Tolkien Reading Order??

What's this?  I've never heard of an order to read Tolkien books other than The Hobbit > Lord of the Ring: Fellowship of the Ring > LOTR: The Twin Towers > LOTR: The Return of the King.  What's this craziness all about?

I was recently told while reading Tolkien's 'The Silmarillion' that I should have read the entire LOTR trilogy first (I have only read The Hobbit before The Silmarillion).

What I found on the Tolkien Society website, was that there is really no set order.  It goes with age, preference, and they one give lists of books in the order of publishing date. (this is not the full list, but it is from the smallest list I took two of them off of the end)

• The Hobbit
• The Lord of the Rings
• Tales from the Perilous Realm [mainly short stories with only nominal Middle-earth content]
• The Silmarillion
• Unfinished Tales
• The History of Middle-earth series
• The Children of Húrin

So, by this list, I went out of order, but in the second, much larger list on the website, I was even more out of order.  What I pick up from this list is that really, there is no order to read the books, except for the LOTR trilogy.  Those you read in order, but the rest of the books is mainly fair game to a point.  Having found this new list, or published dates, I now know that there is just about as many books as I thought Tolkien had written as well.

As I found other books, they really only included a small few of his stories.  Others say that it's a better idea to read stories that Tolkien wrote with no editing help from his son Christopher first, then the ones Christopher helped with afterward.

I had wanted to read the LOTR trilogy before I read the Silmarillion, but it was a matter of where the books were when I started reading.  My LOTR books were my storage unit from my recent move, and The Silmarillion was in my apartment with me, because it was with my college stuff.  So I knew I had a personal reading list.

• The Hobbit
• Lord of the Rings (all three)
• The Silmarillion
• Children of Húrin
• (then order of which books bought first)

What's your order for reading the Tolkien books?  Did you come up with this list before, during, or after you started reading his wonderful stories?  Out of the Tolkien books you've read (if you have), which one is your favorite?  Let me know down below!

À beintôt

photo creds: monogram, books, quote, 

Why Am I Wearing Red?

It's the same as why women were wearing pink hats and marching almost two months ago.  I am wearing this color in honor, and in support of so many others, because I cannot be with them physically today.

International Women's Day.  A day for everyone.  The campaign theme is #BEBOLDFORCHANGE.  A quote taken from their website, to explain the day, is this "International Women's Day (March 8) is a global day celebrating the social, economic, cultural and political achievements of women. The day also marks a call to action for accelerating gender parity."

I have signed up for support.  And when doing so, because you can too, you can choose between different areas to take bold actions in.  There are: challenging bias and inequality, campaigning against violence, forging women's advancement, celebrating women's achievements, and championing women's education.  I chose the last one, championing women's education, since education is something I feel very strongly about.  I am one of (when I signed up it's a lot more now) 45,301 people who wish to take action.  Pictured right/above is my screen after I stepped forward for education.  And you can too, just go to the IWD website and #BeBoldForChange.

And to be clear, this day is for all women, and all people in general.  No one is discriminated from this event, because that's not right.  We all need to start praising the wonderful things in women, from their education to their work and everything in between.  I love this day, and I'm glad that more people are fighting for this.  It's time we pulled ourselves harder out of this misogynistic hole.

With that comment, I'm not a hater of men, truly.  But, it's a rut our country (and others) have that we value men (mainly of the white skin color) more than we do our women and our citizens who are minorities/POC.  Today is one of the key rungs of the ladder to achieving our goal of equality.

À bientôt!

Photo credits: red, IWD logo, me supporting, 

Being Sensitive Isn't Hard

The other day I was thinking about how easy it is for people to be culturally insensitive, whether it be because they don't know it, or they do and they don't want to try and stop this bad behavior.  This was thrown into my mind because of a poster I made.  It was for the Spanish club at my university.  The extra posters that I had printed out where then clipped together and given to the Spanish teacher who ran the club.  He saw them later and asked my boss if she made them, and she told him 'No, Monica made them.'  The professor was so happy that I was not using any photos that were culturally insensitive or rude.  Nothing stereotypical either.  Just because, I didn't want to use those photos, and I knew they would not be well received by the professors (or anyone really).

I steered clear of cartoon tacos (with and without mustaches), photos of maracas, sombreros, and other cartoon photos like that that really only to seem appropriate on a middle school poster if appropriate at all.  I just didn't feel that 1) those photos were very symbolic of a university or belonged on a poster for a university club, 2) they were culturally insensitive and stereotypical towards Spanish culture, and 3) I just wanted pictures of flags.

