Here are Grandma Anne and Grandpa John. (With Aunt Cathy at our house, and Uncle Felix at their house.)
Monday, March 26, 2007
Grandma and Grandpa Falkiewicz
Right now I'm sitting in my room, looking at a mirror that is sitting on my dresser, and realizing that something is out of place. The mirror is framed on the sides and bottom with small wooden drawers. On the top there is a shelf. My Grandpa John made this mirror, and, for as long as I can remember, it had hung in the dining room of their Norfolk home of some 50+ years, on a wall filled with pictures of their grandchildren, and directly below a large baby picture of me.
Within the last seven months, my grandparents on my mother's side have both passed away. My Grandma Anne died at age 90, in the end of August after being ill with alzheimers for eight years. Last Wednesday, just one day after his 95th birthday, my grandfather peacefully passed away. These two have set the bar high for my life expectancy! More than anything, I loved and was proud of my grandparents. This blog is in their memory.
Grandma Anne was a sweet, humble, and religious woman. As a faithful Catholic, she would attend daily mass. Some of my favorite memories were going to mass with her, and having everyone approach us after service to say hello. On more than one occasion, priests and bishops would confuse her for a nun (since after Vatican II, habits were not required, and since my granmother always was at church wearing her simple wooden cross on a leather lanyard.) She loved God, and always was excited to go on her "journey" with the Lord. Years before she died, she would tell us all to "rejoice" when we got the phone call that she had passed.
I have so many memories with my Grandmother. When my brother and I were younger, she would take us on scavenger hunts around her neighborhood to look for treasures like cicada shells and buttercups. She would take us to Lakewood Park to play in the big, cement, painted tunnels, watching us climb through them and helping us climb over them. She would make cookies, and put them in the freezer so they would be cold when we would eat them. She put diced grapes in her salads, and topped them with Italain dressing, served with a side of her homemade biscuits. She played Sorry and Boggle with us. Even when she had lost most of her memory of who we all were (with the odd exception being that she never forgot my brother, who is the youngest of her eight grandchildren by 15 years), she still maintained her light-hearted character, and flirty/ goofy personality.
My grandma loved going to the zoo with us. We would always go watch the animals, and her favorites were always the monkeys. She would say "look at them putting on a little show for me," and tell them they were cute. She also loved to go out for icecream, and always got vanilla with strawberries, wet nuts and whipped cream. She was very social, and loved going anywhere. Her best times were always spent at family get togethers, and I can't blame her because we are a fun crowd!
On one of our trips to Williamsburg, as my mother, aunt, grandmother, and cousin were sitting down to lunch, my grandma told us the story of how she knew she was supposed to be with my grandfather. She met him in New York city, and they had later attended a dance together. While they were dancing, she looked up in the corner of the room, and she saw an angel. Truly, they were a match made in heaven, and were together for 67 years until my grandmother passed away.
I have heard of people dying from a broken heart after their spouse passes away. My grandfather was too stubborn not to make it to his 95th birthday first. My grandfather was a caregiver until the day he died. He took care of my grandmother through her illness. He called my mother every night at 8pm, after she was diagnosed with cancer, to see how she and the family were doing, and would always say "Give Lucky (my dog) a pat on the head for me," and laugh. When he was 82 years old (maybe not so shocking if you knew he drove until he was 93), he drove from Norfolk, VA to Valdosta, GA to come see and help take care of me when I was diagnosed with juvenille diabetes.
He always gave great advice. Brush your teeth if you want to curb your sweet tooth- the clean feeling fights hunger. Become a pro-tennis player; those guys make a lot of money to have fun. Here is $2.00, don't spend it all in one place.
The last time I saw him he told me to run for US Senate, and started talking VA politics with me. He thought the best path for my law schooling was politics. At Christmas we bought him a USC law golf shirt, and he was always telling stories about how people would ask him about it, and that he would brag about his granddaughter. He even told me he tried to recruit a young man to go to law school at a Christmas party. He was so proud of me. When he had visitors he would point to my baby picture and tell them "See that baby? That's my granddaughter. Guess what? That baby is in law school now!"
As retired Navy, he would tell us war stories, take us to the commisary to shop, and to the naval airport (with earphones) to watch the planes take off. He would send us care-packages with all kinds of goodies (candy, stuffed animals, etc), since (for all but 5 years) my family lived out of Virginia. He would take us to Azalea Gardens to look at the flowers and ride the boats, to the cafeteria to grab a sandwich, or just about anywhere since my grandmother never had her driver's license. When his vision became bad, he told us that he would put his thumbs up on the steering wheel and line them up with the lines of the road so he knew he was staying on the road (another thing the man loved to give was driving advice!!)
