I am not quite sure why I decided to take Latin. Maybe it was because a majority of people in my grade were taking Spanish or that I thought learning an ancient language would assist me in my studies of science. When I first enrolled in Latin class freshman year of high school I was tentative of my ability to learn a new language, let alone a language that was currently unspoken and infamous for its difficulty.
Despite my frustration trying to understand the complex grammatical composition of Latin, I later discovered that taking Latin was one of the greatest decisions I made during high school. My choice to continue to take Latin was not rewarded in the means of academics per-say, but for the people I met while taking that highly tedious and boring class.
Although my first year of my Latin studies was highly challenging and confusing, when my second fall semester of high school lapsed I enlisted in Latin 3-4. As a part of our class we would take frequent trips to the computer lab to take online vocabulary quizzes, or for us students, waste time conversing with our neighbors. I had been reserved for most of my time in Latin and did not make much effort to make conversation or become involved during class discussions.
I entered the barren room filled with computers and old wooden desks with gum under the chairs. The classroom had a musty smell of books and white board cleaner chemicals. There were only a couple other students in the room as I searched for a seat in the back of the classroom. Chairs gradually filled up with chattering students until there was one lone chair left to the left of mine. A tall attractive male with short curly hair chose a seat next to me. He had been in my class last year as well, but I had never talked to him. For the entire duration of the class period we talked about our eccentric teacher, cars, our favorite food, and movies. When I had dragged my feet to class that day I had no idea that I would meet such a wonderful person. His smile was infectious and our conversation flowed effortlessly. I was happy. The bell rang and it was time to go to our next classes.
As I left the computer room I can clearly remember the smile that developed on my face. I had made a new friend. Later that curly haired boy would become my best friend and companion. Even tough I did not succeed in my Latin studies as I initially hoped; I discovered something even more precious, love.
Rain falls down from the heavens breaching the crisp night air.The sharp breeze of passing cars bites your cheeks and your only pair of clothes is soaked.You squint your eyes to see the oncoming cars more clearly and your arm is weak from holding it out toward the road for an extended period of time.You stand alone hoping, hoping that it will all be over; hoping for someone, anyone, to pull over and give you a ride.
My grandfather, Howard Jeff Cobb (“Jay”), experienced this scenario during four days and three nights of his journey hitchhiking from Missouri to Sacramento via Route 66.He would travel a distance of nearly 2,500 miles to visit his family and girlfriend during a two-week break before he reported for duty at Ft.Dix in New Jersey.He figured that he could save some money by hitchhiking, but little did he know that this experience would remain with him until this day.He was 20 years old.It was the summer of 1957.
Jay departed from Missouri wearing a traditional Army uniform and carrying five hundred dollars in cash that the military gave him for traveling money.He securely sewed four-hundred-and-fifty-dollars of that money under the lining of his army hat for safekeeping and put the other fifty dollars in his leather wallet.
My grandfather’s first ride was from a kind, husky young man approximately my grandfather’s age.He was driving a powder blue 1957 Buick convertible with a tattered top cover.They got along from the get-go and in exchange for the driver’s kindness, my grandfather returned his gratitude by purchasing a hearty plate of eggs and bacon for the two of them.They traveled a long distance, driving all day through the hilly and lush landscape of Missouri.To save money, they split the cost of a motel room that had two beds.After a full day of travel he was still in Missouri.On his second day, he was dropped off at the border of Oklahoma.
The kind man in the classic convertible and my grandfather departed on their separate paths through America.In a short while, he was picked up by a big-rig truck driver who drove day and night, taking him all the way from the edge of Oklahoma to Albuquerque, New Mexico.As night fell over the southern horizon, the driver invited Jay to sleep in the smelly and claustrophobic bed compartment while he drove.During this time he replenished his energy by sleeping in the bed stowed above the cab unknowingly soaring 60 miles per hour through his dreams.
His next ride came from a woman with her teenage son.She drove Jay to her home in Needles, located at the California border.He was invited to spend the night and she fed him heartily.Early in the morning of his fourth day of travel she was kind enough to take him to a busy freeway on-ramp where he could get another ride closer to his family.With a happy heart, he was out of harm's way and nearly home to meet the loving arms of his family.
Shortly afterward he was picked up by a group of men going to Bakersfield to compete in a rodeo.There was a prize bull and calf in a trailer hitched to the back of the driver’s truck.Because there was no room in the passenger area of the truck, he had to sit in the trailer with the animals.Even though he was alone with a particularly large bull and calf, he was quite comfortable. The animals were harmless and the trailer was air-conditioned.He passed part of the time talking to the animals, soothed by their gentle nature, and reminiscing about when he was a child living on a farm in Idaho.Little did my grandfather know that hitchhiking was bit as pleasing as he had perceived.
