K, last one for now – this one's about Bernie, my blind and diabetic dog :)
My dog has issues. A lot of them. Really – Old Yeller has nothing on Bernie.
She was born a characteristically cute puppy – a wet, jet-black nose, big brown eyes and (most lovably) a curled, wagging tail. She was perfect.
Bernie’s tail was like her own personality thermometer: if it was up, she was happy; if it was down, she was upset or scared.
When we took her to the dog park, Bernie was in her element. She’d get every dog in the park to chase her, and she’d outrun them all.
In the car, she loved sticking her head out the window. Her hair would sleek back around her face, her floppy ears flapping in the wind, and she’d enter doggy heaven.
But things took a turn for the worse when Bernie turned three. She was eating more and more food, but lost about nine pounds – a third of her weight.
We eventually discovered she suffered from Pancreatic Enzymatic Insufficiency, a disease that basically prevented her from digesting food. The more she scarfed, the more she starved.
After the diagnosis, we were told of its lasting effects: she could never have a dog treat or bone again (the rawhide hurt her stomach), and we had to soak her kibble with powdered enzymes every day before feeding her, so she could effectively digest it.
While it took her a while to understand that she couldn’t have Pupperoni or Beggin’ Strips anymore, she was OK. Her health was impacted, her jet-black nose grayed a little and dried up a bit.
But her curly tail kept wagging.
Fast-forward two years: Bernie doesn’t come into the house when we called her in for the night. After trying for a few minutes, we went outside to see what was wrong. We found her lying down on our lawn chair, totally incapable of standing up.
We carried her in for the night, unsure about what was ahead.
The next day, the vet gave the diagnosis: diabetes. Yes – doggy diabetes.
Now we had to give her a shot of insulin every morning, followed by her consolation treat – Goldfish crackers. At least she could digest something.
Bernie is 13-years-old now: her walks have become drags, she’s lost some control of her bowels, she smells. Her once big, brown eyes have been clouded and blinded by diabetic cataracts; running into walls, furniture and people is commonplace now.
Like Bernie, some of us have been dealt a bad hand in life. We can’t control this.
We may find ourselves questioning, “Why me?” But we need to learn as a culture to accept that there are some parts of life we can control, and some we cannot.
Trials and tragedy may bog us down, make us wonder what we’re living for.
But there is always something to live for. We need to be like Bernie. Bernie lives for Goldfish crackers and belly-rubs and car rides.
And, through it all, her curly tail is still wagging.
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Gratitude Opinion
So here's a column I started writing about thanksgiving time about being grateful for what we have. It was published in the December issue of the Gazette
Too many newspaper columns nitpick the negative. I’ll admit, I’ve written my fair share of rants and criticisms since I began writing for The Gazette over three years ago.
In fact, it has been some time that I’ve read a purely positive column: no rebukes, no cautions, no reprimands.
I intend to change that. You’ve read enough about the problems of our country. As we head into this holiday season, let’s focus on what is good in this world.
Let’s be grateful that we are led by an elected President, not a dictator.
Let’s be grateful that we live in a country piloted by a government that tries, despite some failures, to make our dreams achievable.
Let’s be grateful that we can legally petition that same government to make those dreams even more realistic.
Let’s be grateful for a school where crime is scarce.
Let’s be grateful for a community where roads are paved, houses are sturdy and food is plentiful.
Let’s be grateful for cell phones that let us communicate our successes, our sorrows and our souls with our parents or best friends.
Let’s be grateful for warm beds, cool nights and twinkling stars.
Let’s be grateful to our parents or caretakers for raising us to become respectable adults, despite our tireless objections.
Let’s be grateful for healthy bodies and intelligent minds.
Let’s be grateful for teachers who made reading this column possible; who taught us to question what we’re told, to expand our minds, to broaden our horizons.
Let’s be grateful for hot chocolate on a winter day and ice-cold lemonade on a summer day.
Let’s be grateful for the extracurricular opportunities we are afforded: baseball, choir, track, band, water polo, student government, volleyball, IB, lacrosse, GBiT, media, golf, swimming, softball, academic decathlon, speech and debate, basketball, football, yearbook, cross-country, and drama.
Let’s be grateful for smiles, for sparkling eyes, for laughter.
Let’s be grateful for hardships we overcome that prove our strength; let us also be grateful for hardships we don’t overcome that keep us humble.
Let’s be grateful for umbrellas when we want to avoid the rain and for rain boots when we don’t.
Let’s be grateful for hard times that allow us to appreciate good times.
