Emma Candler Carpenter - birth certificate
Emma Candler - Mom and Lauren when they're trying to get my attention
Emma - surprisingly, very few people
Imma - Robin, Jake, and anyone who lives in the South
Bimbo - Lauren, my precious big sister
Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeema - Megan
Slut/Stripper/Whore - Jenny and Linzlee
E - Linz
Meema - Dubbs
Big Sisser - Kindall
Emmer - Mom, Uncle Monty, Will
My Darlin, Princess, MY Emma - Daddy
Em - James and Jon
Crotche, Ehmma - Anna
So many names, yet all for me. Odd. It's as if I'm more than one person, yet...I'm not. Just me. Take me as I am; it doesn't matter what you call me. I'm still me. Or aren't I?
Come to think of it, I am different to each one of those names. I suppose it's just becuase of my worlds. I have more than one, just as everyone does. Let's see, there's the Home World, the Friends World, the School World, the SCA World, the NYLC World...each one hosting different people, memories, and names, apparently. Some people fall into more than one world, but for the most part, they stay separate, each having their own peculiar label. It's easy to accept your own multiple worlds, for that's simply the way life is for you; the challenge comes with accepting the worlds of others.
Prime example: teachers. We see them on a daily basis in a single setting - the classrom. Teachers only belong in my School World. However, they exist in other worlds as well, worlds of their own, even if we don't want them to. Every time any film or production depicts a parent entering a relationship with their child's teacher, the succeeding conflict occurs because the child refuses to allow their teacher to exist in an alternate world, especially their Home World. When more than one of these worlds collides, things are thrown of balance. Tension.
This summer, a person of great consequence in my life (who for all practical purposes I'll call Eric) happened to mention that they were going to visit Montgomery. When I asked Eric why, he essentially said that he was here to visit some buddies he had made while on a cruise. So, naturally, I told Eric he should call me so that we could see each other while he was near. Each day passed with no call, until I found myself with a beautiful Friday night and nothing to do. I texted him (haha the beauty of cell phones) only to discover that he had left town early that morning and was already back home, about five or six hours away. Disappointing? Definitely. Maddening? Slightly...well, definitely. Actually, I was furios. Here he had been within fifteen minutes of me and had never called; AND he had chosen to visit people he'd known through a drunken lull for a week when he had not once thought to visit me when we'd be friends for over a year. Now, of course after realizing how incredibly self-centered I was acting (he did have a viable reason for leaving town early), I found that I was, to an extent, relieved I hadn't seen him. I didn't want him to exist in any other world of mine except for the one he already belonged to, and had I seen him, he would have. Balance would have been thrown.
Sunday, July 22, 2007
Special and Significant
What is it about certain people that make them special to us? Really, it's a strange thing to consider...why is it that certain people stir up certain feelings in me, why do I miss those few so desperately, what is it that causes me to think of someone when I hear a certain song? I know why people are special in the general sense, that's easy. God. That one name inspires greatness inside all things because all things are of His creation. For that simple reason, every human being on this Earth is special. But why is it that some people are special specifically to me? Well, I actually have an answer for that too...
Tonight, Mom and I drove to Birmingham to attend Jefferson County's Final Junior Miss Program Show. It's now 12:30 AM, I'm at home, and the details of the evening's events have faded, save for two. During the Self-Expression portion of the scholarship competition, each participant must, within 20 seconds, answer a previously posed question of the program's choice. Tonight in Jefferson County, that question was posed in a way much like this:
Our theme this evening is entitled, "Everyone's A Hero." Please describe what you define as a hero and how this definition applies to your life through your own personal experience.
One answer in particular stood out to me; a contestant described her recent mission trip to Mexico. She told of how she found that although her purpose was to serve as a role model for the children there, the children turned the tables on her, becoming her heroes by inspiring her with their immense gratitude for her gifts and presence.
