Response Assignments

scheduled for workshop and respond with at least 250 words of commentary with a focus on

constructive criticism. Students will respond to each student in the class, not only to those students

in his/her group. These comments are due to be posted as a response in the Blackboard discussion

board by 11:59 pm on the due date. Make sure when you are commenting that you focus

on constructive criticism to help the writer with ideas for revisions for the final portfolio. While

telling the writer what is working well in the piece is acceptable and encouraged, remember that the

focus of your response should be what the writer can do to improve upon the piece for the final

portfolio. This is the reason your peers have turned in these pieces for workshop: to get feedback

for revision. If the comments don't contain much—or any—constructive criticism, that writer will

have fewer comments to utilize during revision. I will be looking for constructive criticism in my

assessment of the Response Assignments. Note: If a writer turns in his/her piece after his/her

group's deadline, you are not required to provide comments as part of the Response Assignment

grade, but these students would certainly appreciate it if you have the time to read and comment on their work.

1.

I am originally from Chicago, Illinois and that is where I gained a lot of my cooking experience but that is not where I learned to cook. I am the only child but I grew up with a lot of cousins who were like my siblings. I gained my passion for cooking from my late grandmother Carrie Lee, but everyone called her granny, when I was just 10 years old. At the time she lived in Jackson, MS. She would always cook for our family and others. She was everyone's granny. Being the third oldest out of eight grandchildren, my granny would only allow me to help and watch her in the kitchen. 

I learned many recipes from her such as chicken and dumplings and baked chicken, along with a few others. When I would return home, the sharing did not stop there. I would always call her and ask “Granny how do I cook neck bones and chicken, or corn and tomato stew?". She would explain to me step-by-step how to cook these recipes and to always call her when it was done to tell her how it turned out.

In May 2011, my granny passed away and that was one of the worst days of my life because with her she took my passion for cooking. It was something that me and her shared. I didn't cook for a month after we laid her to rest because I just didn't enjoy it as much as I once did. After that month went by, I woke up one day and decided that I was not going to be sad anymore and that she would want me to continue learning how to cook and bake because it is what I loved to do. Food is more than just something we have to eat to stay alive, every ingredient is beautiful no matter what it may be and it can be transformed into a piece of art work.

Since my 10th birthday I have had the same dream of owning my own restaurant and bakery, not only do I want to own it but I want to be able to cook and bake the wonderful food that comes out of the kitchen. 

I attended high school at Thornton Fractional North High in Calumet City, Illinois where I had the opportunity to study culinary arts with the late Chef Robert Brent during my sophomore, junior, and senior years. My classmates and I called him "Chef B". He wasn't just a teacher to me he was family. Chef B taught us so much about culinary arts and life itself. One thing he taught us was not to say food was "nasty" but to say it was "disgusting" because saying something was nasty wasn't a good way of describing it. Chef B also taught us how to follow our dreams and to never give up on those dreams no matter how hard they are to accomplish. Under Chef B's wing I participated in the Prostart cooking competition two years in a row. We did not win either year but it is a memory that I will always cherish of the moments of participating in the prostart culinary competition at Kendall College. During my sophomore year of high school, which was my first year in the Culinary Arts program, Chef B invited me to go on a field trip with him and his junior and senior class to a fine dining restaurant called the Rhapsody in downtown Chicago. I was invited not because he liked me as a student /person but because he saw the passion I had for food and he knew I would appreciated the experience. And Chef B was right, I can still remember to this day being the only sophomore going on a trip for junior and senior high school students. In 2013, Chef B was no longer our Culinary Arts teacher because the school felt like the seniors needed someone with more experience. But that didn't stop me and my peers from going to visit him in his office every day, because he understood us better than our new professor did. During that year there was a Ready, Set, Cook completion at Kendall College. It was just like the show on The Food Network Channel, Chopped. A classmate and I were given flank steak and a pantry full of ingredients and a set time to have it all done and plated. Long story short, we had no idea what we were going to cook, but we used the skills Chef B taught us and we conquered our fears and won the completion and was later featured in the Northwest Indiana newspaper. After my high school graduation,I kept in contact with Chef B throughout the first 2 years of college, I went to go see him at my old school whenever I came into town. Chef B passed away in 2015 and I was devastated. He was yet another mentor in my life that I adored that was called home. Since I lost Chef B and my Granny, I no longer cook for just me but I do it for them and all the other people that have dreams in the world that fight everyday for what they love.

