I survived the ice storm of 1998

Brainstorming an event from the '90s.



The weather in Plattsburgh, New York is quite the fickle supernatural event. One day it may be a beautiful sixty-degrees with the sun shining and no cloud in sight. However, the next day there could be ten inches of snow and a day off from school; also known as the most beautiful two words in any child's langauage---a snow day. I loved snow days, in fact, I relished them. Any reason to get out of school, I was game. So when Plattsburgh entered an ice age for about two weeks, I was in heaven. Imagine waking up and seeing an ice skating rank in the backyard, covering every inch of ground for miles and miles of neighborhood living.

For most people the ice storm was quite the terrifying experience, but with power, hot water, no school and history happening before my eyes--it was like a dream come true.
The ice storm's cold behavior robbed the electrical power away from the majority of my town for more than two weeks. People were buying generators, cooking food on stoves, and living without a hygenic care. However, for some odd reason every house on our block lost power and was suffering the plague of ice, except my family. It was as if the angel of death passed by our door and swiped up everyone else in sight. We did not have anything different from any of the other houses on Cogan Avenue. Nevertheless, having power made the ice storm one enjoyable adventure for me.

Automatically, my house became the place of refuge. I would wake-up every new snow day to find my mother cooking homemade soup in pots the size of diner stools on our stove. Neighbors and friends would stop on by to receive a hot shower and bowls of the soup my mother slaved over. The "precision weather forecast" of News Channel Five would be giving the play by play in our living room of the destruction that the storm was causing. The biggest news day was when our little town managed to get on the Nightly News with Tom Brokaw for what the frosty weather did to our neck-of-the-woods. We were famous. The only destruction I saw was the deprivation of a solid fourth grade education and that was perfectly fine with me.

I read book after book, watched movies until my eyes could no longer bare a screen, and played with my brother day after day after day. I would press my nose against the window trying to peer out onto this new and extraordinary world that was being created before my eyes. Life was grand until reality knocked upon my little pink door.

"Toys" and "Barbies"

When one usually thinks of toys the words enjoyment, childhood, and nostalgia usually pop into mind. However, when describing those plastic painted Matel-made objects, Roland Barthes and Emily Prager took a different kind of approach. Instead of reminicising about the fantasy world that Prager made Barbie and Ken live in, she criticized the maker of the toy and his biast opinions of how the female anatomy should look on Barbie versus the Ken figure. And rightly so.

Hardly any woman on Earth will ever have the physique that Barbie is blessed with. Yet, Barbie is perhaps one of the most commonly bought toys by little girls across America. What kind of message does it send if Barbie "...looks like someone who got her start at the Playboy Mansion" (133)? An unexisting small size, perfect hair, flawless skin (regardless it is painted on) is not how women look. We have blemishes, frizzy uncontrollable hair, and God forbid, we have fat.

Why couldn't Barbie be normal? And why do celebrities have to also feed into the image of a Barbie figure? No wonder so many girls in their teens have eating disorders and spend all of their money to get the coolest clothing from the hippest store. If Barbie did it, then obviously we have to look exactly like that in order to get our own Ken. Girls all over the country felt as if they need to be endowed in their feminist parts just as much as Barbie as well. It's just wrong. Girls should stoping purging themselves or going to surgeons for the perfect body. The only specialist they should be seeing is their own, inner-self. They need to look in the mirror and realize that healthy, for Tanya, may be a size eight and for Carrie it may be an eighteen. Being happy with their figures for their own personal well-being and for society is the only way to cure the image of Barbie perfection that we all feel we need.

The more women figure out who they are and can proudly announce, "No, I am not a Barbie-figure and never will be, but I love who I am," the better our society's image will be. There needs to be a "Barbie" doll named Tanya and Carrie, to whom real girls can relate to. There needs to be more celebrities who announce that they are happy with their shapes God blessed them with and will not try to lose 15 extra pounds for the camera. There needs to be more moms who tell their children they are beautiful just the way they are.

Beauty starts from the inside and isn't it ironic that the inside of Barbie is just solid plastic? Barbie does not have a real, pumping heart that can send compassionate words to friends. Barbie is a toy, not a role model. As Prager writes, "...we're all trapped in Barbie's world and can never escape" (135).

I agree with Prager's description. Barbie sucks.

"Lenses" Annie Dillard

"Lenses" seems like quite the suitable title for Annie Dillard's short essay about description. She describes a microscope and swans truly in her own perception; her own lenses. That is perhaps one of the greatest beauties of human nature. We may all be looking at the same piece for inspiration for our writing (like a pair of swans), but all end up with different explanations of how we see the swans. Dillard focuses on the movement of the swans as she gazes at them through her binoculars. I on the other hand would have been more romantic in my description of the swans.