I inserted four photos on the poster.  1) a photo of Spain with the Spanish flag on it, 2) our university's panther mascot, 3) a small banner of flags from Spanish speaking countries, and 4) a small poster that reads 'KEEP CALM AND GO TO SPANISH CLUB'.  These photos I felt were the perfect fit.  I placed the panther head on top of the Spain one, and off to the side so as not to hide the flag or the majority of the country, the banner of flags on the side, and the 'KEEP CALM' poster down at the bottom.  In between all these photos I added in text boxes with the information.  I made the color of each text box either black, yellow, or red to fit with the Spanish flag and complete an overall aesthetic of the poster.

So I was thinking later after my boss told me about her above conversation with the other professor, and about how the professor was happy that I didn't put anything insensitive on the poster: Why is it so hard for other people to be culturally sensitive?  When anyone makes a stereotype or joke towards those of American descent (because let's face it most who are culturally insensitive are American, myself included before I realized I was doing so), they get angry and wish that the person who said/did those things would not to it again.  It's rude and insensitive.  It's hurtful is really what it all comes down to.

So why is it that we do this to other cultures?  Put harmful and hurtful stereotypes out there and not expect that it will be hurtful to someone?  Why do we also quickly rush to defend ourselves?  Why not just admit that it's wrong and hurtful, and try our hardest not to do it again.  It was very easy for me to not use any of those hurtful/stereotypical images on my poster.  And the turn out was wonderful and professional.  So maybe really what I'm asking and wondering: What is causing you to be so insensitive (if you are being so)?  Why are you not taking the few extra seconds to just...not be hurtful?  It's so easy to not hurt others just because they are different.

Those stereotypical images (tacos, maracas, sombrero, etc.) and sayings that are harmful to others are not something to share around.  We should just stop with them.  I know that myself personally, I've used stereotypes and found them funny.  And certain ones are (New Englanders traveling in a snow blizzard for a Dunkins Iced, Canadians are just too polite, etc.) and that's because, to my knowledge, these ones are not harmful.  I know friends and family members who would and have braze a snowstorm for an Iced coffee from Dunkins.  I've read and heard so many stories of Canadians just being very nice and I think it's sweet.  So things like that are fine, because they hurt no one.  However, the ones that talk down someone and they culture, are not fine.  Those are the ones that are harmful.

I think that, we as a world-wide society, must try our hardest to stop spreading the hate.  Just spread peace and love (of course we still need to fight for our rights but do it peacefully).  We need to be more sensitive to those around us.  And not spread such hurtful stereotypes. Think about if it was you people were laughing at harmfully?  You wouldn't like it.  Now stop doing it to others.  It's honestly not that hard.

I'm going to make sure that I stay sensitive, and that I always make the effort to not harm another.  I hope you all will too.

À bientôt!

Am I Safe?

So many times I try to be very unpolitical in public, however now that I'm slightly more grown I have seen that I can't be quiet anymore.  I have to say something; because right now that's the only thing I can do.

A few days ago, on January 20, 2017, Donald J. Trump became the 45th president of the United States.  For me, this was not a happy day.  I didn't celebrate, I didn't congratulate him, I don't feel that he could ever be my president.  (I know that being a US citizen legally makes him my president, but I'm talking emotionally and mentally he's not).  This is because, all that Trump stands for, all that he has spoken about and pledged to do once in office, does nothing to help me.  It could actually hurt me.

I know that being a cisgender, white, female makes me lower on the list of those to be hurt by Trump.  But maybe, if I speak my voice, others will understand my story, and be more apt to understand the stories of all POCs and other LGBT community members who are also scared about what the next four years will bring.

As a female, Trump has scared me so much.  He is planning to possibly cut funding to Violence Against Women grants and programs, and so much more.  I'm scared because the defunding of Planned Parenthood (whose major focus isn't abortion like everyone thinks it is).   It helps with so much more as the chart on the right shows.  Their main focus is helping with STD testing and contraception.  Ways to keep everyone safe. PP is not just for women too.  Men can go and get helpful services there.  They are funded so that those with little or no money can go in and get free health care.  What will happen to all those that won't get free health care now that PPs defunded?  Many people will die, or become very sick.  How can a man (or many people that is) not understand that people's lives are more important than the fact that only 3% of PPs services revolves around abortion?  Not even 10%!!!

I'm in college, and things that Trump has said about college, though seeming great, doesn't help my scared heart.  This is because of Devos.  She, at least to me, doesn't understand what it takes to be secretary of Education.  She does not have the interest of public or state schools in mind.  She thinks teachers are overpaid and that public schools should be funded less.  This could be bad for my school as I am in a state university.  And what about my alma mater?  It's a public school, terribly underfunded already.  My AM can't afford to not get any more money and the teachers deserve MORE money in my opinion.  Education is something very important to me and the woman that Trump feels is the best fit for the job, is not.  I do not think she will ever be someone I can trust to handle the safety of education in America.

