The Musings of a Latte Queen: Narratives of Everyday Life

We are at the end of the school year.  A magical time when kids get to reminiscence about all they learned, play kickball with their teachers, have dances, plays, and generally waste the last short week of school as their minds are already into summer activities. Such is the case with my daughters. One will be ending third grade and the other will be ending fifth grade.  Both are making transitions in their lives and as such, are navigating their own increasingly peer-to-peer environment. My eldest daughter recently had an experience, actually two years of experiences, that came to a head when what should have been a momentous occasion for her and her peers was reduced because the leaders didn't want to move forward.  It hurt her and her friends that this opportunity to officially step over into that middle school level was denied them.  She came home upset. I did what any good mother would do, I contacted the leaders and inquired why.  In contacting them,...

I am a nice person.  Have always had people comment about that, how nice I was, despite everything I had to overcome in life.  I am pretty introverted unless I know you, then I am very extroverted.  It is that quirky equally I/ENFJ of the Myers-Briggs Type Indicator. I am deep thinking and feeling.  I am concerned about people and the world we live in, the environment and what we do about it.  I am concerned about emotional health, bullying, and misue of power. It is all of these things that converged this year. When I ran for public office, I never expected the windstorm that I received, especially from my daughter's elementary school where another parent was also a candidate.  Perhaps that was naive of me, but I just thought choice mattered. Yesterday, we were all sifting through the devastating news of what happened in Oklahoma, that children in schools were killed with the tornado made a direct hit at the school.  I believe every mom's hear...

Make One Change. Make One Change

There are not enough words to describe how amazing, awesome, and authentic is the writing of Ms. Shonda Rhimes! That woman has singlehandedly rewritten the script - literally and figuratively - for the image of who black women are. Not only has she been successful with one made-for-television dramatic series, she has done it with three.  In all three, she has tackled social issues (teen pregnancy, abortion, abuse, addiction, infidelity, racism, sexism, classism, corporate greed, first love, sex, political intrigue) with such style, grace, and class. Last night, there was a literal gasp heard around the world when Kerry Washington, as Olivia, was doing her signature fast, confident walk only to face a barrage of cameras and then be physically whisked away to a waiting limo, confusion all over her face, upon being seated, looks up and questions, "Dad?" - fade to black, Season 2 ended.  Facebook and Twitter were ablaze with "I did not see that coming!" and ...

Peyton Place, that idyllic little southern town with the glistening lake, ice cream eating boy, bicycle riding kids, white picket fence, and middle class normality of yesteryear, is just as false then as it's replicas today. The description is used to describe those primarily closed-in, usually white bread, middle-to-upper middle class communities of 2.5 children, stay-at-home moms, and the working dad. The community with the white picket fence and manicured lawn, the perfect van with the little stickers of how many kids and pets reside in the home on the tree-lined street.  It is the community with the nation's top schools and the moms who rule the PTO with an iron fist.  The place with high property values and the requisite less than ten-percent minority population, the quaint coffee shop, little restaurants, unique shops, and purposely locating the big box stores far away from the town center. In a community such as this, everyone is supposed to know where they belo...

Rh etorical Composing  by Susan Delagrange, Cynthia Selfe, Kay Halasek, Ben McCorkle, Scott Lloyd DeWitt Side Navigation Bar Home Start Here: Week 3 Previous Weeks Syllabus / FAQ Videos Print/Text Resources Discussion Forums (selected) Level Up WExMOOC, our course companion site Analytics Dashboard @ WExMOOC How to Complete the Initial Course Survey Global Englishes About Us Google Hangout Archive Forums  / Analysis in the Everyday (for Unit 3: Arguing Rhetorically) Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hide  You are subscribed.  Unsubscribe Tags   rhetoric   Delete Tag × abuse   Delete Tag × DrJekyllandMrHide   Delete Tag ×   + Add Tag Yessica Gonzalez ·  a day ago   This week we have been learning or reviewing many terms, aspects of critical thought, and rhetorical expression. This is very useful in writing, but I find it is most useful in living. When I read the p...

It has been ten years since I have worn a suit every day, made a commute, sat in an office, and proclaimed I only worked for "so and so company." The weather here in this part of St. Louis has been a bit precarious and asthma has decided to win the battle today.  That meant I had more time on my hands to breathe and think and it struck me that today is May 8th. It is significant because it is my aunt's birthday, two days after my birthday, and exactly ten years after I picked up my purse and walked out of my corporate job and into my destiny. In these ten years I have helped open a high end retail store and work with great designers, I've been writing and performing my poetry, I taught students at two universities, led a team in helping kids walk over the summer bridge instead of succumbing to the academic slide, I've watched my daughter journey from quarterly surgeries to remission, helped guide my son to his educational destiny, been a military mom of a so...

This is one of my favorite dates. It is my birthday! I am older, wiser, and more thoughtful.  I am sure of my voice and the words I write, sure and confident of my contributions in life.  It is that calm feeling that comes when you are at the end of something and the beginning of something.  This is what it feels like to be grown up. There are other dates that are equally my favorite, but only one when I get to pause for a moment and think about their late parents and their excitement over my birth - I am their baby girl.  I close my eyes and see my late mother, my face is her face, and can only imagine her laboring to deliver me -her fifth child.  Back then, labor and delivery was the domain of women and men just showed up after everyone was beautiful again.  My father was pacing and waiting. Both my parents have passed on, my mother when I was barely out of toddlerhood and my father when I was in the throws of parenthood. It is funny to me, I feel...

He literally changed the narrative of my life. When I thought I was finished, one in each hand, his essence filled my being and on this day, 19 years ago, he literally burst forth to proclaim, "I'm here, are you ready?" The ultrasound with him proudly standing full front, waving, and letting us know without a doubt he was a boy, was the moment I knew that his personality was going to be big and his purpose in life was going to be enormous.  He hasn't ceased to amaze me. This kid, so skinny, still skinny, stands tall in my heart with his wisdom and compassion, his keen insight and understanding, his brilliance, and his honor.  He is thoughtful, sensitive, and engaging. I can not believe this is his first birthday away from me.  Time flies and I look at the baby pictures of my "flying baby" with the "crazy mohawk" and marvel at the years filled with action figures, goofy gestures, jumps down the stairs, so many neighborhood boys, cars, and so...

The fondest memory I have of my relationship with the written word is when my father encouraged me to write my stories and then took the time to read each one.  I believe I was nine years old and was an avid bibliophile in the 4 th grade.  Books were friends and companions for me and allowed me to journey to places like Brooklyn and Martha’s Vineyard and to discover humanity, to gain my voice, and to write even more stories that my father read when he returned from his business trips. My earliest memories involve me lying on the floor in my upstairs bedroom, Big Chief Notebook spread out on the floor, No. 2 tan pencil in my hand, and my imagination taking flight.  I wrote an imagined story about the Irish Potato Famine and a shortage of French fries in 1974 Jefferson City.  I wrote a coming-of-age story about a young girl who lived with her older siblings in a posh New York high rise.  I think I was about ten or eleven when I imagined that world full of ric...