When I think of a pair of swans on Valentine's Day (as Dillard writes in her description), I would surely play more off the symbolism of swans caressing each other in the shape of a heart. I would write about how they were bound to each other's trust as they take their trip up the Atlantic coast. I would remark of the beauty that they share in their pure white feathers. I would express how their coat represents their cleansing spirit to start anew in a fresh location. I would speak about how a swan's journey could perhaps be similar to a journey in companionship.

As perhaps easily noted, I would perhaps describe more of the unknown, idealistic parallels than try to write about their wingspan. The one thing that bothers me about Dillard's description is her lack of poetic language in areas where it almost seems silly to just leave a simplistic remark. For example, she writes, "All their feathers were white; their eyes were black. Their wingspan was six feet; they were bigger than I was" (121). I knew that the moment she said she had spotted swans. Automatically my mind pictured two stereotypical swans. Couldn't she have given us more? Were there imperfections in the white coat of the swans? Were their eyes so black that it caused a sense of unease to the viewer? Or were the eyes so enthralling and mystical that one could not help but wonder what those eyes saw that the binocular holder did not. I want to know more than just the basics. Give me something to hold on to. I want to hold so tight to the words that she writes that I cannot question at all the picture she is setting for me. I want to believe that what she is telling me is so true that there can be no question beyond doubt that those swans are large and flying somewhere.

I am not quite sure I like the lenses to which Dillard perceives the world. They are quite realistic and descriptive without too much use of the imagination. I want metaphors, curious future predictions, and lyrical adjectives to describe those swans. I can only conclude from this essay that Dillard and I do not see "eye to eye."

"Mother Tongue" Amy Tan

I love how when telling her story, Amy Tan, expresses the different vernaculars of English by writting, "Englishes." It is true that perhaps the form of the English language that we use with different people does change. When I am with my friends, we end up shortening words that should only be shortened via text messaging. For example, instead of saying, "That is just awkward," some of my friends will sarcastically say, "That is just awk." "Whatever" will become "whatev," and instead of taking the time to say the extra syllable of "legitimate," it is apparently easier to just say, "legit." While I must confess that I frequently use these shortened terms, I am happy to say that I have never written, "whatev" or "that is so legit" in a formal essay. However, I cannot help but dwell on the text message language and the effects that it has probably developed. Just as Amy Tan felt like she struggled with her English class in high school because of her mom's English, do other kids struggle with the text message syndrome? Are kids so use to frantically typing on their cell phones and jokingly using the lingo when talking to friends that they simply bring that habit to their writing?

I always thought it was ridiculous when reading SAT prep books that they had to mention a rule stating something to the effect: "Make sure to use complete sentences and take the time to spell out the words." I was reading a SAT prep book (to prepare me for college), yet I was still being told of things that I assumed were fourth grade writing basics. Although I have never encountered this problem personally, it must be quite prevalent in the writing of youth if it is mentioned in a SAT prep book. I will be quite saddened the day when I write an essay (thankfully not for the SAT's) and subconsciously use abbreviations that would only be seen on my cell phone.

While Amy Tan specifically addresses the problem that is occurring with Asian Americans, could this perhaps be a phenomenon that is a cross-cultural development between human interaction and computer interaction? There is a right time for everything. Amy Tan knew that she could use the "broken" English with her mom, but also knew the importance of using correct grammar in her writing. Perhaps it is important that we leave the "legit's," "whatev's," and "awk's" to the computer and the actual correct words for conversation. After all, as Tan pointed out, many people thought her mother was incompetent because of her broken English when, in actuality she was reading Shirley MacLaine's books and the Forbes report. I know that my friends (who are attending some of the top-rated universities in the country) are very competent, but it surely does not look like we are in college when we start to say our abbreviations used in text messaging. It is just "awk."

"Shitty First Drafts" Anne Lamott

Just get it all out there. It doesn't matter how terrible it is. The point is to get out all your thoughts in the first draft. What Anne Lamott expresses is something that is so true, yet is a practice I rarely follow. Usually I just want to get all the three magical steps of writing away with one, big sweep. I have other things to do. People to see. Superbowls to watch.

However, by trying to get everything done with "one, big sweep" I am realistically cheating myself out of what could be spectacular writing and perhaps spending more time on one piece of writing at a time than should be spent. To obtain great writing, it is important to be able to just write down all the thoughts that are mustered in one's thinking about a particular subject. As Lamott puts it: "You just let this childlike part of you channel whatever voices and visions come through and onto the page" (75). So if I'm talking about the importance of music and accidentally let it slip that I actually enjoy listening to country music or that N'Sync is actually better than what many my think, it's okay. The point of first drafts is to just express all the emotions that the writer has at that time. People are going to argue with a piece of writing no matter what one may write about. A piece of writing cannot please everyone.