As a bisexual woman, I am fearing for the future.  This is also where Mike Pence, the new VP, becomes somewhat scarier than Trump.  For Pence believes in conversion therapy to reverse or 'correct' homosexuality.  What will come of the future for me and my siblings within the LGBT community?  Will I be able to marry the woman of my dreams (if I ever meet her bc im a hermit)?  Will I be strapped down and forced to change my sexuality?  I'm not hurting anyone being Bisexual, but apparently, I am.  Don't know how me liking both males and females ruins your dinner across the country, but please let me have my own rights.  I came out just under a month before the elections.  While writing this I had to stop and listen to some music.  The song that I listened to that gave me more strength to write this and get my feelings out was a beautiful cover of 'RISE' by Superfruit (Scott Hoying and Mitch Grassi), Mary Lambert, Brian Justin, and Mario Jose (originally Katy Perry).  

My heart sank in my chest while I watched the live poll results with my roommate early in the morning on the 9th of November.  All the fear I had ever felt: for being a woman, for being bi, for being around many who felt that they could just 'grab me by the pussy' because the now president-elect said it was okay.  I feared for my whole life.  I was more nervous walking home from all my night classes than I ever should have been.  I had never been scared to walk home alone on my campus before.  But my many neighbors who had Trump signs in their windows caused me caution as I walked.

Nothing Trump has ever said regarding his policies, foreign and domestic, don't give me comfort.  Many times it is because he does not fully state what he is going to do.  He just repeats that he 'has a plan, and it's a good plan and we should have a good plan and this plan he has is good' which gives no damn clarity.  Also with the new president's twitter-happy fingers, I fear that he could set our country into some deep trouble if he becomes easily angered at another country or something of that sort, and decides to voice his opinion on Twitter; and it would be even worse if he did this all from the president Twitter.

And the fact that not even twelve hours after Trump swore in, the pages for climate change and LGBT were gone from the white house website.  I was outraged like anyone.  Then I saw a wonderful twitter thread describing that all those pages were just archived at this site.  This makes me feel better that the progress we made did not just disappear from the world.  It's still here, and we must fight to keep it that way.  We can't sit still and let things go down.   Like the Women's March on January 21, 2017.  A total of around 1 million people marched in just the USA, many others marched in other countries, to tell the world that we will not be silent and that we will fight for our rights no matter how hard.  The marches were peaceful (at least that I've heard) and no one was hurt.  Seeing something like the Women's March fills my heart with happiness because it shows that the country will stay strong, and we have other countries standing with us.

So a finishing question, like the title asks: Am I safe?  Will I be safe when I leave my apartment?  Will I not fear my life walking home from classes at night?  Will I be able to marry the one I love when it comes time to do so?  Only time will tell, but I hope that the answer to all of these will be 'YES'.  Yes, I am safe.  Yes, I will be safe when I leave.  Yes, I will not fear my life walking home from class.  Yes, I will be able to marry the love of my life.  Just yes.

Stay safe everyone, and never be silent.

À bientôt!

Les glaneurs dans L'Etats Unis???

Last semester, I watched a documentary in my French film class.  It was called Les glaneurs et la glanuese (The gleaners and I), by Angès Varda.  After watching the documentary, talking about it in class, and then going through the holiday season, I got to thinking about something.  Would gleaning in the US be bad and why?  And why is it almost normal to glean in France (and other places) but not in the US?

Gleaning is the act of gathering leftover crops after the harvest.  It can also expand to a bit more to the gathering items.  It is usually associated with an over-consumption and a large waste of food or just items that can be used by others.

In the movie, Angès (pictured above) traveled around France to show different types of gleaning with a hand-held camera.  Some were gleaning potatoes after the harvest, where Angès found heart-shaped potatoes (pictured right).  She talked to many of those who were gleaning in the fields and one man who was homeless and gleaned potatoes so he could have something to eat.  In France, it is legal for those to glean on a crop field only after the harvest has passed.

Another man gleaned old dolls around France and created pillars outside his home to represent the waste of items in the country.  There was an episode within the documentary where a man gleaned appliances, had a friend fix them up, and possibly sell them or keep them for later.  These were two instances where people were gleaning something other than food but for a special purpose.  One man gleaned food after the local market had gone through and then spent the night teaching the men in his apartment building.  He gleaned to eat, and taught the other men for no price, just because he wanted them to get an education.

Within the movie, Angès was also very into paintings and other art concerning.  She begins the movie talking about a piece of art and finds others through out.  One she finds with her sister as a surprise while they were walking through a thrift store.  She said in the film that it was luck and the painting was calling to her.  She just had to have it and bought it on the spot.  The main painting by Jean-Francois Millet is what the movie is inspired by.  The painting (pictured left) shows three women gleaning wheat in a field.  Many of the other paintings in the movie show large groups gleaning in the same field, but one she liked was one of a lone woman, with a large bushel of wheat on her shoulder.