During my junior year of high school after I had the wonderful opportunity of completing an internship at Sarah's Pastries and Candies - Downtown Chicago, I fell in love with the art of baking and pastry. Here I did everything from dipping brownies and candied orange peels in chocolate, making rocky road clusters to going on wedding cake deliveries to the fancy hotels that was just walking distance of Sarah's. During my senior year of high school I started my own catering company, Kayrenee Catering. This consisted of me baking between 100 and 120 desserts every Friday and going to sell them at every beauty salon and barbershop in my neighborhood. The contribution from everyone I sold a dessert to helped me continue my education by going off to college at Arkansas Tech University in Russellville, Arkansas.

My choice in where I wanted to attend college was a choice I made during my senior year of high school when it was getting closer to the time that I would be graduating, and also when my parents, whom I lived with my entire life were splitting up. During this time I already knew that I wanted to study Culinary Arts /Hospitality Administration but I didn't think that going away was the right choice for me. I had grown up very disciplined and my exact words to my mother were "I'm going to go to college here in Chicago and live with you for the rest of my life". That decision quickly changed when things started to get worse with my father, and not only that but I started to see the bigger picture of my goals and future and how going out of state to school would allow me to grow as a person, as a chef, and as a future business woman. 

Even though I was accepted to my dream culinary arts school Kendall College, I began researching colleges in Arkansas that offered a bachelors degree in Hospitality Administration or Culinary Arts. And that's when I found Arkansas Tech University on Google. This was the only university with an accredited Hospitality program. When I finally told my mother that I was considering college in Arkansas she questioned my decision as any parent should and once I told her where my head was at she jumped on board and helped me complete my application and everything else that was required. In July 2013, me and my mother moved out of the house that we once shared with my father and moved back to the city of Chicago, IL as soon as we got settled into our new home, it was time to pack for our trip to visit Tech for the first time. 

When I stepped on campus and looked around at my surroundings, I thought about all the great opportunities that I would have at this small but beautiful university. During this time, they were in the process of building the new cafeteria and it was the middle of the summer so there weren't any students around. From what I saw on my visit I knew that this was the right place for me to call home for the next four years. While earning my degree at Arkansas Tech University, I have learned to come out of my shell and use my story to inspire others to do whatever they set their mind to. I have also learned how to survive on my own in a state where I did not know anyone, and plenty more life lessons that I will use to take me on the rest of my journey in life. 

Since joining the Arkansas Tech family in 2013, I have had countless opportunities to further my education about food. During my first year as a Hospitality Administration student, I worked in the Parks, Recreation and Hospitality Department as a student worker. I got the chance to work in the kitchen, helping the students in the advanced food prep prepare for Thursday afternoon lunches. I also had countless opportunities preparing and serving food inside of the President's Box for the home football games. I loved being able to prepare foods for these events with other students in the Hospitality Department. As the years went by I was able to take beverage management, and advanced food prep where I was able to learn all that I could about how beer, wine and other alcoholic spirits are created. Advanced Food Prep was one of my favorite classes because I had the chance to create my own dinner menu, for my family, friends and faculty to enjoy. 

In January 2017 I will be moving to Orlando, Florida to complete my Internship at the Walt Disney World Resort, where I will be working in the Attractions role. Even though this internship is not revolved around culinary arts, it is going to allow me to become better rounded in the Hospitality industry. 

I am currently a senior graduating in May 2018 with a Bachelors of Science Degree in Hospitality Administration with a Food Service Management Emphasis. With this degree I will move forward with finding a restaurant manager job at a great company and working my way up the ladder to higher management and I plan on relocating to Dallas, Texas where I plan to settle and start fresh as a college graduate. After about a rough six month break from school, I will be taking classes to earn my MBA in marketing or finance.

2. My life is over.

Amber sat frozen at the end of her bed. All of her muscles had seized with shock and fear and confusion, yet her mind felt like a battlefield. Her phone lay heavily in her hands. It had been the cause of her turmoil, and now she stared at it, willing it to relinquish all of the answers it held.

Her day had started like any other. But isn’t that how most tragic stories begin? Normality then BAM! blindsided by a disaster that changes a person’s life forever. Amber had woken up to a normal day on Wednesday in the house she lived at with her grandparents. As usual, she idled around after taking a shower until her grandmother had lunch ready. She would always offer to help, and her grandmother would always refuse. That’s nice, dear, but I like to enjoy food the way God intended, not so hot it sets your mouth ablaze, was her usual response. Amber just figured that since her grandmother grew up on a farm with no running water or electricity, she also had a limited supply of spices and was used to only bland food. Preferring flavorful food, Amber would normally add her own mix of spices after it had been plated; out of view of course, to not offend the cook.

After eating, she usually helped with a little cleaning, then finished getting ready for work. She would catch her grandfather already back outside, tending to something that always needed tending to, and would tell him bye. She would drive the 27 miles on the winding, country roads to her work in the city. Her usual horde of customers would come in, picking up the same conversations that had been left off from even days before. At ten, she would finish up anything that needed to be done so she could leave at her scheduled time of eleven. After driving the 27 miles back home, she would quietly sneak into the house as to not disturb the sleeping couple.