True, the Healthcare crisis is heated as ever, the economy hasn’t recovered yet, war still rages across the world – there’s so much to be concerned about in this world. But we shouldn’t let worry overwhelm us: conflicts will resolve, arguments will settle, hate will give way to understanding.
We have so much to be thankful for – let’s not let pessimism consume optimism.
Too many newspaper columns nitpick the negative. I’ll admit, I’ve written my fair share of rants and criticisms since I began writing for The Gazette over three years ago.
In fact, it has been some time that I’ve read a purely positive column: no rebukes, no cautions, no reprimands.
I intend to change that. You’ve read enough about the problems of our country. As we head into this holiday season, let’s focus on what is good in this world.
Let’s be grateful that we are led by an elected President, not a dictator.
Let’s be grateful that we live in a country piloted by a government that tries, despite some failures, to make our dreams achievable.
Let’s be grateful that we can legally petition that same government to make those dreams even more realistic.
Let’s be grateful for a school where crime is scarce.
Let’s be grateful for a community where roads are paved, houses are sturdy and food is plentiful.
Let’s be grateful for cell phones that let us communicate our successes, our sorrows and our souls with our parents or best friends.
Let’s be grateful for warm beds, cool nights and twinkling stars.
Let’s be grateful to our parents or caretakers for raising us to become respectable adults, despite our tireless objections.
Let’s be grateful for healthy bodies and intelligent minds.
Let’s be grateful for teachers who made reading this column possible; who taught us to question what we’re told, to expand our minds, to broaden our horizons.
Let’s be grateful for hot chocolate on a winter day and ice-cold lemonade on a summer day.
Let’s be grateful for the extracurricular opportunities we are afforded: baseball, choir, track, band, water polo, student government, volleyball, IB, lacrosse, GBiT, media, golf, swimming, softball, academic decathlon, speech and debate, basketball, football, yearbook, cross-country, and drama.
Let’s be grateful for smiles, for sparkling eyes, for laughter.
Let’s be grateful for hardships we overcome that prove our strength; let us also be grateful for hardships we don’t overcome that keep us humble.
Let’s be grateful for umbrellas when we want to avoid the rain and for rain boots when we don’t.
Let’s be grateful for hard times that allow us to appreciate good times.
True, the Healthcare crisis is heated as ever, the economy hasn’t recovered yet, war still rages across the world – there’s so much to be concerned about in this world. But we shouldn’t let worry overwhelm us: conflicts will resolve, arguments will settle, hate will give way to understanding.
We have so much to be thankful for – let’s not let pessimism consume optimism.
Garden Opinion
So i'm trying to catch you all up on my opinion pieces from the past year. Here's one I wrote about my garden:
I can still remember my first garden.
It started out with my 8-year-old eyes looking with wonder at the flower arrangement my dad got for my mom on their anniversary, an Edenic arrangement of two dozen roses and baby’s breath. I wanted to grow flowers like that so I could arrange two dozen roses for my mom (At that point, I had no conception of what skill and time was required for such a feat.) It was for mom, so there wouldn’t be any problems.
All I knew was that my mom enjoyed two dozen roses more than she enjoyed two dozen toys strewn across the playroom.
We had just finished pouring a cement retaining wall for our vegetable garden, which would conveniently be absolutely perfect for my flower garden. My mom said I could plant a few flowers on the right side of our fancy cement garden if I’d like.
But I don’t think she understood.
I wanted to be a true artist with my flowers, and true artists should get to use the whole garden. I was an ant who wanted the entire Amazon jungle to himself.
After a careful evaluation of my situation, I decided that I had to start somewhere, and that somewhere might have to be the back-right corner of our vegetable garden.
My family took an outing to Sierra Gardening and Nursery to pick out what would go into our garden. We picked up our rusted wagon that couldn’t quite roll in a straight line and set out to populate our garden.
Tomatoes, those would be excellent for our garden.
Hmmm, cucumbers would be delicious (When are we going to the flower section, mom?) We’ll go in a minute. Don’t worry.
We finally got there, the fabulous flower section. What should I get? What would look good? (I want to put roses in the garden, mom.) But roses would require intensive care and time, as would the rest of my flowers.
I finally settled on some zinnias and chrysanthemums. I didn’t know what they were or what it would take to culture their growth, but I wasn’t concerned – it was for mom, so there wouldn’t be any problems.
As we were checking out, we saw packages of Morning Glory seeds near the register. Those would be perfect to finish off my (well, my family’s) garden; a wall of vines and flowers to provide a backdrop to my “Secret Garden” – I suggested putting a bench with a secret compartment in the seat, too, but that didn’t sound like a very good idea to my parents, so Morning Glories would have to do.