Now, after that, driving around with my mother, I realized something.  Why is it, that if we were to see someone going through the leftover bins from a farmer's market, we'd be disgusted or yell at them to get a job (I've seen this happen)?  Why is it that we considered gleaning to be so bad?  It's taking food that is somewhat undesirable, and feeding someone who does not have the money to get the food themselves somewhere else.  Why is that so bad?  Why is it that in this country we associate someone trying their hardest to find food to feed themselves, and even going into the trash to do so, is seen as bad and disgusting and our immediate reaction is to say that them having a job will help them?  I just can't understand it, and I once use to think like that.

Is it illegal in the US?  From what I've found it's not illegal in most states, but from the Good Samaritan Act, places that make a surplus of food are to bring it to shelter and centers for those who live there.  Sadly, I don't feel this happens all to often in our country.  Maybe we should fight for it to start up again.  That way we can be part of our country never being hungry.  I know that's something I want.

I found that two years later she came out with a second movie 'Deux ans après' (Two years later).  The cover is two the potatoes Angès had gleaned in the field, sprouting out and wrinkly.  After writing this, I think I'll go ahead and watch this second documentary, see what it's all about and what Angès talks about here.  Maybe things have changed since the first film, and gleaning is looked at differently.  Those vineyards that deliberately ruined the unwanted crops to stop gleaners stopped, and allowed gleaners to come on and get some food.  I'll just have to wait and see when I watch Deux ans après.

Let me know how you feel about gleaning.  Should it be viewed differently in the US?  Should we encourage it?  Should we stop looking at activities like this as being a bad thing?  I want to know how you all feel.

À bientôt!

Christmas Trash™

So it's December, you know what that means!  HAPPY HOLIDAYS!  While this blog post won't be highlighting all the December holidays, I just want to wish everyone who celebrates any holiday during this month to have a wonderful time doing so this year.  Gods above know we need it.

Since I was a baby I have been celebrating Christmas.  Now, I never really made a connection between the festive holiday and the religious holiday.  I always felt that they were separate.  My young brain (even though I went to church as a child) just thought the two happened to land on the same day.  I mean, it's not Jesus who brings the presents, it's Santa Claus.  So, for me, Christmas has never been religious.  Instead, it was just a holiday where I got presents, watched Christmas movies, and spent time with family.

My Christmas traditions have been simple.  Decorate with multiple toys, figurines, a tree with a plethora of ornaments (not just the simple ones but A TON of fun ones), singing Christmas music all month long, and watching the classic children's movies (which I still watch today for a nostalgic feel).  On the actual night of Christmas Eve, I would go with my sister and mother (on even years) to my Uncle and Aunt's house where that side of the family would have a small get-together and exchange some presents (most weren't allowed to be opened until the next morning).  If it was an odd year, my sister and I would be at my father's, where another family Christmas party would ensue.  When we got home or all the family would leave, we would set a plate of cookies and a glass of milk by the tree.  (Chocolate chip at dad's house, Oreos at mom's house).  Next, we would place some carrots for the reindeer.  My sister and I checked the 'Tracking Santa Claus' website, and get nervous that he would bypass our home if we were still awake when he got too close to our home.  So we'd quickly go to sleep and await the next morning to come.

tbh this is my EXACT face on  Christmas morning.

When we woke up, it was holding back screams of excitement.  My sister and I would carefully tiptoe past the bedrooms and into the living room, where all the presents would await us.  We weren't the type to run into our parent's bedrooms, instead, we would sit and stare for a while, soaking it all in.  Eventually, our mother or father and step-mother would come in and let us open presents.  It was always fun to dump out our stockings and pile up all our little treasures, and then rip open all the paper and boxes to reveal the larger presents.  My father used to tell me, when I inquired about why Santa never wrapped the presents he left at his house, 'He wraps the ones he leaves at your mom's.  Then he gets tired and doesn't wrap the one's for our house.'  to which I replied:

'That doesn't seem fair.' but I didn't care that much.  Around ten in the morning (it was always ten so my sister and I could remember) we would leave whoever's house we were at, to be dropped off at the other's and open the presents there.  It was like two Christmases in one!  I used to think I was so spoiled with that.  After that, we would be brought to other family member's home that we had not seen before Christmas to get more presents and food and quality time.  But let's face it, child me didn't care about the formalities of family bonding.  I just wanted my dang gifts!

After all that, my sister and I would return to our mom's home.  Then we would collect all our gifts and hurry them into our room for security and enjoyment.  The gift cards were spent within the next week and most of the candy was eaten the next day.

I am so excited every year for Christmas because it is filled with such happy memories for me and love and family and friends.  I can't wait to sleep on the 24th and wake again on the 25th to this nostalgic holiday for me.  This year it will be more special with Kaden.  Let me know some of your traditions on Christmas and if any of yours matches mine! (I'm sure they will I mean, I had a pretty basic list of traditions here).

me waiting for Christmas morning/me all of December

À bientôt!

