Musings by Rachel Reischling by MBRrr808
Feb 15, 2012 | 520 views | 0 0 comments | 5 5 recommendations | email to a friend | print | permalink

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A Game of Thrones
by MBRrr808
Apr 12, 2012 | 354 views | 0 0 comments | 2 2 recommendations | email to a friend | print | permalink

Blogs can be mindless, right? Mindless in that I can write in a way I cannot write in articles. Without thinking. Just starting up, creeping out like a seedling, testing the air — too hot? too dry? — before unfurling and turning green.

Let me start out by saying that everything said here has been thoroughly prefaced by an iced mocha.

Let me continue in saying this is how I begin every story. Until somehow, magically, the FORT POLK, La. — issues forth from my fingers before I know it and the story is begun. Then everything before the magical dateline is deleted, just like that.

While I'm thinking on what this blog will be about … so how about that Game of Thrones? What a show that is! Who will win the game? And which major character is set next to greet death? So long as it isn’t Tyrion “The Imp” Lannister, newly minted Hand of the King; or Jon Snow, Ned Stark’s bastard son; or Robb Stark, Ned Stark’s eldest son; or even Daenaerys (Dany) Targaryen, with her new set of dragons.

I’ve just gotten my hands on a copy of the books. I started the first one (A Game of Thrones in what is called A Song of Fire and Ice series) last night, and when I wasn’t absorbed in Comedy Central or “Say Yes to the Dress” I was reading the book. The sheer length was not enough to intimidate me, as I’m reading an electronic copy (though as someone who likes to read, the length of a novel is as likely to scare me as a little puppy prancing merrily around in the grass is).

I can’t weigh in yet on the book, other than to say that so far it’s well-written.

Most of the series’ readers are incredibly enthusiastic but suggest patience when it comes to the books’ length, which, seriously, can scare even a seasoned reader. It all pays off, they say, in the end with the unique storytelling abilities of the author, George R.R. Martin.

The fact in “Game of Thrones” is, no character is two-dimensionally good or evil (except for a few characters like a certain boy king from this season): For better or worse, the characters are human. It’s the very reason Ned Stark (spoiler alert!) sells his honor — and a fake story of treason — before he’s (spoiler alert!!!!) executed at the end of season one.

This humanness is more than endearing. It’s reflective: It helps the audience to see ourselves as the characters. So the characters come alive for a while — as pieces of ourselves that are exotic and perhaps untold — and we are entertained.

 

* I may blog in the future about Game of Thrones, especially if I do get into the books. This may cause a) unintentional shifting into formal/poetic tone, b) lots of spoiler alerts, c) many parenthetical statements and d) sweeping generalizations. Cease reading if symptoms grow worse.

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Visiting the Alzheimer's Ward
by MBRrr808
Mar 23, 2012 | 345 views | 0 0 comments | 5 5 recommendations | email to a friend | print | permalink

The old woman in the Alzheimer's ward wore a wide-brimmed straw hat, affixed to her head by a tie that wrapped around her mottled chin. Her hair was thin but long. She wore a pair of khaki capris and a lavender knit sweater that was missing all but one button.

"I'm going to go home soon and get more buttons to sew on my sweater," she said.

"But home's so far away."

"How far away is home?" I asked.

"Five miles," she said.

"That's not too far," I said.

"It is if you're in a wheelchair."

Then she said, "Daddy bought me this hat. So I don't get sunburned in the fields."

"It's a beautiful hat," I said.

"He bought me these shoes too," she said. "Daddy loves red. He has a pair too."

She sported a pair of red tennis shoes, and lifted her leg, her calves purple from poor circulation, to show me.

We sat in silence for a few minutes. She reached for my hand and I took it. I rubbed it gently but didn't say anything. I couldn't think of anything to say.

Then she said, again, "Home's so far away."

Her eyes glazed a little, but then she focused on me; she spoke of her brothers; she said they were too young for school.

"How old are they?" I asked.

"Two and four," she said.

"That is too young," I said. "Who else is in your family?"

"I have two grandmothers. Elizabeth's the name of one of them, but I can't remember my other grandmother's name. They're nice to me but they don't visit much."

A few more minutes of silence, then, for a few moments back in the present, she said, "They're both dead now."

I kept hold of her hand. "They're still with you, though."

She didn't seem to comprehend me. She only repeated, "My daddy bought me this hat. I won't get sunburned in it."

"I know you won't. Your skin is so fair you wouldn't want to take that chance."

She laughed and I laughed with her.

I sat with her for a few more minutes, then hugged her and said I had to go.

"Do you really have to leave?" she asked.

"No, I can stay a little longer."

We sat in silence; she noticed lights reflecting from the windows. She sat and gazed at me.

I asked her what she was thinking and she said, "My daddy bought me this hat."

"Your father's a good man. He must care a lot about you to buy you such pretty things," I said.

"He is," she said. "I think he'll come visit soon."

"Well, until he does, you have the hat to remind you of him," i said.

Finally, I released her hand, gently, and got up to leave.

