tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-90735130902360519962024-03-12T16:05:44.575-07:00Jessica LureneJessica Tatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14120036613766626595noreply@blogger.comBlogger23125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9073513090236051996.post-24111753280610020442009-10-16T15:13:00.000-07:002009-12-31T13:09:47.831-08:00The Relevance of One Hours TimeIt is a cold winter night on October the eighth. The time is around 7pm as I sit back with my blank notebook, in an uncomfortable, plastic chair that is placed in the middle of a crowded room among a few dozen others. This cold and depressing place is in fact, Hemet Hospital’s Emergency Room waiting area. I drove about ten minutes to get here in absolutely no rush and without an emergency; unlike all who are waiting impatiently. To be honest, I drove here with a smile of anticipation since I am finally going to get my paper done. It is pretty weird to make an excitement out of a crowd of people in a time of dread. As I am writing this, I question in my mind reasons why I am feeling this way. As I start to feel empathy for all who surround me, more people crowd in with frowning faces. <br /><br /> The man sitting across from me looks to be a professional since he is in a fancy, pressed business suit with shiny, diamond studded cuff-links. It is starting to get very dark outside and he is still wearing his stylish Versace sunglasses. His balled up handkerchief is in his right hand and every few minutes that hand moves up to the corner of his eye, followed by a patting motion. Perhaps there is someone behind those thick, white walls that is the reason behind all of those sorrowful tears. He must be worried about a loved one; maybe that of his Father, Mother, beloved Friend, or Sister. He is alone which means that he might not live near his family or that possibly a few have already gone inside. I can feel a sense of his impatience as I notice the swift back and forth motion of his right foot. He cannot help but hope to hear good news from anyone who could possibly relay it to him. He slowly gets up out of his chair and drags his feet all the way out the door until he can light up his cigarette. He takes a long, harsh drag of nicotine to calm his nerves and starts to pace along the curb of the parking lot. He takes his cell phone out of his left jacket pocket and places it against his right ear. He looks down at the pavement and once again, pats down his eyes. I really hope that his situation does not end in tragedy. He seems to have everything all figured out in life just by looking at the way he dresses. I would not be surprised if he had a really nice house up in the hills with a lovely family. I watch him as he stands out there, cold from the inside out, not knowing what else to do but wait.<br /><br /> As I look to my left, there is a black girl about nine years of age. She is waiting amongst what looks to be her Mother and her three little brothers. She is the one that many people here in the waiting room have already noticed. She had been sobbing uncontrollably while rocking back and forth in a wheelchair since the time I walked in. “Mommy, Mommy, Mommy! Please help me! It hurts so bad! I can’t wait any longer so please!” she shouted. I could not believe that she had yet to be given medical attention. I am starting to think of what the case could be since she is gritting her teeth and rubbing her stomach so rapidly. I start to look at her brothers while they jump on and off the chairs and roll on the floor. Either this scenario has happened before and they have gotten desensitized to it, or they do not even know how serious this problem could really get. It is almost as if they carry the same reaction as their mother, who waits in an upright posture while gazing up at the television screen. Suddenly she glances over to a nurse who comes to wheel the girl and escort the family through the private metal doors. Several people ask the nurse, “What is the problem with the staffing system?” She replies by saying, “All we can do is help each patient, one at a time. We will do all that we can to be with you as soon as possible.” Right as she passes me, a gray haired man stands up and shouts, “My wife is having a heart attack! We need help right now!” The nurse continues to wheel the girl away, but now at a faster pace. Waiting in this room is making me feel tense. I could not imagine having stress like this on top of worry and panic, like most of the others here. I am almost ready to make my way outside to accompany the businessman, but the freezing weather is keeping me in. My eyes get heavy as I gaze up at the clock that reads, 7:16. I have only been sitting here for a mere fifteen minutes and already want to leave. There is a big clock above the bathrooms in which many eyes are glued to. Everything seems to run at a snail’s pace here in the waiting area. <br /><br /> A few more minutes pass as I gain enough motivation to start writing again. Within this time, I am spotting out my next character that is just now walking through the opening doors. He is with a few other guys that all look to be around the same age; I would guess about 20 or so and they all look identical with their shaved heads and vibrant red T-shirts. The reason why I am honing in on him is because his dark, tattooed arm is bleeding profusely. You would never know that the deep red cloth he keeps up against his arm was once white in color. He is breathing inward while I hear the saliva being sucked through his gritting teeth. His jaw muscles are constantly being