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amazing...

I've been thinking about the meanings of words. Words, written or spoken, are how we communicate. But do we really know what the words we say mean? I think that sometimes the things that we say are exaggerated or even overused. Take the word love. How often do you hear that every day? And, in all of those times it's used, how often is it used correctly? The frequent and inaccurate use of the word love, in a way, cheapens it.

The word "amaze" is another that comes to mind. The dictionary defines it as

to overwhelm with surprise or sudden wonder; astonish greatly
I use this word too much. I use it to describe foods, performances, movies, events, even people -- and sometimes those things aren't very amazing. I exaggerate the description of the whatever I've experienced or seen to fit the definition of amaze; I use it for the wrong things. They're still great things, and far from average, but they don't astonish or overwhelm me.

Some things, though, really do amaze me. Some people amaze me (for bad and for good reasons). For example, I was amazed by the amount of dishes that were in the sink when I got home, so amazed that I stopped dead in the doorway and almost cried. It sounds like a stupid thing to cry over, but because the other person in the family who helps me try to keep up with the house gone for the week, it now has all fallen to me. I truly was overwhelmed and shocked.

If you're wondering if I did the dishes, no. I haven't yet. Bad person. :P
So that's an example of a bad thing that amazed me. Here's a good example:

Last night at a friend's bridal shower, I stayed after most people had left to help clean up (and to make a general nuisance of myself because I'm pretty sure I ended up more in the way than being productive). Everything was close to finished, and the hostess's husband brought pizza home for his family. I was the only one left there who wasn't related to someone in the room, so I felt awkward about taking any food. When my friend offered some to me, I said no because I wasn't family.

What she said has stuck with me all day long. She looked at me and said, "Well, you're my family."

That really and truly amazed me. It still does. I was so suprised, and it made me feel so...just good inside.

Words are important. The casual use of words seems almost cheap to me. If we only ever use words to express what they really mean, we will have more meaning -- so much more.

in 800 words or less...

My junior high, high school, and "college prep" days of UVU did not prepare me for this little beast I am now facing. It's called The Research Paper in 800 Words or Less. In this case, it must be done in 700 to 800 words. The word count made many in my English class rejoice. I, however, am close to tearing my hair out due to the length of the paper. Why?

800 words is NOT ENOUGH.

I have never had to write a short research paper. They've always been 8 pages or more, which is way more than 800 words. 800 words double spaced is about two and a half pages, including all of the mumbo jumbo formatting at the top that MLA format requires. I mean, most of my blog posts are in the 600-700 word range! Grrr. Beastly thing.

In short (haha), this is very difficult for me. Finding a topic and narrowing it down to the required specificity has been such a huge mountain to climb for me because I don't research in specifics. Think National History Fair size: start with a broad topic, make it a tad bit narrower, and BAM. Enough information to make 1500-2500 words. This one...it's taken me three days to come up with an angle small enough, and even now I keep wanting to branch out and bring in more information. But that adds to the word count. Buh.

Call me Hermione, but yes. I'm Hermione. I've even got the hair to go with it.

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If there was a way to express how I'm feeling, I would. Since there isn't, I'm not.


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weekly poem...

This week is less poetry in form, but the imagery is beautiful to me. I really like the writing I've found by Melanie Braverman. I like it a lot.

No longer if we'll get cancer but when

No longer if we’ll get cancer but when, the doctor said. Now questions accrete around the irritant like pearl: Not when but how? Not how but whom? And then why. And then why not. I take a can of ashes to the beach and empty them into the wind. Outside the trash man collects bottles like a miser rattling his jewels, tossing them onto the growing heap.

-Melanie Braverman

weekly poem...

Dear Friend

Z.

Running down the stairwell in the garden,
I divide the steps by three, until my
foot catches the edge, wet with rain, and my
frame, flung forward by its own momentum,

leans into the night as if reaching
for something I didn’t know I
wanted. Not the moon. No. Not the sky,
suspended and limitless. Not even

the tulips standing on their stems
(their petals cup the air).
But in the streetlamp’s circle of light, I land

among them, broken.
My body can’t contain
itself, as blood burgeons in my hands.

Blas Falconer