The weirdest/best Sunday ever

Unfortunately my Grandmother's brother passed away shortly after Christmas. Luckily she was with him the day before and got to spend some time with him before his passing. It was not unexpected and I understand it was peaceful.

Anyway, today was Great Uncle James funeral and although I hadn't seen him since I was 6, the family was out in full force to support Mema and the rest of the family. It turned out to be an interesting day. From the moment we arrived at the funeral home we were regaled with new family gossip. The biggest information was that my family is HICK. And it was awesome. I was regaled of stories of how my great grandfather ran a moonshine operation and people would come in the middle of the night and flash their lights once for a quart or twice for 2 quarts. My aunts and uncles were told that they were making sorghum syrup and of course people came late in the night to ensure that the "syrup" was fresh for their biscuits and grits the following morning.

How Uncle James and Uncle Sid took Mike to Hartwell Lake when he was in 3rd grade and told him they were near the mexican border. When people started rope swinging into the lake, they told them they were trying to cross into America. For hours he yelled swim harder! Meet me half way I will help! Needless to say upon going back to school and telling his teacher he tried to help people cross the rio grande, his mom got a call to extol her dedication to helping people. Uncle Sid cracked up and said "He shouldn't have been dumb enough to fall for it. It was an hours drive". But then again this is the kid who was promised a quarter if he would run to the cow fence put his tongue on it and run back. Too bad the fence was electric.

It has been well established that I have an excellent job with a stable paycheck but alas no marriage prospects (remember this is deep south). I have (apparently) re-met a couple of cousins, aunts, uncles and cousins three time removed with a cherry on top. I have heard awkward speeches, hilarious jokes, inappropriate announcements, and sadly, I was the one who heard the joke and cracked up at the back of the viewing (Thanks Whit for that one).

On the way home from the funeral (after a quick pit stop at the outlet malls with some cousins) I re-learned how each of the Kelly's and their progeny had come to an end. We debated on the impact of life decisions and how it affects our family.

Now I sit at Mema's table mentioned last year and I am watching Whit and her Boyfriend Robby take on the Kenzie and Jill in Spades. The loser has and will continue to demand rematches. I am listening to Jan and Mom and Kristen ask Mema and Deda for details from their childhood. Not to mention Mema pouring ice water on Deda's head when he won't tell her if he wrote the poem that broke up her and her old boyfiend (Roses are Red, Violets are true, but I don't know about you) and disagreed over who proposed to whom. I love hearing about stories new and told so often they are remembered and fit like an old pair of well worn jeans. My grandfather is showing love to each grandchild calling us each by our special nicknames given to us by him: Farmer Girl, Princess, Angel, and Babydoll.

This vacation is flying by as it did last year and I will be sad to leave the family that grows with each new year. The time that we spend here is treasured and the history that is behind such simple times such as cards and rotelli with frito chips moves us all forward with laughter, joy, tears, and love.

This year has truly been, in the words of Deda, a walk in high cotton.

Happy New Year.

Jessie

The dating woman in 21st century America

Well I fully intended my next post to be an update about India and visiting my sister in London/Oxford and I promise that is coming. And in all honesty I was going to go to bed but I think that some truth needs to be shed on something that maybe we overlook in the day to day.

Let me first say that I am truly truly blessed to live in this day and age. I live in a country that with religious freedom (although sometimes the denigration of Christian is becoming more and more apparent), I live in a world where I can say what I feel, be what I want, and do what I want. Which is more than many women have around the world but I don't want those around me to forget that sometimes our culture is so "forward thinking" that we go backwards.

Before I left for India I heard the song Blurred Lines. I loved it. It had a great beat and a catchy tune. Two days ago I heard the lyrics. Today I saw the official music video and I am ashamed that this is something that I danced to.

In case you don't know, Blurred Lines is a song sung by Robin Thicke featuring well known rappers T.I. and producer Pharrell Williams. Now I have to admit that in listening to the lyrics they don't seem all that bad. Only one line really stuck out to me as grossly inappropriate but that didn't put me off. But after watching the music video, which was intended to be a "tongue in cheek" video mocking the current rap industry I have to say that they stepped out of line. In this topless women in thongs are dancing around fully clothed men. Sad to say that this is not unusual when it comes to music videos but what really got me was a teeny tiny stop sign on a woman's rear end. At this point when in conjunction with some of the lyrics from the song I got the strong impression that they were completely ignoring something that has been bothering me lately about our country. The idea that no does not always mean no. But hey it's ok cause Robin Thicke has a wife and kids. That makes it ok to hold women to such a low standard socially and a high standard physically (seriously all those girls were a size 0 with huge [fake] breasts).

We have been making ridiculous strides in our country over the past 50-60 years. Women no longer have to work from home, they can be the breadwinners, we have women lawyers, judges, congressmen, and senators. These are amazing feats and we should celebrate them but we still have a long way to go. We are honored for our brains not just our beauty. Or sometimes we are. In some areas we are. But sometimes in very big ways, we are not.

Take for example the popular website imgur. Imgur hosts photo sharing in which photos are shared for laughs, to reflect political ideals, religious ideals, to bring awareness, to show off drawings, or just to feel connected. I have an account on this website but many a times I have been told "to get back to the Kitchen" or "Go make me a sandwich" mainly because of my sex. This is regardless of the fact that I have a degree from a top university, make just as much as the men in my department, and that I probably have a firmer grasp of who I am and what I can do for the world that some of the people on that website. Purely by a choice of an X or a Y I am relegated to serving food. Let me say clearly - SCREW THAT.

