Patty the Pirate has trouble remembering things, seasick i fear

The sun was high and the grass was low. Paige was being a bitch. Again. Only this time it was different. This time I was with MY friends and it wasn’t just my cousins and her friends. She was embarrassing me and I couldn’t handle much more of it. The problem with the open field by my grandparents house was the tendency for small spikey weeds to surface in odd spots where they’d slipped up amongst the grass. It had been a great day for wiffle ball until my sister had decided to join in. At first the teasing was the same stupid stuff, small remarks that I had retorts for. Eventually however, it grew into insults on my pride and my friends were beginning to laugh with her jokes just as much as mine. This I couldn’t stand for. She told me the second base was one of those little spikey plants and I wasn’t dumb enough to listen, but the moment she called me a baby things got crazy. After I had to listen to one of my friends laughing with her for the last time, I left my base and went someone tried to hit me with the ball I chucked it into the woods. Upon arriving to the “faux” second base I jumped, barefooted, onto the weed. After immediately following over screaming clutching my feet, to my sister’s amusement, my parents took me inside and I sat with my feet in a bucket of hot water glaring at my sister from the porch for the rest of the afternoon.

Another Packet that Makes You Think, Arrrg

Since I just read Memory and Imagination, I’ll reflect on that. The most interesting aspect of this whole piece is the idea of “lies” in a memoir and letting the true story in what you have to say finding themselves. Whether or not you realized it at the time, or even as you’re writing it, there is an underlying theme or idea in your memory. This uncharted region of your experience can be tapped into through the lies and details that begin to present themselves in your thoughts and reflections. Hampl found the focus of her father through the tendency of her old friend to continually turn up in a memory where she wasn’t even present. These small inconsistencies and blends of time and place begin to form and shape what was really important to you then and now. Although unlike her metaphor of writing being like an old friend, I think of it as an unexplored space. You must first chart out what you’ve got and take note of what you want and don’t want. At this point you may begin to weed and cut it back into the shape and finally form you desire. It just takes that original foresight through all of the tangle and mess you began with to see the end result you could have. You just have to unearth it.

Diversity of Language Matey

            Language evolves as cultures merge. As societies advance and the notion of embracing one another as one majority and not a multitude of minorities grows, we lose our traditional values and language. Language is constantly adapting with generations and niches in society to provide a special quality to groups within a majority. Unless an absolute blending of cultures and peoples is attained, there will always be cultural and generational division. In the event that one attempts to eliminate these barriers, flags would fly up and all progress would be halted. We live in a society where individuality and identity are valued. We embrace being part of a group no matter how broken down or large it may be. On any level you identify yourself with others and their likeness to you. You want your values to be reflected by those around you and unless the world melded into one cohesive blob of hippies with no distinguishing features, you’d lose everything that sets you apart. In this sense language has to evolve to mirror the sense of individualism and pride found in different sects of our culture. Without a developing language and uniqueness to these groups, they’d fall apart and dissipate. We’d be back to the grey indistinguishable mass covering the world.

Attempt at a Moving Experience

While I find it difficult to recall any singular memory or experience that moves me the way Hampl was moved by the lady on her bus, it is the main idea that stands with me the most. It’s the notion that out of all of the revealing moments that strike you in the open, beneath them is a more delicate and touching experience. The one thing that comes to mind in this may not even be the same genre of story, but it stays with me nonetheless. My freshman year I went to Paris with the January term: French Culture. For a basic two weeks we learned everything there was to be taught and that no matter where you went in Europe, you were always at risk of having things stolen. The pessimistic idea of cruel world wasn’t pushed, but you were made to realize that in a bustling crowded cite these instances of harsh reality may thrive. On an afternoon where we were allowed some free time to go shopping in groups, Kylie Kaspar took pity on me and let me tag alont being one of the few boys on the trip. On a busy street corner we stopped to buy some candy from a vendor and somehow her camera ended up stolen. What I remember the most about the entire trip was not some singularly fantastic view, but the face of the little old man who sold the candy as he helped us look for it. Although that whole nostalgic memory could be shot to hell if I found out he was the one to steal the camera in the first place. 

What's up

Hi Lamags, this is my first post. i didn't suck at making a blog.