Photo creds: x-mas fox, x-mas cat, cookies and milk, ornament, Santa and Rudolph,

Meeting My Nephew

The other day, Monday, October 31, 2016, at 11:17, I was blessed by having my nephew Kaden Taylor Villafane be born.  But before I begin to talk about him, and how much I already love him, I want to start at the beginning...

It was February.  Our cat, Badboy, had recently died and I was still having a hard time remembering him.  I was getting home from class, planning on doing a bit of homework before meeting my friends at five for dinner at the dining hall on campus.  That's when I got the messages from my mother. "Are you home?"
"Yes, just got there."
"Get on Skype."  I thought it was weird.  She didn't usually force me to get on Skype.  And I was instantly worried something was wrong.  Who had died?  Who was in the hospital?  All those terrible thoughts in my mind.  I opened up my laptop and called her.  The screen only filled with her, but someone else's shoulder was in the frame.  After a few quick hellos, she turned the camera to my twin and her boyfriend.  I was told, "We have news."  And then she told me.

"You're gonna be an auntie Monica!"  I can't recall my exact feeling at that moment.  But I can tell you that I was excited.  I was going to be an aunt.  I was upset slightly.  My sister said she'd not be returning to classes after the current semester because of the baby.  I was okay with it, but I knew how badly she wanted to go to college.  But now the baby was the top priority.

Months go by, a few friendships perish, but my sister is still happy.  She's still strong in having a baby and finishing her semester out.  What with all the appointments and having to drive back and forth constantly in order to keep her child healthy.  During the summer she continued to work at her job, making a bit of money before Kaden came (they decided on the name during the summer).  At a small get-together with parents and siblings of both parents, we all learned the sex of their child.  I knew I'd be happy with either boy or girl.  Then my twin, Eryn, and her boyfriend, Brandon, moved into a new apartment.  The baby shower was in the beginning of August, her due date was set for Halloween.

October 29 rolls around and I joke with my sister about giving birth already.  She tells me that she has been having some cramps, and timing them.  But she doesn't think anything of it at all.  She stops texting me, like normal.  We've never held on really long conversations over text.  My mother tells me later on that same night that she is going over because her cramps are slowly getting stronger and closer together.  I got excited, that meant he was coming soon, right?

The next day hits, and there is really no word.  I text my mother and she says that they get closer and stronger, but not close enough to go to the hospital.  The day goes by, I watch movies with my roommate and we do some homework.  Next thing I know my sister and my mother are out and about, trying to get her moving.  Around 8pm my mother informs me that they are going to the hospital.  I made a quick little video on my phone telling her I love her and that she can do it.  Two of my roommates, Paige and Becca, and my friend, Jordan, were in the video too because we were all watching a movie together.

I got to bed after talking with my father later on.  I woke up around 3:30 the next morning when my sister sends a group text to my mother, father, and me.  She was getting an epidural and then trying to get some more sleep.  It wasn't until I woke up later that it really hit me...my nephew was going to be born.  I was on my phone all morning, texting my mother and father trying to get information.  All I knew by 10 am, was that she was pushing.  I wasn't able to talk more after that because I was going to my classes.  As I left my Creative Writing class, I walked into the Silver Center, going to Chorale.  I was halfway down the stairs when I got a text.  It was from my mother.  A photo was attached.  I continued to walk down as I opened it up, thinking nothing of it really.

Then I stopped where I was.  I was halfway down these stairs, and I was staring at a photo of my nephew.  The caption 'Meet your nephew' underneath.  My heart started to swell like the Grinch's once he learns to love Christmas and my eyes began to water.  I was officially an aunt.  I had a nephew who was living and breathing in the world.  Instantly I saved the photo to my phone and stared at it as long as I could.  I moved slowly down the stairs and made it to the classroom, showing all my friends who were also waiting to see the photo of him.  The rest of the day all I could do was think of him and how cute he was.

I was told that I wasn't able to see him until the Saturday afterward.  I frantically asked my friends and family for a ride down to go and see him, I also had to find a coworker to cover my shift at my university job.  I was able to get my mother to pick me up and bring me down.  When Friday came, I was going to leave right after my Creative Writing class and go home with my mother.  I was planning on spending the night with her at work because it would be easier for her to go straight there after picking me up.

