The Wrong Way

On vacation in the Northwest I decided to go for a walk today. I thought it would be nice to take Frogger to the historic downtown area just 2 and a half miles down the street. There are many old shops and landmarks there to see. My old ballet studio is located up one of the hills. I've driven the roads dozens of times but only a few times to actually take in the sights and feelings. As a plus, we were instructed to take a smaller road that ran parallel to the busy street that takes you to downtown. I loaded up the stroller and took off in high spirits.

Up the hill we walked on J street, searching for the small road. The further I climbed the more labored my breathing became. The back of my legs ached. It was such a large hill that it took all my willpower to keep climbing. Desperately I searched for my intended road, but it was no where in sight.At the top I made a few phone calls. I discovered to my utmost horror that I had in fact gone the wrong way.

Refusing to admit defeat I could not force myself to turn around. J street dead ended into W so I took off on W in the direction of downtown even though I did not know how to find it. W street was kinder than J had been. Instead of steep hills it was almost flat. I was able to catch my breath and calm my temper. Soon I noticed bus route signs along the street. I recognized the number and realized the signs led to the major bus stop downtown. For awhile I followed the bus signs until I recognized we were near a popular swimming and fishing spot along the river.

The water was too cold, the banks to high and the current too strong for safe swimming this early in the year, but I thought Frogger might enjoy the view of the water. We crossed the familiar bridge. On the other side I found a bike trail with a sign dictating that we were within 2 miles of downtown. The bike trail was shady from the tall trees and I relaxed. We had been walking for a long time but I no longer felt rushed. I had to admit the walk hadn't turned out as bad as I had thought when lost on J street. Maybe what really counted was finding this beautiful spot. Frogger walked along the trail to stretch her legs. It was nice.

I wonder if in life, it always works out like our ill fated trip. You have a plan, but somehow you take a wrong turn. The hill is steep and it takes everything you have to keep going. Then it evens out and after a little longer you find something better then you expected. If you had given up, you'd have found it. Maybe I'm being overly philosophical about it but I know one thing. I'm glad I went the wrong way. <3

The Loss Of Great Literature

It really bothers me, but I try not to complain too much. People get defensive of the books that they like but really, we've lost something in this great world. The quality of what breathes life into the colorless, misshapen dullness has been buried beneath the guise of ease and convenience. Progress and technology are made to sound as if they are the sole accomplishments of the world. We are so much better off without having to work, so they say. Even the basic pencil and paper are old, ancient and must be improved upon. Entertainment is fast and explosive, quick to the point and must meet a certain standard for visual quality. Otherwise it's dismissed by critics and the masses alike. We've capitalized on a market of sparkly vampires, sacrificing art for money.

Readers today have no time for hidden meaning. The basic themes of love and betrayal are packaged so lightly that no second glance is required. A quick read through is designed for the hungry reader who adores the pages of simple words strung together into flowing sentences, getting through the material as quickly as possible. As we complain about the falling test scores in America's youth, we continue to lower the standards of age appropriate literature. An entire genre is written for the unintelligent fool to appreciate, and they do in massive numbers. Once again, quality forsaken for quantity.

Have the days of Shakespeare and Charles Dickens passed away so long ago that perhaps not a single books on the new arrivals shelf might be decent? To be a successful writer you must lose your soul in your stories, in your characters. It's beyond a description of your awkward high school girl in love with a forbidden high school boy who happens to be attractive and drive a nice car. Whoever decided these shallow characters would become the starting point of every new novel should be taken out and shot. How many candy coated prom centered books is enough? Since when did a cheerleader become synonymous with God, or the term nerd become an acceptable description? At what point will America desire characters with substance?

Besides writers, it seems on English teachers have any insight on this problem. They try to force students to read classics, but very few teachers succeed in ever inspiring a sullen teenager to feel hungry for literature, real literature. Literature should make you cry and not because a character was cheated on by their beloved or has a mother dying of breast cancer. It's not the outer conflicts that should move you-though if you are fully immersed in the book they would-but the inner struggles that are filled with emotion for the reader to experience. No, the quest to become confident enough to be elected homecoming queen does not count as an inner struggle.