorite Animal: Lion

Favorite thing to do: Punch Holes

Yes, my favorite thing to do was punch holes.

Anecdote Number Two: One year when I was around 5 years old my mother heard me talking to myself in my room. She stood by the door and heard me praying to God for Santa to bring me office supplies for Christmas.

Its a true story, my favorite toys as a child were office supplies. Pens, pencils, hole punchers, staplers, stamps, notebooks, paper clips, envelopes, and erasers were my toys of choice. I spent hours pretending that I worked as a hotel receptionist, booking rooms, writing statements, and stapling everything together, after punching some holes of course. I still have my cherished blue box of office supplies upstairs in a cabinet. Hopefully my children will enjoy playing with office supplies because I'm going to keep my box for them.

Room with a View

My house is at the very top of an old volcano which is now called Aubrey Butte. My bedroom window covers the entire northeast wall of my room. The view outside my window changes from season to season. From my window you can see a lot of pines trees, and a few juniper trees. There are a lot of rocks that are left over from the volcano exploding millions of years ago. In the fall the ground is covered in pine needles which are slippery when it rains. Pine cones fall on the ground like acorns do in the spring. You can here them coming from way up high in the pine trees. All over bend they fall. During cross country practice when we would stretch in the park we would all cover our heads when we heard them coming. The tiny juniper tree outside my window was planted when we moved into the house 13 years ago. Juniper trees grow incredibly slow so the tree seems only slightly bigger than it did many years ago. I have grown taller in those 13 years. When the snow arrives it covers all the rocks, in a blanket of white. The snow makes everything look soft and comforting as if I could throw myself out of my window and land without pain. The snow makes everything the same color. When the sun peeks out from the clouds the snow sparkles and wakes me up if its early in the morning. When the snow begins to melt and then the winter night freezes the snow again icicles form outside my window. When I sleep I can hear the water dripping off the icicles. When the snow melts which actually occurs in late may the plants my mother plants finally have a chance to grow and turn green. The oak leaf hydrangea right under my window turns green and the white flowers bloom. Sometimes I forget those flowers are there and I love being surprised when I open my window and see the tops of the blooms. The summer months bring me blue skies and green plants. Quail families scurry past and the squirrels wait under the bird feeder waiting for birds to scatter birdseed on the ground. My sister runs past with her dog as they go for their morning walk. The juniper tree, not even an inch taller stands in the sunlight and when I go outside I can touch the top of the tree knowing that someday, it will be taller than me.

The Open Window

I really enjoy short stories that have an unexpected twist at the end. I know that I immediately trusted the young girl, Vera, when she began to speak of her aunt's great tragedy. She told the story with conviction and plenty of details, all which suggested that she was telling the truth. I also trusted her because I don't know many people who would come up with a story that sad and troubling on the whim, as a trick to play on a stranger.

One thing I don't understand is what Mr. Framton is doing. Is he visiting people in the area to introduce himself since he is new? Why is he talking only about his illness and what his doctors have advised him to do? It seems odd that both the girl and the Mr. Frampton go into so much detail about their lives (even though Vera's story is untrue) when they do not know each other at all.

It seemed to me that Vera was well practiced in the art of deception. When she told the story of why Mr. Frampton is afraid of dogs she was quick to come up with an explanation that was disturbing and scary. It seems strange to me that her imagination would lead her to tell such macabre stories. There seems to be something "off" about Vera. As my mother would say, "Her elevator doesn't go all the way to the top."

If I were Mr. Frampton in this situation I don't think I would have been so quick to bolt. I would have been interested to see how the young girl, caught in her lie, would react to the three men returning home. It seems that Mr. Frampton was too caught up in the possibility that the people he saw were indeed ghosts and not men. That would be a little unsettling I'm sure. If I were him I would be more creeped out about the little girl who made up the weird story about her own family members dying. Perhaps she is the one in need of a doctor's visit.

For some reason this story also reminded me of the book, "Wuthering Heights" and I can't get the images from the movie out of my head. The moors, open window, and the ghosts brought Heathcliff and both the Cathy's into my thoughts.

