Month: October 2017 (Page 1 of 2)
Daniel Richardson
Professor Jesse Miller
ENG 104, H-4
25 October 2017
“The American Way of Death Revisited”
“The American Way of Death Revisited”, is a short piece written by Jessica Mitford. Mitford’s goal in writing this piece is to expose the funeral industry for taking advantage of grieving families. Mitford notes on page 42, that Preferred Funeral Directors International, an organization of private funeral directors, advertise their funerals as including “an additional forty hours of service required by members of other local allied professions, including the work of the cemeteries, newspapers, and of course, the most important of all, the service of your clergyman. These some 20 hours of labor are the basic value on which the cost of funeral rests.” However, as Mitford points out, a clergy service lasts “no more than 15 minutes” and are not paid for by the funeral director. The funeral director does not foot the bill for the closing of the grave either.
One of the heaviest expenses on a funeral bill, can be the embalmment process. Yet as Mitford again points out “[Sic] no law requires embalming, no religious doctrine commends it, nor is it dictated by considerations of health, sanitation, or even personal daintiness. In no part of the world but in North America is it widely used.” If it’s not required, how come it is such a common practice? Mitford supplies us an answer on pg. 44 when she reveals that per Federal Trade Commission standards, permission is only required for the process of embalming “only if a change is made to the procedure”. Embalming the American dead was made popular only by the funeral homes as a marketing scheme. Mitford paints a picture of this, by including the passage from the English-woman, detailing her sheer horror of knowing that American funerals are open-casket and are presented for viewing in make-up, realizing “Then and there I decided that I could never face another American funeral—even dead.” This firsthand account of the horror of a foreigner is eye-opening to me. As an American, I thought embalmment a common practice worldwide. Upon hearing this testimony, I question not only the origins, but the value of embalmment as a whole.
Scott Matthews Paper 2 Rough Draft
https://drive.google.com/open?id=0B9t-k1rJ4UWDUzk5SldaMWpKdU0
Daniel Richardson Flow/Transition
Professor Jesse Miller Topic Sentences
ENG 110, Section H-4 Paragraph Structure
16 October 2016
Meals Throughout the Ages
For thousands of years food has epitomized deep social and moral values in human culture. Texts as old the bible document the significance of communal eating and the notion of finding comfort in food. If one was to sift forward through the sands of time, almost 2,000 years later, they would find similar themes portrayed in 1980’s society, as chronicled by Raymond Carver’s short story classic, “A Small, Good Thing”. Moreover, primary source documents, written by a group of University students suggest that this deep social and psychological connection to food is still evident, another 35 years later, in the year 2017. Coincidence , some may say, it is just food. This much is true, but is it more? Although separate texts and separate time periods, a closer investigation would reveal similarities in these texts, suggesting a deep-rooted perceived relation between food and empathy , including its effects on human traditions and…
In Carver’s “A Small, Good Thing” The story takes us through the events surrounding the weekend surrounding the birthday of young “Scotty”, and his parents “Ann” and “Howard”. The story starts off with an innocent enough beginning, with Ann, mother of scotty preparing to buy her son a birthday cake. However, the story, takes an extreme twist, when the young “Birthday Boy”, Scotty is hit by a car. Upon his hospitalization, his parents, understandably, forget about his birthday cake and cancel his party. The deteriorating cake, something that was supposed to be so happy and … getting dry and stale possibly serves as a symbol that the occasion is no longer happy. The moment has lost its value, as later the baker will not charge full price. The story follows the harrowing, and ultimately heartbreaking anxiety of Scotty’s parent to await his feeling better. Each passing minute, their anxiety swells, as does their anticipation. This all takes place unknown to the baker, who places several calls to the parents asking if they have forgotten about Scotty, meaning his cake. It is here that anxiety and anticipation ultimately progress into delusion. Sadly, Scotty does not pull through. In his parent’s nutrition-deprived grief, they figure out that the baker was the mysterious caller, and blame him in a most delusional fashion for the event that have occurred, saying things such as “That bastard. I’d like to kill him. I’d like to shoot him and watch him kick” (p. 215). This unforgiving mindset causes them to confront the baker at the end of the book, where the baker successfully calms them down, and consoles them over eating rolls.