I have chosen for myself what I am going to be in life. Right now I am a late 20s world traveler. If you took the number of cities and countries and states that I have been to and added them together that number might be higher than the number of miles some people have been from their house. Maybe later I might be a mom, even more I might be a stay at home mom but that is a choice I will make WITH my husband when the time is right. It will not be defined by the gender that I was born.

Sadly not all my choices get to be my own. When going on a date, I take extra precautions. If I am lucky I might have known the guy for a while. More likely than not, a friend has vouched for him. But as this limits the number of dates I would go on and possibly the number of amazing people I would meet sometimes the inevitable date with someone you might not know all that well is... well... inevitable.  In this scenario, as a woman I might take precautions that men don't have to. I tell my roommates the guy's name, where we are going, how I met him, a time they can expect me home, and maybe his cell number. In case, you know the Morgan from the BAU needs to rescue me. The truly sad thing is that I do not find this weird. It is something I have done since I started dating. This is the norm.

On dates, I have to be clear and upfront from the beginning what the expectations are. Most times guys understand and if all they are looking for is sex, we part amicably. Sometimes, they don't get that my saying "it is late, I am going home" IS my final response. I had one guy ask me three times in the space of 5 minutes to go back to his place with him. The first round of denial was not accepted as the final answer. When it became clear that my intention really was to end the night by taking a taxi home I was called a bitch and a tease. Oh not to my face. No, it was under his breath. Asshat. The truth is that these guys are not common in my life but even once is too many times.

Now not all guys are dangerous, heck 90% of them are really genuinely amazing and nice guys. I am proud to say that I know a lot of these guys. But the chance that one isn't a great guy is too great of a chance to take with my safety. The numbers are staggering. Even when a rape is reported, which is an astonishingly low percentage (estimated at around 45%), only 12% result in arrest, 9 % are taken to trial and only about 3% of rapists will see a day in jail. (all stats from RAINN).

This need to protect myself won't ever really go away. I will always be physically weaker than most men but when songs have lyrics in it like "I know You want it" and "I know you're an animal, it's in your nature. Just let me liberate 'cha" (but hey it's ok cause normally he respects woman and can prove it because he is married) it makes me feel like this ideal is being perpetuated instead of halted in it's tracks. That we are making the world more dangerous instead of trying to make it safer.

Summer Vacations: Kiawah and Grandpop

When I was younger a lot of our friends and family use to joke about the "summer sabbatical" that the Bakers would take come the end of swimming season. Usually the Saturday after the last meet we would strap on the trusty turtle car top carrier, load up the car with luggage, swim gear, beach house activities, and attach our bicycles and we were off on our month long trip to visit family.

Our visits consisted of a week at St Augustine beach in FL with my mom's family, a week in the smokey mountains, and a week at my grandparents house and then another week or two at Kiawah Island with my dad's side of the family. My grandparents owned a time share house walking (or biking) distance to the beach and we would rent another house from their friends down the street. Our beach time was filled with turtle hunts (trying to find baby turtle nests hatching at 6 AM not killing them), crabbing at the dock, and reading on the beach. And maybe a severe burn or two, although those were mainly mine. Our lunches were rolled down in coolers and we ate dinner in any dinning chair we could find back at the house. There was a pool fairly close and usually our parents would insist on giving us a week of tennis camp regardless of the fact that the rest of the 51 weeks in the year we never even looked at a racket. (Kristen was the shining exception to this rule). One summer I even managed to get surfing lessons instead and, before being promptly stung horribly by a jellyfish, managed to stand up on my ridiculously long foam board.

Relaxing on the dock

Everyone needs the Khaki and White T Look

Some of the best memories that I have of Kiawah are on our yearly boating trips. Grandpop was never a big fan of the beach (he loved those golf courses though) so every year he would take us out in a boat that we would rent for the day. Grandpop was always the captain. I remember him being a very big man with a very big presence but as he got older his gait was a little less steady. That gait changed when he was on the boat. As soon as he set foot on that boat, he had sea legs like no one else. All 6 of us grandkids managed to flounder our way onto a seat somewhere but that Big 6' 3" man would swing one leg over and start barking orders. (But to be fair to him he always barked orders.)

We would cruise around the marshes of Kiawah and St Johns Island. Fishing, crabiing, swimming, and freaking out about what touched our leg in the murkey water. Although usually it was just some scared fish and a slightly more threatening crab, one time my dad caught a shark. A small one maybe a foot long, but that was enough to convince me that I needed to stay dry and retain all 10 of my toes.Lunches were fought over and debated as to whom actually wanted the ham and mustard sandwich instead of the refreshing PB&J. We found islands to explore and felt the wind go through our hair as Grandpop manned the wheel.

Some of the best times were when we would each get a chance to be captain. Grandpop would call us up to stand in front of the captain's char and would let us steer. His arms would wrap around us to lay one hand on the throttle and the other on the console on the other side. Many times his time worn hands would cover ours to safely navigate canals or to ensure that we didn't capsize. This day out was his day with family. He didn't enjoy the beach like we did so he gave us a day with him. A day to explore like we couldn't on land. To say, even though he didn't frequently say them out loud, that he loved us.

It has been a while since I have been to Kiawah. I try to make it there every other year but sometimes work prevents me. This year I get to go back the week of June 10th. I can't wait to be there, to take a break from work, to relax in the sun, to read something other than CPA exam material, and to enjoy the beach. Maybe this year we can take a boat out and remember the man who made one day in a sea of days seem special every year.

When I was 16 I got his old car. He was telling me drive
safe and to not get into an accident cause then he would kill
me himself. One of the few times I heard him say "I love you " first.