It occured to me then as it had many times before that we consider some members of our lives "special" becuase they have, in a sense, become our heroes. I thought how I might answer that Junior Miss Self-Expression question and came up with this: I define a hero as a person who has touched me, molded my life, and taken their time to help me grow. Therefore, if I was to attempt to choose an experience to share with you, I would not be able to. My entire life would have to serve as my testament to heroism becuase my entire life has been filled with amazing people who have shaped me into the person I am today.
People are special becuase they touch us, they talk to us, they aspire to be great, encourage us to do the same, and in their aspirations inspire us.
The other noteworthy moment of tonight's performance occurred when the Mistress of Ceremonies performed Celine Dion's "My Heart Will Go On." No, Titanic was not my first thought. Actually, some one incredibly unexpected came to mind. As I sat in the theatre, listening to this gorgeous woman sing this extremely powerful song, I began to watch memories of this surprising person play in my head. I found it so unusual that this person, this all but forgotten young man of my past, came to mind becuase not only had I not seen or spoken to him in quite some time, the last time we did actually converse, we fought. Yet there he was, smiling down at me in my memory...and then it hit me. Of course I would think of him. Despite our petty argument, he was still special to me, a hero of sorts, for he had touched my life. And no matter what, no matter if tomorrow comes and I never see or speak to him again, or if we never lose touch with each other, this young man will always be special to me like so many others who came before him and the many others who will undoubtedly come after him. People do not ever stop being important in your life. They are always there, dancing in your memories, surfacing to remind you of thier significance when you least expect them to.
Tonight, Mom and I drove to Birmingham to attend Jefferson County's Final Junior Miss Program Show. It's now 12:30 AM, I'm at home, and the details of the evening's events have faded, save for two. During the Self-Expression portion of the scholarship competition, each participant must, within 20 seconds, answer a previously posed question of the program's choice. Tonight in Jefferson County, that question was posed in a way much like this:
Our theme this evening is entitled, "Everyone's A Hero." Please describe what you define as a hero and how this definition applies to your life through your own personal experience.
One answer in particular stood out to me; a contestant described her recent mission trip to Mexico. She told of how she found that although her purpose was to serve as a role model for the children there, the children turned the tables on her, becoming her heroes by inspiring her with their immense gratitude for her gifts and presence.
It occured to me then as it had many times before that we consider some members of our lives "special" becuase they have, in a sense, become our heroes. I thought how I might answer that Junior Miss Self-Expression question and came up with this: I define a hero as a person who has touched me, molded my life, and taken their time to help me grow. Therefore, if I was to attempt to choose an experience to share with you, I would not be able to. My entire life would have to serve as my testament to heroism becuase my entire life has been filled with amazing people who have shaped me into the person I am today.
People are special becuase they touch us, they talk to us, they aspire to be great, encourage us to do the same, and in their aspirations inspire us.
The other noteworthy moment of tonight's performance occurred when the Mistress of Ceremonies performed Celine Dion's "My Heart Will Go On." No, Titanic was not my first thought. Actually, some one incredibly unexpected came to mind. As I sat in the theatre, listening to this gorgeous woman sing this extremely powerful song, I began to watch memories of this surprising person play in my head. I found it so unusual that this person, this all but forgotten young man of my past, came to mind becuase not only had I not seen or spoken to him in quite some time, the last time we did actually converse, we fought. Yet there he was, smiling down at me in my memory...and then it hit me. Of course I would think of him. Despite our petty argument, he was still special to me, a hero of sorts, for he had touched my life. And no matter what, no matter if tomorrow comes and I never see or speak to him again, or if we never lose touch with each other, this young man will always be special to me like so many others who came before him and the many others who will undoubtedly come after him. People do not ever stop being important in your life. They are always there, dancing in your memories, surfacing to remind you of thier significance when you least expect them to.
Wednesday, February 21, 2007
Afternoon Conversations
Recently, one of my best friends had some relatively serious surgery that required him to be out of school for a little over a week. This particular procedure, being very rare, could only be performed by one of three doctors in the nation, so he flew to Philadelphia to have his operation. He returned on a Saturday, I believe, and so the next day I resolved to pay him a visit.