Under the Ridge

Ernest Hemingway's "Under the Ridge" short story portrays war in a haunting way. The imagery and dialogue he uses paints a descriptive picture of the war-like scene we, as readers, are transported to. There are a few things that are mentioned more than once in the story which I would like to point out because I believe they hold some sort of importance.

1- Dust

"In the head of the day with the dust blowing, we came back, dry-mouthed, nose-clogged and heavy-loaded down out of the battle to the long ridge above the river where the Spanish troops lay in reserve." The first sentence gives the reader an idea of what the day has been like, and what kind of place they are in. The people and mules and tanks in this place are unsettling the dust and it blows away in the wind. Dust is unpleasant and unavoidable. It sticks to you and reminds you of where you were and what you were doing. The dust on their clothes reminds them of when they had to crawl on their bellies to avoid the machine gun fire of the enemy after they discovered that the Poles did not gain any new territory at all. Dust is disappointment, it can blow away, but only to find a new place to settle.

2- Failure

The attack was a complete failure. No one executed their orders. "The French tank commander had got drunk to be brave for the attack and finally was too drunk to function. He was to be shot when he sobered up. The tanks had not come up in time and finally had refused to advance, and two of the battalions had failed to attain their objectives. The third had taken theirs, but ot formed an untenable salient. The only real result had been a few prisoners, and these had been confided to the tank men to bring back and the tank men had killed them. The general had only failure to show, and they had killed his prisoners."

3- What does it mean to be considered Brave, and what does it mean to be considered a Coward?

In the story a Frenchman with "his head held high" walked over "the edge of the ridge and out of sight." This man was obviously walking away from his duties as a solider. The narrator of this story doesn't believe the Frenchman's actions to be cowardly. However, the men in the leather coats certainly did and made him pay for it. The narrator stated that, "He could walk out of it (the hopelessness and idiocy of their situation) not from cowardice, but simply from seeing too clearly." The narrator states in the last paragraph that "The nearest any man was to victory that day was probably the Frenchman who came, with his head held high, walking out of the battle." Why is walking away the sole victory of the day?

4-Setting Examples/Consequences of Actions

The boy Paco, who shot himself in the hand out of fear, was made an example by his officers. He shot himself so that he could be excused from the front to be bandaged and cared for. He wanted to escape the terror of battle so he shot himself in order to leave. It was an act of cowardice that made him react to battle in this way. His officers wanted to show the other soldiers that reacting to battle in that way would not result in pity. "Paco must be punished as an example, in order that there would be no more self-inflicted wounds, and that all others would be punished in the same way." To me, it seems that Paco was already ashamed of his actions and suffered enough for that. However the officers made him feel more ashamed and his last living emotions were that of embarrassment and regret. "Then, while the one held Pace by the arm; Paco, looking very ashamed to be spoken of this way when he was already ashamed and sorry; the other took his pistol and shot Paco in the back of the head without any word to Paco. Nor any word more."

This story delves into the deep questions of what it means to be a man. What is bravery? Who should be considered a coward, and who shouldn't? Also, I think it allows the reader to think about what he or she would do in this kind of situation. Are you more like the Frenchman, Paco, of the Extremaduran?

Cafe Conversation

I met with Nathan for the third time last week after class on Thursday. We met in the library cafe again and this time I brought my computer. I'm so glad I did because it gave us a lot of talk about. I was working on homework when he arrived and he immediately assumed I was on Facebook. I asked him if he had a Facebook and he said yes. So I logged on and added him as a friend. Then I decided that Facebook would be a good way to show Nathan pictures of my family and my home.

First I showed him a picture of my twin sister, Hilary. Most of her pictures feature her jumping over barriers and water obstacles as she runs the steeple chase so he was impressed by her athletic lifestyle. I then showed him a picture of us side by side. He said we did not look alike at all and that he would not have guessed we were twins. Then I showed him pictures of my older brother, Nathan, in Seattle. I visited Nathan, my brother (not my conversational partner), during spring break so we took a few pictures. Then I showed him a picture of my mother and some of the things that we did in Seattle.

