Transitions...

It seems as though my life is in constant transitions these days. I have moved, changed locations for my job, enrolled in college, and I no longer live alone. While at times this all seems a bit much and is a lot to adapt to, it also gives me the opportunity to take a fresh look at my life and see where I might want to make more changes and improvements, things I might want to let go to make room for more current goals and ideas, as well as what I might want in my future. My life is constantly evolving and me along with it. Nothing ever stays the same. The conflict comes when your life moves you forward, and you stay stuck in the past. This creates a state of limbo and makes it impossible for you to live in the present or move on to a future. Unfortunately, the past is the past, it's over. You can remain stuck there, but you can't really make a life there. Now is the time to let go and move on. For me, this means I want to recommit to my education. I also want to take more time to write and to cook; both of these outlets allow me to express me and my creativity. Cooking and writing are the pure essence of my soul. I incorporate myself into each task, I savor each moment and it is my hope that this shows in the finished product, whether it be a short story, an essay, even an email; or whether it be in a simple meal I have created for those I love and those who are visiting my home. What are you holding on to from the past that is preventing you from creating the future of your dreams? There are only so many hours in the day, make them count. 

Dehumanization Through Technology

With the advances in technology, we are able to keep in contact with more people on a more frequent basis. However; I’m not entirely convinced that technology is always the best mode of communication and I believe the “cyber world” is really starting to hurt us culturally as a people.


Not so long ago, the only method of communicating with family and friends was by writing or by visiting. There was something personal about that which has been lost. I am not talking about the nostalgia of receiving a carefully thought out, handwritten letter. I believe our subconscious thinks/feels differently when we sit down to our computers or cell phones to construct “text”. I believe our subconscious minds focus first on the medium, secondly on the message, and lastly on the recipient of the message. It is far easier to forget that the person on the receiving end is indeed a person and has thoughts and feelings of their own. When you sit down with paper and pen, it is easier to focus on what you want to say and to whom you’re saying it too. Part of that I believe is the effort it takes to write a handwritten letter as opposed to sitting down and rapidly typing a few words. Technology takes the personal out of that which ought to be personal. We focus more on the words on the screen than on the person. I have witnessed this on message boards, chats, emails, and in text messages. I think technology leaves us trapped in our heads, less in our hearts (feelings) and therefore detached from the recipient of the message. That is not to say that you cannot convey a personal message by means of technology. I am simply suggesting that it is less natural on a subconscious level to do so.

Argh! Pirates!!

The night was dark and the air was thick with rain. Thunder roared through the sky making the earth cower under its ominous boom. They had been at sea for days and Anne was feeling as restless as the turbulent sea below their vessel. A gust of wind blew through whipping wet strands of her long red hair against her cheeks making her face sting. Her face was flushed red from the cold salty air as she leaned against the stern looking into the blackness of the night. No stars were out and the moon was hidden beneath the storm clouds above. Squinting she peered into the dark waters, but nothing was to be seen except for the reflection from the ships lanterns on the water.

She could hear grumblings from the hands as they labored on the ships deck, belting out an age old chantey as they worked. Privateers and the British Army had been plaguing the seas making merchant ships scarce. There had been whispers that in Asia the trade was fresh and thriving. There would be plenty of ships carrying precious cargo that would fetch a nice coin purse. Anne knew she would need to satisfy the crew’s lust for gold soon. With out pay, she would no longer have the crew she needed to sail the “The Raven”.

She could hear the ship creak and moan as the Raven plowed through the stormy sea. They would need to anchor soon or run the risk of their ship being over taken by the thrashing waters. She could hear brisk footsteps approaching and turned to face her first mate Chadwick. She turned to meet his steely gaze.

“We stop here for the night”. Her voice cut through the night air and rang with authority. Her crew never once questioned her orders. In the beginning she had proved to be a mighty Captain and her prowess at sea had earned their respect. Her father had been a Captain on a large fishing vessel and she had grown up on these waters. She knew the ocean well and had seen their ship through many storms.

Chadwick’s gaze was cold and unwavering as he gave a slight nod. Anne looked over her first mate. His hair was dark with silver threads giving the only indication of his age. He was tall and his body thick from his years of laboring on ships. His skin was weathered from salt and sun and his eyes were dark and haunting. There was emptiness in those eyes, his face always void of expression.

Just then a flash of light streaked against the night sky as fingers of lightening clawed through the darkness. The storm was picking up, the waters would be rough until morning when the weather would grow weary and the sea would again grow quiet. It was going to be a long night for the crew. Storms like these were never easy on a ship. Many strong vessels had been consumed by the sea, sinking into the cold angry waters. The wind blew strong as the bitter rain pelted against her skin and already soaked clothing making it cling to her curvaceous figure. More than once she had caught her crew admiring her soft curves, but they knew her strength and had never crossed those boundaries. She was their Captain and she demanded respect! She may be a woman, but she would not think twice before slitting a man at the throat. They had witnessed fierce battles at sea and had watched her take on the biggest of Captains, only to take him down with out effort or remorse. She was, after all, a Pirate! And a bloody one at that!