I drove to Starbucks to pick up some coffee for us and a short time later arrived at his house. Surprisingly, as I gathered the various things in my car I was to take inside, he opened the front door to his home. I was hardly across the threshold and putting my things down when he enveloped me in one of the biggest and most meaningful hugs I had received from him in a long time.
Interestingly enough, regardless of the slightly slurred speech and thought process due to his medication, we shared what were most likely the best conversations we had had. I left after several hours and another bear hug with promises to return the next afternoon.
Later, it occurred to me that the visit we had had paralleled strikingly with Mitch Albom's Tuesdays With Morrie. In this documentary, Albom records the words of wisdom he hears from his dying college professor on their weekly Tuesday afternoon visists. My favorite piece of this book, however, is not necessarily a philosophy on life that Morrie delivers to Albom. It was, rather, an observation that Albom made about Morrie's lifestyle. He mentions that while Morrie balances perilously between life and death, he maintains the happiest lifestyle of all people he knows; he refers to it, though I cannot recall the exact phrasing, as Morrie's created cocoon of human activity that denounces forms of communication that lack physical contact. Morrie has instilled in himself the desire for more meaningful conversation and entertainment than the current entertainment world can provide for him, and thus relishes more the philosophies he is able to share directly with others.
When I first read this, I was, of course, greatly affected by the book's messages, but this passage stood out for me in particular. I have come to want that kind of lifestyle more and more since I have read of its possibilities; for me, that is the kind of thing I experienced visiting my recovering friend. We acheived through our talks a deeper understanding of each other that strengthened our relationship tremendously, even though this all happened over only several hours. Through this, I came to the realization that life is much more precious when it is truly lived.
I drove to Starbucks to pick up some coffee for us and a short time later arrived at his house. Surprisingly, as I gathered the various things in my car I was to take inside, he opened the front door to his home. I was hardly across the threshold and putting my things down when he enveloped me in one of the biggest and most meaningful hugs I had received from him in a long time.
Interestingly enough, regardless of the slightly slurred speech and thought process due to his medication, we shared what were most likely the best conversations we had had. I left after several hours and another bear hug with promises to return the next afternoon.
Later, it occurred to me that the visit we had had paralleled strikingly with Mitch Albom's Tuesdays With Morrie. In this documentary, Albom records the words of wisdom he hears from his dying college professor on their weekly Tuesday afternoon visists. My favorite piece of this book, however, is not necessarily a philosophy on life that Morrie delivers to Albom. It was, rather, an observation that Albom made about Morrie's lifestyle. He mentions that while Morrie balances perilously between life and death, he maintains the happiest lifestyle of all people he knows; he refers to it, though I cannot recall the exact phrasing, as Morrie's created cocoon of human activity that denounces forms of communication that lack physical contact. Morrie has instilled in himself the desire for more meaningful conversation and entertainment than the current entertainment world can provide for him, and thus relishes more the philosophies he is able to share directly with others.
When I first read this, I was, of course, greatly affected by the book's messages, but this passage stood out for me in particular. I have come to want that kind of lifestyle more and more since I have read of its possibilities; for me, that is the kind of thing I experienced visiting my recovering friend. We acheived through our talks a deeper understanding of each other that strengthened our relationship tremendously, even though this all happened over only several hours. Through this, I came to the realization that life is much more precious when it is truly lived.
Monday, November 27, 2006
Cruising
This is my first blog post. I actually have been aware of the nature of blogging since one of my good friends began his a while ago, and have thoroughly enjoyed reading the blogs of others, but never really thought of creating one for myself. I suppose that is partly due to worry and wavering self-assurance: will people like what I write? Is my writing really good enough to publish in an online blog for others to read? Well, the same friend whose blog I initially began reading urged me for sometime to start one of my own, and so I decided today to finally take his advice.
I suppose to give credit, I should name my mysterious friend who encouraged me to write my thoughts out and allow others to read them. Drew, in short, has amazing literary skills. I recently named him a Walking Thesaraus because of his vast knowledge of words to substitute for more commonly used phrases. Whenever I read his work, it astonishes me that he has not already achieved some type of recognition for it other than being the English teacher's favorite when it comes to writing papers for class. His writing I will confess, has inspired me to want to better my own skills and continues to fill me with wonder whenever I read it. However, as much as I love to talk about Drew's unimaginable literary skill, that is not the primary purpose of this post.