contracted as he stares around with his wide eyes. His friends start to laugh while one moves his hand in a rolling motion, followed by a crashing noise that is made by his mouth. The injured young man could not help but laugh and raise his voice when describing his visual after biting the dust. I have seen many groups of guys that fit this description here in the Hemet and San Jacinto Valley. They ride in those big, lifted trucks that are usually seen speeding and recklessly cutting corners while loaded with dirt bikes. When they get to the female clerk who is sitting behind the thick glass, they all quiet down. “I just got in an accident while riding my dirt bike. My arm is cut pretty bad and it might be fractured” says the boy as he now starts to laugh. The clerk inches toward the long, bendable microphone and with a monotone voice, asks him a few questions that I am unable to decode through all the commotion in the room. Shortly after the formally asked questions, one of the friends aggressively pounds on the wall while yelling, “This is bullshit! This is a serious situation and you want us to wait?” “Can I PLEASE help the next person in line?” demands the clerk. The guys stomp out the door and continue to yell as they climb into their trucks. They chose to park at the red curb instead of in a designated parking space. The young man might not get sleep tonight and if he ignores the time sensitive situation, he could possibly end up disabling his arm for the rest of his life. I am really starting to notice what time can do to people; the impatience is flowing through this place like it is some form of plague.<br /> <br />As I flip back the page of my black, spiral notebook, I notice the businessman confidently walking in with his shoulders back. It is now 7:38 which means he had enough time to let a few feelings out and gain a little energy. He walks to the window, purposely ignoring those in line and asks the clerk, “Is she ready to be seen yet?” A few deep breaths later, the double doors open and he quickly vanishes. The beds must be very full for a Thursday night but I really wonder why they do not have room for the old man’s wife in this time sensitive situation. “She has already taken three nitro’s and the pain is getting worse” says the man to all who will listen. He is doing everything in his power to comfort her by gracefully rubbing her back and praying with her. I glance down at her hands that are now grasping his. Their fingers are tightly intertwined as I stare at their golden wedding rings. I imagine that they have been married for longer than I have been alive. Within the rush of all the love and romance, they look as if they had never prepared for a situation like this. They are in their golden years and look healthy enough to make it through many more moments together. Their hope persists as I am writing these words. I look over to the man sitting next to them. He is middle-aged and happens to be wearing one of those yellow face masks that you see before walking in. He slowly gets up and walks a straight line towards the window. I had seen him before at a Rotary meeting a few months back and I noticed he had been paying much attention to the cycle of people going through the doors, just like I have. He taps on the glass hoping to get a reaction from the clerk. A few minutes pass as I watch the others in line back away. He looks very sick, but instead of demanding assistance like many others, he is calmly letting the clerk know that the old woman is in critical condition. As several people quickly turn their heads, I turn mine in the same direction, to an open door near the bathroom area. A few nurses calmly walk out; one pushing a wheelchair equipped with an oxygen tank. They quickly place the plastic, oval piece around her nose and mouth while fastening it to her head. The husband’s mouth is opened wide as his eyes begin to do the same. He looks up to the bright halogen lights above him as he lifts his arms and says, “Thank you, GOD!” I could sense that many people (including myself) felt the same. We all knew that it was wrong for them to not get direct medical attention. Even those who had been waiting long before they walked in the door were grateful. For just one minute, the tension was lifted off the room and replaced with hope. <br /><br /> I am sitting here in a room full of so many different people who each have their own personal life. For some reason or another, all of us are here together sharing the same air. Something different happened to each one that would distinguish this night from many ordinary days, which most take for granted. My observation shows me that there is a great deal of selfishness and impatience in this world that blocks us from what life has in store. If only one could just take the time to observe everything that surrounds us here on earth, they would find that its beauty and abundant resources are full of learning experiences and inspiration. The man that went to the nurse, although he was in his own pain, to help out the elderly couple sure opened my eyes and made me realize that I could help others, too. And then watching the careless and impatient boys whom had not yet considered the consequences of their friend’s injury made me question, what if one day he wanted to play catch with his son but was not able to extend his arm? Even the nurses surprised me when they did not take the time to assess each situation and promptly react to those in need. It causes me to wonder why there wasn’t a working system of triage in the newly remodeled ER. Their insensitive reaction while in control of life