View from the Dock at Sunset

Sister Trips

My mom and her sisters had a wonderful tradition when I was younger. Every year they would meet up for a week, sometimes in a brand new city and sometimes down in Atlanta, and have a sister trip. It was a great trip that they got to spend time together as adults without the responsibility of taking care of kids and husbands. For a week they got to be just sisters.

Unfortunately for those not in the rankings of sister this equated to being taken care of by Dad for an extended period of time. Some of the funnier baker stories have come out of these times. My father is an amazing dad and I constantly feel blessed to have his guidance and love. But I also freely admit that he could never take the place of Mom. I know this due to experience. Many times while I was living at home and mom was gone we would get chicken broth soup for dinner. That’s right. Broth soup. Hot flavored water. One time dad got so adventurous as to try and make us quiche disregarding the fact that Kristen is a picky eater, I didn't like eggs, and none of the four Baker kids had ever had quiche before.

Those weeks of momlessness were filled with stress of food and carpool duty. After a while we managed to get it down with a minimal amount of fuss. By the time I went off to college we had learned that Wawa and Dominoes pizza were our friends and that the kids had to keep track of each other because we couldn't leave Kristen at church AGAIN.

The best thing about sister trips is that Katie, Kristen and I got to have our own. After I graduate college and was momentarily unemployed, Katie was accepted into a study abroad program in Oxford, England. The fates conspired and had Katie ending her spring term right around the time I would be finishing my tour of the European continent and Kristen had spring break. It would have been wrong not to take advantage.

At Tower Bridge with our friend Mia

Katie at her Fave tea drinking spot in Oxford

Come that March we all met up in London and had a very confusing and fun couple of days before heading to Dublin, Ireland for St Patricks day. I can honestly say I have never had as much fun on any trip as I did with Katie and Kristen in those cities. I had to pay a price for that fun though, in the form of an all out row with Katie on the streets of Dublin at 2 AM.

On the Ha' Penny Bridge in Dublin Ireland, March 17, 2009

I should mention that Katie and I, if you don’t already know, are no where near peas in a pod. I am more of a berry on a bush and katie is a wildflower in a meadow. As far apart as you can be. This often results in fights as we learn how to communicate with each other and realize that what we were thinking is not what the other is thinking. Luckily we had a very patient and understanding youngest sister who knows us both so very well she could translate for us.

“Jessica, Katie isn’t suggesting that we go to Bath AND London AND Oxford AND Belfast. She is throwing out different options as she thinks of them. Katie won’t have made a decision until she is boarding the train for the next city”

Traveling is such hard work

“Katie, Jessie thinks that you have made a decision regarding where you want to go next. She could care less WHERE we go as long as she can plan it out so that we aren't sleeping under a bridge”

We ended up spending the next day roaming around Dunlougahary (P.S. I love you anyone?) and then heading back to Oxford. Which as it turns out regardless of multiple plans and counter itineraries  you can still get robbed.

My last sister trip was with Kristen after her semester Studying Abroad was over. Kristen, Grandmom, and I met up in London, showed Grandmom the sights (including seeing Les Mis for the first time) and then shipping her off home while Kristen and I hit up Barcelona (the only city between the two of us that we hadn't both visited and wanted to). I got to use my smattering of Spanish and we learned that the Spaniards don’t start partying until 2 AM. Well past either of our bed times.

This year my sister Katie will be going back to Oxford to be a graduate mentor to those in the program that she was a part of 4 years ago. Maybe this will be another opportunity for a sisterly trip. Or even better, we include John and make it a Baker kid trip.

Either way if someone I know is over seas (I am looking at you Ali) I will find a way over so that I can experience all the cultures that I can before settling down.

The Friendzone and My Perspective

You like a guy/girl and three things can happen:

1) They like you back! Congrats! Go forth into the world and clutter our facebook newsfeed with unnecessarily cute things.
2) Ew gross you have cooties. Console yourself with some Ben & Jerry's Chocolate Fudge. But don't worry, plenty of fish in the sea.
3) "Aww you're so great! Your like a sister/brother to me, I wish my significant other was more like you." Welcome to a special sort of Hell known as the friendzone.

I have had the unfortunate experience of being in the friendzone as well as having (regretfully) friendzoned some people in my earlier college days. It's a crappy crappy place to be and I know how much it can suck but let me tell you something. It isn't anyone's fault. To those zoned: Just because you are nice to him/her doesn't mean that you get a free pass into the sacred halls of dating them. Being nice is just a basic necessity of being human. Just because you are there to listen to their problems and give advice doesn't mean that you have a right to a date or two because listening and giving advice is what FRIENDS DO!

This also doesn't give free reign. To those doing the zoning: If you are asking your friend to go get you Stouffers mac and cheese at 2 AM from the 24 hour Walmart 45 minutes away because you just can't STAND Kraft, then sorry chicka (dude) you are taking advantage of your friend. You also can't treat them as an occasional hook up buddy. It's not fair to treat their affections as an emotional buffer. The best way to determine if you are taking advantage is to compare your actions with them to what you would do with another of your friends. If your best friend wouldn't do it then there is a good chance if they were acting only in friendship they wouldn't be doing it either. If you ask for these favors AND you are aware of their feelings then you need to evaluate your personal values and they should evaluate whether you are worth their affection.

In the end there is always a choice to be made: to stay friends with this person or to get some distance. If the decision to stay has been made then those zoned need to accept that they may only remain friends. I am not saying that one can not exit the friend zone and end up with the object of affection (my ex boyfriend was friend-zoned for a while before we dated) but the chances of it happening are slim. If the decision has been made in favor of distancing thmeselves then both parties need to let that happen. The emotional well being of your friend should take precedence of the need for the friendship.

