War Dance

The Rebels tear homes apart
As war rages in Uganda, Africa.
It leaves families destroyed,
Parents, brothers, sisters,
Relatives, separated. Alone.
People are forced to live
In government camps,
Overflowing, for safety.
We hear part of their testimonies.

A young girl named Rose
Tells her story to the camera…
She says she hid with siblings
In the bush outside her home,
While the Rebels grabbed her parents
From their bed, demanding to know
Where the children were.
Rose heard her mother deny
That she was such,
Before they were taken.
Three days later, the children
Were found by soldiers in the bush.
They begged and pleaded,
“Where are my parents?
Where is my mother?”
The soldiers took them to a tree
On the edge of the African horizon.
The group brought there, is told
To identify their relatives.
A soldier begins lifting heads
Out of a large cooking pot.
Rose falls crying as she sees her mother,
In a way no child should.

A young boy (name unknown)
Hears of the capture of a Rebel
By a military camp nearby.
He travels on foot one morning,
Miles through the dangerous bush,
And speaks with a Lieutenant,
Requesting a moment with the Rebel.
The wish is granted.
He sits near his greatest enemy,
To ask a question.
“Have you seen my brother?
Is he still alive?”
They converse for a moment,
A tear runs down the boy’s face,
Streaking the dirt.
His brother drove a bicycle taxi
And the Rebel confirms that
All drivers were killed.
It was orders.
He goes on to explain to the child
That each Rebel moves up in ranks
By capturing children or killing.
It builds the army, he says.
The boy thanks him,
And leaves.

The Acholi tribe children cling to music.
It brings them peace
In the face of war.
They practice singing and dance;
Some play instruments
Made of wood and strings.
Together, they dream of winning
The National Music Competition
In Kampala, a peaceful city.
For many, traveling to Kampala
It will be their first time
Out of war.

Before their journey, two days away from
The government protected camp,
The children receive matching uniforms
In royal blue and yellow.
The young boy scrubs his skin clean
With soap and water,
Before he puts his on.
Then he sits for hours in the hot sun,
Practicing his wooden xylophone.

As the children of the Acholi tribe
Climb onto the trucks and busses,
Headed to compete,
The village cheers and waves.
The music teacher addresses them,
Assures them to be confident.
“This is not where our story ends.”

The Calendars

There are calendars in our house
So we know which day it is.
Station day or home day?
Upstairs, in our bedroom,
Each number is color coded
On the calendar every three days
In three different shades:
Red, blue, green.
A shift, B shift, C shift.
My husband has been on A shift
Since we met six years ago.
He was promoted to Engineer
Over the summertime,
And transferred to a new station,
But he’s still on A shift.

Downstairs, the freezer door
Holds a dry erase board.
We wipe it clean each month,
Carefully writing the days
In black, always sure to add
The little red F’s in the bottom,
Right-hand corners.
Station day or home day?

Those red numbers and letter
Affect me as they do him.
So many questions are answered
By looking at the calendar.
Station day or home day?
Will I eat alone for breakfast,
Lunch and dinner, huddled
In the corner near the sink
Because the table is too big
To bare sit at alone?
Will my conversations go
Unanswered by the pets
Who keep me company?
Will I call my mom too much
To hear another voice
Who just gets it? Understands?
Will I sleep alone in the middle
Of a queen-sized empty bed?
Maybe, today is a station day.

My cell phone is life,
In multiple ways.
If it rings from a call or text,
It means he’s alive and ok, probably bored,
Cause it’s a slow day, this station day.
A quiet phone means calls,
The ones made over the radio
By a dispatcher requesting Engine 201,
Assistance needed. He’s driving.
To structure fires, wrecks with entrapment,
Brush fires, medical aid needed,
The list goes on and on.
So do my worries.

When I meet new people,
Who ask me what I do,
I’m not sure how to answer them.
I attend College of Charleston, yes,
And I work part time at a pizza place, yes,
But the biggest responsibility I have,
I signed on for in May.
I am a firefighter’s wife.
I depend on the calendar.
Station day or home day?