This past weekend was thankfully (no pun intended) Thanksgiving Holidays. For me, there exists no greater bliss than to be able to sleep late on a weekday for the first time since August for some other reason than "Mom, I'm sick." Wednesday is typically spent relishing the freedom from schoolwork and other stresses that normally pound people in their typical week, or lazing about in your pajamas all day watching the random Rocky and CSI marathons that appear. My favorite part centers around the best reason to stay home ever conceived by Americans: food. If you think about it, many of our holidays are there simply so we can eat, or so last year's European history teacher said. (Of course, this man enjoyed discussing the nature of McDonald's v Wendy's more than he did Napoleon v England, but still, he had a point.) Thanksgiving food is the best repast consumed all year in my opinion; making it is probably one of the most satisfying parts of eating it later. Every year for the past several years, the mixing of the dressing has been my duty, and I would stand on one side of the kitchen island with a large wooden spoon and an enormous tupperware container while my mom stood on the other pouring different ingredients in that had to constantly be stirred and thoroughly mixed to create the desired effect once baked. However, above all the laughter, scent of turkey and casseroles cooking, and barely audible tinge of Christmas music from the old black stereo, there transcends certain emotions that constitute the "Holiday Spirit." I am a firm believer in family time and relationships, and the peace that rests over the family while spending time together and interacting throughout the Thanksgiving Holidays truly touches my heart.
Of course, after Thanksgiving Day there are the countless numbers of dishes to be washed (or rather loaded into the dishwasher) and the piles of leftovers that everyone knows will make up our meals for the next week or so, but these simply help carry the spirit past the Day itself. It was while I was eating some of these leftovers in my living room when lo and behold, the silver screen monster "Titanic" came on. Now, being but a elementary school child with rather strict and overprotective parents when this movie was first released, I was not allowed to see it in theatres. However, I also never found the time to rent and watch Titanic when I came of age (that would be 13 years old for those whose parents did not abide by the PG-13 rating). So, I found myself very excited this past Saturday to be watching Titanic for the very first time.
Now, call me a hopeless romantic (I know that I am one) but I found the story fascinating and absolutely dreamworthy: the unhappy rich girl who desperately wants to break free of her gilded bonds falls in love with a free-spirited vagabond that gives her a taste of what impulsive life is like. Although she at first attempts to remain proper and respectable by denying this rogue and remaining engaged to be wed to an equally wealthy man, she eventually discovers that her heart lies rather with the wandering minstrel of her dreams and says to her disgustingly horrible fiancee that she would rather be "his whore than your wife." Like most young girls who watch this movie, my favorite scene is where Jack (the vagabond) helps Rose (the rich girl) to "fly" on the front of the cruise ship. As the enthralling music swells behind the camera shot of the two lovers flying toward a sunset on the water, my heart likewise swelled with the desire to one day know that kind of love. Jack then begins to sing something in Rose's ear about flying, and the whole scene just drips with romance that culminates in an emotional and wonderful kiss. However, I noticed after watching this scene that the director, instead of choosing to focus on "the kiss" that has come to be expected in every movie now made, altered the scene and chose to center it on another aspect of their love: their hands. This is part of what makes me love this scene so much - as Rose flies with her arms outstretched, Jack stands behind her and also opens his arms behind hers. As they continue to soar, they begin to play with each other's hands, letting their fingers slide past one another, constantly changing and never ceasing. To me, that is how love should be: always changing and never stopping, but always something that is sweet and that you are able to enjoy. I will say that once the scene changed from the momentous flight of Juliet and her Romeo, I promised myself that if I ever were to take a cruise, I would make it the front of the oceanliner at sunset and take flight myself.