Food is something that is representative of greater social gatherings, that people take as a point of relation between themselves. In the opening scene of Carver’s story, Ann is depicted picking out a cake for her son, as a token of his party and his celebration of growing a year older. He notes Ann’s interaction with the baker. While Ann does not personally know the baker, she infers that a man of his age must have experienced through “this special time of cakes and birthday parties”, and have his own children who have gone through it with their children (p. 204) While it appears Carver uses the cakes as a measure of time, Ann’s assurance of a “connection” between her and this man suggest that cake is just as easily relatable as it is customary in Western culture birthday parties, a product of social gathering. In his “More Than Just a Meal”, Sean Walsh, University of New England student , seems to echo Carver’s sentiments. He states :
…to be able to come together with your family to share a meal is an unbelievable privilege. At the end of the day, holidays are more than what we are eating, but what we are doing while we eat and who we share the meal with.
Although different scenarios…, Much how Carver associates cake to gathering and celebration in 1982, Walsh instantaneously associates holidays with food in 2017. Moreover, he details the significance of the meal, into how one’s family come together. (Social gathering to time going by transition…)
As well as being related to social gathering, food appears to be a generationally wide method of expressing feelings and coping. On page 214, Ann remarks “Howard, He’s gone. He’s gone and Now we’ll have to get used to that. To being alone.” Soon after, the Ann and Howard go to visit the baker. At the end of the story, on page 218, when Scotty’s parents finally return to the bakery after his death, Scotty’s parents finally learn that in fact birthday cakes are a symbol of loneliness for the baker.
To repeat the days with the ovens endlessly full of and endlessly empty. The party food and celebrations that he’d worked over. Icing knuckle-deep. The tiny wedding couples stuck into cakes. Hundreds of them, no, thousands by now. Birthdays. Just imagining all of those candles burning.
—- Understand concept, emotional arrival, connect to next writer
To be lonely and without children are a truly haunting motif in Carver’s story. The baker has sadly sat back and created these staples of family celebrations, but never got to experience any of it himself. While especially hard at fir st, he has begun to find solace in baking, noting that baking “was a better smell anytime than flowers”. While at first, Ann may have thought that she could relate to the baker at the beginning of the story, it is not now until she truly does.
Through hot rolls, coping
As the baker finds solace in baking, Breanna Hogan states that throughout her life, cooking is “[Her parent’s] time during the day to step away from their busy lives and to be with one another. Cooking is a great day to get away. But cope, preserving memory
In her “The Key to My Heart”, Christina Giannopoulos describes how sharing a dish allows her to relate with her aunt and appreciate the time that they have together.
Since my aunt is sick with cancer, I think the reason I love her salad so much is because it means that she is safe and I am still able to spend time with her. I’m not sure how many more times I will be able to eat multiple bowls of this salad with her in my presence, but I do know that whenever I take over the role of making this salad, I will always have her in mind. My Auntie Georgia is a very important part of my life and the way she prepares it for me with crisp bread every time I go to her house solidifies her health in my mind. I enjoy the meals that I get to have this salad because it specifically reminds me of her. Many memories from my childhood and my personal connections to family members makes this my favorite meal to eat.
While Giannopoulos’s piece may carry a heartbreaking tone, she is thankful that she can know her aunt through this dish. In stating that “…whenever I take over the role of making this salad, I will always have her in mind”, Giannopoulos associates continuing on her aunt’s legacy with making this dish, with preserving her memory.
“It’s better to feed people”
Offers up his rolls.
“Smell this,” the baker said, breaking open a dark loaf. “It’s heavy bread, but rich.” They smelled it, then he had them taste it. It had the taste of molasses and coarse grains. They listened to him. They ate what they could. They swallowed the dark bread. It was like daylight under the fluorescent trays of light. They talked on into the early morning, the high, pale cast of light in the windows, as they did not think of leaving.”