As I walked to my apartment, I looked to the parking lot.  I saw my mom's car, but there was nothing in the backseat.  I don't know why I had looked.  She wasn't going to bring my sister and Kaden with her.  He was born a few days ago.  I made it to my door, where my mother was waiting outside for me.  I turned my key in the door and opened it.  I turned around to my mother as I stepped in, seeing her standing there just holding her phone up.  I remembered thinking 'It's not that special.  You've been here before.  Me opening my door is not that great'  then after a few more seconds 'SHE DID BRING HIM'

I immediately ran into the living room and dropped my bag and keys on the chair.  Then turned the corner to find my sister standing there, holding my nephew in her arms.  I had learned after my mother stopped recording that they conspired with my roommates to keep the door unlocked for them to get in before I would get home from class.  I was so happy.  I got to hold him and just smiled for days.  I can't wait for this child to grow up and realize how much he's loved.  I will be there for him whenever he needs me.

To see photos of Kaden that I have to go my Twitter, I will also see if my mother will let me post the video to my Youtube as well.

À bientôt!

Review: Franco-American Life & Culture in Manchester, New Hampshire: Vivre La Difference

Franco-American Life & Culture in Manchester, New Hampshire: Vivre La Difference by Robert B. Perreault
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Well if I wasn't interested in my Franco heritage...I sure am now.

This book, though it had nothing to do with me, opened up my eyes and mind to a world, that is not so far gone. Many of the events and persons mentioned in this book happened from the 1700s to the 1980s. I know that I have a Franco side from my Paternal grandparents, and I know what to know more. I want to go to that ACA/Lambert/Franco-Collection Library and try to track my ancestors back to when we started on this Earth.

Also, having lived in Manchester (mainly the West Side) I was able to picture all the streets he talked about. I have lived on both the East and West sides, I went to Manchester High School West (which the author's son is mentioned having attended). This, I feel, connects me deeper to the story than I thought it would have. The photo on the front cover, I know that street, I recognize those buildings. Granted the bridge is not the same, but I've been there it seems. I've walked and drove across that bridge that separates the East and West sides of Manchester. I know personally most areas in the photo from Rock Rimmon on the right, to the original St. Mary's Bank on the left.

This book has brought out a side of me that I didn't know was in me. A side that wants to further my French heritage as I never have. Who wants to learn all I can about my ancestors and their journeys here and elsewhere. And I think I'll start that journey today.

View all my reviews

Color Guard

As I've mentioned before (in my Welcome post), I love color guard.  I want to talk about that more and how much it's affected my life in such wonderful and even loving ways.

Now, imagine me, if you will, as a little eighth grader.  As a fun little after school activity, I joined the color guard.  We worked for four weeks (two days a week I believe) on a routine for the Memorial Day parade with the Middle School at Parkside band.  I wasn't even able to do half the moves, but I still had fun.  I was in the second row, in the middle of three columns as we walked down the street.  My friend Larissa was next to me.  We did our moves all the way down the street, I only dropped the flag a few times too.

But before we had walked onto the street, two girls from Manchester High School West (the one I would be advancing to after graduation) came over to talk to us.  I could see in the background others doing tosses and more advanced moves, I was impressed.  The two girls were talking with our instructor, who was also their current instructor.  One of the girls asked how to join the color guard in high school, and the older girls smiled.  They told us that it wasn't too late to sign up for the class, but I didn't think much of it.  After the parade, everyone hung up their flags and we went on with the rest of the year.  It wasn't until halfway through the summer that I'd even see a color guard again.

I was at soccer tryouts.  It was three days of working, running laps, playing scrimmages, and more.  All to see if you were good enough to go onto the varsity team.  I wasn't in that group.  Nor was I in the group to join the junior varsity team because there were not enough girls.  I was a bit heartbroken.  I had been playing soccer for eight years and I thought I was a very good player.  I went home with my mother, we now lived right next door to West.  When we pulled into the driveway, I saw something familiar.  Color guard.

I also saw my old instructor/choir teacher there.  I wanted to go over and say hello.  She told me she was happy to see me and asked if I was interested in joining the color guard squad.  I told her I wasn't fully sure if I wanted to or not.  My mother told me it wouldn't hurt to try it, and they were just starting practice anyway.  The high school band director came out, Mrs. Diane Francoeur.  She told me that it was okay for me to practice with the squad.  One of the girls helped me learn moves that I was not able to do just a few months prior.  I found that it came very easily to me to learn.  I was given a schedule of all practices and band camp when I left, I was also told that I would get color guard put on my schedule for the first day of high school.  I was so happy.  I felt that I belonged there, more than I did in any of my soccer teams.

During band camp I made friends, Larissa was in there too.  My twin joined the week after I had.  We learned a whole field show within a week and performed it in front of parents and friends before showing it off at all the home games (and a few away games too!).  We had different routines for each song, and four songs a show.  We also had to learn different routines for each parade we did.  I had so much fun.  The class period was the same time as the band, so while we practiced just outside, we could hear them playing the songs.  I had the most fun that I could.

Of course, there was drama, though.  Can't have a group of about ten girls and not have drama, but I don't want to shed light on that part of my color guard life, it's all about the love in this post.