He also had the BEST stories ever.
- He was concieved in Poland, and born in Detroit. His parents, decending from Lithuanian dukes and dutchesses, moved to America and had to leave his sister, who was two years old and had chicken pox so could not board the boat, in the old country. Although my grandfather corresponded with his sister, he never met her, but met her children who would come visit.
- He was a golf caddy for Babe Ruth! Also, some of the golfers he caddied for would light their cigars, mind you DURING THE DEPRESSION, with $20 bills.
- He remembered seeing firetrucks pulled by HORSES in Detroit (the city where automobiles were born!)
-When he was 16 he lied about his age and joined the navy. In his 30s, he fought in WWII, stationed as a sub-chaser. He went AWOL, and was put in jail when they found him at one point. He recieved an honorable discharge, and at his funeral had the navy do a gun salute, play taps, and thank us, from the President, for his service. Just like my grandmother wanted us all to be nuns and priests, he always wanted his kids/ grandkids to join the navy.
This memory is the most appropriate to end on. Every time we would leave their Norfolk home to drive back to where our family was living at the time, my grandparents would stand on the doorstep and wave goodbye, until we were out of sight. I can still see them, on the top of the red steps, standing behind the glass door. My grandfather's arm around my grandmother, and both of them smiling and waving, waving, waving.
I could write a book on the two of them. The best advice I got from both of them was how to live a healthy lifestyle. To be physically healthy; Eat small healthy meals and exercise. To be spiritually healthy; Go to church and love and help others.
God bless Grandma Anne and Grandpa John. I still thank Him everyday for making me fortunate to have them as my grandparents, and for all the time He gave me with them.
Within the last seven months, my grandparents on my mother's side have both passed away. My Grandma Anne died at age 90, in the end of August after being ill with alzheimers for eight years. Last Wednesday, just one day after his 95th birthday, my grandfather peacefully passed away. These two have set the bar high for my life expectancy! More than anything, I loved and was proud of my grandparents. This blog is in their memory.
Grandma Anne was a sweet, humble, and religious woman. As a faithful Catholic, she would attend daily mass. Some of my favorite memories were going to mass with her, and having everyone approach us after service to say hello. On more than one occasion, priests and bishops would confuse her for a nun (since after Vatican II, habits were not required, and since my granmother always was at church wearing her simple wooden cross on a leather lanyard.) She loved God, and always was excited to go on her "journey" with the Lord. Years before she died, she would tell us all to "rejoice" when we got the phone call that she had passed.
I have so many memories with my Grandmother. When my brother and I were younger, she would take us on scavenger hunts around her neighborhood to look for treasures like cicada shells and buttercups. She would take us to Lakewood Park to play in the big, cement, painted tunnels, watching us climb through them and helping us climb over them. She would make cookies, and put them in the freezer so they would be cold when we would eat them. She put diced grapes in her salads, and topped them with Italain dressing, served with a side of her homemade biscuits. She played Sorry and Boggle with us. Even when she had lost most of her memory of who we all were (with the odd exception being that she never forgot my brother, who is the youngest of her eight grandchildren by 15 years), she still maintained her light-hearted character, and flirty/ goofy personality.
My grandma loved going to the zoo with us. We would always go watch the animals, and her favorites were always the monkeys. She would say "look at them putting on a little show for me," and tell them they were cute. She also loved to go out for icecream, and always got vanilla with strawberries, wet nuts and whipped cream. She was very social, and loved going anywhere. Her best times were always spent at family get togethers, and I can't blame her because we are a fun crowd!
On one of our trips to Williamsburg, as my mother, aunt, grandmother, and cousin were sitting down to lunch, my grandma told us the story of how she knew she was supposed to be with my grandfather. She met him in New York city, and they had later attended a dance together. While they were dancing, she looked up in the corner of the room, and she saw an angel. Truly, they were a match made in heaven, and were together for 67 years until my grandmother passed away.
I have heard of people dying from a broken heart after their spouse passes away. My grandfather was too stubborn not to make it to his 95th birthday first. My grandfather was a caregiver until the day he died. He took care of my grandmother through her illness. He called my mother every night at 8pm, after she was diagnosed with cancer, to see how she and the family were doing, and would always say "Give Lucky (my dog) a pat on the head for me," and laugh. When he was 82 years old (maybe not so shocking if you knew he drove until he was 93), he drove from Norfolk, VA to Valdosta, GA to come see and help take care of me when I was diagnosed with juvenille diabetes.
He always gave great advice. Brush your teeth if you want to curb your sweet tooth- the clean feeling fights hunger. Become a pro-tennis player; those guys make a lot of money to have fun. Here is $2.00, don't spend it all in one place.