Station one sometimes gets lonely,
He tells me this.
It’s a small station, manned
Only by a handful of firefighters.
They each have separate living space,
Which is a big deal.
They all eat at the same time
And watch movies together at night,
But during the day, on a slow day,
They part ways to entertain themselves.
We talk for a bit, about the past
And our future, and I don’t mind it so much,
The station days.

I never thought I’d be married
And in college at the same time.
The plan, my plan,
Always was college first,
Then a good, well-paying job,
Marriage and family.
So I did it a little out of order.
So what? Plans change.
I am so very proud of us,
Of my husband and all he does,
Of all the support I didn’t know
That I had to give.
Of all we manage to squeeze
Into our lives, onto our calendars.
We live our lives by the calendars,
The shaded numbers and red f’s.
I forget, is tomorrow
A station day or a home day?

Goodbye in Caviar & Banana's

Scene by Mandy & Brandon
INT CAVIAR & BANANAS – LUNCH TIME

PEOPLE ARE MILLING AROUND LOOKING AT MENUS IN VARIOUS PARTS OF THE SHOP. A PAIR OF MEN SIT NEAR THE WINE RACK SPEAKING IN A FOREIGN TONGUE, DEBATING SOMETHING, GESTURING. BARISTAS STRAIGHTEN THE DISPLAY RACKS AND JARS, HELPING CUSTOMERS FIND THE CORRECT ORDER. CHEFS IN THE REAR OF THE STORE CALL OUT ORDER NUMBERS AS THEY ARE PREPARED. IT IS THE LAST DAY OF CLASSES AT COLLEGE OF CHARLESTON AND SAMANTHA HAS JUST FINISHED PACKING TO GO ON A BACKPACKING TRIP TO ALASKA BUT SHE IS MEETING HER BEST FRIEND, GEORGE, WHO IS MOVING TO NEW YORK TO WORK BEFORE GRAD SCHOOL, AT CAVIAR & BANANAS FIRST.

SAMANTHA IS ALREADY HOLDING HER CAVIAR & BANANA WRAP AND BRAND WATER BOTTLE. SHE IS LOOKING FOR A COUNTER SPACE TO EAT. GEORGE COMES IN.

GEORGE:
Wow, you already ordered. That was fast. I thought we were eating together?

SAMANTHA:
We are, but I have to catch my plane soon. A month in Alaska George! I’m so excited but I have no idea what I’ll need so I’ve packed everything.

GEORGE:
Definitely add something warm. I Googled last night for you, cause I know you wouldn’t, and the high right now in Alaska is 24 degrees.

STUNNED, SAMANTHA SITS QUIETLY FOR A MOMENT.

SAMANTHA:
A high of 24? Maybe I should’ve gone to New Zealand.

GEORGE:
No, you wanted to see the polar bears and Northern Lights remember? All the pictures you wanted to take?

SAMANTHA:
Yeah, but 24 is cold. Anyway, did you talk to your roommates yet? You were supposed to Skype with them yesterday right?

GEORGE IS MOVING IN THREE DAYS AND FOUND ROOMMATES ON CRAIGSLIST WHOM HE’S NEVER MET TO SHARE THE APARTMENT HE’S RENTING.

GEORGE:
I was supposed to yeah, but the power went out on their block to we couldn’t. I’ll be meeting them in three days anyway so it’s ok. I’m sure it’ll be fine.

SAMANTHA:
Go get something to eat and I’ll grab the counter by the window that just freed up.

GEORGE:
Ok, I’ll be right back.

SAMANTHA SITS IN FRONT OF THE WINDOW AND BEGINS TO EAT HER WRAP AS GEORGE GOES TO GET APPLE JUICE AND THE CHEESE TOASTIE. WHEN HE RETURNS, HE SITS ON SAMANTHA’S LEFT AND SPOTS THE BICYCLERS WHO JUST STOPPED OUTSIDE.

GEORGE:
Oh my gosh. Those guys would make Lance Armstrong proud.

SAMANTHA:
Seriously! All those bright colors and look at his crazy helmet!

GEORGE:
Stop giggling! They’re coming in.