and death decisions was astounding to me. If everyone could just come together and have sympathy for one another, the stress and tension of the world could soon become a peaceful place full of respect and honor for one another. <br /><br /> I take one more peripheral view of the room and stop to look at the ticking clock. It is now the end of the hour. Many of the waiting children are now peacefully sleeping along the laps of their mothers and fathers. I will soon step out of this room with an even greater feeling of relief and gratefulness to be alive. I will breathe in the cold air and make a commitment to find many more ways to inspire those around me, and begin a chain reaction through friends, family and others to start a continuous cycle of compassion and empathy towards others that greatly impacts society.Jessica Tatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14120036613766626595noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9073513090236051996.post-22511231914675237862009-08-03T18:20:00.000-07:002009-08-20T17:01:12.928-07:00I want to be a pilot<object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/GvgdWm0CE-s&hl=en&fs=1&"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/GvgdWm0CE-s&hl=en&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object>Jessica Tatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14120036613766626595noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9073513090236051996.post-63770213162484200102009-06-29T16:43:00.000-07:002011-05-08T17:26:54.250-07:00Taking IT all INI love it when there is a breeze in the air. I can smell the flowers from my neighbors garden.Jessica Tatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14120036613766626595noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9073513090236051996.post-60709959770578329702009-04-02T16:37:00.000-07:002009-08-20T17:01:39.836-07:00Broadening The Room<span style="font-size:85%;">I was reading the Harvard Design Mag and this explanation sparked my interest.<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana; font-style: italic;">"Why is architecture so often represented only from the outside? Do architects just pay more attention to the outside? Or is it perhaps because the external view of a building provides the images of totality, an image that in it's flatness is easier to comprehend than one of the interior? Photographs of the interior can require more attention. They are frequently fragments of a larger entity, like a room, with the added complexities of spatial depth and variations of light and color, materials and surfaces. Along with the particularities of the occupation of space, they often record the ordinariness of the everyday. To see the interior through the camera is to see it once removed- an artifice that says as much about our attitude towards the conditions surrounding the subject as it does about the subject being depicted."</span><br /><br /><br />It's a metaphor, really.<br /></span>Jessica Tatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14120036613766626595noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9073513090236051996.post-66561922959732175722009-01-04T18:50:00.000-08:002009-10-17T17:33:29.176-07:00Bethany is not the Bully<span style="font-size:85%;">Something very bizarre happened to me today. I was busy at work placing used DVDs in their organized section, singing along to Hall and Oates and all of a sudden, a young girl taps me on the back and asks in a thrillingly familiar voice, "Will you <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">pplease</span> help me with one of your <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">MMMMP</span>3 players you have <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">uup</span> on the wall?" I glanced over at a face that I found so completely familiar. "Yes, of course! I will be right over!", I replied. I walked up to the front counter with my eyes wide open, grabbed the magnetic key and walked over to where she was pointing. "I want that pink one”, she demanded. Every time her mouth opened, an electric shock went up my spine and back down again. She looked and sounded EXACTLY like a girl that I knew back in elementary school. She was the one who grew up faster than all of the other kids. One who stole all of my <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Tamogotchis</span> and pushed me around during every recess. "Annie <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Rexic</span>" was the name I was given by her since I was the lankiest kid in all of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Kiddy</span> Corner daycare. I mean her stutter and everything. Mirror image status. This could not be her! She would have to be my age and I am sure would have grown out of that hot pink jacket, those big rosy cheeks and super thick bangs that slightly caught her eyelashes. I could not let her leave without asking, "What is your name and how old are you?" She looked up at me, blinked a few quick times and stated with an overwhelming dose of curiosity, "My <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">nname</span> is Bethany and I am <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">nnnine</span> and a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">hhalf</span>, why?" "You remind me of someone I once knew, that's all.” I said while drawing out my breath. It was a sigh of relief knowing that she was not the younger identical twin of my long lost bully. I watched her as she skipped off with a smile and thank you, and with a grin, I replied the same. </span><span style="font-size:85%;">For the rest of the work day, I traced back to many of those old daycare memories, laughing at moments I found myself once frowning in when I was a little skinny-ma-rink.