The last time I saw him he told me to run for US Senate, and started talking VA politics with me. He thought the best path for my law schooling was politics. At Christmas we bought him a USC law golf shirt, and he was always telling stories about how people would ask him about it, and that he would brag about his granddaughter. He even told me he tried to recruit a young man to go to law school at a Christmas party. He was so proud of me. When he had visitors he would point to my baby picture and tell them "See that baby? That's my granddaughter. Guess what? That baby is in law school now!"
As retired Navy, he would tell us war stories, take us to the commisary to shop, and to the naval airport (with earphones) to watch the planes take off. He would send us care-packages with all kinds of goodies (candy, stuffed animals, etc), since (for all but 5 years) my family lived out of Virginia. He would take us to Azalea Gardens to look at the flowers and ride the boats, to the cafeteria to grab a sandwich, or just about anywhere since my grandmother never had her driver's license. When his vision became bad, he told us that he would put his thumbs up on the steering wheel and line them up with the lines of the road so he knew he was staying on the road (another thing the man loved to give was driving advice!!)
He also had the BEST stories ever.
- He was concieved in Poland, and born in Detroit. His parents, decending from Lithuanian dukes and dutchesses, moved to America and had to leave his sister, who was two years old and had chicken pox so could not board the boat, in the old country. Although my grandfather corresponded with his sister, he never met her, but met her children who would come visit.
- He was a golf caddy for Babe Ruth! Also, some of the golfers he caddied for would light their cigars, mind you DURING THE DEPRESSION, with $20 bills.
- He remembered seeing firetrucks pulled by HORSES in Detroit (the city where automobiles were born!)
-When he was 16 he lied about his age and joined the navy. In his 30s, he fought in WWII, stationed as a sub-chaser. He went AWOL, and was put in jail when they found him at one point. He recieved an honorable discharge, and at his funeral had the navy do a gun salute, play taps, and thank us, from the President, for his service. Just like my grandmother wanted us all to be nuns and priests, he always wanted his kids/ grandkids to join the navy.
This memory is the most appropriate to end on. Every time we would leave their Norfolk home to drive back to where our family was living at the time, my grandparents would stand on the doorstep and wave goodbye, until we were out of sight. I can still see them, on the top of the red steps, standing behind the glass door. My grandfather's arm around my grandmother, and both of them smiling and waving, waving, waving.
I could write a book on the two of them. The best advice I got from both of them was how to live a healthy lifestyle. To be physically healthy; Eat small healthy meals and exercise. To be spiritually healthy; Go to church and love and help others.
God bless Grandma Anne and Grandpa John. I still thank Him everyday for making me fortunate to have them as my grandparents, and for all the time He gave me with them.
Friday, March 16, 2007
The Buds of March
While spring cleaning today, I found some poems that I wrote in college. After reading them, I decided that I would post some in my blog.
The first poem is one of my favorites. I wrote this while waiting for my Southern Literature class to begin. It was the begining of March in my Junior year of college, and my class meet on the fourth floor of the Humanities building. Glaring out the window in a fit of boredom, I realized that one of the tall trees in the beautifully landscaped gardens surrounding the building, had little white and green buds grown from the limbs. Since winter is my least favorite season, the first signs of spring make me excited. Also, remember that this poem was written when daylight savings time began in April, so the days during March were still relatively short. Combining my love of learning with my love for spring, I wrote this poem.
The Buds Of March
What right have the buds of March
to hold so high a seat?
April has not soothed their parch
and absent is May's heat.
These tiny buds may quickly fall
by Mother Nature's breath!
Swept off their limbs on trees so tall
to meet with ground their death.
A psuedoconfidence they hold;
they have such short daylight.
Never will they be flowers bold,
for plants don't grow at night.
Ignorance is all that March can give,
for buds need more than trees to live.
The first poem is one of my favorites. I wrote this while waiting for my Southern Literature class to begin. It was the begining of March in my Junior year of college, and my class meet on the fourth floor of the Humanities building. Glaring out the window in a fit of boredom, I realized that one of the tall trees in the beautifully landscaped gardens surrounding the building, had little white and green buds grown from the limbs. Since winter is my least favorite season, the first signs of spring make me excited. Also, remember that this poem was written when daylight savings time began in April, so the days during March were still relatively short. Combining my love of learning with my love for spring, I wrote this poem.
The Buds Of March
What right have the buds of March
to hold so high a seat?
April has not soothed their parch
and absent is May's heat.
These tiny buds may quickly fall
by Mother Nature's breath!
Swept off their limbs on trees so tall
to meet with ground their death.
A psuedoconfidence they hold;
they have such short daylight.