This was her life. This was normal.

Wednesday had been normal, until she got home. Soundlessly, she felt her way through the dark house to her bedroom, where she discarded her keys and wallet on the table next to her bed. There is where she found her phone lying, forgotten. She checked her notifications to see what the world had been doing while she worked and went about her usual day. Nothing new, but always exciting. She gave pause when she saw the number above the voicemail icon: 19.

Her brows scrunched, her jaw dropped, and her minded raced.

Something must be wrong, she thought to herself. But just as quickly as that notion came, it left. If anything serious had happened, someone, anyone, would have found her at work. She played the messages. She quickly deleted the three unfamiliar, smooth voices promising to save her money on her student loans to find the familiar voices. The messages were the usual. Her mother, boyfriend, and a couple of friends called. However, one voice kept repeating the same message.

Amber, call me.

Misty, one of Amber’s longest and most loyal friends, had left 13 voice messages. This, being quite unusual, caused Amber to pay closer attention to her words and tones.

Amber, call me now.

Amber, this is important. Call me as soon as you get this.

Amber, I know you’re at work, but this can’t wait. Call me.

Her words were not uncommon to be said. Misty usually found situations excitable and wanted to share her experiences. Her tone, however, was not one of excitement, joy, or even frustration. It was fear. There was noticeable trembling in every word, which only continued to get worse as the messages continued.

Amber, has he found you already? Is that why you’re not answering?

Amber, it involves you, me and the cops. Call me now!

He? Found you? The cops? ‘The cops’ is what stuck out the most. What would the cops want with her? And why didn’t any one of seven say anything to her during their usual conversations while she was at work?

Then realization hit. It also involves Misty.

Oh no. What did we do?

Fear took over. Her mind hurried through all the interactions she has had with Misty recently; discarding anything that would not cause a cop to take a second glance. Images of her and Misty racing down the country roads, watching movies, and playing pool came and went quickly. But images of her being cuffed, walking to her cell, and orange jumpsuits also flashed.

She stared at her phone, hoping it could give her any answers as to what the cops might want with her.

A deafening sound caused her to jump back on her bed and cover her head.

Had they found her?

When she realized her windows were not shattered, nor had her room had not been swarmed by cops, she looked to her phone to see it ringing.

Misty

“Hello,” Amber said, though that word did not seem appropriate.

“Where have you been?” Her voice had changed from trembling to completely shaking and cracking. “I’ve been worried sick all day!”

“Sorry, left my phone at home, had to work, just listened…” She felt her chest heaving and felt her face flush. Taking a couple of deep breaths to calm down, she continued, expecting the worse. “What’s going on?”

“Look, I don’t know what all’s going on, but the cops…” Amber could hear papers rustling, “Detective Anderson came by asking a lot of questions. I told him you had it, I know you had it, then he said it was linked…” Misty started breaking up and she could hear a baby wailing.

“Linked to what?” Amber’s own voice cracked as it raised louder with each word.

“Look, I gotta go. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. Just call him. I already text you his number.” Click is all she heard. Click, Click, Click, like the sound of a cell door shutting.

Amber threw her lying, deceitful phone across the room, buried her head in her hands, and rocked back and forth on her bed as hot tears scolded her face.

The next morning she woke to her grandmother letting her know lunch was going to be ready soon. She got up and went through her usual routine. One this time, she took notice of everything, knowing this may be the last time for anything. The warmth of the shower, the smell of her lotion, the birds singing their usual happy tunes outside of her bedroom window.

She sat across the table, really noticing her grandparents for the first time. But also noticing the change. Her grandmother did not have her usual brightness to her complexion. Her wrinkles seemed deeper, her mostly white hair more disheveled. Her grandfather was not making jokes or telling stories of his childhood as he usually did. His blue eyes seemed murky.

Did they know?

She decided to ignore it and continued with her usual conversations.

After lunch, she sat on her bed staring at her phone once again, mustering up the courage to call the detective. It was enevitable. She had to call. If she didn’t like what she heard, she would take her $372 she had saved and run.

“Hello?” A masculaine voice answered.

“Hello. My name is Amber. You have left a message for me to call you?”

“Yes, Amber. Do you know Misty?

“Yes.”

“Do you also know Lisa?”

“Yes. She is one of Misty’s friends.”

“I see. Are you familiar with the address 4648 Peach Tree Drive?”

“Yes, I live there.”

“You what?”

“I live there, with my grandparents.”

“You mean Ivan and Mary are your grandparents?”

“Yes.”

He didn’t respond right away. But there is no way he is chuckling, right?