Daniel Richardson Flow/Transition
Professor Jesse Miller Topic Sentences
ENG 110, Section H-4 Paragraph Structure
16 October 2016
Meals Throughout the Ages
For thousands of years food has epitomized deep social and moral values in human culture. Texts as old the bible document the significance of communal eating and the notion of finding comfort in food. If one was to sift forward through the sands of time, almost 2,000 years later, they would find similar themes portrayed in 1980’s society, as chronicled by Raymond Carver’s short story classic, “A Small, Good Thing”. Moreover, primary source documents, written by a group of University students suggest that this deep social and psychological connection to food is still evident, another 35 years later, in the year 2017. Coincidence , some may say, it is just food. This much is true, but is it more? Although separate texts and separate time periods, a closer investigation would reveal similarities in these texts, suggesting a deep-rooted perceived relation between food and empathy , including its effects on human traditions and…
In Carver’s “A Small, Good Thing” The story takes us through the events surrounding the weekend surrounding the birthday of young “Scotty”, and his parents “Ann” and “Howard”. The story starts off with an innocent enough beginning, with Ann, mother of scotty preparing to buy her son a birthday cake. However, the story, takes an extreme twist, when the young “Birthday Boy”, Scotty is hit by a car. Upon his hospitalization, his parents, understandably, forget about his birthday cake and cancel his party. The deteriorating cake, something that was supposed to be so happy and … getting dry and stale possibly serves as a symbol that the occasion is no longer happy. The moment has lost its value, as later the baker will not charge full price. The story follows the harrowing, and ultimately heartbreaking anxiety of Scotty’s parent to await his feeling better. Each passing minute, their anxiety swells, as does their anticipation. This all takes place unknown to the baker, who places several calls to the parents asking if they have forgotten about Scotty, meaning his cake. It is here that anxiety and anticipation ultimately progress into delusion. Sadly, Scotty does not pull through. In his parent’s nutrition-deprived grief, they figure out that the baker was the mysterious caller, and blame him in a most delusional fashion for the event that have occurred, saying things such as “That bastard. I’d like to kill him. I’d like to shoot him and watch him kick” (p. 215). This unforgiving mindset causes them to confront the baker at the end of the book, where the baker successfully calms them down, and consoles them over eating rolls.
Food is something that is representative of greater social gatherings, that people take as a point of relation between themselves. In the opening scene of Carver’s story, Ann is depicted picking out a cake for her son, as a token of his party and his celebration of growing a year older. He notes Ann’s interaction with the baker. While Ann does not personally know the baker, she infers that a man of his age must have experienced through “this special time of cakes and birthday parties”, and have his own children who have gone through it with their children (p. 204) While it appears Carver uses the cakes as a measure of time, Ann’s assurance of a “connection” between her and this man suggest that cake is just as easily relatable as it is customary in Western culture birthday parties, a product of social gathering. In his “More Than Just a Meal”, Sean Walsh, University of New England student , seems to echo Carver’s sentiments. He states :
…to be able to come together with your family to share a meal is an unbelievable privilege. At the end of the day, holidays are more than what we are eating, but what we are doing while we eat and who we share the meal with.
Although different scenarios…, Much how Carver associates cake to gathering and celebration in 1982, Walsh instantaneously associates holidays with food in 2017. Moreover, he details the significance of the meal, into how one’s family come together. (Social gathering to time going by transition…)
As well as being related to social gathering, food appears to be a generationally wide method of expressing feelings and coping. On page 214, Ann remarks “Howard, He’s gone. He’s gone and Now we’ll have to get used to that. To being alone.” Soon after, the Ann and Howard go to visit the baker. At the end of the story, on page 218, when Scotty’s parents finally return to the bakery after his death, Scotty’s parents finally learn that in fact birthday cakes are a symbol of loneliness for the baker.
To repeat the days with the ovens endlessly full of and endlessly empty. The party food and celebrations that he’d worked over. Icing knuckle-deep. The tiny wedding couples stuck into cakes. Hundreds of them, no, thousands by now. Birthdays. Just imagining all of those candles burning.
—- Understand concept, emotional arrival, connect to next writer
To be lonely and without children are a truly haunting motif in Carver’s story. The baker has sadly sat back and created these staples of family celebrations, but never got to experience any of it himself. While especially hard at fir st, he has begun to find solace in baking, noting that baking “was a better smell anytime than flowers”. While at first, Ann may have thought that she could relate to the baker at the beginning of the story, it is not now until she truly does.
Through hot rolls, coping
As the baker finds solace in baking, Breanna Hogan states that throughout her life, cooking is “[Her parent’s] time during the day to step away from their busy lives and to be with one another. Cooking is a great day to get away. But cope, preserving memory
In her “The Key to My Heart”, Christina Giannopoulos describes how sharing a dish allows her to relate with her aunt and appreciate the time that they have together.