Never will they be flowers bold,
for plants don't grow at night.
Ignorance is all that March can give,
for buds need more than trees to live.
Monday, March 12, 2007
Highlights: Death on Appeal
A little over a week ago I went to see Frederick Evins' death penalty appealed in the SC Supreme Ct. After hearing the argument and talking to my teacher and classmates, I'm pretty sure the judges will affirm.
On Thursday morning I woke up early, since I had never been to the Supreme Court and only had a little idea of where I was headed. Fighting traffic into the city, I finally found my way down Gervais street and saw the small, sqaure court house sitting on the corner of Sumter street. It is a smooth beige building, with four flags flying on the shallow front lawn.
As I walked inside, the notoriously mean security guard approached me. "Put your purse on the tray and walk through." After following his directions, I signed my name and asked him if he minded if I sat down at the round wooden table in the lobby while waiting on my classmates. He said that was fine. Then he asked me why I had come, and I told him that I was there to watch the appellate argument. "Young lady," he spat out in a rough and important voice, "this is the Supreme Court." Quickly realizing he had no clue what an appellate argument is, I replied "I know, I am here to see the death penalty on appeal." He then understood my reason, and showed me the doors I would enter.
I sat down at the wooden table and looked around the room. The table was a beautiful design; it held many different types and stains of wood, cut and laid flesh against the next in an ornate arrangement. The floors were white marble, and on top of them was a white rug with a blue border and yellow flowers. There were large frames with lights above them holding paintings of Chief Justices; except for a black male Chief Justice whose piece stood out, all of the portraits were of white, elderly men . There was a dark stained wooden bench beside the double entrance doors in the middle of the room. The walls were covered in a light blue woven cloth, which had the SC Justice symbol embroidered in gold on it (which I later found out was designed and specially made for the Supreme Court). The only thing that clashed with the design was the security metal detector and large plastic baggage x-ray machine, which stood on wheels beside the doors.
Trying to be friendly, I told the man that the building was beautiful and that this was my first visit. He really opened up, and started telling me how the building was once the old post office, and he got excited when, like a kid with a fanciful secret, he told me about how some of the back rooms still resembled a post office. Soon after I had made friends with the notoriously mean security officer, my friends walked in, and he gave them a hard time. He even made one of my classmates go through extra security measures.
Once everyone passed the security check, and spent some time chatting in the lobby about Sex and the City (for some reason, only the girls in my class showed up), we all assembled in the court room. In a short period of time, our legal writing professor showed up, and other people began to filter in. Eventually, from the back of the room, and elderly black man wearing a navy blue suit and matching rimmed hat, who cheerily had greeted us as we entered, stood up and announced "Here ye, here ye. All rise."
As we all stood up, the judges entered the room in order of their authority, and each took a seat in one of the large black leather overstuffed chairs, which sit behind the long, dark stained, wooden bench. The walls in the room are painted dark, and even with the lights, the room has a shadowy but important feeling. The petitioner was not present, but his one attorney sat alone at one of the desks in front of the bench. He began the argument.
The petitioner's counsel seemed to be grasping at air to save his client's life. Some of his arguments made no sense, and began to annoy the Chief Justice. At first I imagined the petitioner, sitting in prison full of hope that his attorney was, at that moment, saving him from a death sentence. I am opposed to the death penatly, but even after hearing the petitioner's attorney give his argument, I began to feel that for this case, the death penalty was not too unjust.
The more details of the case that were revealed in the argument (so disturbing I will not repeat), the more monsterous the creature inside the cage seemed. The point where I lost all sympathy for the murderer was when the attorneys and judges began graphically depicting the crime scene, and the pictures that were taken at it. I had two distinct reactions to the graphic details. First, during the initial descriptions, I began to have a shortness of breath and started to panic, the classic symptoms of an anxiety attack. After I calmed myself down, and started to listen to the discussion again, the morbid report of the crime scene made me think of the victim, and I had to divert my attention at times to keep myself from crying.
While that part of the argument was the most intense, the rest of the argument, mainly dealing with jury selection, had me half-asleep.
At the end of the argument we all gathered in the lobby to discuss what we had just witnessed. The first question my classmate asked my teacher was "What do you think the judges will do?" Our professor looked at us, still smiling, and clearly let us know "They'll most likely affirm."
After witnessing this case, I think I'll stay away from criminal law and stick to real-estate.
On Thursday morning I woke up early, since I had never been to the Supreme Court and only had a little idea of where I was headed. Fighting traffic into the city, I finally found my way down Gervais street and saw the small, sqaure court house sitting on the corner of Sumter street. It is a smooth beige building, with four flags flying on the shallow front lawn.