“Alright,” He said, seeming more friendly. “That is all I needed to know.” Click

Amber sat frozen once again, only this time it was from shear confusion.

The phone in the living room rung.

It must be the detective. Amber thought, as she quietly made her way out of bedroom door to peek around the corner and listen.

She couldn’t hear all what her grandfather was saying, but she could see his face. After saying Yes four times, his face becaming brighter. After two I understand, his eyes smiled and found Amber.

“Come here,” he said between laughing. “You scared us all.”

“What, what is going on?”

“You dropped a debit card with the name ‘Lisa’ on it by the front door. We thought someone had broken in.”

3.

My 16th birthday landed, like every year, on February 22nd, the first day I ever tasted true freedom. My dad handed me the keys to my hand-me down car, and I was off. I was one of the first kids in my friend group to have my license and own car, so I was naturally the person shuttling friends back and forth, to the movies, park, or anywhere we needed or wanted to go. I loved this newfound freedom of being able to take myself anywhere I wanted to go, as long as I was home by curfew of course.

But like all great beginnings, there is a great ending too, although “great ending” might be a loose term to describe this situation. It all happened on an early morning in June, the summer after my sixteenth birthday. I was still sporting around in my 2006 Ford Fusion, a car my mom had driven first that was then passed down to me. I loved that car an incredible amount, and although it did not have much to offer me I still thought it was the best thing since sliced bread. To name a few of the cars undesirable features: no AC/heat, no radio, no working lights inside, a leaky sunroof, a broken gas gauge, a giant coffee stain my mother left behind, a broken passenger door handle, windows that weren’t reliable on rolling up or down and more… I could go on, but I think you guys get the picture. My car was not a looker, or completely functioning on the inside, but it could get me from point A to point B which is all that really matters. Despite all the negative setbacks that Ford Fusion had, it was my trusty steed, not just for me but for all my friends too. Giving my friends rides places was something I did a lot, and something that ended up causing a whole heap of trouble.

That summer, I was best friends with a girl named Tawnee. We did everything together, even the not so fun stuff. Tawnee’s aunt, Tamara, lived about 15 minutes out of town, and then another 15 minutes down a long and winding dirt road. Since it was such a drive to town, she decided she was going to move closer and asked for Tawnee and I to help her pack up some things early one morning before she was out of the house, because she knew I could take us there without having to bother one of our parents for a ride. She also offered to pay us, so Tawnee and I agreed and promised we would be out there by seven A.M. the next morning. Keep in mind it was summertime for two sixteen year old girls, even with obligations we aren’t going to want to go to bed early just to wake up early! We thought it would be a better idea to stay up all night, drive out there early in the morning, help Tamara, and then go back home and snooze the rest of the day away. Like many plans teenagers come up with, it failed. I made it until 4:30 in the morning before unknowingly passing out, an hour or so after Tawnee’s slumber had already began. Since I had not been expecting to sleep, I did not bother to set an alarm. Sometimes when you’re sixteen (and probably all throughout life) you don’t exactly think things all the way through. Regardless, it happened, and there were no birds chirping or alarm clocks ringing to wake both of the sleeping beauties up the next morning… until we got a phone call at a little after seven asking if we were almost there. After Tawnee stretched the truth a little bit by saying we were on our way, she immediately woke me up and we bounced out the door only moments later. If I were to ever think my mom was going to read this essay, I would tell her to stop here, because it still makes her sick to her stomach when she thinks about the series of events that follow now. Like many sixteen years old, I always felt like I was indestructible. Of course I had heard of people driving too fast and wrecking, or sliding on dirt roads because of loose gravel, but I was ten minutes late and 30 minutes from my destination, so the petal was being put to the metal. With Tawnee strapped in on the passenger side, we hauled through town and out towards Tamara’s house as fast as I possibly could. I was not worried about cops or state troopers, other drivers or pedestrians, I had a need for speed and wanted to get there fast. After cutting the drive on the main highway in about half the normal time, I flicked my blinker on and veered off onto the dirt road. We still had another fifteen or so minutes of driving, but I was dead set on making it there faster. As I became more familiar with the dirt road, I also started accelerating speed. If you haven’t figured out by now, I think you can see where this story is going. We had been traveling down this road for about seven minutes when everything turned catastrophic. I was going about 55 MPH and caught some loose gravel on the already rough dirt road. We were going around a big curve and my tires lost traction. My car flipped onto its side, with the right side of my car scraping the ground for what seemed like an immeasurable distance. Suddenly we halted, my car had slammed up against two trees and wasn’t going anywhere. Crying, I turned to Tawnee who was turning to me so we could check on each other. Her head was busted open from somewhere, and the blood was a horrifying scene. I had no open wounds, but pain was already radiating through me. I was instantly sore from my seat belt holding me in place, but I am so thankful I had it on. I crawled out of my car back onto the ground with Tawnee following after me. My phone was MIA but luckily Tawnee was still clutching hers. She unlocked her iPhone to call her aunt, only to find out in complete horror we had absolutely no service. Staring at Tawnee with a blank face, I knew the only solution we had was to start walking. I was worried about Tawnee’s wound, even though she said she could feel it was nothing too deep since the bleeding had already slowed down. This was about the time my nerves had finally calmed down, or started too at least. I hadn’t even realized my car was maybe not a goner, but on it’s side jammed up against two trees, which is not the best look for a car you were expected to drive another two years at least. Without any other option, we started walking up the giant hill that leads to Tamara’s house. We were about three or four miles out from her house still, so I was not exactly looking forward to this unplanned hike. A single truck passed us without stopping to ask if we needed help, but I’m sure he figured out why two girls were walking down the side of a dirt road at eight in the morning when he drove a little farther and saw my car. After walking for what felt like one hundred miles, we see another car rumbling down the road coming our direction. This time it was a familiar face; Tamara must’ve known something was wrong and came looking for us. Mortified by the dried blood on Tawnee’s forehead, I could see the sheer panic that swept her face before I could even start explaining. We loaded up into her car and started driving back to her house, finally obtaining service again even though I wasn’t sure I wanted any. Getting phone service again meant having to call my parents who would be ever so disappointed in my recklessness. With no surprise, both of them were upset, angry, disappointed, but overall relieved we were both okay. My dad made a few phone calls and retrieved my car from it’s side while I tried to stay out of the way by packing up Tamara’s belongings. Not only was I a bundle of nerves from the worst morning ever, I was also completely exhausted. I knew that day would be a rough one and it sure was.