<br />It is funny how you forget these things until a stranger walks into the room and suddenly your mind opens up to a clear world of it's past. </span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><br />Thank you, Bethany.</span>Jessica Tatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14120036613766626595noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9073513090236051996.post-78692439310821950052009-01-01T11:03:00.001-08:002009-01-05T09:07:52.793-08:00New Year<span style="font-size:85%;">I find it interesting how some things are given the ability to show a sense of aging and others...not so much.<br /><br />When you look in the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">mirror</span> each day, do you see an older person than yesterday? Surely not. Well, maybe just a little but it would not phase you to any large extent. If you took a picture of yourself, put it in a box, buried it in the dirt and dug it up a year or two later, would you see your younger looking self? Yes, of course. <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Whether</span> it be aging in wisdom or appearance....you are different.<br /><br /><img src="http://sk1.yt-thm-a04.yimg.com/image/a6a712267eda0490" /><br /><br /><br />Take a seashell or a tree or even a turtle and you will be able to count each year that it has spent on this earth. In most cases, you are able to tell what it has been through <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">whether</span> it was a rain storm, a <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">lengthy</span> feast or draught with your own eyes.<br /></span><br /><a href="http://imageshack.us/"><img alt="Image Hosted by ImageShack.us" src="http://img230.imageshack.us/img230/225/tree20ringsql7.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">Some things are given centuries to live and others, just a few seconds.<br />Those few brief moments of grandeur or those long prosperous memories.<br />They are all <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">categorized</span> under LIFE.<br /></span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">I am glad to be living it and sharing it with you.</span>Jessica Tatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14120036613766626595noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9073513090236051996.post-69744227365902366622008-12-11T07:53:00.000-08:002012-07-26T15:02:01.917-07:00The Doctors Office<span style="font-size: 85%;">I could not help but notice the seat choice pattern:<br /><br />First person takes a seat not directly across from me but a little to the left.<br />Next person sits to the left of me about three seats down.<br />So on and so forth....<br /><br />It is as if they were filling the gaps. Choosing places that would still keep one out of their "personal" zone.<br />When all of those "personal" spots are taken, then comes hesitation and deep thought. "hmmmmmm, do I want to sit over there?....ahh...no...shoot?....okk." HAHA!<br />Each person had a certain expression when making the choice.<br />Super quick reaction status with a bit of a jolt.</span>Jessica Tatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14120036613766626595noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9073513090236051996.post-38680269667067560982008-12-01T12:57:00.000-08:002011-05-08T17:29:35.703-07:00I am making LEMONADEI am making lemonade with the lemons that have been thrown at me this last year. It is pretty fun. I will be selling it on the corner of Powell and Market. Look for the girl with the hot dog suit.Jessica Tatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14120036613766626595noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9073513090236051996.post-35416872557029873962008-12-01T12:46:00.000-08:002009-10-17T17:42:08.259-07:00Squash Garden<a href="http://imageshack.us"><img src="http://img523.imageshack.us/img523/3863/dsc02263is2.jpg" border="0" alt="Image Hosted by ImageShack.us"/></a><br /><br />If this was in my backyard, my dreams would come true.Jessica Tatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14120036613766626595noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9073513090236051996.post-63167084942220471782008-11-27T21:21:00.000-08:002009-01-05T09:15:58.856-08:00The Bus Ride<span style="font-size:85%;">I woke up to my dad singing, "Wake up, get out of bed, drag a comb across your head. The weather is nice, so don't think twice about going to sleep instead!" This was odd because my dad did not live with the family. He lived miles away in the city of Newport Beach. I hardly ever got to see him so waking up and getting out of bed was not a problem. "You are about to learn more in one day than you ever have in your whole life!", he said. I got dressed and ran with him out the door. My dad was the most spontaneous goofball you could ever meet. One time, he took my brother and I to see <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Jumanji</span> at the dollar theatre in Costa Mesa and decided that since we got the back row seats and the whole place was packed that he was going to fill up his jumbo popcorn bucket with water and pour it down the steep decline of the floor. Of course, with the intention of getting everyone wet. Yep, <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">that's</span> my dad! Anyway, so our first destination was to an AA meeting. By the way, I