The next year the class was a different period, which meant we used a recording to practice with music.  I still had fun though.  I was a squad leader, which is like a tier below captain in case you don't know.  I was happy and still doing something that I loved.  I still belonged.  My junior year I was still squad leader, but something caused me to not have the ability to take the class.  Luckily my instructor and Francoeur still allowed me to be in the squad.  I don't know what I would have done if they didn't.

The end of my senior year I tried out for color guard captain.  And I got it!  Along with another squad member, we were co-captains.  I still was not able to take the class senior year because of the chamber choir I was in.  But I made it work by practicing on my off periods and coming to every practice that we had (I think I missed a total of twenty practices all four years).  I worked hard getting my own routine written, and I used moves and techniques I had learned from my week at Drum Major Academy, or DMA.  And yes, DMA has color guard in it.  But they mainly cater to upcoming drum majors.

Both during Junior and Senior year, I went to color guard exhibitions.  I didn't perform in them, I went to watch.  I loved it.  The different elements, the use of props.  All of it.  I loved it all.  My mom bought me a guard charm bracelet.  I would have worn it more than I did if it didn't turn my wrist green.

The end of my Senior year became bittersweet.  I was saying hello to a new chapter in my life, but saying goodbye to something that had been my life for four years.  I was saying goodbye to spinning and tossing.  To the uniform and the makeup.  To band camp and coming home with turf in my shoes.  To half-time shows and Salem Band Show.  To all my lovely guard girls and my instructor.  I didn't realize until halfway through college how much color guard meant to me.  I was upset that I couldn't go to the practices (I had moved), and that I wouldn't be doing the half time show.  My college didn't have a color guard, and I couldn't get one started.  I still miss it.  I miss the slap of the rifle on my
hands.  The feel of the silk in my hands while at attention.  The swoosh of the silk as it rippled through the air.  The sound of the crowd when the big toss was caught.  I miss it all.

I still go back to my old high school and help them out.  I did it a few weeks ago.  It helps me relive those times that I was on the field spinning.  I know that I will continue to hold color guard in a special spot in my heart, and I will never stop doing it.  I just wanted to let you all know how much I loved it.

À bientôt!

Photo creds: banner, guard girl, irifle, flag toss, love,

La Famille Belier

The other day in my French film class we watched the movie 'La Famille Belier' or 'The Belier Family' in English.  I really liked the film and it's story.  In case you've never seen the movie, here's a basic plot:

A young girl, Paula Belier, lives in the French countryside with her parents and brother.  She lives a normal life, besides the fact that her whole family is deaf and they run a cattle ranch and sell cheese at the local market.  One day at school while in chorale, her professor discovers that she has a gift for singing.  She starts her journey of sneaking around to her professor's house and practicing for her audition into a prestigous singing school in Paris.  At the end, she struggles to fit both her dreams and her parents dreams into her life.

However, from an article another classmate found, it's not that great of a hit in the deaf community.  The actors who play Paula's father, mother, and brother are not deaf.  The article also goes to say that the story line of the film was too cliche and overused.  I understand these points and agree with them a point.

Would the movie have been better with actors and actresses who were, in fact, deaf?  Maybe, but we can't say that unless someone goes and remakes the whole movie again with deaf actors and actresses.  The article also mentions that the sign language is not 100% accurate and at some points it just seems like the actors and actresses were just waving their hands about.  In this sense, yes it would have been better to have actors and actresses who were deaf and spoke (honestly is this the best verb to use I need to know) French Sign Language.

The cliche aspect from the article, though I can see where it comes from, I didn't agree with fully.  It is overused to have a child/other member of a mainly deaf family have a voice of great beauty and want to go out and make a life with that voice.  That's overused in not just France but all over.  However, it was one of the first movies I had seen with this trope.  I liked the film and the plot and the story.  However, if I saw too many films with this same premise before, I would agree with the statement in the article more.  It's only because this is (from my memory at the moment) one of the first movies with a deaf family.  (I literally can't think of any other movies I have ever seen with deaf characters but I know I've had to at least seen one of them???)

Paula and Gabriel practiced their duet
by dancing together and singing at the
same time.

With all this said, I want to talk about all the moments in the film that I liked.  One big one, was the romantic part of Paula and Gabriel was not even really part of the movie until the ending.  At first it was just a crush on him by her.  Only at the end of the film, after the chorale concert, where Paula and Gabriel have their duet of the Michel Sardou song 'Je vais t'aimer'.  Then, the relationship is no longer touched that often.  It made a nice transition from other movies where the romance aspect is one of the larger themes and story lines throughout the whole movie.