Both my parents gave me an extremely long chewing out one on one, so I got to endure their rath on two separate occasions. They knew I had been driving too fast, which to this day is one of the few regrets I have from my highschool days. My mom and dad both gave me the typical talk any parent would give their child, ending with the statement they’re just glad I was okay. Personally, I was fine...but my car on the other hand was in a different boat. There actually wasn’t that much damage done, but the Fusion did have to spend two weeks in the shop. I was out of car for a little bit, but it’s not like I could've went anywhere anyways! I was definitely grounded because of my irresponsibleness. In that time, I thought it was the end of the world. Looking back, I’m extremely lucky to have made it out with such little damage to myself and my car. Not to mention I learned some very valuable lessons. Get some sleep even if it’s not what you want to do, take precautions and set alarm clocks even when it feels unnecessary, and NEVER drive 55 MPH on a dirt road at 7:45 in the morning. All in all, it was a learning experience that made me be a much, much more cautious driver all throughout high school and to this day.

4.

My palms were sweating and my heart was racing faster than my mind. It was the familiar ding coming from my phone that caused it all. One minute, life was normal and good, then the next a text message slid across my broken screen with the words "Call me when you're not at work", from dad. My mind went to a million, different places and none of them were good. This was not a message my dad would send if things were okay, this was a text to break the news. Although my hands were shaking at an increasing pace, I managed to click on the phone symbol that would answer my questions. Before I could say anything, I heard my dad's voice say the words "Your mother and I are separating".

Although I had been in denial, I really knew that this was coming. However, I didn't prepare myself for the actual physical heartache it would bring me along with a strange sense of relief. My dad continued talking after he broke the news, but I didn't hear anything he was saying. The only word I could manage to get out of my now frowning mouth was "okay". I had gone through my entire childhood with happily married parents, but it was apparent that in the last few years something had broken them and this wasn't something that could be fixed.

When I arrived to my apartment that night, I instantly fled to my room and locked the door behind me. My mind was so full of thoughts that it physically hurt, but I felt like I needed an answer. What could tear apart a twenty-five-year relationship? Was one of them having an affair? Was it my mom? My dad? Or was it just possible that they were no longer in love? As I went over every possible explanation in my head, I heard a hesitant knock on my door. When I opened the door, my roommate and cousin, Maddy, came in silently and slowly slid to the spot next to me on the cold and dark, hardwood floor. By the look on her face, I knew that she knew. However, there was something in her eyes that told me that she knew much more than I did.

I looked her straight in the eyes and muttered out the words "Tell me everything". As much as I wanted to know exactly what had happened between my parents, I shouldn't have asked, because every detail that came next, will never be forgotten. It was honestly horrible. I had no idea that my parents who were once very much in love, could be so cruel to each other. They had both truly cared for each other once and shared five children together, yet now their goal was to make the other miserable. As Maddy stood up to leave, she looked down at me and said "Please don't tell anyone that I told you what happened" and then she left the room. I knew every dark detail of my parent's secrets but I could never say anything about it, especially to them.