was only 12. We sat around this long rectangular shaped table with about 20 others. People of all different ages, professions and races together at the table. The only difference between them and I was that I did not have to be there and that I did not have to introduce myself as, "My name is (name) and I am an alcoholic." The meeting was 2 hours long which gave plenty of time for storytelling. There was this old man who happened to be sitting across from me and practically had been through every pot hole and cactus field in existence. He was extremely witty and entertaining which left us slapping the table and laughing in tears on our way out the door. "Off to the Bus Stop!", my dad shouted. We had to take the bus because my dad got caught drinking and driving again and got his license suspended. As we stepped on the bus, we bought a pass that would take us to Newport. We cruised on the bus with only a few other passengers all the way up till we hit riverside. Different people of all ages and professions once again, surrounded us. People getting on the bus and off the bus. I almost wish that I could have recorded this whole trip and made a time lapse out of it. Anyway, there were several people that felt the need to share stories with us. Popular topics were of reasons why they were on the bus instead of driving in a car of their own and where they were headed. There was this homeless lady who had these incredible stories that I will never let leave my memory. "Nobody ever seems to attempt to talk to me because of how I look on the outside", she said while placing her hand on her forehead. She had out lived her two sons, three daughters and husband and became homeless 4 years previous to our conversation. She had so much <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">character</span> with her taped up glasses, oily and knotted hair, <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">sea foam</span> green teeth and muddy feet. She spoke to me with more emotion than I could ever think of anyone ever <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">possessing. </span>So the day went on and hours passed as my dad and I got on one bus and off another. I remember sprinting down a few crowded streets to make some of the stops. The bus got even more crowded as we made our way closer to the coast. I have this picture in my mind of me looking up at the people trying to keep their balance by holding onto these dangling handles, similar to the ones seen at a playground. They were trying so hard not to fall onto the passengers that were seated. My dad and I were sitting on the very back of this bus that was split in two and held together by this accordion looking connector. As the bus turned, we lost sight of everyone that was on the front side. This made the bus ride even more of an excitement, causing most of the passengers to laugh and become more comfortable with one another. The bus stopped. My dad and I stepped out while taking in a deep breath of fresh air. 6 hours was the time it took to get from <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">Hemet</span> to Newport Beach and I could say that I have never learned so much in one day. I am glad that I was able to spend it with my dad. </span>Jessica Tatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14120036613766626595noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9073513090236051996.post-51010274474319843582008-11-23T22:09:00.001-08:002009-10-19T22:45:43.656-07:00life's treasures<span style="font-size:85%;">keeping a journal<br />tea cups<br />my super holy <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">keds</span><br />being barefoot<br />music in every <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">rhythm</span><br />being the reason for someone to smile<br />being in a room full of free spirits<br />being thoughtless<br />living in the moment<br />the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">ever changing</span> sky and its wonder<br />white tees<br />sandwiches<br />the sound of the trees as the breeze flows through their leaves<br />dancing with my eyes closed<br />kite flying<br />setting my alarm clock and pressing the snooze button for hours (i remember my dreams better this way)<br />interpreting a song on canvas<br />eating artichokes<br />standing at the S<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">an</span> J<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">acinto</span> peak<br />laughing till i have no more tears left<br />hugs<br />high fives<br />rain<br />passion<br />old couples holding hands<br />jam sessions with homemade instruments<br />sunrises<br />tie dye<br />museums<br />cooking as if i were in chemistry class<br />throwing pottery<br />secret handshakes<br />stained glass windows<br />the old man at the doughnut shop<br />hogan trading post<br />running with no destination<br />holding up a sign that says, "will you marry me?" to a couple in a hot air balloon<br />culture<br /><span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Jess</span> style quilts<br />gardening<br />doing laundry<br />obstacle courses<br />tree houses<br /><span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">pistachio</span> nuts<br />storytellers<br />record players<br />sailing<br />chanting<br />observing people in airports<br />old photos<br />reading in a library surrounded by people taking naps<br />animals<br />inspiration<br /><br />the list goes on...