He was then dropped off at Bakersfield, where a young man heading north offered to carry him as passenger.The ride seemed fairly pleasant until halfway to their destination the man unexpectedly turned off the main highway onto a country road.After a few minutes my grandfather, uneasy and frightened, knew something was not right, and asked the man where he was heading.The man then started talking to my grandpa about becoming more intimate.This response scared grandpa and he demanded the man to pull over.The man refused to pull over and said, “What are you talking about?I’m giving you a ride!” Grandpa was desperately trying to think of a way out, perspirating with distress, and in a final act of urgency, he told the man that he would fight him and hurt him if he did not let him out.The young man seemed threatened enough by this remark and dropped him off on the side of the road.My grandfather watched as he quickly sped away trying to remember where the main road was and bewildered that he was not harmed.He began his lengthy walk back to the main road weary and eager to end his road travels and be safe in the arms of his girlfriends and family. .
After that frightening experience, my grandfather was relieved to be picked up by three seemingly harmless men heading north.Unfortunately his mood changed when the men began talking about money they had stolen from convenience stores.One of the men opened up the glove compartment to get something, and my grandfather saw the outline of a threatening black gun.Emotionally exhausted from is former risky encounter he scrambled through his mind for a plan that would protect him for harm.Knowing that they would probably want to rob him of his money he plotted to reveal how little money he was carrying as soon as possible and avoid any type of physical action.My grandfather cautiously offered to buy them gas for their car and their lunch and to his relief they accepted his underlying plea for peace.He made sure that they saw that he had spent his last twenty dollars on them.Maybe because of my grandfather’s fast thinking, they did not attack him.Little did the men know that my grandfather still had four-hundred-and-fifty dollars sewn under the lining of his army hat.He was relieved when they dropped him off unharmed in Sacramento alarmed that he had merely escaped harm.After two close encounters with harm he phoned his parents to pick him up and was happy to be safely home.
During the era of the late 1950’s most people had an elevated respect for military personnel because of the war conflict in Korea.In the 1950’s people were more trusting of individuals and would more freely give a military man a ride if he were hitchhiking.In today’s world, I cannot see a parallel to the era when my grandfather carelessly chose to hitchhike across America.I would not consider giving a hitchhiker a ride or attempting to hitchhike myself.Today’s widespread communication as a result of the growth of technology, news broadcasting, and publications have highlighted the kidnapping, rapes, and deaths that have resulted from participating in hitchhiking.Although there are dangerous aspects of hitchhiking, throughout my grandfather’s four-day and three night odyssey, he had many important experiences.While traveling alone he learned much more about himself.In order to survive he had to make his own decisions about his safety.These experiences greatly matured him into the grandfather that I admire and love.His strength and determination to see the best in people are attributes that I greatly respect in my grandfather.
My grandfather was fortunate enough to have met a few nice drivers that he could put his trust in.His blind trust in those that offered him rides is an attribute that is less common in the more defensive society of today.Later on in his journey he faced more frightening incidents that would haunt him for years to come.After his journey he learned that there are many dangerous people in the world and that it is probably not worth it to risk your life by trusting a stranger to give you a ride.He did not hitchhike again and found other inexpensive and safe ways to travel that were less emotionally and physically draining.
My grandfather’s story has affected me in many ways.After hearing his story I pictured a younger side of him that I had not seen before. He took many risks that I would fear to take.Any individual would have to be incredibly brave to trust a stranger for a ride.Additionally, I learned from hearing this story that people trusted each other more forty years ago than they do today.There are fewer people willing to assist those in need, much less, offer or accept transportation from someone unknown to them.Has such a dramatic decrease in trust been a result of widespread communication of frightening events in the media, or decline in compassion and application for those in need?Even though my grandfather faced life threatening encounters during his 48 hour journey, his experiences, good and bad, shape his being.As a result of his odyssey, his youthful and naive soul has become stronger and more mature.He learned to be cautious, calm, and think rationally during times of distress and fear.I enjoy hearing my grandfather’s adventurous story, learning some of his lessons, and sharing them with others.
Rain falls down from the heavens breaching the crisp night air.The sharp breeze of passing cars bites your cheeks and your only pair of clothes is soaked.You squint your eyes to see the oncoming cars more clearly and your arm is weak from holding it out toward the road for an extended period of time.You stand alone hoping, hoping that it will all be over; hoping for someone, anyone, to pull over and give you a ride.
My grandfather, Howard Jeff Cobb (“Jay”), experienced this scenario during four days and three nights of his journey hitchhiking from Missouri to Sacramento via Route 66.He would travel a distance of nearly 2,500 miles to visit his family and girlfriend during a two-week break before he reported for duty at Ft.Dix in New Jersey.He figured that he could save some money by hitchhiking, but little did he know that this experience would remain with him until this day.He was 20 years old.It was the summer of 1957.