Since my aunt is sick with cancer, I think the reason I love her salad so much is because it means that she is safe and I am still able to spend time with her. I’m not sure how many more times I will be able to eat multiple bowls of this salad with her in my presence, but I do know that whenever I take over the role of making this salad, I will always have her in mind. My Auntie Georgia is a very important part of my life and the way she prepares it for me with crisp bread every time I go to her house solidifies her health in my mind. I enjoy the meals that I get to have this salad because it specifically reminds me of her. Many memories from my childhood and my personal connections to family members makes this my favorite meal to eat.
While Giannopoulos’s piece may carry a heartbreaking tone, she is thankful that she can know her aunt through this dish. In stating that “…whenever I take over the role of making this salad, I will always have her in mind”, Giannopoulos associates continuing on her aunt’s legacy with making this dish, with preserving her memory.
“It’s better to feed people”
Offers up his rolls.
“Smell this,” the baker said, breaking open a dark loaf. “It’s heavy bread, but rich.” They smelled it, then he had them taste it. It had the taste of molasses and coarse grains. They listened to him. They ate what they could. They swallowed the dark bread. It was like daylight under the fluorescent trays of light. They talked on into the early morning, the high, pale cast of light in the windows, as they did not think of leaving.”
[D1]Fix this
[D2]Introduce other papers
[D3]Get Specific here, how to proceed examination
[D4]Make simpler
[D5]Compress, relate to other peoples papers.
[D6]Put in intro
[D7]Better word
[D8]Cut some of this
Daniel Richardson
Professor Jesse Miller
ENG 110
Journals
11 October 2017
Journal 10, The Art of Summarizing
In this latest chapter of They Say/I Say, by Gerald Graff and Cathy Birkenstein, the authors highlight the significance of summarizing the work of another author when one references in it their work, a trying dilemma for the grade school student, and writers alike, stating that many writers “fear that devoting too much time” to the ideas of others, “takes away from [that of] their own” (pg. 30). In fact, Graff and Birkenstein observe that oftentimes, students focused on only what the author at hand said, rather than that argument, or how it relates to the discussion at hand, causing instructors to “discourage their students from summarizing at all” (pg.36). However, this chapter is not to solely focus on what writers do wrong, but rather to provide a clinic in how to ultimately master “the art of summarizing.”
Before constructing a successful summary, one must initially come to a more neutral mindset. Mentioning the importance of balancing the work of the author, as well as your own, Birkenstein and Graff assert to write a good summary, one must be able to distance their own beliefs and put themselves “in the shoes of someone else” (pg.31). In stating this, they most likely mean that when one comes to involve their own views in the summarization of others’ work, the results begin to skew, and the truths become distorted. One could relate this to obtaining news from a partisan news source, as an NBC or Fox News, rather than a more moderate outlet. After all, it is rude, as they suggest on (page 33), to enter a conversation with others and angrily start berating them, as it is boring just to repeat them.
Overall, I found the list of verbs at the end of the chapter to be most helpful to me, as they will come to be one of my biggest allies in summarizing the work of others. I also found the section on how to set up your argument through your summary to be most insightful.
Daniel Richardson
9 October 2017
Journal 9
In the short story “A Small, Good Thing”, by Raymond Carver, Ann, mother of 8-year-old Scotty, orders Scotty a cake for his birthday party for the next Monday from a local baker. However, a major plot twist comes into play on just the second page of the story, as Scotty is hit by a car and rushed to the hospital. Throughout the story Carver uses textual and sensory details to enhance his story the events of the story, invite the reader into the scenes, and ultimately structure the story. Although there are many cases of inclusionary details, possibly the pinnacle of the story, is how food is used in scenes that contain social interaction, and how food is used to describe the characters or setting in those scenes.
On page 204, Carver details Ann’s interaction with the baker. While Ann does not personally know the baker, she infers that a man of his age must have experienced through “this special time of cakes and birthday parties”, and have his own children who have gone through it with their children. While cakes can be used here to represent years going by, they are also customary in Western culture birthday parties, often a relatable object of celebration. Because of this, Ann believes that she shares common ground with the baker and he will hold friendly conversation with her.