Lastly, I showed him pictures of Oregon which made me somewhat homesick for the mountains. Nathan thought my pictures were very beautiful and expressed interest in traveling to other parts of the United States. I asked him if he had considered traveling around the U.S. during the summer. He said that he wanted to but that it was difficult and very expensive because the U.S. is so spread out. In Europe one can travel from country to country simply by catching a train. That is exactly what he plans to do this summer. He and a few of his friends have a planned a trip to go to Italy, Spain, and a few other countries by train this summer. He is very excited to be back in Europe and with familiar faces.

I asked Nathan if he was planning on returning to TCU in the fall and he was unsure. He says that he likes TCU and that school here is easy for him but that he misses his friends and family in Belgium. He has one sister here but I think she has become accustomed to Texas in a different way than him. Nathan seems to be strongly tied to his friendships in Belgium and I wouldn't be surprised if he transfers to a Belgium university that is in his hometown. He said that he has already applied and been accepted to the university so all he has to do is make a decision.

I told him that I thought it was brave of him to decide to study here in America, especially since he knew so little English. He said that he was glad that he came and that he has learned a lot of English but that a year without family and friends is really hard. I can't imagine not being able to go home for an entire year. My first semester of college I was separated from my twin until Christmas and that was hard enough!

Nathan and I plan to meet today after class. I'm interested to see what we talk about this time.

Sea of Change

This is perhaps the best example of the Iceberg theory we have read so far. The reader has barely any information to make a claim about the characters in this story. Here is what I think.

I think the girl cheated on the man with another girl. I think she is bisexual and is experimenting with her identity. The man is obviously upset and states, "I'll kill her." He is confused by her action and asks, "Couldn't you have gotten into something else?" She responds with, "Seems not." I think she is struggling with the fact that he is upset. She doesn't want to hurt his feelings by being attracted to girls.

Event though she cheated on him she still states that she loves him. That is confusing for him and he doesn't believe her. He asks her to prove it. My guess it that he wants her to prove it by not being with a girl. She gets a little upset when he asks her to prove and says, "You didn't use to be that way. You never asked me to prove anything. That isn't polite." This statement leads me to conclude that they have been in a relation ship for a long time.

The couple that comes into the bar is two men. They converse with the bartender. I think it is interesting that it most of Hemingway's stories there are couples. Usually a man and a girl, and they are usually alone or only accompanied by wait staff. I wonder why this is.

At the end of the story the man decides to let the girl go. I think they both believe that she will decide she isn't a lesbian and that she will return to him.

He is taking a chance by letting her go and "he was not the same-looking man as he had been before he had told her to go." There was a change in his character that was noticeable to him and her. I don't know why he is trying to tell the barman that he is "quite a different man." Maybe he feels he has to prove himself to someone.

I liked this story and am very interested to hear the discussion we have today in class.

Cat in the Rain

I think I am completely missing the meaning behind this story. I think the best way to figure out what I'm missing to first state what I know.

-There are two Americans, George and the Americ-an wife or girl (she is referred to as both)

-They are staying in a hotel in Italy

-It is raining

-There is a cat outside the window that is sitting under a table trying to not get wet. The wife is looking at the cat and decides that she wants it. She decides to go downstairs to get the cat and the American (her husband) says, "Don't get wet."

-The wife likes the hotel keeper. "She liked the deadly serious way he received any complaints. She liked his dignity. She liked the way he wanted to serve her. She like the way he felt about being a hotel-keeper. She liked hid old, heavy face and big hands."

-She is about to head outside when a maid comes to her with an umbrella in her hand. The maid was sent by the hotel keeper.

- The Maid says, "You must not get wet."

-When the American girl gets outside the Cat is gone and "she was suddenly disappointed.

-She re-enters the hotel and the hotel keeper bows at her. "Something felt very small and tight inside the girl. The padrone made her feel very small and at the same time really important. She had a momentary feeling of being of supreme importance." ???

-"It isn't any fun to be a poor kitty out in the rain."

-She looks at herself in the mirror starts talking about how she wants her hair to be longer. "I get so tired of looking like a boy." Why does she suddenly feel less feminine?

-Then she lists things that she wants. "I want to eat at a table with my own silver and I want candles. And I want it to be spring and I want to brush my hair out in front of a mirror and I want a kitty and I want some new clothes."