Redefining the past

A lot of people I know want to go back to the "good ole days",whether it be bringing 90's nickelodeon back, bringing the 60's hippie culture back, or returning to the days where the press reported only facts. People are passionate about a time when life seemed simpler. There are Facebook groups dedicated to each of these ideals. In theory, this is a good thing but the practicality of it may not be.

The human race has a whole host of biases that go into each and every moment of the day. There are judgement biases, media bias, belief bias, social bias, the list goes on and on. One bias in particular is a memory bias called Rosy Retrospective. In this bias, the events of the past are seen favorably, meaning we forget the bad and embrace that which was good.

Recalling a memory accurately is harder to do as time passes, unless you relive that memory frequently. Each time a memory is relived you imprint that memory onto new cells (if I understand the science correctly, I might not... Medical journals go over my head) which are easier to "access" later. If you alter something in this memory and then recall that memory with the same alteration, the original memory will still be harder to recall. When we choose to remember the good and not the bad, we are making the good easier to remember. This is a mechanism of self preservation. If we remembered how hard it was in the past and all you see ahead of you is the same hardship would you continue on?

You can even have rosy retrospective about something you did not live. The best example of this is viewing kindly America's past. We look back at our founding fathers and say "that was a good time". We remember discovering a new land, the signing of the declaration of independence, we remember how we stood up and joined in WWII, we remember the 50's and the simplicity of life that was presented to us in our history books. We forget that to claim the "new land" we forced many people out of the homes, killed entire nations, and brought infectious disease. We often forget that when the founding fathers wrote the declaration of independence we owned slaves. We forget that we didn't join WWII until we were attacked at Pearl harbor and the war had been going on for years before we joined. We forget that in the 50's it was unthinkable for a woman who wanted to be a mom to also work outside the home and divorcees were shunned from "respectable" women.

The issues that we are discussing today are not any different than those in the past. We have come very far but we have a long way to go. Gun laws have been debated in the past and they will continue to be debated as long as they are used to kill and since that is the intention of the gun (whether for humans or animals) the issue of the gun laws will never go away. They may abate for a time but they will not be resolved. The issue of abortion will not go away. Until the entire world believes in one thing there will be abortions, legal or otherwise. Until everyone has a job unemployment, welfare, and any social assistance will be debated. They were debated in the past and they will be debated in the future.

The best that we can hope for is to look to the past honestly and determine where we went wrong and where we should go from there. This means removing the rose colored glasses, taking a cool sip of water, and being honest with ourselves as a collective. Then maybe once and for all we can admit that Clarissa Explains It All had horrible acting and that Ice Ice Baby is on par with Baby Baby Baby (oohh!!).

Mema's Table

It has been almost a week since I left the quiet sleepy town of Elberton, GA where my grandparents live. I am back at a desk with a ringing phone, a worn out calculator (ok it is fairly new), and my trusty laptop and I am missing my grandmother's kitchen table.

This may seem weird but to anyone who has ever been to my grandparents house would understand. It is the  central location of the family. Meals are eaten with laughter, elbows in other people's faces, fighting over plate space, and the remainder of the last baker sweet tea. This is also where we play our card games. Spades are played with humor and a need for a win. Victors are crowned and the defeated slink off while the reigning champs (Whitney and I) take on the long standing duo of my Aunt Jan and Aunt Jill. Hearts are played where Judge tries to shoot the moon every time and fails. Katie and Kristen watch Grey's Anatomy. Dad puts the finishing touches on the Christmas Card mailing list and Deda shows us grandkids how he uses facebook and his new wireless printer (he's pretty technologically savvy for an 83 Year old.) When I was younger we used to all get together and play dominoes. I can still hear my family's voices yelling "Heyy Y'all! It's my time!" (for my northern friends that translates as "Hey Guys! Stop it! It's my turn to play").

The table has seen us grow up. Has been damaged and repaired. Dirtied and cleaned. And I can't even count the number of pies, cakes, and desserts that have been eaten upon it, not mention the gallons and gallons of sweet tea. The dogs of years past and present have hid under and around it when they finally find a way to sneak past Mema's well fortified door into the house.

This table, though only piece of well made furniture, has seen the generations gather around it as a family. I can not imagine the stories it could tell.

I am yet again on another audit. My tables are hotel desks and I am away from even the surrogate family of roommates and friends. I can't help but think one thing...

Vacation was too damn short.

What I am thankful for

November has always, at least for Americans, been a time where we can reflect on what we have and be thankful. Many people over social media, blogs, and vlogs, have been doing their day to day remembrances and I want to join in the fun. Unfortunately I can't be a daily blogger (sorry) but I can be a  one time blogger so here we go - The 7 things I am most thankful for.

1) My safety. Sandy and then Athena have shown me how blessed I am to have been spared even the mild inconvenience of a power outage. My heart hurts for those that have lost their homes and mementos. I wish I could do more than to send supplies and clothes. 

2) Amazing roommates. I am living with two of my good friends from College. It is great not having to get to know them on a base level. I have lived with Caitlin in the past and while it took some time to get used to it again we have hit our rhythm. Learning to live with Dana has been fun. While Caitlin and I are similar in many ways - Dana is the complete opposite from me and it has been a joy to get to learn new ways of doing things and getting to see the world the way that Dana does.

3) My Family of course :) I have always held that my family is one of the best out there (as I am sure many people do). I have grandparents that have nothing but pride in their grandchildren and simply enjoy watching us grow and become our own people. I have aunts and uncles that enjoy seeing their families and having crazy Dutch Blitz or Spades games. I have Cousins with whom I thoroughly enjoy spending time. Even though I am 4+ years older than all of them, age never seems to matter when we are together.