Jay departed from Missouri wearing a traditional Army uniform and carrying five hundred dollars in cash that the military gave him for traveling money.He securely sewed four-hundred-and-fifty-dollars of that money under the lining of his army hat for safekeeping and put the other fifty dollars in his leather wallet.
My grandfather’s first ride was from a kind, husky young man approximately my grandfather’s age.He was driving a powder blue 1957 Buick convertible with a tattered top cover.They got along from the get-go and in exchange for the driver’s kindness, my grandfather returned his gratitude by purchasing a hearty plate of eggs and bacon for the two of them.They traveled a long distance, driving all day through the hilly and lush landscape of Missouri.To save money, they split the cost of a motel room that had two beds.After a full day of travel he was still in Missouri.On his second day, he was dropped off at the border of Oklahoma.
The kind man in the classic convertible and my grandfather departed on their separate paths through America.In a short while, he was picked up by a big-rig truck driver who drove day and night, taking him all the way from the edge of Oklahoma to Albuquerque, New Mexico.As night fell over the southern horizon, the driver invited Jay to sleep in the smelly and claustrophobic bed compartment while he drove.During this time he replenished his energy by sleeping in the bed stowed above the cab unknowingly soaring 60 miles per hour through his dreams.
His next ride came from a woman with her teenage son.She drove Jay to her home in Needles, located at the California border.He was invited to spend the night and she fed him heartily.Early in the morning of his fourth day of travel she was kind enough to take him to a busy freeway on-ramp where he could get another ride closer to his family.With a happy heart, he was out of harm's way and nearly home to meet the loving arms of his family.
Shortly afterward he was picked up by a group of men going to Bakersfield to compete in a rodeo.There was a prize bull and calf in a trailer hitched to the back of the driver’s truck.Because there was no room in the passenger area of the truck, he had to sit in the trailer with the animals.Even though he was alone with a particularly large bull and calf, he was quite comfortable. The animals were harmless and the trailer was air-conditioned.He passed part of the time talking to the animals, soothed by their gentle nature, and reminiscing about when he was a child living on a farm in Idaho.Little did my grandfather know that hitchhiking was bit as pleasing as he had perceived.
He was then dropped off at Bakersfield, where a young man heading north offered to carry him as passenger.The ride seemed fairly pleasant until halfway to their destination the man unexpectedly turned off the main highway onto a country road.After a few minutes my grandfather, uneasy and frightened, knew something was not right, and asked the man where he was heading.The man then started talking to my grandpa about becoming more intimate.This response scared grandpa and he demanded the man to pull over.The man refused to pull over and said, “What are you talking about?I’m giving you a ride!” Grandpa was desperately trying to think of a way out, perspirating with distress, and in a final act of urgency, he told the man that he would fight him and hurt him if he did not let him out.The young man seemed threatened enough by this remark and dropped him off on the side of the road.My grandfather watched as he quickly sped away trying to remember where the main road was and bewildered that he was not harmed.He began his lengthy walk back to the main road weary and eager to end his road travels and be safe in the arms of his girlfriends and family. .
After that frightening experience, my grandfather was relieved to be picked up by three seemingly harmless men heading north.Unfortunately his mood changed when the men began talking about money they had stolen from convenience stores.One of the men opened up the glove compartment to get something, and my grandfather saw the outline of a threatening black gun.Emotionally exhausted from is former risky encounter he scrambled through his mind for a plan that would protect him for harm.Knowing that they would probably want to rob him of his money he plotted to reveal how little money he was carrying as soon as possible and avoid any type of physical action.My grandfather cautiously offered to buy them gas for their car and their lunch and to his relief they accepted his underlying plea for peace.He made sure that they saw that he had spent his last twenty dollars on them.Maybe because of my grandfather’s fast thinking, they did not attack him.Little did the men know that my grandfather still had four-hundred-and-fifty dollars sewn under the lining of his army hat.He was relieved when they dropped him off unharmed in Sacramento alarmed that he had merely escaped harm.After two close encounters with harm he phoned his parents to pick him up and was happy to be safely home.
During the era of the late 1950’s most people had an elevated respect for military personnel because of the war conflict in Korea.In the 1950’s people were more trusting of individuals and would more freely give a military man a ride if he were hitchhiking.In today’s world, I cannot see a parallel to the era when my grandfather carelessly chose to hitchhike across America.I would not consider giving a hitchhiker a ride or attempting to hitchhike myself.Today’s widespread communication as a result of the growth of technology, news broadcasting, and publications have highlighted the kidnapping, rapes, and deaths that have resulted from participating in hitchhiking.Although there are dangerous aspects of hitchhiking, throughout my grandfather’s four-day and three night odyssey, he had many important experiences.While traveling alone he learned much more about himself.In order to survive he had to make his own decisions about his safety.These experiences greatly matured him into the grandfather that I admire and love.His strength and determination to see the best in people are attributes that I greatly respect in my grandfather.