THEY TRY TO KEEP STRAIGHT FACES AS TWO BRIGHTLY DRESSED BIKERS COME IN WEARING EXTREMELY TIGHT SPANDEX CLOTHING, HOLDING THEIR SPECIALLY DESIGNED AERODYNAMIC HELMETS.

SAMANTHA:
I have got to get a picture! Tell me when he’s not looking.

GEORGE EVER SO CASUALLY TURNS AND PEEKS AT THE MENU IN FRONT OF THE BIKERS.

GEORGE:
Take it now! They’re paying for whatever they got.

SAMANTHA SNEAKS HER PHONE OVER HER SHOULDER AND SNAPS A QUICK PHOTO.

SAMANTHA:
Rebecca would never believe this unless I got a photo.

GEORGE:
Don’t you think it’s funny that you and your sister trade weird photos instead of just talking to each other?

SAMANTHA:
No. It’s just the kind of relationship we have.

HAVING FINISHED THEIR LUNCHES, GEORGE AND SAMANTHA PAUSE REALIZING SHE IS ABOUT TO GET ON A PLANE AND FLY ACROSS THE COUNTRY IN JUST A FEW HOURS.

GEORGE:
Do you need some help getting to the airport? I can give you a ride? Help you on the plane?

SAMANTHA:
Actually, yes. That would be great. I hadn’t figured how I was getting there yet.

GEORGE:
Of course you hadn’t.

SAMANTHA:
Well, don’t be mean. You offered after all. I can’t believe how many times I have to change flights.

THEY STAND UP AND GATHER THEIR TRASH BUT GEORGE PAUSES BEFORE WALKING TO THE CAN.

GEORGE:
I’m gonna miss your ditzyness.

SAMANTHA:
I’m gonna miss… just you. You help me keep my life in order George.

GEORGE:
I know.

HE SMILES AND WALKS TOWARD THE DOOR HOLDING IT OPEN FOR HER. THEY WALK DOWN THE STREET TOWARD SAMANTHA’S APARTMENT.

Let’s go put your crap in the Subaru. How many suitcases did you pack?

SAMANTHA:
One giant backpack… and a few smaller ones.

GEORGE:
And you have no plans as to where you’re gonna stay?

SAMANTHA:
Nope, not after the first three nights. That’s what makes it fun though! It wouldn’t be backpacking if I stayed in hotels the whole month.

GEORGE:
True. Just be careful. And let me know when you get to know Connecticut in June or July.

SAMANTHA:
You know I will. I’ll want to show you all my pictures of polar bears and lights.

END SCENE

George Street Observer Opinion Article

What’s the deal with textbooks?
The background information you may not know

As a College of Charleston student, I have spent a few thousand on school textbooks in the last three years. My freshman year, my family, unknowingly of the loopholes of the internet bookstores, purchased all of my books from the campus bookstore for a shocking $800. At times I have been required to purchase as many as seven books for one class, only to be told at the end of the semester that little or none of them are being bought back since newer editions have been printed. Buying my textbooks this semester, I wondered why they cost so much, where the money goes, and why doesn’t the campus just cut out the middle man (the bookstore) and supply students with books like in middle and high schools?

Using my own textbook purchases as an average example, a fifteen hour or full time student pays around $200 a semester for textbooks. Taking a moment to do the math, anyone would realize that the school makes a ton of money from the bookstore purchases. Who determines the cost of textbooks is generally the publishers but why prices vary from store to internet store specifically is unknown. Barns and Noble Bookstore Manager Rebecca Gray notes, “In addition to all aspects of textbooks, we provide school supplies, dorm room supplies, gift items, school spirit clothing and a general reading section (for the students).”

But where does the money from those purchases go? “The Bookstore has been involved in charitable organizations in the Charleston community and we contribute to the College of Charleston's scholarship and athletic programs,” Gray says. I suppose if students wanted their money to go anywhere it would be back into the school they attend. Orientation programs, graduation, the College Reads program, homecoming, family weekend, student government and admissions events are all partially, if not fully, funded by money the bookstore brings in.