Forgiveness is hard. It is really hard. Yet in this crushingly difficult situation, it was all I could do. After all, these are my parents, who have given me all that I have, and made me everything that I am. I was made to believe that my parents were perfect, but at this point in time the realization hit me. They are people too. They both had made their own mistakes. The following weeks I did my best to spend quality time with each parent. At first, my mother's eyes were always red from trying so desperately to stop the tears, while my father stank of liquor, trying to stop the pain. It was clear that they were broken but there was something about both of them that gave me a sense of hope that they could be fixed.

One night while I was spending some time with my mom, I really looked at her and I saw it. There was this spark in her eye that had been recovered from the darkness it was so solemnly sent to. She looked up at me and I finally built up the courage and mustered out the question, "Mom, are you happy". Her reaction was so instant that she didn't even need to say anything, I already knew. Her eyes lit up and she said "I'm seeing someone, and they make me very happy". It felt like just an instant later, my dad was in the same boat. He had met someone who authentically made him happy.

Although these budding relationships seemed to come pretty fast after my parent's separation, they brought both my mom and dad happiness, which was something that seemed lost. It was an adjustment to say the least to see my parents with other people, but it was better than seeing them alone. It was a hard realization that all of the cherished memories of my family being together was at an end and there would never be more of those memories made. Yet it was such an important realization because it forced me to care more about their happiness, than my wishful dreaming.

I often look back to that moment when I was holding my phone against my ear and hearing my dad's voice break, telling me the solemn news of the future where my parents would lead separate lives, and I reflect. The day before that call, my parents were living their lives together. Then they were not. That day my family seemed so broken, I felt so broken. It felt like it would take an eternity to mend all of our shattered pieces. Yet a day came when being happy apart wasn't a bad thing. Everything changed in an instant but arriving to a place where things would be fixed took time. Not everything that seems to broken is unable to fix, in fact we wouldn't have been able to be fixed if we weren't broken in the first place.

5.

EXTRA-ORDINARY

The sea was a calm radiant sapphire ripple reflecting a bright cloudless sky. With 20 knots of wind in our sails and predictions of clear whether, it was going to be an easy voyage. Our 36' wind-powered, floating micro-home, S/V Robin, sliced through the gentle swells as we glided through 360 degrees of blue horizon. Routinely, I glanced back towards the stern.

My face fell in disbelief. The sky was turning black as rapidly moving rapidly moving dark clouds coalesced on the horizon. Waterspouts began dropping to the sea. “Andrew!” I screamed pointing towards the impending darkness. He exploded into a flurry of limbs and lines, striking the sails. I leaped below to grab the offshore life vests. In the 30 seconds it took to get back on deck, the wind had already increased to 45 knots. A wall of darkness was devouring the light in eerie parallel off port and starboard sides to an ever narrowing window of blue sky straight ahead.

Suddenly, a blast of 75 knot wind gripped our mast like a hand on a lever, plunging the port side deck into the sea, lifting Robin's 6000 lb lead keel towards the surface. We were nearly thrown from the shallow, bench seat, open cockpit as the floor beneath us tipped near vertical. The mast bobbed just a few feet above the abyss. In heroic defiance of gravity, Andrew clenched the tiller, managing to pull us upwind and upright.

There is only one prerogative while weathering a storm. Avoid what had just occurred; getting hit by wind or waves from the side. That's how you get rolled over. There are only two ways to do this: steer directly upwind, pointing into the wind and waves, or steer directly downwind, pointing with the wind and waves. Upwind is a violent thrashing ride. Downwind is a terrifying surf. It's also very important not to have any sails in the air to catch wind in the first place.

We were still flying a small triangle of sail. There hadn't been time to get the mainsail all the way down before the wind became too strong for it to drop. We couldn't withstand these winds hitting it without a high probability of capsizing. This fact was written on my husbands face. It's a look I had never seen before. It struck quick fear into my heart. It said, “This could be the end. I'm sorry.”

In that moment I was struck by the absurdity of a quote that I had placed far too near and dear to my heart at a young impressionable age. It was from some Gen-X noir film, the title of which I will never remember. The young woman in the film exclaims “Anything less than extraordinary is a waste of my time.” As a teen, I took that to mean something like don't settle for a dull life. But it resounded in my 34 year old brain like hollow Gen-X cynicism. Turns out, extraordinary is not a synonym for better, good, or even cool. It simply means extra-ordinary. Beyond what is usual, or established. Things that are ordinary or established, most likely are so because they are good. Ordinary is the consensus of the majority. The things everyone agrees are better. Things like a home with a horizontal un-moving foundation, access to an infinite supply of fresh water, air-conditioning, owning a dog. My entire life didn't flash before my eyes, but rather the decisions and predispositions that led me to this moment. How do I get myself into these situations? Why am I in the middle of the ocean?! The quest for the extraordinary. To go, not where no man had gone before, but where few bother to go. The desire to see and thus endure places inhospitable to human life. The absurdity of my extraordinary goals truly hit me when my husband put on his serious, we might die face. Because, in that moment I realized everyone was right. I was crazy. Who in their right mind chooses Poseidon as their landlord.