My grandfather was fortunate enough to have met a few nice drivers that he could put his trust in.His blind trust in those that offered him rides is an attribute that is less common in the more defensive society of today.Later on in his journey he faced more frightening incidents that would haunt him for years to come.After his journey he learned that there are many dangerous people in the world and that it is probably not worth it to risk your life by trusting a stranger to give you a ride.He did not hitchhike again and found other inexpensive and safe ways to travel that were less emotionally and physically draining.
My grandfather’s story has affected me in many ways.After hearing his story I pictured a younger side of him that I had not seen before. He took many risks that I would fear to take.Any individual would have to be incredibly brave to trust a stranger for a ride.Additionally, I learned from hearing this story that people trusted each other more forty years ago than they do today.There are fewer people willing to assist those in need, much less, offer or accept transportation from someone unknown to them.Has such a dramatic decrease in trust been a result of widespread communication of frightening events in the media, or decline in compassion and application for those in need?Even though my grandfather faced life threatening encounters during his 48 hour journey, his experiences, good and bad, shape his being.As a result of his odyssey, his youthful and naive soul has become stronger and more mature.He learned to be cautious, calm, and think rationally during times of distress and fear.I enjoy hearing my grandfather’s adventurous story, learning some of his lessons, and sharing them with others.
His lyrical poetry is so real. I aspire to write with his passion. I wonder if Mr. Lamontagne is aware of the immense impact is words and musical phrases have on others?
Cocaine flame in my bloodstream Sold my coat when I hit Spokane Bought myself a hard pack of cigarettes in the early morning rain Lately my hands they don't feel like mine My eyes been stung with dust and blind Held you in my arms one time Lost you just the same Jolene I ain't about to go straight It's too late I found myself face down in a ditch Booze in my hair Blood in my lips A picture of you holding a picture of me In the pocket of my blue jeans Still don't know what love means Still don't know what love means Jolene Been so long since I seen your face Or felt a part of this human race I've been living out of this here suitcases for way too long A man needs something he can hold onto A nine pound hammer or a woman like you Either one of them things will do Jolene I ain't about to go straight It's too late I found myself face down in a ditch Booze in my hair Blood on my lips A picture of you holding a picture of me In the pocket of my blue jeans Still don't know what love means Still don't know what love means Jolene Jolene Jolene
I got the tickets! I am going to the Of Monteal concert in Hollywood! They are a pretty eclectic band. I can totally visualize the amount of sparkles, jumping, and dancing that will take place at that gig! Rock on dude! Slam-dance-like-mad :p!
Recently my conscious is incessantly in deep reflection.I find myself searching for old selves while speeding forward through each hectic day.
A few days prior I faced a chilling pastime when I brought my cherished stethoscope into nursing fundamentals lab.You may ask, “Aren’t you ecstatic about beginning hands-on nursing practice?”And yes, I very much am.Simultaneously, I cannot veil feelings that previously I disregarded though amercing myself in my biology texts.
When I packed for school this year, I included among clothing, texts, and small trinkets, a 1’5” box containing a Littmann stethoscope.This very box had been concealed within the bottom drawer of my dresser ever since the untimely death of my Aunt Ada two years ago.With the sparse money she had to her name she had provided me with this essential piece of nursing equipment on the day of my high school graduation.It means everything to me.The night of July 4th 2006 she stole her own life.
In lab I was terribly defensive of my stethoscope and was ready to claw any who dared to approach it, like a mother bear with her offspring.I was so afraid of it breaking; I am not sure how I would handle it.My clinical supervisors and peers surely noticed my selfishness, but I had little desire to explain.
I can visualize so clearly the tears in each of our eyes when she gave me this gift. I can hear the minister’s sermon at her funeral who illustrated her generosity to others as a medical technician and her precious gift to me (I could not compose myself and cried desperately my body trembling uncontrollably).I do not deserve this gift.I see and hear these images as if a circuit in my brain were jammed on repeat.
As I now glance at the frayed box containing the last precious gift of her life, the very organ that I will use with my patients pulsates sorrowfully.I do not dare place my nose close to the fibers of the box, for fear of smelling the ominous sent of her exhaled cigarette smoke and the remnants of her living self.
I will need to learn how to avoid treating my stethoscope as my Aunt’s spirit or something of that manner, but have it evolve into an inspirational token.
Dear Aunt Ada, you have lived so brightly, you have altered everything.
Perhaps its the color of the sun Caught seeping through the trees A crossroad I am standing at Caressing zephyr breeze Or maybe its the weather or something like that But honey, you've been on my mind
When you wake up in the morning Baby, look inside your mirror You know I won’t be next to you You know I won’t be near Understand I can't forget you These feelings won't go away I'm just whispering to myself so that I can forget That once again Honey, you’ve been on my mind Honey, you've been on my mind