I suppose to give credit, I should name my mysterious friend who encouraged me to write my thoughts out and allow others to read them. Drew, in short, has amazing literary skills. I recently named him a Walking Thesaraus because of his vast knowledge of words to substitute for more commonly used phrases. Whenever I read his work, it astonishes me that he has not already achieved some type of recognition for it other than being the English teacher's favorite when it comes to writing papers for class. His writing I will confess, has inspired me to want to better my own skills and continues to fill me with wonder whenever I read it. However, as much as I love to talk about Drew's unimaginable literary skill, that is not the primary purpose of this post.
This past weekend was thankfully (no pun intended) Thanksgiving Holidays. For me, there exists no greater bliss than to be able to sleep late on a weekday for the first time since August for some other reason than "Mom, I'm sick." Wednesday is typically spent relishing the freedom from schoolwork and other stresses that normally pound people in their typical week, or lazing about in your pajamas all day watching the random Rocky and CSI marathons that appear. My favorite part centers around the best reason to stay home ever conceived by Americans: food. If you think about it, many of our holidays are there simply so we can eat, or so last year's European history teacher said. (Of course, this man enjoyed discussing the nature of McDonald's v Wendy's more than he did Napoleon v England, but still, he had a point.) Thanksgiving food is the best repast consumed all year in my opinion; making it is probably one of the most satisfying parts of eating it later. Every year for the past several years, the mixing of the dressing has been my duty, and I would stand on one side of the kitchen island with a large wooden spoon and an enormous tupperware container while my mom stood on the other pouring different ingredients in that had to constantly be stirred and thoroughly mixed to create the desired effect once baked. However, above all the laughter, scent of turkey and casseroles cooking, and barely audible tinge of Christmas music from the old black stereo, there transcends certain emotions that constitute the "Holiday Spirit." I am a firm believer in family time and relationships, and the peace that rests over the family while spending time together and interacting throughout the Thanksgiving Holidays truly touches my heart.
Of course, after Thanksgiving Day there are the countless numbers of dishes to be washed (or rather loaded into the dishwasher) and the piles of leftovers that everyone knows will make up our meals for the next week or so, but these simply help carry the spirit past the Day itself. It was while I was eating some of these leftovers in my living room when lo and behold, the silver screen monster "Titanic" came on. Now, being but a elementary school child with rather strict and overprotective parents when this movie was first released, I was not allowed to see it in theatres. However, I also never found the time to rent and watch Titanic when I came of age (that would be 13 years old for those whose parents did not abide by the PG-13 rating). So, I found myself very excited this past Saturday to be watching Titanic for the very first time.
Now, call me a hopeless romantic (I know that I am one) but I found the story fascinating and absolutely dreamworthy: the unhappy rich girl who desperately wants to break free of her gilded bonds falls in love with a free-spirited vagabond that gives her a taste of what impulsive life is like. Although she at first attempts to remain proper and respectable by denying this rogue and remaining engaged to be wed to an equally wealthy man, she eventually discovers that her heart lies rather with the wandering minstrel of her dreams and says to her disgustingly horrible fiancee that she would rather be "his whore than your wife." Like most young girls who watch this movie, my favorite scene is where Jack (the vagabond) helps Rose (the rich girl) to "fly" on the front of the cruise ship. As the enthralling music swells behind the camera shot of the two lovers flying toward a sunset on the water, my heart likewise swelled with the desire to one day know that kind of love. Jack then begins to sing something in Rose's ear about flying, and the whole scene just drips with romance that culminates in an emotional and wonderful kiss. However, I noticed after watching this scene that the director, instead of choosing to focus on "the kiss" that has come to be expected in every movie now made, altered the scene and chose to center it on another aspect of their love: their hands. This is part of what makes me love this scene so much - as Rose flies with her arms outstretched, Jack stands behind her and also opens his arms behind hers. As they continue to soar, they begin to play with each other's hands, letting their fingers slide past one another, constantly changing and never ceasing. To me, that is how love should be: always changing and never stopping, but always something that is sweet and that you are able to enjoy. I will say that once the scene changed from the momentous flight of Juliet and her Romeo, I promised myself that if I ever were to take a cruise, I would make it the front of the oceanliner at sunset and take flight myself.
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