As I walked inside, the notoriously mean security guard approached me. "Put your purse on the tray and walk through." After following his directions, I signed my name and asked him if he minded if I sat down at the round wooden table in the lobby while waiting on my classmates. He said that was fine. Then he asked me why I had come, and I told him that I was there to watch the appellate argument. "Young lady," he spat out in a rough and important voice, "this is the Supreme Court." Quickly realizing he had no clue what an appellate argument is, I replied "I know, I am here to see the death penalty on appeal." He then understood my reason, and showed me the doors I would enter.
I sat down at the wooden table and looked around the room. The table was a beautiful design; it held many different types and stains of wood, cut and laid flesh against the next in an ornate arrangement. The floors were white marble, and on top of them was a white rug with a blue border and yellow flowers. There were large frames with lights above them holding paintings of Chief Justices; except for a black male Chief Justice whose piece stood out, all of the portraits were of white, elderly men . There was a dark stained wooden bench beside the double entrance doors in the middle of the room. The walls were covered in a light blue woven cloth, which had the SC Justice symbol embroidered in gold on it (which I later found out was designed and specially made for the Supreme Court). The only thing that clashed with the design was the security metal detector and large plastic baggage x-ray machine, which stood on wheels beside the doors.
Trying to be friendly, I told the man that the building was beautiful and that this was my first visit. He really opened up, and started telling me how the building was once the old post office, and he got excited when, like a kid with a fanciful secret, he told me about how some of the back rooms still resembled a post office. Soon after I had made friends with the notoriously mean security officer, my friends walked in, and he gave them a hard time. He even made one of my classmates go through extra security measures.
Once everyone passed the security check, and spent some time chatting in the lobby about Sex and the City (for some reason, only the girls in my class showed up), we all assembled in the court room. In a short period of time, our legal writing professor showed up, and other people began to filter in. Eventually, from the back of the room, and elderly black man wearing a navy blue suit and matching rimmed hat, who cheerily had greeted us as we entered, stood up and announced "Here ye, here ye. All rise."
As we all stood up, the judges entered the room in order of their authority, and each took a seat in one of the large black leather overstuffed chairs, which sit behind the long, dark stained, wooden bench. The walls in the room are painted dark, and even with the lights, the room has a shadowy but important feeling. The petitioner was not present, but his one attorney sat alone at one of the desks in front of the bench. He began the argument.
The petitioner's counsel seemed to be grasping at air to save his client's life. Some of his arguments made no sense, and began to annoy the Chief Justice. At first I imagined the petitioner, sitting in prison full of hope that his attorney was, at that moment, saving him from a death sentence. I am opposed to the death penatly, but even after hearing the petitioner's attorney give his argument, I began to feel that for this case, the death penalty was not too unjust.
The more details of the case that were revealed in the argument (so disturbing I will not repeat), the more monsterous the creature inside the cage seemed. The point where I lost all sympathy for the murderer was when the attorneys and judges began graphically depicting the crime scene, and the pictures that were taken at it. I had two distinct reactions to the graphic details. First, during the initial descriptions, I began to have a shortness of breath and started to panic, the classic symptoms of an anxiety attack. After I calmed myself down, and started to listen to the discussion again, the morbid report of the crime scene made me think of the victim, and I had to divert my attention at times to keep myself from crying.
While that part of the argument was the most intense, the rest of the argument, mainly dealing with jury selection, had me half-asleep.
At the end of the argument we all gathered in the lobby to discuss what we had just witnessed. The first question my classmate asked my teacher was "What do you think the judges will do?" Our professor looked at us, still smiling, and clearly let us know "They'll most likely affirm."
After witnessing this case, I think I'll stay away from criminal law and stick to real-estate.
Wednesday, March 7, 2007
The Grass is Always Browner . . .
People have always commented that I'm a very optimistic person. I've been asked on more than one occasion why I'm so happy all the time, and tonight I have found their answer; I've always realized that even if my life seems tough at the moment, someone else is always worse off, and I have always felt blessed that I'm not that guy.
Tonight the Law School Gunners had our first soccer match. All day long our team appointed coach had been telling me I needed to step it up tonight. "Clark, game on; don't screw it up, this is our hardest match of the season." All day I had been mentally preparing. Our opponents, the Knights, are an undefeated team. They have scored heavily on the teams they have played for the last two weeks. We knew our opponent, and Coach wanted us to win.