Therefore, I shouldn't be afraid to write what exactly comes to mind. In fact, Orhan Pamuk also briefly mentions this aspect in his Nobel Literature award-winning speech when he says, "My confidence comes from the belief that all human beings resemble each other, that others carry wounds like mine--that they will therefore understand." While everyone may not agree with what I write, people may have similar feelings. How will I ever reach that point in my writing if I do not allow for a "shitty first draft?"

The beauty of that terrible first draft is acknowledging the feelings that the writer may have. It's like going to an AA meeting. The first step is always acknowleding that the addict has a problem. The first step in writing, is to be willing and to have no reservations about the initial feelings that something may possess for the writer to express feelings of hatred, depressions, comic relief, irony, love, etc.

So don't be afraid. The paper can handle the terror that your writing can bring it. As Lamott discusses, first drafts do not have to be seen by anyone. Revise a little or in many cases a great deal before showing your "first draft" to someone.

"Hi I'm Kayla Peck and I have a problem. I can't write 'shitty first drafts.'"
Like they say, knowing that you have a problem is the first step.

"My Father's Suitcase" Orhan Pamuk

I truly wanted to start this post off with a quote. However, I had a difficult time trying to pick which one to use. Orhan Pamuk's usage of words and the meanings that he conveys in each sentence creates powerful ideas. His essay makes me want to become this extravagant writer and one day give a speech as powerful as his to an audience as important and royal as the one he had. Reading the beginning of the essay, I made notes after notes in the margins, underlining and putting stars among the things I found so profound. I looked at my page and realized I was like one of the those kindergarteners who scribbled across any piece of paper I could grab my hands on. However, by the time I got to the middle of the essay, when I found myself agreeing with everything statement he made, I found one. I found a statement that disagreed with the award-winning author.
Pamuk writes, "The starting point of true literature is the man who shuts himself up in his room with his books." Of course, I think the statement is true, but I think there is much more that is involved with the starting point of "true literature" than reading great books. I think that there may need to be another essential key that helps create wonderful writing. Perhaps I am taking what we wrote too literally, but I do think "true literature" also needs to be founded by life experience. I could shut myself in a room and read all the books possible, but I myself would have not felt half of the emotions or had to face any of the adversity that the authors that are so highly praised discuss about in their novels. I think Pamuk fails to write that it is also important to live life. Just as sometimes the best person to counsel someone when facing a dilemma is an individual who has been through it, I think the same can be said about great or "true" literature. "True literature" means conveying true feelings. How can one write such a vivid response if the author had not experienced even a fraction of what he or she is trying to write about?
Indeed, good literature is evolved from years of reading, but there is more. An author needs depth. A kind of depth that can only be experienced when faced with it directly.

"The Library Card" Richard Wright

There are so many different ways to tackle the theme of prejudicism. Some authors make the point so valid and in-your-face that the reader just wants to shut the book and scream, "I get your point! Can we just talk about something else?!" Others, however, including Richard Wright, are able to gracefully make discrimination a main concern while still creating a interesting piece of writing.
Here is a black man who hears the name of an author, H.L. Mencken, and lets his curiousity explore the wonderful world of reading while sneaking books under an employer's name. Genius. Pure genius, Richard Wright. Not only is the main character able to explore bits of wisdom from well-known authors, but he is also able to open his mind to new thoughts and ideas. Books become the character's key to freedom. "But to feel that there were feelings denied me, that the very breath of life itself was beyond my reach, that more than anything else hurt, wounded me. I had a new hunger" (43). He seemed to fall out of complaceny when he was able to pick up a book and read.
I cannot help but wonder about how I have never had to sneak a book out of a library because my skin color or ethnicity. Wright has an entire essay (at the very least three hours of writing and editing) of an essay where a man sneaks books. It's odd how our society can change. I could see young adolescents sneak to the movie theaters to see a rated "R" movie, but for a book?! Books are what we have to read in school, analyze and write the most boring three-page essays on. I commend Wright for not only tackling the issue of discrimination, but for showing the ostracism through the what sometimes seems like a dying media. This essay is a perfect example of how books and the ideas that they present can change a man's way of thinking.
The black man in this essay was able to find a new sense of freedom through reading. Others have found Christianity, love, forgiveness, value, and purpose.
Maybe I am being a little too harsh on our society today, but it would be refreshing to see a kid steal a library book.