I have parents that have supported me and my siblings regardless of our actions and delight not only in their kids but in each other. They are my example of Happily Ever after. They make love real. Katie is my opposite in every way. Where I am reserved she is outgoing. Where she is spontaneous I am planned. We spark each other. In our youth these sparks became fights. Now in our adulthood they (mostly) mean a thorough adventure. Katie says we go and I find a way to get us there. Kristen is who I aspire to be. She is confident in who she is. She is quirky and fun and humble and outrageous. She frequently acknowledges her hate of spelling and then says that it instilled in her a knowledge that some things have to be fought for. John is the lynch pin of our family. He is truly spoiled. We didn't realize what our family was missing until he came along. He is fun and sweet and love sports and is so smart that he makes me sick. And popular. That kid walks into a room and everyone wants to be his friend. 

4) The boat that is my car. The Caddy has taken good care of me though you can't really same of me for it. It is a well made car and I don't think that I will need a new car for another couple of years which means that, hopefully, I will have enough saved up to just pay cash for a new one.

5) My Job. I got my job in the middle of the worst part of the economic downturn. Luckily I was a part of a program that was trying to get off the ground and it was spearheaded by the CFO. I had a job when people I graduated with were fighting tougher and tougher competition to get what jobs there were and the number of those jobs had dropped dramatically. Through that program I got to do something I love, auditing, and auditing has taken me to the west coast, Canada, South America, and Asia. The travel is tough and I complain about it some but some people never leave their home town and I feel extremely lucky to experience new cultures (biggest lesson I have learned: Argentines REALLY do not like that Las Malvinas are under the British Crown).

6) My Faith. And for so many reason and much bigger reasons than the one I am going to put here but if it wasn't for my faith I would be a push over. No really. I am a people pleaser to the extreme. If it wasn't for the faith that I believe in, and my need to actually defend and stand up for it, I might have compromised on a lot of issues that aren't even related to my faith. 

7) Penn State. College is where I decided to come into my own. I made friends with a ton of great people, lost a friend for a while, had a boyfriend, and shortly after graduation got a tattoo. Got an amazing education. Learned to have school spirit (never had it in middle school or high school). Most of all, I became Jessie. I was on my own and making my own decisions. I admitted my love of hip hop, country, sci fi, and other genres of reading beyond romance. Though I continue to grow, Penn State is where I stepped out of my parents house and started taking responsibility for myself. Those 4 1/2 years were amazing and I wouldn't trade them for anything.

The die has been cast

Today at 8:07 AM EST I cast my vote for who should be the next president.

It was a different feel than what I anticipated. The past two times I have voted has been at the Penn State HUB. Students shove leaflets in your hands, the same ones that you slip on as you make you way to the front of the line.

Standing in line at Penn State I always felt like I was performing an obligation, something I had to do because I was an american and to do otherwise would just be.... well un-american. Not to mention my family wouldn't speak to me for a week.

Today felt different. I don't know if it is because I am older or maybe cause I took the time to research my candidates but today felt good. Like I had done something positive.

I heard one grandmother explaining to her granddaughter that it wasn't because of WHO she was that she couldn't vote but because she wasn't old enough. (To which she promptly responded with "o.k. I will vote when I am 5"). I am blessed to live in a country that continually strives for equality. It's hard and it's rough and the growing pains hurt but today is one day that I can take pride in. Not because I am helping in choosing our future, but because 236 years ago my country decided that taxation without representation in front of The Crown was wrong, 143 years ago we acknowledged that race could not determine who got elect a president, and 92 years ago we acknowledged that gender could not factor in granting voting rights. Four years ago we elected our first African American President. Hopefully it will not be another 92 before we have our first Woman President.




This all happened because we voted, we determined our course.

I am proud to be a part of the country and today, when so many conflicting ideas are being posted, tweeted, or blogged, I am glad that I can look back and see who we were and be proud of who we are today.

Future

I think it's time I had a long talk with the man upstairs about where he wants my career to go - because I , for one, have no idea.

I love storms!!!

When I was little I was terrified of storms. I mean I was was really really really piss your pants scared of them. At the time my parents lived in Charlotte, NC which frequently got the tail end of hurricanes as well as the normal everyday thunder and lightning storms.

As an adult I can understand where that fear came from. Imagine a little two year old with white blond extremely curly hair seeing flashes of light and hearing big roaring sounds and not understanding where they came from. To remedy this my parents did something that I thank them for every single time a storm rolls around. My mom and dad would take me out onto our back porch, which was small but covered, and would hold me as we sat and watched the rain come pouring down around our house. With her calming voice saying "wow look at that one Jessie. That was a BIG flash of light" or his loving voice murmuring "That was a really deep rumble. I felt it in my tummy." I slowly moved from quivering under my dad's arm, face hidden in the crook, to sitting comfortably on his lap enjoying the beauty of something so fierce.

This became our thing to do. When we moved to Yardley, PA we lost the back porch but made up for it by using our garage. As our family grew, so did the company. Katie, Kristen, John, and sometimes Rebel (most times he hid in the closet) would join us sitting in folding chairs, getting excited to see the fury of a raging storm. Often one of us would just jump out of our chair, throw off our shoes and run into the slashing rain. It wouldn't be long before the rest of the siblings and dog would join in the fun, laughing and running around. I am sure the neighbors thought that we were crazy.

To this day, I still have an absolute giddiness about a big ass storm. When I heard that hurricane Sandy was due to hit Philadelphia head on I was so excited. My roommates and I got all the necessary preparations. Stayed in doors during the worst of it and I eagerly looked outside to see the roaring intensity to hit the northeast since 1903.