I showed up at the soccer field one hour early. Our team warmed up, chatted, and played with Chief, our goalie's adorable new puppy (and our little barking cheerleader from the sidelines). We streched, frightfully commented on how beastly the other team's girls looked, and sent our starters out onto the field. After we scored the first goal, it was basically a head to head (actually, head to ball is more appropriate) game until the end. I didn't start the game, but after 15 minutes I subbed in. I kicked and got kicked. I tripped and got tripped. I took the ball and had the ball taken from me. I cheered for my teammates and they cheered for me. I watched our team score and I watched thier team score . . . and score . . . . and score. The final score was 4-2, Knights.
After the game we complimented the other team on their win, and high fived each other. The Gunners sat in a group, somewhat quietly, peeling off our shin guards and cleats. I broke the silence with my usual optimistic discourse.
Me: "You guys, that was a tough team and we did better against them than any other team has
so far. We played really well, good job!"
Coach: "Clark, there's no pep talks in soccer."
Me: "Yes there is. You did well too."
Coach: "Okay, you want a pep talk? Win next time. There."
Coach makes me laugh when we argue. This could be a problem since we are partnered up for our oral moot argument in the supreme court this semester. Me v Coach- funny, dry, pessimistic coach.
The thought of me arguing against Coach gets me thinking of my legal writing class' field trip tomorrow. This field trip is the perfect contrast to what, as Coach thinks, seems bad as opposed to someone whose life actually is bad. At 9am we will all be in the supreme court hearing an appellate argument over a death penalty.
Fredrick Evins was convicted of the abduction, rape and brutal stabbing murder of a convinence store clerk. He used the money he took from her store to go on a drug binge. He is also on trial for another similar murder. He was sentenced to death, with the execution date set for Jan 19th. The appeals process may save him, or it may prolong his deah for a few years.
Here are three tragedic examples of how losing a soccer game isn't the end of the world. Fredrick, or his two victims, would give anything right now to have just lost a soccer game. Watching this argument tomorrow, I may feel as if I would give anything to have just lost a soccer game.
This death penalty case will be heart-wrenching; it will be worse for me if the defendant (petitioner) is present. I keep imagining how I will feel sitting in a room with someone who did such horrible, despicable things to two innocent people. There is a sickening power that this man has that I don't understand; I felt bad enough accidently kicking one of the Knights in the shin guard, so I can't imagine ever stabbing someone. Beyond what he did, the knowledge that this man is facing the end of his existence, and is sitting before me hanging on to the last hope of living, and that life being nothing more than a mere dismal life in prison, is overwhelming.
In the next two days I will write a blog on how it actually felt. For now, please take this lesson; no matter how many soccer games you may lose, no matter how tough it gets at the end of the semester when you have spent a month sitting in a room alone and studying for finals, no matter how bad you feel when you have caught the flu going around school again- there is always someone- whether its a person whose life is on trial, or a person who has lost their family member to a brutal crime- who would love to be you, experiencing what you find to be your terrible moment.
Tonight the Law School Gunners had our first soccer match. All day long our team appointed coach had been telling me I needed to step it up tonight. "Clark, game on; don't screw it up, this is our hardest match of the season." All day I had been mentally preparing. Our opponents, the Knights, are an undefeated team. They have scored heavily on the teams they have played for the last two weeks. We knew our opponent, and Coach wanted us to win.
I showed up at the soccer field one hour early. Our team warmed up, chatted, and played with Chief, our goalie's adorable new puppy (and our little barking cheerleader from the sidelines). We streched, frightfully commented on how beastly the other team's girls looked, and sent our starters out onto the field. After we scored the first goal, it was basically a head to head (actually, head to ball is more appropriate) game until the end. I didn't start the game, but after 15 minutes I subbed in. I kicked and got kicked. I tripped and got tripped. I took the ball and had the ball taken from me. I cheered for my teammates and they cheered for me. I watched our team score and I watched thier team score . . . and score . . . . and score. The final score was 4-2, Knights.
After the game we complimented the other team on their win, and high fived each other. The Gunners sat in a group, somewhat quietly, peeling off our shin guards and cleats. I broke the silence with my usual optimistic discourse.
Me: "You guys, that was a tough team and we did better against them than any other team has
so far. We played really well, good job!"
Coach: "Clark, there's no pep talks in soccer."
Me: "Yes there is. You did well too."
Coach: "Okay, you want a pep talk? Win next time. There."
Coach makes me laugh when we argue. This could be a problem since we are partnered up for our oral moot argument in the supreme court this semester. Me v Coach- funny, dry, pessimistic coach.
The thought of me arguing against Coach gets me thinking of my legal writing class' field trip tomorrow. This field trip is the perfect contrast to what, as Coach thinks, seems bad as opposed to someone whose life actually is bad. At 9am we will all be in the supreme court hearing an appellate argument over a death penalty.