-Her husband tells her to shut up and find something to read

-She then states, "I want a cat. I want a cat now. If I can't have long hair or any fun, I can have a cat."

-Then the maid knocks on the door with the cat in her hands and says, "The padrone asked me to bring this for the Signora."

Do the padrone and the American have some sort of connection? Why is he so protective of her wishes and feelings?

Lastly, and perhaps most importantly, why does she want a cat??? Dogs are fit to be much better companions. But I suppose that is a topic for another blog.

Poetry Symposium

I really enjoyed listening to the poets speak at the Poetry Symposium: Living by Poetry.

What I found most interesting about the symposium was when the poets talked about important poetry is to them.

Art said that he tried to not write any poetry for a year or so. He said that it almost destroyed him. To me it seems incredible that the simple act of poetry (or lack thereof) can have that much effect on someone. He was literally in pain and didn't feel like himself because he was not writing. I think for Art, poetry is his release from life. He can focus his emotions on something other people. I think he uses poetry as an outlet to express his feelings and thoughts. I believe that everyone needs some outlet for expression. It is not healthy to go through life with a jumbled mess of emotions hidden deep down inside. Life if full of unexpected twists and turns and I think a part of dealing with those events is to express in some way how you feel about them.

After some reflection I realized that there are many things in my life I could not go a year without doing. The first one that comes to mind is playing the piano. At home I play the piano almost everyday. Sometimes I practice for a few hours and sometimes I just play. Practice and play are very different and serve different purposes. However, I enjoy both and would miss both if my piano was somehow taken away. Like poetry is for Art, the piano is my outlet of expression. I choose the songs I play based on my feelings, the weather, what time of day it is, where I am, and who is listening. I can play softly when I'm sad and loud when I'm angry. The piano is a blank canvas on which I can create any sort of picture that I want. Without that I think I would feel lost and maybe a part of me would be destroyed, much like Art when he stopped writing poetry.

Another interesting part of Art's story was that he said poetry found him. He was 17 years old when he wrote his first poem and besides that one year period, he has been writing poetry ever since. I am interested to know what called upon him to write that first poem. What was it about? Was it something he would publish today? One thing about life that is very interesting to me is the concept of firsts. What was your first poem, the first song you played on the piano, the first school you ever went to, your first kiss, your first solo drive. The first time we ever do something can be terrifying, or exhilarating but all first time experiences have some sort of meaning.

What is Art?

After our discussion in class on Thursday I decided to think more about what is art. I googled "what is art?" and the first article that came up said that all art consists of two things: form and content. The author of the article stated that form includes:

1- the elements of art

2- the principles of design

3- the actual, physical materials that the artists has used

We discussed Robert Mapplethorpe's and Andres Serrano's photographs and I think everyone decided for themselves if they believe it to be art or not. Some people thought that the photos crossed "the line." What IS the line? How can anyone define what is art and what is not?

I think that all art has an intention and a purpose. It is something created thats sparks feeling or emotion in someone else. Those feelings can be positive or negative. I have seen a lot of art that I do not necessarily like or agree with. When I visited the Seattle Asian Art Museum during Spring Break there was a painting of a chicken struggling to fly in a city-like landscape. The painting was about the struggle of nature verses man made structures. The chicken's flight path was expressed like a flip book laid out on a table rather than bound together. You could see each step of the flight and it was obvious that the chicken was having a difficult time. I looked at the painting and immediately felt uneasy. In my mind that chicken should not be trying to fly around in a city. Indeed, that feeling of uneasiness was the emotion the painter intended. After reading the description I found that the intention of the painting was to express how difficult it is for nature and man to coexist.

I did not like this painting whatsoever. I would never put it on my wall or carry a picture of it in my wallet. However, it is still art. Sometimes I think people deem things as not art or as crossing the line simply because they do not like it or approve of its message. Such is true for the Mapplethorpe and Serrano paintings. I may not agree with all of the messages they are trying to express but I do recognize their work as art because it has a purpose and an intention.

A chair is a chair, and a urinal is a urinal but if they are presented as art, then there has to be some kind of intention behind that. What makes Marcel Duchamp's piece "the fountain" a piece of art is the name. I think that he was trying to get observers to look at a urinal in a different way. He didn't entitle the piece, "urinal" for a reason. Because he intended for the sculpture to be viewed as a different object with a difference purpose that makes it art, at least to me.