I wasn't let down. There wasn't any thunder or lightning and not a lot of rain but the wind more than made up for it. Hearing the wind rage outside my window late last night with the memories of being held safe by my dad when I was younger and celebrating in the rain with my siblings when I was older, I dropped right off to sleep.

Story of my friends through pictures

 Alpha Delta Class  Phi Sigma Pi

 Trip to DC/Baltimore to visit Lou

 Wedding of one of the sweetest woman ever

 My PSU crew in Philly to watch us crush Temple

 My amazing group of friends that say "OK" when I ask

to jump into a freezing river for charity

 Some of my Fave PSPers in Las Vegas celebrating Becca's Bday

 The crew at the wedding of Mike and Lori

 This girl is who I get crazy with even though 

she is all the way out in Montana

 Somewhat yearly pilgrimage to State College for Artsfest 

 Out with my PSPers

 Trust me - it's cold in the polar plunge

 Halloween SuperSenior year

 Fantastic Pictures

 The Church Crew

 The best way to move a couch is to

support it out of the trunk as your friend drives the 

car around the corner.

 Front Row to support the Nittany Lions

 PSP block for the whiteout

 Showing our THON family our support

with a great outing to watch the Lions play ball

 Winery Tour

 I miss this Crazy girl!

 Sledding in Manayunk

We're bad ass! Warrior Dash

Remembering the victims and brave heroes

Tuesday September 11, 2001 I sat in Latin class as one of the girls came in late and announced that a plane had hit a building in NY. No one really paid much attention because we didn't know really what had happened. Somehow someone found out that it was the WTC and a jet airliner had crashed into it. We turned on the TV in our classroom to see the second plane hit. Our jaws dropped. A half hour later, we heard that the pentagon had been hit. We didn't know what to do. We were inbetween NYC and DC, were we next?

The principal of our school came onto the PA system to tell the school what had happened. During that announcement, the TV showed the wreckage in Shanksville, PA of the flight that didn't make it's destination. Since many people in our area commute into NYC for work, those who had parents in NYC were allowed to leave class and head to the office to call home. Many didn't come back as they drove home to wait to hear from loved ones. The principal requested that we keep the TVs off. Most of the teachers complied but our thoughts were with those in NY. 5th period chemistry we turned on the TV. The teacher wanted to know just as much as we did how this happened. Two flights had hit. This wasn't an accident.

The news broke that it had been a deliberate attempt by those in the Taliban. No one understood. No one had heard of this group before. I had. My sister has long been called to Afghanistan to work and minister to the women there. I knew this group. It was the group that my sister would be opposing while she was over there. I had always thought of them as a foreign thing. An oppressive regime that was far away. It affected my sister, it would never touch me. I learned that day how wrong I was. The TV suddenly cut off as more information was coming in on who and why and how. The principal had finally found the switch that turned off all the TVs.

That day changed me, it changed us. As Americans, Christians, Muslims, Athiests, Parents, Children, Siblings, spouses, or whatever you were. We heard through the grapevine who had been pulled out of class, who had gone home because they couldn't be in school anymore and most devastatingly, one girl sobbing in the hall because her family just found out her dad, who worked in Philly, had got called to an impromptu meeting in NY that day in the world trade center. They hadn't heard from him.

I grew up that day. Maybe not a lot but I grew up faster on that day than any other day since. When I got home my mom asked that we leave the TV off. She told me that the news was showing things that she didn't want the other kids to see. I went upstairs and turned on the TV in her room. I saw videos of men and women jumping out of the higher floors. People running as the buildings collapsed. I heard my mom telling me of our neighbor and friend, Dr Gokcen, going to NY to help those who had been wounded. I heard my Sunday school teacher was suppose to be in the city but God wanted him to bake muffins, causing him to miss his train to the city and waiting for the second train that never came. I heard that our township firefighters and policemen were going to help. A four hour drive but the much needed support was vital.

I witnessed our president declare war. Stand up and say we will not let this pass. I saw school buses with tiny arms waving flags out of windows. Songs were written that only barely scratched the surface of emotions of that day. People came together and for a brief time we were not republican, democrat, black, white, rich, poor, man, or woman. We were Americans. And every year we put aside those dividers and remember those that were cruelly taken from this earth early, those that risked their life to assist those that couldn't make it on their own out of the tower, the passengers who knew that death was a certainty but had the fortitude to ensure that no more lives were taken, the brave men that ran into a burning building to help where ever they could, and those strong men who held out hope combing through the wreckage for one more survivor. Seeing things that should never be seen and yet preserving onward.

We will never forget. I will never forget.

The Teachers of WCCS

From pre-K through 8th grade I went to school at Washington Crossing Christian School, WCCS to us attendees. My time there was heavily influenced by the teachers. I can truly say that the teachers and administration of that school shaped who I am today.

I can remember every teacher I have had there.

1st - Mrs Brody

2nd - Mrs Bell

4th -Mrs Hoffstetter

6th, 7th and 8th - Mr Hall, Pastor Dave, Mrs Walsh and Mrs. Norton (nee Caywood)

My 6th - 8th teachers really showed me what school was all about. What I could be learning. And the first to show me that the amount of effort I put into something reflected the grade I would get. The first and last failing grade I ever got was in Mr Hall's class. I did a "report" and "presentation" on football. I got a 47, I think. End of the semester I had a D. And I caught hell for it. I never got a D again (although C's somewhat peppered my college transcripts) Miss Caywood taught me the value of critical thinking in reading. (although I can't do it... I know the value)

I can also go into the auxilary teachers (such as the awesome Mr Dancha our gym teacher) but the list would be really long.