Fredrick Evins was convicted of the abduction, rape and brutal stabbing murder of a convinence store clerk. He used the money he took from her store to go on a drug binge. He is also on trial for another similar murder. He was sentenced to death, with the execution date set for Jan 19th. The appeals process may save him, or it may prolong his deah for a few years.
Here are three tragedic examples of how losing a soccer game isn't the end of the world. Fredrick, or his two victims, would give anything right now to have just lost a soccer game. Watching this argument tomorrow, I may feel as if I would give anything to have just lost a soccer game.
This death penalty case will be heart-wrenching; it will be worse for me if the defendant (petitioner) is present. I keep imagining how I will feel sitting in a room with someone who did such horrible, despicable things to two innocent people. There is a sickening power that this man has that I don't understand; I felt bad enough accidently kicking one of the Knights in the shin guard, so I can't imagine ever stabbing someone. Beyond what he did, the knowledge that this man is facing the end of his existence, and is sitting before me hanging on to the last hope of living, and that life being nothing more than a mere dismal life in prison, is overwhelming.
In the next two days I will write a blog on how it actually felt. For now, please take this lesson; no matter how many soccer games you may lose, no matter how tough it gets at the end of the semester when you have spent a month sitting in a room alone and studying for finals, no matter how bad you feel when you have caught the flu going around school again- there is always someone- whether its a person whose life is on trial, or a person who has lost their family member to a brutal crime- who would love to be you, experiencing what you find to be your terrible moment.
Monday, March 5, 2007
Music and Memories
As I sit here listening to the radio to make studying Con Law more enjoyable, I can't help but wonder if I have an abnormal passion for music.
At the age of 5 I remember my first musically inspired motivational rushes, which would physically move my mid-afternoon exhausted body despite my brain's objections. At this age I started swimming competitively, a recreational sport that I would continue to compete in for 12 years, and still at times use the same motivational song- "Rush, Rush" by Paula Abdoul (secretly one of my favorite artists and my also one of my current motivations for watching American Idol). Although I didn't like feeling the ice-cold water stinging my skin as I took that first plunge into the pool, I did enjoy the light-rock music blasting in the background, which I could hear everytime I would bring my head up for air.
Paula was frequently played in the background. On this particular day, I can remember laying in the middle of the play room floor, playing with weebles and refusing to go to swim practice. My mother finally left me alone, and within five minutes of turning on my Paula Abdoul cassette (Rush, Rush was the second song on the track) I was downstairs begging my dad to take me to practice. He asked me what changed my mind, and I knew it was the song. As soon as I heard the lyrics "you're a whisper of a summer breeze" coming through the speaker, I imagined hearing those lyrics as my body would glide through the smooth cool water doing the breast-stroke, and I would lift my head up at swim practice; I wanted that feeling.
For me, music's importance lies in my strong attachment between music and memories.
* Alan Jackson's "Tall, Tall Trees" reminds me of rollerblading in my garage in elementary school, when we lived in Lake Park, GA, escaping the deep south heat and listening to the only genre of music offered in the area.
* Alanis Morrisette's "Forgiven" reminds me of seventh grade, living in Rock Hill, when I would dance and lipsync in the mirror in my catholic school uniform after class, belting out "you know how us catholic girls can be."
* Nelly's "Ride Wit Me" reminds me of polevaulting in high school; the lyrics "Now that I'm a fly guy, and I fly high (while I was literally flying high)" would pass through my head as I ran quickly toward the metal pit, griping the flimsy pole firmly in my fists.
* Creed's "Higher," reminds me of going to Neil, Kevin and Brian's house and playing two on two, man on man defense basketball until the orange early summer afternoon sky (which would turn the water in the pond gold, thus represented by the lyrics "to a place with golden streams") faded to black- and then believing that the dark sky actually improved our skills.
* Train's "Drops of Jupiter" reminds me of my junior year of high school, when I would drive around in my car and cry about having to move my senior year of high school, singing in my car (another secret habit) "Can you imagine no love, pride, deep-fried chicken? Your best friend always sticking up for you, even when I know youre wrong? Can you imagine no first dance, freeze dried romance five-hour phone Conversation?The best soy latte that you ever had . . . and me," and thinking about those same memories (my best friend, middle school dances, five hour conversations) that I had with the people I was about to be leaving.
* Dispatch "The General," reminds me of a feeling of the summer of my sophomore year; since Blake would frequently rock that out on his guitar while Nick played the Jambae- the pinnacle feeling occuring with all of us on Nick's boat in Lake Wylie. We all took the boat out, and Jason's jet ski, and drank beer and chilled on the boat, island or lake house all day long. We eventually took the boat to T-Bonz, where there was a dock to park boats and a dock to eat on; it was an opportunity to get off the lake. We all ate, drank, and danced in the warm afternoon with the cool breeze blowing off the water. I can still remember the difficulty imposed on our drunk boaters by the no wake zone as we left the restaurant, and the blissful feeling in all of us as we navigated our way back at the end of the day. This, along with all the "boat Thursday" memories with Gabes and his friends are the reason I have vowed to grow up and buy a boat and throw weekly summer parties for my college buddies.