Vogue circa 1923

After asking the assistant at the library desk where I could find the periodicals I went searching. The vastness of libraries have always intimidated me. It seems as though I'll never find what I'm looking for. Thank goodness for librarians and there knack for organization. I found the bound periodicals down in the quiet basement. Since I am getting a degree in Fashion Merchandising I figured exploring the pages of Vogue would be the most interesting to me. I found the Jan-Jun 1923 book of Vogues. The book was so heavy and awkwardly large but I'm glad I took the effort to get it off the shelf.

Since my birthday is February 3rd I looked at the February 1st issue. When vogue first began publication it was published on the 1st and 15th of each month. What struck me first and foremost about the issue was the language used in the advertising. The new spring fashions were "flatteringly lovely," and one particular sportswear design was the "smartest sport silhouette" of the season. There were a lot of references to France and French words as well. This is due to the fact that in the 1920s France was looked upon (as still is ) as the fashion capital of the world. The publishers of Vogue looked to Europe for all of their inspiration and knowledge about fashion. Some of the phrases in the magazine including, "mode of the moment," and "the fickle beau monde," are obviously phrases centered around French words. The entire issue was filled with French influences.

The advertisements were selling goods that most people don't have the need for anymore. In the 1920s a majority of Americans were still making and constructing their own clothes. Therefore, a lot of the advertisements were for items such as bias tape, collars, safety pins, elastic and snap fasteners. An advertisement for these notions could now be found in specialty sewing and crafting magazines but certainly not in Vogue.

Another interesting thing about this Vogue was the lack of photographs. Illustrations were still being used the majority of the time during the 1920s. Instead of magazines having a signature photographer, they had signature illustrators. The illustrations were very detailed and offered the reader a good idea of what the fashions for spring would entail. All of the illustrations had descriptions next to them, describing color, fabric, and use of the garment. The illustrations and the photographs in the magazine were all in black and white.

One of the articles I read caught my attention because it was about a great change that had occured in society. I guess that this "great change" would have something to do with society or some of the aspects of the century that we have talked about in class. After reading the first paragraph I realized that my guess was far off. The article went as follows, "After the end of the New York season-a great change has taken place in society- a change that is very near a revolution. Entertaining is unquestionably more informal, and entertainment more amusing." Not really what I was expecting.

Overall I enjoyed flipping through the pages of fashion's most influential magazine. I am interested to see what Vogue looked like later in the century, during the 60s, 80s, and the year of my birth, 1991. I'll be looking through some of those books I'm sure in my years to come as a fashion merchandising major!

Museum of Modern Art

First of all I would just like to say that I love art and I love museums. Therefore art museums are one of my favorites things in the whole wide world. My family used to travel around a lot. One summer we spent 13 weeks in our R.V. traveling from Fort Worth to North Carolina and back. We have made a lot of trips in our R.V. spanning almost the entire country. The best way to describe my family's traveling style is basically "from museum to museum." I have seen museums about Native American cliff dwellers in Arizona, Old Plantations in Mississippi, President's homes in Virginia and Air and Space Museums in D.C. I'd say that if you love museums go to Washington D.C. because there is something for everyone there.

Out of all the museums I have been to I love the art museums the most and usually the modern art museums best of all. They usually have the most interesting architecture and the most thought provoking work. The Modern Art Museum here in Fort Worth is no different. Its one of my favorite buildings here and by far one of the most "modern" in this cow town.

The reason why I love modern art so much is because its purpose isn't obvious. You have to really sit and ponder each piece as you go. Why did the artist paint/sculpt/create this? What does it mean? What does it represent. Often times when confronted with modern art I am perplexed as to what I'm actually looking at. I think its always important to read the descriptions of each piece of art that the museum provides on the wall. It is very important in a museum of modern art. I remember looking at a painting that was a solid color with a ride line right through the middle. At first glance it didn't look like much. However, after reading the artist's description of his work I learned that the solid background represented the artists life, and the red line represented God and His influence on the artist's life. Now it makes sense.