You might be wondering why I left out my 3rd and 5th  grade teachers. I haven't forgotten them. Quite the opposite. These teachers had the most impact.

My fifth grade teacher was Mrs Steele... well  technically she was my Kindergarten, fifth, AND sixth grade teacher. (maybe even pre-k but my memory, as mentioned in this post, is really bad... I would have to confirm with my mom or Mrs Steele).  Mrs Steele is the first teacher I remember having at WCCS. I can't remember much from that year except that a) we hatched chickens in which we got to keep one and subsequently had a violent and gruesome death (more on that later) and  b) Mrs Steele's name changed and I thought it was mean to make my teacher change her name from whatever it was then to something that meant she took something without asking (I didn't realize that it also was a material to build bridges and buildings and the like).

Mrs Steele wanted every single one of her students to succeed, not only in school but in other areas as well. I could walk into her classroom at any point during a lunch or recess break and talk to her about whatever was bothering me. She would also give you third chances at tests. No really! I got three chances on my section on grammar. I got a 60 on the first one, a 65 on the third one, and a 59 on the third. Sadly, it was not lack of trying on my part or an ineptness on her part, just my brains inability to identify different parts of a sentence. Even to this day, unless those parts of a sentence are ask for in madlibs, I have no idea what it is.

She also got to know each of her students as a person. She made it clear that they were valued for just who and what they were. One of my favorite stories of Mrs Steele is related to Katie. Katie was notoriously messy growing up. Each day when she went to Kindergarten she would go clean and unblemished. As she was leaving each day Mrs. Steele would smile and count the number of spots of food, paint, and dirt that now colored my sister's outfit. She could find the good in any kid. 

My Third grade teacher was Mrs Brown. Mrs Brown is one of the best teachers I have ever had the pleasure of knowing. She made learning fun. She was my Miss Frizzle.

If you have never seen the magic school bus

well then you need to

Mrs Brown's third grade started off with giving the parents a list of reports that will be due during the school year and projects that needed to be completed. For a girl who procrastinates until the very last minute to tell her family about a MAJOR project this sheet was VITAL... too bad it got lost 2 weeks into the school year. This was the first year that we would be doing "real" school work. We were done with baby school and would be doing cool things like writing papers.

Everyone could not WAIT to get into Mrs Browns third grade class. We had heritage day, where everyone (but me) did research on their family's history and would bring in food and decorations that represented the family's ancestry. The whole school was invited to come in and view our exhibits and presentations. One year someone had a full cooked fish, head and everything. I was in second grade that year and one of the kids in the class decided that taking a dare to eat the eye balls would be fun. We had some minor regurgitation.

The thing is, I didn't tell my mom until the night before that we needed to do this project. I ended up bringing in black eye peas, corn bread, and fried okra and tried to pass of my heritage as "Southern". I got an S- (less than satisfactory) on that project. Katie made up for it in three years though. Never one to go half way on a project, she RESEARCHED our family and went in with full food and decorations. I am sure we have pictures of it somewhere.

I remember doing research (aka going to the library and looking up one entry in the encyclopedia.... the thing that came before wikipedia) and my parents helping me finalize everything. As much as it was encouraged for us to do our own work, Mrs Brown let the parents help and the Good Lord knows how much I needed my parents help to do the work (like I said, pathological procrastinator). One of my favorite "research papers" ever was the first time we had to have a Bibliography and I had two - count em 1...2... - articles from the Encyclopedia Britanica and World Book encyclopedia from 1802 that we had in the basement. My dad drew the cover of the "report" (it was on Jack Rabbits) and I remember thinking that he had to be the best artist ever and couldn't understand why he wasn't a painter or something.

Not to give you the impression that Mrs Brown was a softie. Quite the opposite. That woman had rules and if you broke them, well you were inside for a recess writing a note of apology or and explanation of why you were wrong. I had three or four of these. Pretty average for the normal third grader. Katie had more than 20. Never one to be bound by the rules but also with a large conscience, Katie would break the rules then regretfully inform Mrs Brown of the infraction. Mrs Brown saved all of these and gave them to her students upon the student graduating 8th grade from WCCS. Mine consisted of things like "I am sorry I forgot to tell my parents about my homework and instead tried to do it during math. I promise to let my mom and dad know about each homework I have". Katie's consisted of "I am sorry I looked at Savannah's spelling test. I really just wanted to make sure she was doing alright. I know that this could look like cheating but I didn't change any of my answers even though I saw I got one wrong. I am sorry I won't do it again".

Mrs Brown is the only teacher that each one of the Baker children had. By the time John got to Mrs Brown's class my parents joked that they were old hats at it and could get straight Os (WCCS version of an A - O = outstanding). 

I am sure that many people remember their early teachers fondly. Maybe that is because no one fails an 8 year old or there wasn't any real work to be done (unless you are Kristen and Spelling... Kristen and Spelling are mortal enemies). But the teachers that were hired at WCCS were truly exceptional and I feel blessed that I got to be their student.

What do you do with leftover memories?

I am a bit of a memory hoarder. No, it’s true! My actual memory sort of epically sucks and usually if I have a picture or a memento from something that happened I can remember it better. My roommates, Caitlin and Dana, were laughing at a shared memory that, apparently, I should have been able to laugh with as well because I was there. I asked if there were any Facebook pictures of the get together. Caitlin said there wasn’t. My quick reply was “No Picture, No Memory”.

Every year throughout college and high school I had a box for each of the 4 years I went to Villa and PSU. In these boxes I would put things that I wanted to keep to remember that moment. This made it really easy for my Mom, Katie, Kristen, and John to put together my scrapbook when I graduated from High school because I had all these pictures and memories in boxes under my bed.