One of the most vivid scenes describing the waiting process is the hospitals involves the. “Negro family”, first mentioned on page 239, who await word on their son Franklin’s condition. Like them, Scott’s parents await word on his condition. Ann interacts with them as she is going to go home for a spell. As restless as Scotty’s parents are, this family is that twofold. Carver depicts a scene of a table “littered with hamburger wrappers and Styrofoam cups.”. This could signal that they have been waiting for not just hours, but days. Yet this waiting depicts a relation between this family, and Ann’s. Ann realizes that she is not alone. Coming back from home, Ann returns to a table, still littered with the trash of the Franklin’s family, yet eerily empty of all human presence. She asks a nurse about Franklin, and learns that he has died.
At the end of the story, on page 218, when Scotty’s parents finally return to the bakery after his death, Scotty’s parents finally learn that in fact birthday cakes are a symbol of loneliness for the baker.
To repeat the days with the ovens endlessly full of and endlessly empty. The party food and celebrations that he’d worked over. Icing knuckle-deep. The tiny wedding couples stuck into cakes. Hundreds of them, no, thousands by now. Birthdays. Just imagining all of those candles burning.
To be lonely and without children are a truly haunting motif in this story. The baker has sadly sat back and created these staples of family celebrations, but never got to experience any of it himself. While especially hard at first, he has begun to find solace in baking, noting that baking “was a better smell anytime than flowers”. While at first, Ann may have thought that she could relate to the baker at the beginning of the story, it is not now until she truly does.
Journal 3:
13 September 2017
“Goodnight Dan! Text me when you get home safe!”, she called. “Goodnight Justine! I will!”, I answered back, we embraced. As I walked out the door, I was hit instantly with the crisp cool air of the night. Tasting this new atmosphere, I began the seemingly endless walk downhill to my car. Tree frogs squeaked. A peaceful, yet unnerving harmony. In comparison to the frogs, my heart beat was slow and got faster. At first, I did not hear it, then came the crescendo. “Ba bum, ba bum, ba BUM, BA BUM”. The few shining constellations, were my only consolation.
It is much harder to go into such a seemingly foreign environment after being in such a comfortable one. I finally reached my car, got in and took a deep breath. That “new car” scent, I’ve never been so relived to smell it. In reality, my car was not new at all. The linen ceiling was falling and the lightbulbs in the shifter had burned out. Forgetting such things, I started the car and flipped the headlights to on. As I shifted into what I thought was drive, I began to roll back slowly. I felt like something was pulling me. I turned to look back. Suddenly those falling linens looked monstrous. A creature of the night had come for my car! Maybe the frogs had tried to warn me with their hymn? Or maybe it was them who had summoned it. I exclusively knew terror.
Locking my doors faster than you could say “Zoinks!”, I threw my car into drive and hit the gas. Sending bits of the dirt road up behind me, I tore it out of there. Thank god Justine was safe inside. I hoped that she had locked the door. It was wall between my fear and her comfortable existence. Oh, how I wished to be safely back in her arms. Alas, I knew to escape this monster I had to drive home. Hands sweating profusely, my grip on the wheel became warm ssand slippery. Every tree looked like a creature straight out of hell. The glowing eyes within them, the face of their demon. A tear running down my face, I could taste the salt. Adjacent to me, a pond, glowing eerily in the moon’s light. With the light of the moon, came the calls of the coyotes. The roar of other engines, became those of mountain lions. Blinded with fear, my other senses became more enhanced with delusion. The sheet was still hanging down from the ceiling. All the way home, I never looked back.
Daniel Richardson
Professor Jesse Miller
Writing 110 H-4
Favorite Meal Essay
20 September 2017
Taco Tuesdays
Tuesdays are terrific. A typical day is started with unpleasant morning awakenings for work, or school. Next would come the motley stew of the busy day, and taking orders at work, followed by the unpalatable ride home. To top off most ordinary days, I would just go home and rest for the next day, rinse, repeat. But tonight is Tuesday and I will be seeing Justine, my girlfriend, masterchef, and best friend, after work. Together, we have taken on Senior year. From humble beginnings, to being inseparable English partners, to becoming best friends, to becoming winterball king and queen, concussions, graduating high school, and everything inbetween. While we have been through so much together, one thing that has always been a constant for us is Taco Tuesday. This amazing “staple in our diet” consists of making tacos together every Tuesday. It can happen at either of our houses, but it is more common that we cook at her house. Although one unfamiliar with our time honored tradition may dismiss it as just another alliteration-inspired marketing ploy by the food industry, to us it is a celebration of happiness, relaxation, relation, reflection, and above all making yummy food and memories alike.