* Most appropriately for the moment, The Fray's "How To Save A Life" reminds me of studying for law school finals in December, stuck in a room alone for a month. Although the time was tedious, and the lyrics in my head repeated "right between the lines of fear and blame you begin to wonder why you came,"now the song evokes feelings of survival and accomplishment.
Regardless of genre, time, place, or person, music has always been powerful force in my life.
At the age of 5 I remember my first musically inspired motivational rushes, which would physically move my mid-afternoon exhausted body despite my brain's objections. At this age I started swimming competitively, a recreational sport that I would continue to compete in for 12 years, and still at times use the same motivational song- "Rush, Rush" by Paula Abdoul (secretly one of my favorite artists and my also one of my current motivations for watching American Idol). Although I didn't like feeling the ice-cold water stinging my skin as I took that first plunge into the pool, I did enjoy the light-rock music blasting in the background, which I could hear everytime I would bring my head up for air.
Paula was frequently played in the background. On this particular day, I can remember laying in the middle of the play room floor, playing with weebles and refusing to go to swim practice. My mother finally left me alone, and within five minutes of turning on my Paula Abdoul cassette (Rush, Rush was the second song on the track) I was downstairs begging my dad to take me to practice. He asked me what changed my mind, and I knew it was the song. As soon as I heard the lyrics "you're a whisper of a summer breeze" coming through the speaker, I imagined hearing those lyrics as my body would glide through the smooth cool water doing the breast-stroke, and I would lift my head up at swim practice; I wanted that feeling.
For me, music's importance lies in my strong attachment between music and memories.
* Alan Jackson's "Tall, Tall Trees" reminds me of rollerblading in my garage in elementary school, when we lived in Lake Park, GA, escaping the deep south heat and listening to the only genre of music offered in the area.
* Alanis Morrisette's "Forgiven" reminds me of seventh grade, living in Rock Hill, when I would dance and lipsync in the mirror in my catholic school uniform after class, belting out "you know how us catholic girls can be."
* Nelly's "Ride Wit Me" reminds me of polevaulting in high school; the lyrics "Now that I'm a fly guy, and I fly high (while I was literally flying high)" would pass through my head as I ran quickly toward the metal pit, griping the flimsy pole firmly in my fists.
* Creed's "Higher," reminds me of going to Neil, Kevin and Brian's house and playing two on two, man on man defense basketball until the orange early summer afternoon sky (which would turn the water in the pond gold, thus represented by the lyrics "to a place with golden streams") faded to black- and then believing that the dark sky actually improved our skills.
* Train's "Drops of Jupiter" reminds me of my junior year of high school, when I would drive around in my car and cry about having to move my senior year of high school, singing in my car (another secret habit) "Can you imagine no love, pride, deep-fried chicken? Your best friend always sticking up for you, even when I know youre wrong? Can you imagine no first dance, freeze dried romance five-hour phone Conversation?The best soy latte that you ever had . . . and me," and thinking about those same memories (my best friend, middle school dances, five hour conversations) that I had with the people I was about to be leaving.
* Dispatch "The General," reminds me of a feeling of the summer of my sophomore year; since Blake would frequently rock that out on his guitar while Nick played the Jambae- the pinnacle feeling occuring with all of us on Nick's boat in Lake Wylie. We all took the boat out, and Jason's jet ski, and drank beer and chilled on the boat, island or lake house all day long. We eventually took the boat to T-Bonz, where there was a dock to park boats and a dock to eat on; it was an opportunity to get off the lake. We all ate, drank, and danced in the warm afternoon with the cool breeze blowing off the water. I can still remember the difficulty imposed on our drunk boaters by the no wake zone as we left the restaurant, and the blissful feeling in all of us as we navigated our way back at the end of the day. This, along with all the "boat Thursday" memories with Gabes and his friends are the reason I have vowed to grow up and buy a boat and throw weekly summer parties for my college buddies.
* Most appropriately for the moment, The Fray's "How To Save A Life" reminds me of studying for law school finals in December, stuck in a room alone for a month. Although the time was tedious, and the lyrics in my head repeated "right between the lines of fear and blame you begin to wonder why you came,"now the song evokes feelings of survival and accomplishment.
Regardless of genre, time, place, or person, music has always been powerful force in my life.
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