<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></span>Jessica Tatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14120036613766626595noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9073513090236051996.post-2048598194876613832008-11-22T19:57:00.001-08:002008-11-22T19:57:29.582-08:00<a href="http://vids.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=vids.individual&videoid=45484551">Worlds Largest Beach Ball</a><br/><object width="425px" height="360px" ><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"/><param name="movie" value="http://mediaservices.myspace.com/services/media/embed.aspx/m=45484551,t=1,mt=video"/><embed src="http://mediaservices.myspace.com/services/media/embed.aspx/m=45484551,t=1,mt=video" width="425" height="360" allowFullScreen="true" type="application/x-shockwave-flash"></embed></object>Jessica Tatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14120036613766626595noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9073513090236051996.post-68393072060618147272008-11-13T10:06:00.001-08:002008-11-13T10:21:14.198-08:00Living in the moment<span style="font-size:85%;">I was driving back from Palm Springs this morning and all of a sudden, I thought only of what was happening at that moment.<br /><br />It was on Lambs canyon, the part where it starts to slope down and the turns get a little sharp. I was in such deep concentration with the lines in the road that I started becoming them. haha.<br /><br />I started bursting with laughter.<br />The music was blasting and all four of my windows were rolled all the way down.</span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><br />I was thoughtless, really.<br />There was nothing on my mind but to keep from running myself off the road.<br /><br />Life is so simple.</span>Jessica Tatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14120036613766626595noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9073513090236051996.post-42678978489071332752008-11-10T21:28:00.000-08:002008-11-10T21:40:34.847-08:00Mt. EverestI am asked the question:<br />"If you could choose to be anywhere in the world, where would you be?"<br /><br />Here:<br /><br /><object height="344" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/7f2IDsrA3Qk&hl=en&fs=1"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/7f2IDsrA3Qk&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object>Jessica Tatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14120036613766626595noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9073513090236051996.post-55215187853379391282008-11-10T20:55:00.000-08:002008-11-10T20:57:07.199-08:00I <3 kite flying!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIyh_iISrQpfk0srnaQFOWWtNn8CaNh3eehFzYEo13aK23g3gFs6gS3lJovBVePceOBJzIoHEG6aaP-Uu4HqYm4yKT3Zv5NJJEpJrxzngYYUquUPGCGgzt6QmAOm9Kst-H5YrKGgV7O4Kn/s1600-h/i+love+kites.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5267259279947665954" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 250px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIyh_iISrQpfk0srnaQFOWWtNn8CaNh3eehFzYEo13aK23g3gFs6gS3lJovBVePceOBJzIoHEG6aaP-Uu4HqYm4yKT3Zv5NJJEpJrxzngYYUquUPGCGgzt6QmAOm9Kst-H5YrKGgV7O4Kn/s320/i+love+kites.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div></div>Jessica Tatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14120036613766626595noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9073513090236051996.post-20812525406944124242008-11-10T19:58:00.001-08:002008-11-11T08:20:08.070-08:00The state of pure consciousness:<span style="font-size:85%;">You feel your own presence with such intensity and such joy that all thinking, all emotions, your physical body, as well as the whole external world become relatively insignificant in comparison to it. This is not a selfish but a selfless state. It takes you beyond what you previously thought of as "your self." That presence is essentially you and at the same time inconcievably greater than you. </span>Jessica Tatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14120036613766626595noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9073513090236051996.post-72615791141039329822008-10-22T13:49:00.001-07:002008-11-10T21:08:09.005-08:00My trip to Ohio<span style="font-size:85%;">I made a trip to Ohio last year and never realized how amazing that whole state is. Even though the duration of my stay consisted of two weeks, I found myself completely occupied the entire time. I have family that lives about 45 minutes from Cleveland in the town of Ravenna. This town held a population of about 30, every yard was without a fence and everyone knew their neighbor. Creeks and lakes and tall green trees surrounded every area. B E A U T I F U L .<br /><br />The first few days were spent boating, fishing, hiking and eating. I do not think I have ever been on any hiking trail that was as incredible as the ones here. I got a mild case of poison oak but it was worth it! I wish I had a camera because this trail went through the ground as if it was a mini Grand Canyon. I would look up about 40 feet and see a long crack of light that barely lit the pebble coated walls. So many layers of sediment! And the bugs, oh, the bugs! I finally decided to make my way out of the maze by climbing on this dead tree, BIG MISTAKE! As I started to make my way up it, gigantic beetles started flying out! They were so big, they could fly for only about 10 seconds and of course, had to land on me! I could feel their claws poking through my shirt and they were very loud! Amazing hiking adventure none the less.