I think some people approach modern art the wrong way. You can't walk into a modern art and expect to understand every piece. Some of the works are not meant to be understood. But I sincerely believe that every piece of art has intent. There is a purpose to its creation and there is a reason why its hanging on the wall. A lot of people become frustrated with modern art because they see the work and say, "I could do that." But the fact is, you aren't doing it. The artist felt compelled to create and that's what he or she did. Thats what separates us from the artists. They are actually doing it, they are really creating. As viewers we are just observing, and we have to remember to appreciate their efforts of creation.

My favorite piece of art in the Fort Worth museum is the first one you see as you enter the building,"Drape" by Joseph Havel. There is something about this sculpture that I love. If I could I would put this piece in the entry way of my home (that is, when I have a home.. and not a dorm room). I would love to be able to look at it everyday, all day if I wished. I think the reason I like it so much is because it appears to be a drape made of cloth, simply suspended in the air. However when you get closer you see that it is made of metal. How did Havel manipulate the metal to make it look so pliable? The piece looks as though it could fall to the ground with the simple touch of a finger. Its strength is secret.

Nous avons parlé Français!

Nathan said that we could speak French at our second meeting and that we did! I brought my French notebook and two packets of selected reading materials from my French classes that I have taken at TCU. I greeted Nathan in French and we sat down to talk. We basically went through my notebook and talked about the notes that I had taken from class. My class last semester was about French culture which included, Religion, Work, Education, Immigration, Politics and Holidays. We went through each section in my notebook and discussed each topic (in French!). Since Nathan is from Belgium we talked a lot about the differences and similarities between France and Belgium.

We talked about Religion first, and mostly about the banning of the veil (la voile) in France. In France it is against the law to wear any religious symbol that "is a menace to the public order." Apparently wearing a symbol of one's faith is considering menacing to those that do not follow the same faith. "La voile" was banned in both France and Belgium. I asked Nathan if there were any problems with the new law at his school. He said that there were a few students at his school that had protested against the law and wore their veils to school anyway. The principal had to tell the students to remove their veils. I asked Nathan if the school really cared that much or if it was just a question of following the government's law. He said that his teachers didn't care and didn't ask the students to remove their veils unless prompted by a person of higher status. Then I asked him if students who wore a large cross or other Christian symbol were ever asked to take if off. He said yes. So I think that for the most part the government is trying to keep all religious symbols out of the open. Nathan asked me if we could wear whatever we wanted in America and I told him that people can wear any and all religious symbols.

After religious we discussed Education for a while. Nathan went to Catholic school up until middle school and then went to a public school for high school. He said that at his public school there was a mix of Catholics and Muslims. He said that there were a lot of fights at school over religion. Nathan came to the United States for college so he could learn English and also because school here is much easier than in Belgium.

Then we moved onto the topic of immigration. In France immigration is a huge problem. There are a lot of immigrants that live in "le banlieues" (ghettos) in France. Some are legal and some are not. However, even though their living conditions in France are not the best they are far superior to what they would be living in in their native country. France, however has begun to blame the immigrants for problems in the economy. There is very strong support behind a political group called "Le Front National" that is right-wing group of anti-immigrants. Le Front National wants to return France to the French, and to kick out all of those who can not trace their lineage back to France. I asked Nathan if Belgium had the same sentiments regarding immigration and he said that Belgium liked the immigrants. He said that the Belgian government tried to help immigrants whenever possible.

We ended out conversation talking about working and living in France. I told Nathan that I would really like to work with fashion in Paris someday. He said that Paris would be a wonderful place to visit but that he couldn't imagine living there. He said that it is extremely expensive and that Belgian is generally way better. He also said that the French aren't as nice as Belgians. Although the Belgians may be nicer and less expensive they can't offer me a Fashion Week so he hasn't persuaded me to abandon all of my Parisian dreams.

Throughout our conversation we were able to communicate with only a few misunderstandings. Sometimes I would conjugate my verbs in the wrong tense or use the wrong pronoun but he would correct me or help me continue forming my sentence. For me, speaking has always been difficult because I can't write everything down first so sometimes I forget what tense I'm in or which pronoun to use. But overall I think I did a good job! And Nathan complimented me on my accent so that made me feel good. I haven't forgotten much at all even though I'm not taking a French class this semester.