We all piled in our Honda minivan and drove home to plant the veggies and, more importantly, the flowers.
I set to work with enthusiasm and gusto, my little hands covered with oversized gardening gloves, my little fingers squishing the moist dirt to make a hole for the precious flowers, my little face breaking a miniature sweat.
But I wasn’t prepared at all for what was required to plant my flowers. I was a 100-meter sprinter setting out for a 50-mile marathon. I sprinted with all my might…for about 15 minutes.
Then the heat of the day, the overwhelming task before me, and the time required all set in the pit of my stomach, like that feeling I get now when I lose my keys or my wallet.
I planted my few flowers, even helped out a bit with the planting of the tomatoes and cucumbers and simply ran out of steam.
My mom took me inside and gave me a glass of ice-cold milk. It tasted so good.
Maybe just the back-right corner of the garden would be OK.
So nowadays when I get enthused on a certain subject, I go back to wanting the whole garden – anything less would only limit me, right?
But what I always discover is that while a feeling of limitation can annoyingly nibble at my heels, an overwhelming blank canvas swallows me whole. I end up exhausted and frustrated at my inability to fill it up with my limited supply of creative juice.
I inevitably find myself watching pitifully as my “get up and go” gets up and goes.
I’ve learned it’s OK to settle for the back-right corner of your dream, because sometimes anything more is just distracting white noise.
I can still remember my first garden.
It started out with my 8-year-old eyes looking with wonder at the flower arrangement my dad got for my mom on their anniversary, an Edenic arrangement of two dozen roses and baby’s breath. I wanted to grow flowers like that so I could arrange two dozen roses for my mom (At that point, I had no conception of what skill and time was required for such a feat.) It was for mom, so there wouldn’t be any problems.
All I knew was that my mom enjoyed two dozen roses more than she enjoyed two dozen toys strewn across the playroom.
We had just finished pouring a cement retaining wall for our vegetable garden, which would conveniently be absolutely perfect for my flower garden. My mom said I could plant a few flowers on the right side of our fancy cement garden if I’d like.
But I don’t think she understood.
I wanted to be a true artist with my flowers, and true artists should get to use the whole garden. I was an ant who wanted the entire Amazon jungle to himself.
After a careful evaluation of my situation, I decided that I had to start somewhere, and that somewhere might have to be the back-right corner of our vegetable garden.
My family took an outing to Sierra Gardening and Nursery to pick out what would go into our garden. We picked up our rusted wagon that couldn’t quite roll in a straight line and set out to populate our garden.
Tomatoes, those would be excellent for our garden.
Hmmm, cucumbers would be delicious (When are we going to the flower section, mom?) We’ll go in a minute. Don’t worry.
We finally got there, the fabulous flower section. What should I get? What would look good? (I want to put roses in the garden, mom.) But roses would require intensive care and time, as would the rest of my flowers.
I finally settled on some zinnias and chrysanthemums. I didn’t know what they were or what it would take to culture their growth, but I wasn’t concerned – it was for mom, so there wouldn’t be any problems.
As we were checking out, we saw packages of Morning Glory seeds near the register. Those would be perfect to finish off my (well, my family’s) garden; a wall of vines and flowers to provide a backdrop to my “Secret Garden” – I suggested putting a bench with a secret compartment in the seat, too, but that didn’t sound like a very good idea to my parents, so Morning Glories would have to do.
We all piled in our Honda minivan and drove home to plant the veggies and, more importantly, the flowers.
I set to work with enthusiasm and gusto, my little hands covered with oversized gardening gloves, my little fingers squishing the moist dirt to make a hole for the precious flowers, my little face breaking a miniature sweat.
But I wasn’t prepared at all for what was required to plant my flowers. I was a 100-meter sprinter setting out for a 50-mile marathon. I sprinted with all my might…for about 15 minutes.
Then the heat of the day, the overwhelming task before me, and the time required all set in the pit of my stomach, like that feeling I get now when I lose my keys or my wallet.
I planted my few flowers, even helped out a bit with the planting of the tomatoes and cucumbers and simply ran out of steam.
My mom took me inside and gave me a glass of ice-cold milk. It tasted so good.
Maybe just the back-right corner of the garden would be OK.
So nowadays when I get enthused on a certain subject, I go back to wanting the whole garden – anything less would only limit me, right?
But what I always discover is that while a feeling of limitation can annoyingly nibble at my heels, an overwhelming blank canvas swallows me whole. I end up exhausted and frustrated at my inability to fill it up with my limited supply of creative juice.
I inevitably find myself watching pitifully as my “get up and go” gets up and goes.