It’s 5:45 pm and I am sitting in the chair, eyes on the few beach patrons in the water. I have spent almost the past 8 hours lifeguarding, I am tired, lonely, and hungry. Bored out of my mind, the only conversation that I know is that of the life that is going on below me. I am as a gargoyle statue on the roof, all seeing, but never speaking. My body, encrusted in thick layers of the oily white sunscreen, is stone. The sunscreen has carried into the air. I know only the smell of “SPF 30”, cigarette smoke, and the boiling gatorade next to me. The next 15 minutes pass by as hours. I can’t stand to look at my watch. I finally do. It’s only been two minutes. More people yell and blow smoke into my face. The beach patrons do not agree with the rules. Sorry folks, I do not make them. I would run away from home if I had some of these people as parents. Stop looking at your phone, watch your kids. Yet, I am actually jealous of these people. I wish that I could spend my summer days as they are, and enjoy it with my friends and family. I have sparsely if even at all seen them this summer. “BOYS DON’T DRAG EACH OTHER UNDER!”, I yell. At this point the day is toning down, so I’ll only call the major infractions. I hear my stomach rumble. The glare off the water is blinding. I cannot see even see my watch at this point. My will to get out of this terrible place, and my excitement for tonight are the only things that get me through it. Finally six o’clock rolls around and begins the mad dash to pack up and leave this seemingly terrible occupation.
I leave the park with windows rolled down and proceed to turn onto RI 44-East. After roasting in the sun all day, the cool breeze is a welcoming feeling. Turning onto Durfee Hill Road, I find myself staring only at trees, very few house. When I reach the end of the road, I shift into four wheel drive, and begin down the dangerous and windy dirt roads until I reach the turn for Willie Woodhead road, where Justine lives. I take the sharp left, take a big gulp and pray that I can make it up the rocky uneven slope of their driveway. I have learned the hard way that if I take my foot off the gas even for a second, I will begin to slip back and fall down the hill only to be padded by the surrounding trees.
Thankfully making it up the driveway, I am greeted a chorus of barking, courtesy of the welcoming party of the dogs, Buddy and Bailey. I can hear Justine’s dad, Luie, on the backhoe in the back, however I note his presence more by the foul, but familiar stench of his cigar. I ignore it as best I can. Laboring since getting home from work, he will go to church and then band practice with Justine’s mom Patty. Patty is most likely resting in her room to prepare for the long night ahead. I will probably not see either of them for the rest of the night. Walking to the door, I hear the gravel crunching under my feet. With every step I take, a little more skin is chiseled away from my face until I am overtaken by smile. No butterflies in sight, they are all inside me. Fluttering around in my stomach, I feel them traveling up into my chest. My heart beats until it matches the tempo of the butterflies.
As per usual, Justine is waiting for me at the door,I know that she’s been waiting all day for this. My excitement is reflected in her eyes. I grab her and give her the tightest embrace that I can, so close that I can smell the apple shampoo in her hair. In her arms, I find myself immediately in a different welcoming world of peace. I give Justine a hug and kiss, her tied back hair smells of apple shampoo. I run up the stairs and throw my things down quick, scaring the cat as I dart back to the kitchen. We sit down at the table for a few seconds and discuss our respective days.
“How was your day?”, I ask. “Well you know…First I had to help Patty with this, but I got yelled at before I even could help, then I had to drive her, then I came back. So yeah… I’ve been looking forward to seeing you all day”, with a slight frown. I cannot help but feel pained in my heart at hearing this, but I know that there is still hope for the rest of the night. I give her another hug and say “Me too. Me too” and add a delayed “I love you.” Finally her smile begins to resurface. Our somber, but friendly chatter is especially meaningful, as it is my first of the day. While we values our chats, we know that we can do it as we cook. Putting our list of ingredients together, we break and race to gather supplies.