Secondly, I liked the scene after the chorale concert when Paula was sitting outside, and her father came over to see her.  They chatted (signed?) about how she likes to sing, then her father placed his hand just under her neck.  Then, Paula began to sing.  It was the moment when her father, Rudolph, finally realized that this was a gift that Paula had, and that she would do great in that singing school in Paris.  Afterwards he wakes the whole family early in the morning and packed them into the car, driving Paula all the way to Paris to audtion.  He knew in his heart that this was a good opportunity for his daughter, and eventually the mother realized this too.

During the chorale concert was another moment I liked.  It was during the duet of Paula and Gabriel.  The sound of the entire movie leaves.  You go into the mind of the parents and brother of Paula.  Watching this all unfold around you, but not hearing a single thing.  I thought that it was a very wonderful scene and a great way to see into the life of those who cannot hear.

In this scene Paula stares up at her,
family; this is right before she begins
to sign the lyrics to the song.

The last scene that I just loved was the audition into the Paris singing school for Paula.  The song she chose was 'Je vole' also by Michel Sardou.  The song is about telling one's parents that they are leaving [the nest] and they still love them.  That they are no longer a small child, but they will always be their baby.  Then, a verse into the song, Paula begins to sign all the words she sings, so her family (who was sitting in the back of the room) can understand what she's saying.  I felt very emotional during this scene because it was a large climax turning point in the film.  It was the whole Belier family coming to the understanding that they're lives would be different, that Paula was going to live a dream that she held in her heart, and that everything was going to be okay.


La famille Belier was a great coming-of-age, comedy, and drama movie for all ages to enjoy.  There may be parts of the film that are cliche, and the vitality of the deaf parents and brother may not be the best, but the movie still tells a great story and I feel that this movie deserves all the good praise it has gotten.

À bientôt!

Photo creds: film poster, what?, paula1, paula2,

Prose Vs. Poetry

The other day in my Creative Writing class we were talking about poetry.  There were two questions asked at the beginning of class: "What makes a poem a poem?" and "What can a poem do that the other genres can't?"  We began to list the items that constitute a poem; lines, stanzas, rhyme, and more.

At the beginning of the discussion, we went over the meaning of the words prose and verse.  Prose in easy terms is 'to go forward' or to the edge of the page.  Verse (another word for poetry) is 'a turning'.  This shows one of the differences between poetry and prose.  Prose goes as far as the edge of the page, then starts at the beginning again.  Poetry constantly has line breaks.  Most of the line breaks and white space are strategic to the author of the work.  Most of the class agreed that you can easily distinguish a poem from a short story by the format on the piece.

Other points we talked about was the fact that poems are very different from the way we talk in real life.  To quote a classmate "No one just says in normal conversation 'Two roads diverged in a yellow road'."  And that's very true.  But it's funny at the same time.  Poetry is an oral genre.  It existed before writing and before prose too.  So it's not how we talk now but how we once did talk.

Saying something is 'poetic' is normally seen as a positive connotation.  However, if someone was to read your work and called it 'prosy' or 'prosaic' you would think they didn't like.  Because those words have a negative connotation.  How much have you wanted to hear that you sounded 'poetic' while you were writing...but you were writing prose.  Wouldn't it be a better praise to hear that your prose sounded 'prosaic'?

At another point in the class my professor, Liz Ahl, asked again what could poetry do that other genres or prose couldn't.  I raised my hand and described how I thought that poems can tell a story quicker and easier than prose (in most cases, not all).  She asked me to elaborate.  I said that if I was to write the poem I had in front of me as a prose piece, it would have the same meaning.  She countered with the question "So, if I was to take your poem and rewrite it as prose, use all the same words in the same order, but make it prose, it wouldn't have the same meaning?"  She didn't ask this to sound rude or mean, she was just trying to get my thought process on my answer to her original question.  I nodded and said that I did feel that way, then she said: "What an insane idea."  To which I replied:

"Well, I am insane."

So to me, poetry/verse, is a way to tell a story quicker and with fewer words.  It helps speed up the message of the story, whereas prose, is different.  There isn't to say that there isn't a prose piece that quickly and pointedly gets to the message in a few short sentences, they're just a very, very small minority.

One other connection I made in my mind during class had to do with color guard.  I thought to myself, Prose is like the ROTC color guard.  Very stoic and going in a certain order, marching forward at all times.  Verse, however, that's the artful color guard.  Moving and flowing where the music/poem takes them and not really following too much of an order.  I was able to easily connect the two, in my opinion, because in my high school we had both types of color guard (I was in the artful one).

This is my take on the Prose Vs. Poetry question.  Personally, I like prose better.  I like the ability to spend three paragraphs describing a tree (not that I've ever done that...yet).  I am not a hater of poetry, it's just not my favorite.  I like writing it if I come across a nice string of words in my head that would sound nice in a poem format.

What do you think about this?

À bientôt!

Photo creds: inkwell, poetry/prose, fountain pen,