“Push!” my husband bellowed, his voice barely reaching my ears as the wind ripped it away. But I didn't need to hear him. I could feel power of the wind and current start to turn and tip us. With each “Push” his body went rigid, arms outstretched at full wingspan bracing between the stanchions and the tiller. I behind him, with my back braced against the cockpit bench, thrusting my legs against the tiller with every pound of pressure my 5'2” body could offer.

As a wave passed under our center, lifting us to its height, the sea vanished from beneath the bow. It hung over the swirling abyss of empty trough before beginning a nose dive halted only by the next wave coming up to meet it with a violent crash, sending walls of water flying over the deck to drench us in the cockpit. As the waves got taller and tighter, the nose began to dive so steeply it was plowing up water from the next wave. I don't know how long this went on for. I don't know how many times he yelled “Push”. I know the engine alarm was screaming. I know the sting of 70 knot salt spray on my skin. I know the incomprehensible visuals of Poseidon's rage. I know that simultaneous intense focus on a multitude of life threatening environmental changes demanding instantaneous response can damn near stop time.

“Would you want to live on a boat and sail around the world?” A handsome Lieutenant recently home from a deployment to Afghanistan said to me over a beer 9 years ago. I couldn't even process the question. I'd never lived by the ocean. I didn't even have the vocabulary. Observing my blank face he continued, “There are no masters on the sea. The wind is free. Anchoring is free. Fishing, free. You can travel as far as your fresh water supply can take you. ” “People do that!?” I exclaimed utterly befuddled. “Yes” he replied in all seriousness. “When I get out of the Army, I am going to sail around the world.” The idea was so paradigm shifting and delightful all I could finally think to say was, “So Peter, You've become a pirate.” I immediately regretted responding with a semi-obscure Peter Pan reference, worrying he'd think I'd forgotten his name. Fortunately it was not lost on him. He smiled and raised his glass. “To Never-Never Land.”

And to Never-Never Land I followed him. Through another awful deployment, through years of saving and dreaming, and through even more years in the toxic boat yards of Florida.

We chose restore a neglected antique ocean-going sloop with a broken mast that leaked from every bolt, screw and porthole. We stripped it to the bare hull, repaired or fabricated new fiberglass parts, and replaced every piece of hardware and rigging ourselves. We installed a new engine and every life support system. 100% of this boat, minus the bare hull, was our doing, our engineering. A manifestation of our will, or our stubbornness. Our lives relied not only on our wits and seamanship, but also on the strength of our own handiwork.

As we were pounded by wind and wave, every horrifying creak of the rigging tested that handiwork. Robin carried us through the continual thrashing so unscathed I couldn't help but feel proud every time a wave did not break us. I marveled at the strength of fiberglass, wood, and steel. I marveled at the strength of our will.

Eventually the wind faded to unpleasant, but non-lethal, speeds, releasing me from back-up tiller duty. Time returned to its normal pacing as I picked up the pieces of my shattered sunglasses. Andrew tended his ripped, bloody callouses. Our American and Bahamian flags were half gone, ripped and unraveled by the storm. What remained still saluted off the backstays triumphantly. Elated but exhausted, we began sorting the sopping tangle of ropes in the cockpit and hoisted sail again. A cool evening breeze lulled the sea back to serenity. The remaining clouds dispersed with the setting sun. And my favorite moon, a tiny sliver, rose in the cloudless sky.

Without a full moon to outshine it, the entire expanse of the cosmos is revealed. The light of billions of stars dances across the waves, providing enough illumination to pace the deck without additional light. The sky is so densely littered from horizon to horizon constellations are a challenge to find. But the night is long enough to find them.

Adrift beneath the dances of starlight, I laid on the cockpit bench peering into the vast hazy glittering arm of the Milky Way. A deep well of joy bubbled within me at the sight I had so long yearned for. As the days extraordinary events replayed in skull cinema, waves of strange unexpected gratitude washed over me in rhythm with the sea. I was blessed with the gift of a cloudless night; blessed that Poseidon thought me worthy of witnessing his power. And ever so grateful for a curious new passion trying to ignite within me. A passion for the ordinary.

6.