“Dan, can you get the…”, Justine begins “Meat and seasoning?, I finish her sentence, “No problem, I’m already on it.” “Okay! I’ll get the pan!”, she responds.
While cooking may be dear to both of us, it holds especially close to Justine’s heart. Early in Justine’s childhood, her mother was diagnosed with Lyme Disease. The state of her condition is debilitating at times, leading Justine to have to learn to cook and to support her family at an early age. She however has turned obligation into inspiration and hobby alike. It may be hard at times, and there have been some breakdowns along the way, but it has made her a much stronger person as a whole. It is often that friends of the family remark that they cannot believe that Justine is smiling when we see them.
Thinking back, I realize how miserable she always used to look in school. I hope that this more hopeful attitude has something to do with me. Who knows, maybe something as simple as taco Tuesdays give her something to look forward to, after all the kitchen is both her workspace and her preferred office of therapy. It is only there that she may distract herself, while productively contributing to the household. It is this sense of finding comfort in the kitchen that brings us together. Cooking is our couple’s activity and we love it. To us, cooking is similar to writing a cookbook together. Every recipe we make, strengthens the binding of the book. Standing there at the counter, Justine gets to thinking
Taco Tuesdays have become almost like a holiday for us. The time we’ve spent in the kitchen together is some of my favorite memories. From browning the beef to cutting up the lettuce and tomatoes, I wouldn’t trade it for the world. The process of creating tacos really does bring us closer.
It’s a simple process, but a rewarding one. First comes the sizzle of the meat as Justine throws it in the pan. The scent is rich, I hear my stomach growl. Justine hears it too and we both start laughing. As the meat begins to brown, I come to life. I purposely begin to stir the meat excessively to get a rouse out of her. Soon enough I begin to dance around and lift her above my head, running across the kitchen in a figure 8 pattern carrying her. I am no longer a statue, but a beating heart and moving body. Putting her down as I pretend to drop her, I run back to the kitchen and begin to stir obscenely again.
As I mind the meat and set the table, Justine gets out the cutting board and proceeds to carry out her gentle but precise, practiced rhythm of cutting tomatoes and lettuce. Her work is that of a practiced surgeon, each cut more defined than the last. After cutting, she systematically places each and every “topping” into coordinated bowls. All the while, I want to make a joke about her perfectionism, but I hold off. It would get a laugh out of her, but I am running out of these jokes, so I need to cherish every last one of them. Instead, I turn my attention to draining the fat from the meat, turning the hot water on in the sink to avoid a clog. By the time I stir in the water and seasoning, the air is filled with a whole new sensation. The feast has just begun to come together. We lay the bowls across the counter, and carry napkins to the tray tables waiting for us in the living room.
While the process of cooking may be our strong suit, all chefs need to enjoy their own creations and appreciate their peers every once in awhile. Rightly so, we plop spoonfuls of meat onto our tortillas, and top them off with salsa, lettuce, tomato, and cheese. Each new topping adds a new sensation. It is as we have just finished baking a birthday cake and it is time to decorate it. The tomatoes the crisp texture that Justine seeks, the salsa because it incorporates a little bit of everything, for me, a jack of all trades. We then head to the couch. As she characteristically does, Justine puts the television on low volume for background noise. After a long day of sitting in the sun for 8 hours, nothing feels better than sitting down and talking a loved one. I savagely start digging into my meal, meanwhile Justine is much more delicate in her eating. After chowing down a couple of bites, Justine turns to me with a sarcastic grin and says “Do you like it?”. I go “Of course I do! Tacos are the best!” I notice a sparkle in her eyes, a real smile, followed by a more sarcastic one where she bares her teeth and closes her eyes. I reciprocate. While a moment of happiness, this is also a time of reflection. Justine breaks her smile a little, but lets the sparkle in her eyes show through in almost a sad way. She looks at me and says,
I love the process of cooking, but I also love just as much how this dish can bring family together. Maybe we differ, we customize our toppings, but at the end of the day we eat the same thing, together, it is a great representation of while we are all different, we can come together as a group and share common ground.
As I will not see my family tonight I know equally that we will most likely not interact with her family tonight. A concept that is sad to me, but relatively normal for them. Her parents will have church and then band practice, we will leave plates out for them. Her older brother Nathan will be out with his friends. Austin, her other brother, only 2 years older than us is finally back stateside after 18 months in South Korea, but stationed in North Carolina. I feel a tinge of sadness, the house, moreover the world suddenly seems so empty.