"I'll come back tomorrow or the next day and we can talk some more," I said. "If you wouldn't mind talking to me."

"Just come find me," she said, and leaned in as if to hug me. I embraced her, then kissed her gently on the cheek.

"it was good to see you. I'll see you again soon," I said, then walked away from her.

 
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A Lesson in Driving
by MBRrr808
Mar 09, 2012 | 446 views | 0 0 comments | 5 5 recommendations | email to a friend | print | permalink

Yesterday, during a heavy rainstorm, I ran over a piece of flotsam tire in the road and in the blink of an eye, my tire was completely flat and I was driving on the rim. What makes matters worse is that I was driving my mother’s sort-of new car.

I was sure I could make it home — after all, I was only two miles away — but according to my mechanic guru father, driving any distance on a rim can ruin it. I received comments like, “There’s a tire shop right by where you got your flat. Why didn’t you stop there?” and “You should have pulled over until I could get to you.”

My bad. Being the adventurous type, I was sure I could make it, especially with my emergency blinkers on.

I was wrong. The front right tire went completely flat as I was driving, with a metallic clink-clink, on the rim.

I suppose I might have lied and said the tire went flat right before arriving home. Then the blame wouldn’t have fallen on me. Unfortunately, I’m usually honest (with some exceptions) and told the truth.

You can’t imagine the wrath I endured from my mother. Luckily, it lasted a short time and she seemed to forgive me, though she said I would be responsible for the cost of a new rim. (We’ll see about that.)

This little story reminds me of the few other “accidents” and police pullovers I’ve endured over the years I’ve been driving.

My first memory of a motor vehicle mishap occurred when I was 16 years old. I was driving in front of a school bus when my muffler (which was already loose) fell off. The bus had to stop as I tried to figure out how to pick up the burning-hot muffler and put it in my trunk. I finally mustered my problem-solving skills, took my windshield sunscreen, wrapped around the muffler and stuck it in the trunk as fast as I was able. I’m sure the kids on the bus were thoroughly amused.

My second mishap occurred while on the way to a Quiz Bowl tournament when I was 16 (funny how so many of my mishaps occurred then.) It was still dark and, because I had gotten my license only a year before, I was not adept at backing up and there was a deep ditch on either side of the driveway. Because it was still dark outside, I backed up directly into the ditch. Because this was my first infraction, my parents spared me their wrath.

My third and fourth mishaps included police intervention. Unfortunately, I used to be one of those people who texted while driving. Or else I’d be changing the song on my iPod. So there I was, swerving merrily along 171 North towards home when two police cars with flashing lights pulled me over. You can imagine how terrified I was. They even had a K-9 unit.

“Have you been drinking, ma’am?” the police officer asked.

“No, sir,” I said.

“Are you carrying narcotics in this vehicle?”

“No, sir, and you’re free to check.”

I suppose my offer convinced him that I was an honest woman. Especially once I admitted that I had been texting while driving. He, sweet man, gave me a warning and sent me along my way.

The fourth mishap is very much like the third. I got pulled over for swerving and asked the same questions. (I’m really not a bad driver. It’s technology … technology, I tell you, that’s to blame!) So I flashed my pearly white smile and said “yes, sir” and “thank you, sir” and was free to go along my merry way.

(Note: Do not text while driving. While I was lucky, you may not be. It’s dangerous. People die that way. I no longer do it and I suggest you don’t either. Pull over if the message is that important.)

One last warning: Do not speed on Fertita Boulevard as you approach Byrd Regional Hospital. Police cars often lie in wait for anyone going over the 15 mph speed zone. I know this because I got pulled over and no amount of batting my eyes or flashing my smile could get me out of a $200 ticket. Why spend money on a speeding ticket when you can buy clothes from department stores, shoes or a fancy dinner at an expensive restaurant?

I leave it to you. When you speed, you might get to your designation five or six minutes sooner. Is a ticket worth five minutes? I think not.

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Chai latte...yum
by MBRrr808
Mar 07, 2012 | 298 views | 0 0 comments | 3 3 recommendations | email to a friend | print | permalink

It’s 10 a.m. and all is well with me: I have a warm cup of chai latte in my possession and am, in the following order, wondering a) how do they make it taste so good? b) where can I buy Tazo chai concentrate? (I just found out and bought some) c) how many calories are in this thing? and d) the milk is giving me some good protein, so hey, what could be bad about drinking this frothy, spicy brew from the gods?

I could look the caloric intake up, but that would destroy the Zen buzz I’ve gotten from the spices and the warm milk. Perhaps it wasn’t the best choice, drinking warm milk in the morning at work. But if there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s making impulsive choices to please myself. So hold on a second while I take another sip of my tea.

Ah … there.

On another tangent, for those of you who like to give things up for Lent (going on now, you know) consider giving up soda. About six weeks ago, I stopped drinking any soda — even diet soda — and I thought it would be the hardest thing I’d ever done. I had rituals when it came to soda. I’d drink diet coke or diet pepsi during the day, splurge with a regular coke every couple of days, and drink a ginger ale every night before bedtime.