I personally feel that since all college students are now paying for their education, unlike public high schools, some items, such as textbooks, should be included with the tuition. It would be pretty simple for the bookstore to act as a supervisor in the distribution of textbooks at the start of the semester according to an individual’s class schedule and collect them at the end, instead of buying them back. If students don’t return the books, they’d be charged a credit against the school to be paid back before graduation. Though the bookstore has returned “roughly $600,000 in cash” to CofC students in the last two buy-back cycles according to Gray, many books were denied purchase because they weren’t on the retail buyback program which holds a list from professors requesting a certain book for their class the next semester. Gray mentions that she requests professors reuse older editions and send in their list as soon as possible to help the process.

The new Barnes and Noble bookstore at CofC has added a rental program to the College that is in some cases cheaper than renting or buying online. Rentals from any location are a student’s best friend because they cost less and avoid the process of selling books back. “This has proven to be a very popular option with our students,” Gray says.

Amanda Graham - Opinions Columnist

A Valentine's Bouquet

There must be fifteen purple roses
Nestled neatly into that vase.
Matured and fat, the deep, wide petals
Open upon each other layer over layer,
The moss green stems trimmed slimly,
Soft to the touch, free of harsh thorns.

They contrast sharply when added to
The bright, freckled white lilies,
A few still closed in tight bulbs,
Creating a clean canvas for colors.
The few spread flowers flow, pointing,
In many different directions.

Voluptuous pink peonies are crowded in
Fighting for space and water.
The ample blossoms in faded cherry
Seem to infringe against the clear glass.
The misshapen blades draw the eye,
Daring it to find the center.

Last to enter the tall crystal holder,
Are sunshine shaded daisies.
Like melted butter, they blend in
And compose the bouquet with
An even blend of colors
Fitting for any Valentine.

The Pontiac, Toyota & Honda

Pulling into my driveway, I pause in thought.
Staring at the deep gray leather steering wheel
With the little divots designed for better gripping,
I reach out and trace the silver H centered over the horn.
I realize that I have spent a large chunk of my life,
Many hours totaling into days and more, in a vehicle.

As a kid I most noticed the fabric covered seats –
With the very intricate stitching,
Almost like the string had woven together
In some slow gliding, perfect waltz –
Or the hard material the doors were made of,
Whether my toy car could zoom on the armrest ledge.

The windows in the Pontiac van were always tinted and clean –
“Don’t put fingerprints on my clean windows!” –
Showing mostly the blue sky from such a low angle.
Seatbelts clicked into place before the gears shifted
And there was no fighting with siblings allowed,
(But it happened in quiet, twisted faces until one tattled.)

When I became a teenager, the gas gage and speedometer
Were all I bothered to study because both could, and would,
Get me into trouble from time to time in my Toyota SUV.
Driving around the school parking lot,
All the windows down with the radio and bass turned up,
Meant you were somebody important, somebody with wheels.

Wheels I spent every other Saturday afternoon polishing:
Cleaning black from the cracks in the rims before I shined the tires,
Vacuuming the dirt from friend’s shoes out of the dark carpet,
Dusting the dashboard free of dog hair and lint,
Washing the paint free of mud and waxing it in circles,
So that next week it would look good for a date.

I am silently grateful I have the big Honda SUV as an adult.
I’ve spent a large chunk of my life in family vehicles
But now I have the ability to choose the style that fits me.
I sit up high in fabric bucket seats, looking out the tinted windshield,
Behind sturdy doors painted a bright orange,
Watching the gas gage and speedometer closely.

After the groceries had been unloaded from the SUV in the driveway –
Where they had been stacked behind seats that will one day
Hold my own silent, face-making children,
Who will ride in many different vehicles themselves –
I stop, milk in my left hand, the fridge door handle in my right,
Trying to remember, When is the last time I had the oil changed?

Baby ducks

Almost can't believe I made my little friends to be eaten. :)

Pie Anyone??

Super easy to make Cherry and Berry Pies! Easy to make with extra cupcakes from other recipes!

Hello Cupcake! (part 2)

Hello Cupcake!

So, everyone knows I sometimes spend hours baking. I bake for family occations, friends requests, neighbors as thank yous, and firemen. But to those of you who haven't yet seen some of my creations... Here are the fuzzy monsters I made tonight. :) {Be aware Josh's photography is creative}