Every so often I go through the boxes. Sometimes I remember what the memento stood for, other times I don’t. Sometimes it’s easy to understand – like the program from the high school plays I was in. And sometimes I have no clue what is associated with – like the stuffed Woodstock bird from Peanuts. I have no clue what memory is associated with him (usually meaning I have lost that memory for all time). When this happens I just throw out the item (or in the case of Woodstock give it away to the Salvation Army) and when I can – I consolidate those boxes.

Facebook makes it easier for me to remember things. Everyone has pictures from everything and mostly it is in chronological order.

But what do you do about the things that you don’t know if you want to keep?

I use to have a box of stuff from Jason, my freshman year boyfriend. It had a weird smelling candle, a hedgehog stuff toy thing, and some letters/birthday cards he had written me or conversations we had over AIM. After sophomore year that box found its way under my bed at home and didn’t resurface until I moved out to Manayunk for the first time where it was placed at the top of my closet shelf with my other memory boxes. I didn’t actually go through it until I was moving out of my apartment in Harrisburg, a year and a half after its rediscovery. Going through the box brought back some great memories but also some old pain. I threw out most of the stuff and kept a few things like the candle. (You never know when the power is going to go out).

I didn’t know then, and I still don’t know now, what to keep and throw away from these relationship boxes (good grief it sounds like I am back in 4^th grade when I had box of stuff that reminded me of my crush). I just made an educated guess as to what I would want and what I wouldn’t. But to be honest, this is the first time I have thought about that box since I threw it out. Does it mean that I shouldn’t have kept anything from it? I can’t even tell you where some of the things I kept are. Maybe in the attic with all the books and stuff I kept from College or maybe in the college memory box in my closet.

Now I am in the problem of going through the “box” from my last relationship. Work is switching out my old Dell and giving me a new Lenovo. On my work computer is some personal folders that I need to move to my computer at home. One of these files is of my last relationship. A poem, photos, and saved text messages. It's been long enough that we are both over the relationship and remained good friends but honestly I don’t know what to do with the folder. What do I keep? What do I put in the recycle bin? How do you decide which memories to keep and which to let go of?

What are your thoughts? Did you have a “box” of old relationships? Did you keep it or throw it away?

Hello. You are more than a Bird

I guess I should start by explaining the name of this blog.

About a year and a half ago I was getting ready to move from my first real apartment in a city I grew up in with friends all around to a city where I only knew one other person. I was moving there for my job for a temporary 6 months position. I didn't know where I was going to live and I was pretty sure that I wasn't going to be living with a roommate.

I had been stressing about it and it wasn't helped by my mother (who is very loving and really just looking after her procrastinating "chick") who was asking almost constantly if I had found a place to live. I didn't want to look for a place to live and was hating that I was going to have to move to this city, even temporarily. That being said I WAS looking and WAS stressing not only about where to live but how I was going to get all my stuff there.

In my not so frequent bible time I really felt God was putting Matthew 6:26 on my Heart.

"Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they?"(NIV)

At the time I thought it was referring to the job that I currently had which was very challenging for me but I slowly came to realize that God wanted me to rely on him to provide for me. Once I began affirming that verse in my life (really I kept on panicking and saying "I am more than a bird" "I am more than a bird" "I am more than a bird" over and over) God opened a wonderful place for me to live.

One of my coworkers lived in that city and had recently bought a new house with his Fiance and needed to sublet his apartment. The rent was double was I was willing to pay and told him that, although I would love to sublet, it was beyond what I was willing to pay for an apartment. A month went by and the offer was once again given but at half the price of what he was paying for the rent. It was decided that I would pay half the rent ($500) and he would pay the other half. Since he was on the lease I didn't have to worry about him flaking off on the rent and He trusted me enough that I didn't have to sign a sublet agreement because I was basically taking the apartment sight unseen and he didn't want to lock me into something I wasn't happy with. He really is one of the nicest people I have ever met.

The apartment was in a great neighborhood with neighbors that always looked out for each other. I went into the shop next to me and one of the really nice old men that owned the shop asked where my young man had been lately. The only time a guy had been to my apartment was 2 weeks ago and it was  another coworker helping me move in a TV stand that I had just bought from Craigslist. It was walking distance to the local restaurants, half a block away from the gym, and a block away from the river.

The second God thing was the actual move out to the city. It is only about two hours away from where I was living at the time. I rented a small uhaul, got my best friend, current roommate, a guy friend, and his son to help me load it up with all my stuff. My guy friend was nice enough to drive the Uhaul out to the new city with me and his son riding shotgun and whatever the name of the middle seat is. My best friend was amazing and drove my car out to the new city. The only other girl I knew in that city met us at my new apartment, which I had only seen once when I went to get the keys a couple of weeks earlier, with her guy roommate. Within a couple of hours we had put everything into the new apartment and they had mostly arranged my furniture and my best friend had help me set up my bed so I at least had something to sleep on.

Within a few weeks I was attending a church I really enjoyed. Had a met a few friends and was starting a relationship with someone (which turned out not to work out but it was a good experience).

All of this would not have been possible if I had not trusted God. He gave me an apartment and moving plans within 4 weeks of praying and left me a month of relaxing knowing that he had taken care of me.

Frequently as I have been going through my life and people are telling me of things that they are going through all I can say to them is that they are"More than a bird".

This verse has become so real to my life that I hope to get a small silhouette of a sparrow in flight tattooed in white on my inner wrist (I already have a tattoo of the Chi Rho on my foot).