Third Time is the Charm

Have you ever counted your chickens before they hatched? Well I have, not literally my chickens, but I have been excessively confident on a specific event before it even happened. My senior year was approaching, I as a huge sports fan, was looking forwards to playing my last soccer season more than anything else. I wasn’t the only one, my teammates who were likewise seniors were just as ecstatic about it. Who wouldn’t? Especially after being one game away from winning a state championship, TWICE in consecutive years. We had the whole team coming back, however there was one issue none of us predicted. Our coach from the past three years, whom we all liked, ended up getting fired during the summer. Now what? We have the talent to win a state championship, but we will have the precise coaching?

A few weeks before the start of the season, our new coach is announced…… the school’s cross-country coach, Coach James. Whom not surprisingly had the minimal knowledge of soccer. The whole team was stunned and to say the least not too pleased. Then again, what were we supposed to expect from a school whose support for the soccer team was minor. I as team captain the previous two years knew I had to assist Coach James with an insight of the team and players.

“I don’t have an immense knowledge about soccer, but I do know how to get a team in shape.” Was the first thing that came out of Coach James mouth before I could even introduce myself. He said it so nonchalant as if he knew what I was going to say. However, later I did get the opportunity of having a one on one conversation with him. I remember the first day of practice we ran more on that single day than we did all last season combined.

Midseason had arrived, and we were about to enter the district tournament; one win away from reaching the Arkansas 4A State Tournament. Simply and confidently we came out victorious, resulting us in making the state tournament. Now the focus was to climb our way to the #1 seed to have the easiest route to the state finals.

Now this is where our dream of winning state was slowly converting into a nightmare. The worse part of it all is that we could see it, our hope sliding down like a young high-spirited child at a playground. We ended up losing the next two games, resulting in us earning the 4th and final seed of the district.

A few days before taking off too Little Rock, to compete for a state championship, we all took a seat in an oval shape to discuss what was going on with the team. Left to right everybody got the opportunity to express two things they liked about the team and two things they didn’t like. That meeting, without a doubt was the turning point of our wild season, filled with countless emotions.

The journey nearly concluded in the first round of the state tournament. Being an overlooked 4th seed we were matched up with a #1 seed, a private school located in Little Rock. Down 1-0 at the half, yet we were confident we could come back and win the game. Resuming the second half, they instantly score their second goal.

The game seemed to be flying by at a rapid speed, frustration printed all over our faces. “Sir referee, how much time is left?” I asked in such an anxious tone. He replied, “Fifteen minutes young man.” And BOOM! That’s when it all hit me, reality.

With an emotionless face, I felt a cold rush through my veins even though the weather was hotter than a fully cooked pot of chicken broth. Nothing came out of my mouth, but my conscious could not shut up. “There is no (expletive) way this is happening.” “Was I just going to learn a lesson along with the team?” To not count our chickens before they hatch.

All the preseason talks about leaving a legacy with a state championship was seeming to fade... Just when it all seemed dark, the sunlight appeared to hit us… We were awarded a penalty kick, this was our chance to comeback and win the game. Being team captain, the whole team decided I should kick the penalty. Setting the ball up on the penalty spot, smelling the roughed-up soil, and praising God I make this kick. Because I know if I make it we are going to overcome the deficit and win the game.

If you’re assuming we ended up winning that game, you’re more correct than a fifth grader on “Are you smarter than a 5th grader.”

The next two games were a cake walk compared to the first-round match. That’s the type of power a momentum swing contains when it comes to sports. After failing two years consecutively, our third time was the charm, we had finally made it to the State final. Our goal was closer than it ever has been. The fourteen seniors playing their fourth and final year were on the verge of achieving their biggest accomplishment yet.

The day arrived fast, faster than Dale Earnhardt Jr on the final lap of a NASCAR Cup Series. It was Saturday, May 24th, the final match was scheduled to be played @1 o’clock PM. The day was incredibly stunning, sun was shining, birds chirping as if it was their last day, and the butterflies weren’t only in my stomach.

Being a town of an undersized population, it felt as if it was all there. Every player focused with their bat hearing sense activated were impatiently waiting for the referee’s whistle to commence the game.

Less then a minute in, ambitiously I take a shot about 35 yards out. A second later, I realized the other team’s goalkeeper was much more nervous than I was. The shot slipped right through his hands. Up 1-0 after a minute in, that was the perfect start, however there was still 79 extensive minutes left to play.

Luckily for us the perfect start was just that, perfect, because it helped us possess the tone of the game. We concluded winning the championship game with the final score of 4-1. I could almost say that moment was one of the greatest for the whole town. Although we counted our chickens before they hatched, we dodged a bullet. Our determination ended up allowing us to witness the saying, “third time is the charm”.