While this initial emptiness may loom, my mind begins to slowly flood with memories, some happier. Of my childhood at home, with friends and their families, and of course Justine. I begin to think of the sheer impact that taco Tuesdays have had on my life. They have given me not only good food, but great times, and priceless memories since December. I look at Justine and I let my face convey my feelings, I hope she understands my facial expressions. Still hungry I dumbly say “I’m so thankful for tacos”, and give her a peck on the cheek.
Since going away to college, it is exactly this feeling of unison that I miss the most. The simple summer days, the anticipation of 6:00. Every Tuesday that goes serves to remind me of these happier times. I can picture Justine standing at the counter carefully slicing the tomato, smell the meat as it sizzles, laugh at our conversations, but I cannot touch any of it.. I know now only the dank scent of the dorm, masked by bad cologne, the sound of my alarm and muffled conversation coming from the hallway, the plainness of the walls that entrap me. The bland Decary food represents the absence of not only taste, but the absence of loved ones. The sad “chicken tacos” that they serve, are not the same. Even if the food was good, it would be lacking the key ingredients to me. As I walk slowly back from the library tonight, and stare southward, I shed a tear, forever missing all that I hold dear. While the path is dark, the few scattered stars provide my light, my hope. Reaching Avila hall, I run up the stairs and into my room, quietly as not to gather any attention. I kiss my few framed memories goodnight and close my eyes.
Recipe for Simple Ground Beef Tacos
Ingredients:
3 pounds of ground beef
2 cups of water
3 packets taco seasoning
1 container salsa
1 tomato
1 packet cheese
1 packet soft tortillas
Breadcrumbs (optional)
1) Ready all your ingredients
2) Take medium to large frying pan and heat it up on the stovetop until pan is noticeably warm
3) Open package of meat, remove from package with hands, and crumble meat as you throw it into the pan in handfuls
4) Stir meat occasionally, leave it in the pan until browned
5) While meat is browning, cut up tomato or other optional vegetables as you choose. Pour salsa and cheese into their own bowls. Place your tortillas on a plate. Set your eating area.
6) When meat is browned, drain the fat residue, by either draining the meat by using a strainer over a separate bowl or the sink if you hove hot water running in the sink before, when, and after when you drain the fat into it. (You can also diminish the fat in the pan by throwing breadcrumbs into the pan to suck the fat up as an option.)
7) If meat is still in the strainer, dump it back out into the pan, keeping a low heat going. Add water and stir in seasoning.
8) Once seasoning is thoroughly mixed into the meat, remove from heat.
9) Your meat is ready, let sit for a minute, add to your tortillas.
10) Add toppings as you choose
11) Enjoy!
https://drive.google.com/open?id=0B9t-k1rJ4UWDd3Z5ZTFSLTVOQlI0UVMyZlIzQy1UcVVvUHhv
Daniel Richardson
10/4/17
Journal 8
Throughout the process of writing my Favorite Meal Essay, I would have to say that the things that I spent the most time revising were the body paragraphs of my paper. While I felt like I had a good frame work, it was strongly encouraged that I keep adding detail to my paper. This is what led me to have a one-page introduction, and a nine-page paper.
If I was to go back and redo this paper, I would hope to find a way to make it shorter. It all stacked up so quick. Every day, I would go to edit, take some out, and add more. From my first draft of five pages, within four more days I had nine. I never intended to make my paper that long, but the biggest suggestion that my peers had for me was adding more details to tie into my story. This is what led my introduction alone to became one-page long. Overall, I would go on to rewrite my introduction three times. However, barely touching my conclusion.
In terms of the drafting/revising process, the biggest difference in this assignment, and anyone before it would be that I never have never had to do peer review the way that we have. While we did practice this specific form of peer editing, in the sense of marginal comments and summarizing letters, it was rare for us to conduct peer review outside of class. I do not believe that I have ever edited multiple people’s essays at the same time. I believe that editing multiple different papers was however motivating, because it allowed us editing to see the work of not just one, but multiple other of our peers to develop a broader perspective and ultimately provided better comparison for our own work.
Recent Comments