Six weeks later, I can honestly say that I don’t really miss soda at all. And just cutting soda out of my diet has taken unwanted pounds away. It’s a win-win situation, giving up soda: You stop drinking empty calories laced with sugar and lose a little weight while you’re at it.

Yes, I am right now at this moment drinking empty calories. Do as I say, not as I do. Seriously, though, I don’t run out and get a chai latte every day. It would be too expensive and I’m serious about sticking with crystal light and water. But giving everything up is sometimes hard, and every once in a while, in great moderation, splurging is no big deal.

Right?

 
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Stranger than strange
by MBRrr808
Mar 07, 2012 | 322 views | 0 0 comments | 5 5 recommendations | email to a friend | print | permalink

There’s no other way around it: I’m strange. I present, for your consideration, the following examples.

1.     Every few months I get intense cravings for different foods. A few years ago it was pickles. Then salad with vinaigrette dressing. Then tomatoes. Then sushi. Now it’s a Reese’s Sonic blast. Of course, I won’t act on this particular craving. It would be craven of me. Heh.

2.     Every blue moon I develop the drive to clean my room and for a few days, it is spotless. Then clothes begin littering the floor, as do books, magazines and shoes. I think I’ve forgotten what a hanger looks like.

3.     I will buy a perfume or body spray because I’m in love with the scent, only to find, a few days later, that I can’t stand it.

4.     Because of my training in poetry, I often lull myself to sleep by reciting poems by Emily Dickinson in my head. If that’s not strange, what is?

5.     Though I consider myself highly educated, I’m superstitious. I have to “knock on wood” whenever I say something I don’t want to happen. And it has to be real wood … not that fake wood you find in some cars and cheap furniture.

6.     I learned to write words backwards so that, when you put the paper up to a mirror, it reads the right way. I don’t know why I began doing this; I guess I thought it was a talent not many possessed. Now I just think it’s weird. Yet I keep on doing it. It’s my little circus trick.

I could go on, but I won’t, lest you think I’m even stranger than strange. And we all have our little idiosyncrasies, don’t we? Or am I truly neurotic? I prefer the former: We all have little rituals, some embarrassing, some wholesome, and whether or not we admit them to the world is our choice. I freely admit mine.

Enjoy.

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Musing 1 (An Introduction)
by MBRrr808
Feb 15, 2012 | 268 views | 0 0 comments | 3 3 recommendations | email to a friend | print | permalink

Introductory note: This being my first blog, I was unsure as to how to "break the ice." So I talked a lot about myself. That may or may not be a regular feature, depending on how interesting I find myself on any given day. So here goes.

I’m a poet (and I know it) so I am liable to romanticize and philosophize. I attended Centenary College of Louisiana with a double degree in English and music and then the Ohio State University, where I earned my Master of Fine Arts in creative writing. So bear with me if I wax poetical or muse a bit too much. But that’s what a blog is for.

At the same time, I’m extremely interested in novels (especially 19 th century books like “Jane Eyre” and “Middlemarch”) — but don’t hold that against me. I also enjoy television, more than I should. For some reason, “Wife Swap” intrigues me and “Say Yes to the Dress” is a slight addiction. I also believe HBO’s “Six Feet Under” and “True Blood” are some of the best shows ever made.

So you see, my interests are varied.

Most people think poetry is dead or that it must rhyme. (Another thing about me — I switch subjects at whim. That makes things interesting.) Far from it, though: Poetry is alive and well. Song lyrics are a type of poetry and many people memorize those lyrics. Poets are writing today and a lucky few find success.

In the 19 th century, the poet Emily Dickinson wrote only for herself. Perhaps we should all do creative things for no other reason but that it’s edifying and makes us grow as people. Before her death, Dickinson ordered her sister to burn her correspondence and her poetry; luckily for the world, her sister disobeyed her.

It’s funny the way things happen.

This blog, as it progresses, will cover a number of subjects besides books and poetry. I’d like to muse on the stories I cover, the ones that make even a seasoned reporter cry. I’ll muse, every once in a while, on current events, on music, on dogs, on food. (Speaking of food, Chinese food sounds very good to me right now.) It will be a hodge-podge, and that’s just the way I like it. Just like I like Sephora (for the unschooled, a beautiful store that sells cosmetics, perfumes and prettifying stuff. My fellow blogee Jennifer Fell will probably speak more on it)  and my Macbook Pro. (Once you go Mac you really can’t go back.)

 

P.S. I love parentheses.

 

Short bio:

Rachel Reischling enjoys classic novels, Mozart and is addicted to buying face cream to combat any wrinkles that may come someday. From time to time, she writes poetry and listens to music, ranging from Nirvana to Renaissance music. She hates milk, though it has good protein but will do anything for cake or first editions of books she loves. She used to sing, but like running a mile, if you don’t use it, you lose it. To end, “carpe diem,” or "seize the day" is a good philosophy, so long as it isn’t raining, wifi is working or you’re forced to dry mop the hardwood floor.

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