I’ve learned it’s OK to settle for the back-right corner of your dream, because sometimes anything more is just distracting white noise.
"Popular" music is gross
Here's an opinion column published in the last issue of the Gazette. The chart numbers the alcohol&drug, sexual, and curse word references in the top 15 downloaded songs from the last 3 years. Just so you know, the italicized words in the opinion are song titles of the latest "popular" music:
Sometimes I feel like I need a Sweet Escape from today’s music.
Maybe you don’t realize it, but our music (judged on the top five downloads of the past 3 years) has an average of three sexual references per song.
Shocking, isn’t it?
Many people say, “It’s only lyrics. They don’t affect me anyway, right?”
Wrong.
Test yourself: have you ever found it really Hard to get a song out of your head? No matter how much you try to forget about it, it seems to keep Replaying over and over again?
I know I have, and I Gotta Feeling that every one of you reading this has had a song stuck in your head before.
Music is powerful. Have you ever been listening to a song then looked down at your feet, realizing that they have been tapping along without you consciously realizing it?
Any force that can physically affect us is powerful and potentially dangerous.
I am appalled and amazed at music’s ability to affect students dancing at Granite Bay High School dances.
Let’s have an imaginary interview. Would you Get Low with your “friend” for 30 minutes straight during lunch in the middle of the quad?
…No, that’s gross and offensive…
Watcha Say you Get Low with your “friend” for a few hours in the cafeteria?
…Yeah!, let’s Just Dance the night away…
Imma B honest with you: this is pathetic.
Popular music drives people to do what they shouldn’t. It lowers our inhibitions Down to the point that it changes who we are.
Popular music is ugly.
Popular music is sleazy.
Popular music is downright gross.
And those lyrics we listen to will stay with us forever. How many of you found yourself singing the songs whose titles I snuck into this column?
Most of you were probably singing them at least One Time…
I rest my case.
Maybe you don’t realize it, but our music (judged on the top five downloads of the past 3 years) has an average of three sexual references per song.
Shocking, isn’t it?
Many people say, “It’s only lyrics. They don’t affect me anyway, right?”
Wrong.
Test yourself: have you ever found it really Hard to get a song out of your head? No matter how much you try to forget about it, it seems to keep Replaying over and over again?
I know I have, and I Gotta Feeling that every one of you reading this has had a song stuck in your head before.
Music is powerful. Have you ever been listening to a song then looked down at your feet, realizing that they have been tapping along without you consciously realizing it?
Any force that can physically affect us is powerful and potentially dangerous.
I am appalled and amazed at music’s ability to affect students dancing at Granite Bay High School dances.
Let’s have an imaginary interview. Would you Get Low with your “friend” for 30 minutes straight during lunch in the middle of the quad?
…No, that’s gross and offensive…
Watcha Say you Get Low with your “friend” for a few hours in the cafeteria?
…Yeah!, let’s Just Dance the night away…
Imma B honest with you: this is pathetic.
Popular music drives people to do what they shouldn’t. It lowers our inhibitions Down to the point that it changes who we are.
Popular music is ugly.
Popular music is sleazy.
Popular music is downright gross.
And those lyrics we listen to will stay with us forever. How many of you found yourself singing the songs whose titles I snuck into this column?
Most of you were probably singing them at least One Time…
I rest my case.
Monday, February 8, 2010
I'm bored :(
So I'm having a flashback to when I was 8 years old. I'd go up to my mom on a daily basis and, with a nerf gun in one hand and legos in the other, complain, "Mommy, I'm bored. What can I do?" The answer was almost always either "Call a friend," or "You have lots of things to do!"
So here I am, typing on my blog asking the same question. I've called all my friends, and they're either out of town, in college, sick, or not answering their phones...
I guess I'll just go play with Legos or something... :)
So here I am, typing on my blog asking the same question. I've called all my friends, and they're either out of town, in college, sick, or not answering their phones...
I guess I'll just go play with Legos or something... :)
Thursday, October 8, 2009
Chopin's Revolutionary Etude
K, so i'm starting a new piano piece which I absolutely LOVE!!! It's the famous revolutionary etude by Chopin. If you haven't heard it, follow this url, it is so pretty and complex!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C-VjFKLCKwM&feature=related
I have the first page down (a little slower, of course :P) and have only had it since tuesday. SO pretty!
Joseppi
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C-VjFKLCKwM&feature=related
I have the first page down (a little slower, of course :P) and have only had it since tuesday. SO pretty!
Joseppi
Thursday, September 24, 2009
ACT scores
Hey, a short post today, but I just opened our mail and got my ACT score: 34! Love you all!
Joseppi
Joseppi
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