Je Parle Français!

I met with my conversation partner, Nathan, in the library after class on Thursday. I was a little worried that one of us would be lost in translation and would be in the wrong place at the wrong time but luckily we found each other.

I was really excited to meet Nathan because I had a feeling he was French. When we started emailing I noticed that his email account was set to French and when he typed my name he spelled it "Nathalie" instead of "Natalie." Nathalie (with an H) is the French spelling of Natalie. When I saw those two clues I crossed my fingers. As a French major I always enjoy meeting people who are native speakers.

After we found each other we sat down and I started the conversation in English. I introduced myself and told him I was from Oregon. Then I asked him where he was from. It turns out Nathan isn't French, rather he is from the southern part of Belgium! When he told me that I started talking to him in French. He seemed surprised (pleasantly, I hope) that I spoke his native language. I said a few short sentences after which he complimented my accent and speaking skills.

Since we can both speak two languages we have decided that we are going to take turns speaking French and English. This Thursday we will speak French and I am very excited to be able to practice with him since I couldn't take a French class this semester.

We talked for about 45 minutes. I asked him a lot of questions about his interests and his life in Belgium. He played on the National Belgian Soccer Team for two years before he moved here to study English. He loves Texas but plans to move back to Belgium after he graduates.

Nathan asked me a few questions about TCU, Oregon, and my family. I'm hoping that this week we can talk more about the differences between Belgian and American culture. I took a course on French culture last semester so I am interested to learn more about Belgian culture.

Overall, our first meeting was a success and I can't wait to meet him this Thursday. Je suis heureuse que je puisse parler Français avec Nathan Jeudi!

Portrait of Dora Maar by Pablo Picasso

During Christmas break I visited my brother in Seattle. At the time the Seattle Art Museum had a Picasso exhibit from Musée National Picasso in Paris. It took me almost three hours to walk through the entire exhibit. I learned a lot about Picasso's life, his muses, and what influenced him. This painting if one of my favorite portraits by Picasso. It is of Dora Maar who was one of his muses. The works he painted during the "Dora Maar period" are my favorites. I love the way he painted from opposing perspectives and the way in which he used vibrant colors.

"Joyas Voladoras, " by Brian Doyle

"So much held in a heart in a lifetime. So much held in a heart in a day, an hour, a moment. We are utterly open with no one, in the end -- not mother and father, not wife or husband, not lover, not child, not friend. We open windows to each but we live alone in the house of the heart. Perhaps we must. Perhaps we could not bear to be so naked, for fear of a constantly harrowed heart. When young we think there will come one person who will savor and sustain us always; when we are older we know this is the dream of a child, that all hearts finally are bruised and scarred, scored and torn, repaired by time and will, patched by force of character, yet fragile and rickety forevermore, no matter how ferocious the defense and how many bricks you bring to the wall. You can brick up your heart as stout and tight and hard and cold and impregnable as you possibly can and down it comes in an instant, felled by a woman's second glance, a child's apple breath, the shatter of glass in the road, the words I have something to tell you, a cat with a broken spine dragging itself into the forest to die, the brush of your mother's papery ancient hand in a thicket of your hair, the memory of your father's voice early in the morning echoing from the kitchen where he is making pancakes for his children."

I read Brian Doyle's entire essay, "Joyas Voladoras" in high school. Doyle's words greatly impacted my life. I have this particular passage hanging on my wall. It has been many years since I first read this passage but as I have grown older I recognize the truth in his words. The pain of growing up is learning that in life "we live alone in the house of the heart." I think some people believe this to be a sad realization but, to me it is somewhat comforting. Only I know what lies in my heart. The hard part is trying to keep it together when others try (or accidentally) break it. If anything, this passage taught me that no matter how hard you try sometimes you can't keep your heart from breaking. Some dreams don't come true, sometimes love doesn't last, and sometimes people (including yourself) fall short of your expectations. However, life is full of sweet surprises and joyous days. The last line in the essay describes a father making pancakes for his children. This is a positive image that left me with hope. In life things happen that make you so happy your heart can't help but to shed it's defenses and be free for a little while.