<br /><br />The next few days were spent in Amish town where we bought cheeses, blankets, tools and a whole lot of other hand made goods. These people were incredible, so polite and so so so simple. Every doll was without a face, every dress of an unmarried girl was pinned, not buttoned. Every woman wore a bonnet and every married man was to grow a beard and told never to trim it. They traveled by horse drawn carriages, plowed their own fields and always had a homemade meal on the table. The next day I went on a museum tour and witnessed an amazing work of art. It was a 360 degree painting that told a story in timeline form. This way of life holds such great morality. I was in awe the whole time.<br /><br />Then came the nights filled with lighting fireworks, taking baths in well water, catching fireflies in jars, hitting balls and placing bets on who could accomplish the longest drive. I went to this amusement park called, Geauga Lake. This place had tons of rides, lakes full of massive coy fish and the biggest water park I have ever seen. I remember this one ride though, the most intense of any I have ever been on. I am a roller coaster fanatic so this was intense times one thousand. THE VILLAIN was it's name. My brother and I were told by my aunt that this ride HURT but we did not take her word for it. When on this ride, all you could hear was crying and people yelling, "OW OW OW OW OW!!!". haha. If that ride is still going today, I would be astonished. Though, it had me laughing the whole entire time. :]<br /><br />The next few days were spent in Cleveland where we went to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and Museum. SO SO SO radical. I saw John Lennon's doodle book and the one where he wrote most of his songs. Also, the Sergeant Pepper uniforms and tons of other memorabilia including some by Tom Petty, The Clash, Jim Morrison, The Rolling Stones and a whole room of Jimi Hendrix material. We also went on a boat tour through the city also known as, "The City of Bridges" which contained an incredible amount of mind blowing architecture that I wish I could have taken more pictures of.<br />It is a sight to see for sure.<br /><br />The last few days were spent up at Niagara Falls. We stayed on the Canada side and made sure to check out all of the wax museums. The best part was when we got on the Maid of the Mist boat ride. We got so close to the falls that I got a little scared. A boy once survived falling down the Canada side. That must have been insane. Thank goodness he was rescued before the whirlpool! (yea, there's a whirlpool about a half mile down stream. They even have a speed boat ride that goes super close to it.) Before we left Canada we made sure to go to the butterfly atrium, the whirlpool and of course the liquor store. Haha. My dad had to get the green label Jack Daniel's.<br /><br />The last part of the trip was in the airplane from Vegas to Palm Springs Airport. My family and I were on a 16 passenger plane with a bunch of basketball players and the turbulence went out of control! It was pretty scary since it was night time and we could not see the ground. The turbulence lasted for about 30 minutes! Freaked us all out pretty bad! Haha.<br /><br />So that was my trip.<br />I will be posting pictures of it soon! <3<br /></span><span style="font-size:85%;"></span>Jessica Tatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14120036613766626595noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9073513090236051996.post-54203517882838789292008-10-21T08:07:00.001-07:002009-07-11T19:16:28.752-07:00Benjamin Franklin<em style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:85%;">"Early to bed and early to rise makes a man healthy, wealthy, and wise."</span></em><br /><span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;" ></span><br /><strong></strong>Jessica Tatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14120036613766626595noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9073513090236051996.post-6171113579552444942008-10-20T21:39:00.000-07:002008-10-21T07:49:47.567-07:00Insane<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC17KQDvxTDYd48YHrgsCXgZJfHb4nmClw_M9wDB9GcbC4qzYsS6NXGVo3kx8pQdx2dkVMliC_f2lo0bisjEDtgBU0lFwn4Kcj8NeZGP32O-W7usNpaX2onA-gr3PEshm3MpKcvZcjRCLO/s1600-h/Photo1093.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5259466588618833666" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC17KQDvxTDYd48YHrgsCXgZJfHb4nmClw_M9wDB9GcbC4qzYsS6NXGVo3kx8pQdx2dkVMliC_f2lo0bisjEDtgBU0lFwn4Kcj8NeZGP32O-W7usNpaX2onA-gr3PEshm3MpKcvZcjRCLO/s320/Photo1093.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;"><br />A drunk driver hit the back of my brothers truck.</span></div>Jessica Tatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14120036613766626595noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9073513090236051996.post-4140741975739454092008-10-20T20:52:00.000-07:002008-10-21T08:05:48.742-07:00The day I saved a life<span style="font-size:85%;">I was driving along Stanford street until I stopped at the turning lane on Florida Ave. </span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">I waited at least 2 minutes until the light turned green. </span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">As I started creeping forward, I hit a boy on his bicycle. </span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">A little boy who was probably 6 or 7 decided to speed across the road without looking. </span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">I am so thankful that I hit him because if I was not there to do so, he would have probably been dead.</span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">I knocked him off of his bike and onto the hood of my car. </span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">His bicycle got mangled under an SUV that was coming in the opposite direction. </span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">This SUV was driving at least 50 mph! </span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">The boy ran across the street to the Shell station as I pulled in to see if he was ok. </span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">He was more interested in what happened to his bike but was fine. </span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">There were three other witnesses who hugged me and the boy right away. </span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">We picked up the pieces of his bicycle and put them in my car. </span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">I drove the boy home and relayed the news to his mother. </span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">She did not seem to care. </span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">Wow.</span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">What a mom.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">It is very odd to say that I saved a boy's life by hitting him with my car.</span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">If I would have looked the other way before creeping up, I would have had the reaction to stop. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"></span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"></span>Jessica Tatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14120036613766626595noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9073513090236051996.post-33799558725787374642008-10-17T21:08:00.000-07:002008-12-30T13:07:01.239-08:00I remember!<span style="font-size:85%;">From toddler times to present day, I have moments in my life that I hope will always remain in my memory. Some are clear, some are hazy and others are just pictorial flashes that my brain stored in it's photo album.<br /><br />I consider myself to be overly observant. I have been this way since the day I was born. My mom would sit a plant in front of my crib to keep me quiet because she knew I would be staring at it in awe for at least an hour. I remember extremely detailed things such as how the hose was rolled up in the backyard or what the garden looked like. I could list countless things!<br /><br />One memory that I will never forget was the time I broke my arm. This happened to land on my first day of school in the first grade. It was a cold, rainy morning and was during "free play" that I decided to get my clothes dirty and finally get to be able to play on the "big kids" playground. In kindergarten, I was the champ at hop <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">skotch</span></span>, swing jumping and the ever so popular, "Monkey Bars". After a few hand-clapping games and a trip down the slide I decided to challenge a girl by the name of Erica Smith to the bars. This was unlike the usual competition because the bars were wet which made it challenging. We started out going across, then moved on to skipping one, then two and when that time to skip three rolled around, things got deadly. I was the first to make the attempt. I was in mid-air on the second swoop when I lost grip and went down. I happened to land my wrist right on the cement step of the planter and that was when it happened; "CRACK!" went my arm. The funny thing was that it did not hurt. I held my wrist, got up off the ground and made my way over to the yard <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">nark</span></span>. "I think I broke my wrist", I said while staring up at her. Everyone gathered around and started grabbing my arm. "<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Owwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww</span></span>!". I could not wait there any longer so I jetted to the nurses office without the pass. My arm ended up being fractured pretty bad. I remember being able to be excused from doing any writing for the next few months. My wrist was so skinny I could slide my hot pink, tagged up cast right off. When the weather changes like this and my arm starts aching, this memory flashes through my mind. :] </span>Jessica Tatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14120036613766626595noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9073513090236051996.post-57244590599474545242008-10-13T17:43:00.000-07:002008-10-20T22:24:37.688-07:00Meditative running?<span style="font-size:85%;">I love running.<br />I reach a point where I am absolutely thoughtless.<br />I am in perfect rythym with my mind, body and soul.<br />I feel no pain.<br />I hear my breath slowly fade to complete silence.<br />Complete serenity.<br />I am meditating.<br /><br /><br />This usually comes after the 4th or 5th mile.<br />Try it! Do not give up!<br /><br />:]<br /><br /></span><span style="font-size:78%;"></span>Jessica Tatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14120036613766626595noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9073513090236051996.post-48008909504133354552008-10-07T22:19:00.000-07:002008-10-07T22:21:38.120-07:00yay!<span style="font-size:78%;">yay!</span><br /><span style="font-size:78%;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:78%;">I am so jazzed to start my new blogs for all of you to read!</span><br /><span style="font-size:78%;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:78%;">:]</span><br /><span style="font-size:78%;">hold tight</span>Jessica Tatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14120036613766626595noreply@blogger.com