RJ Gonzalez

Every day I wake up to alarms running around my house. Tey are loud and noisy, but fun to watch as they go outside whenever a large delivery truck drives by or when someone walks along the street in the back. Some mornings, they are not up before I am, and so I try my best to keep quiet so as not to set them of. Sometimes I am quiet enough to keep the blaring alarms from loudly sounding and waking the rest of my family. Other times, they see me and act as if an intruder has broken into the house, despite knowing me very well. But inevitably, they go of, no matter what I do to keep them from making their loud noises.

Tere are six alarms in my home. Four of the alarms are usually quieter than others. Troughout the day, those alarms keep to themselves, and only let out small beeps and chirps. Sometimes they come up to me and gently let me know that they love me. Tey are very sweet alarms.

But the other two are not so quiet. Tey are still very sweet, but as soon as one of them starts ringing, the rest get riled up as well. Every time I think that things are calm and that I can rest easily—

And suddenly, they’re all of, and there is nothing that I can do to stop it!

Sometimes, one of the two will start of with quiet chirps before they ring very loudly, making everything become a loud shouting match between me and the alarms. Sometimes, it gets so bad that I must take the alarms outside and lock them out, just so that I can have some peace in the house.

But, in the end, I would never trade those alarms for others, even if I could get quieter or less rowdy alarms. No way could I ever do that. Tese alarms may be loud and annoying and frustrating, but they are like family, and are very easy to love when they are not ringing. Tey are loud because they love me, and sometimes it’s fun to watch them go of every now and again. Especially when they go of at me, because I play with them and talk back to them, which makes them talk back to me.

Besides, you never know when you need the best alarm system in the world to wake you up in a time of need.

Jayli Lueras

A monster died in the night, one who was a master of disguise. He had the village thinking him a hero, and how they mourned his defeat.

But I was there.

I witnessed the descension of the Valkyrie. Tere was no sorrow for a fallen warrior in their eyes.

No.

Not one cried out in woe lined celebration. No.

Tis creature would not be raised to sit next to the All Father. No.

For where the village saw a hero, the Valkyrie knew the truth.

Great Odin saw the monster and sent his maidens not for the ascension of Valhalla, but for the dragging to Helheim.

And I watched.

How I reveled in their malice.

How I wished to dance to the screams and twisted laughter.

A monster died in the night, and the village mourned.

As the ground beneath my feet swallowed the being, I ran and embraced the shieldmaiden he lef behind.

For it was her truth that stripped his spell, exposing him to the world, though the world was too blind to see it.

And there we sat in Freya’s embrace, and there we shall remain.

For in the night a monster was slain. Now we await the dawn.

Here I am on the job. I am a unicorn but, usually, I work undercover as a dog. I look for kids to play with. Some days I walk with my owner, but she doesn’t know about my undercover job. As you know, most unicorns like to keep secrets. Actually, I keep many secrets to myself and try to look happy and wag my tail to please my owner who thinks I’m a dog. (I am really my own owner, but, again, that’s a secret.) Oh, and the blackbirds know I’m working undercover but have promised not to talk.

Here’s my morning schedule. I wake up very early, put on my dog outft, and get to the schoolbus stop before any of my friends show up. I do this so that I can count the kids as they arrive and make sure no one is sick at home. If someone doesn’t show up for the bus, afer the bus leaves, I head to the missing kid’s house right away. By the way, I can smell sickness, so I can tell if someone is pretending. (Tat is a secret ability.) You should know that sometimes if you eat a lot of peppermint ice cream, the smell can cover up the sick. I am very careful if I smell peppermint ice cream.

Today everyone is on the bus. Whew, a good day to visit the kids who aren’t old enough for school. Tey are really fun to play with. I think they like me because of my black, fufy, furry coat and my smile. Here’s the diference. Maybe you know this. Te really young kids don’t try to make me tired by throwing a ball, or fake throwing a ball, or tying me to their wagon to pull them around, or put me on a leash so I can’t go where I want, or give me a bath and make me do tricks. Young kids put their faces near to get sloppy kisses and bury their noses in my fufy, furry coat and use me as a pillow and feed me candy and Cheerios. You see what I mean?

So, it’s a good day. I’m happy, little kids are happy, the neighborhood moms and dads are happy, except Mrs. Grumpy who doesn’t like dogs, but not just me, ALL dogs. I don’t like her either, but that’s a secret. I just smile and feel sorry for her because she doesn’t know I’m an unicorn undercover. If she knew about my job, she would probably be nicer.

OK, back to work.

Twila Lemons

No agenda—No plans—Spread the arms—Let the spirit free to soar.

Don’t care who is watching or what they say Happiness—pain—laughter—joy and love Express it!—Your life—Live it as if it’s your last day.

Time passes so quickly, too many minutes wasted Take the new day you have been given—live it wisely Embrace life before it becomes dated.

Tis day may not be about you—but a stranger or another Remember—everyone has a story!

Don’t judge a book by its cover.

Live hopefully—always prayerful

Keep the faith

Miracles still happen—look for them

Te miracles await.

Nisha Hofman

He sat there and stared at that old fsh hook. At the worms in the can he tried not to look.

Grampa was watching with a line in his brow. “Hurry up, boy, get the worm on there now.”

Te boy’s face showed fear for the worm in his hand, As it wiggled and squiggled and felt of the sand.

“Don’t get acquainted, boy, just bait the hook. Give the line a jerk and throw it in the brook.”

Small fngers reached out, the worm was caught. He dragged the worm around the hook in a knot.

Te worm it rolled. It curled. It fell. Grampa shook his head and just said, “Well.”

“Try again, boy, put the hook through the worm, double it over when it starts to squirm.”

Te little boy’s eyes flled up to the brim. Didn’t grampa know the worm was a friend?

He had played with the worms that flled that can, let them climb over his fngers and into his hand.

Into the can his hand quivered and dipped. Next came the splash and “Aw, Grampa, it slipped.”

Johanna Michaels

My family has always been strange. We are accident-prone and sickly. Every generation has its own fghts and injuries. Tese things are what make us a family, and they bring us closer together. We have many great stories about our fghts, injuries, and illnesses passed on with love because that is what makes our family who we are. All of our stories, no matter how small, bring us together and defne us as a family.

When my grandma was raising her kids, she got a fork stuck in her foot. My grandmother was sweeping the foor barefoot. She hit a fork and it lodged in her foot. She went to the hospital to get the fork removed. Te doctors didn’t believe she had a fork in her foot at frst since she had walked in completely on her own.

When I was a baby, my papa was supposed to be coming home on his motorcycle. He wasn’t there when he was supposed to be and I wouldn’t stop crying. My grandma couldn’t fgure out why I was crying, until my papa dragged himself up to the house from the gate. My papa had crashed his motorcycle into the fence. His leg wouldn’t heal and got infected. Tey eventually had to amputate it, and as a child, I would always poke at his stump.

For a year when I was in kindergarten, my grandparents lived in New York. I came back before they did, so I wouldn’t change schools during the year. We were told we were going to a lake to go swimming. I called my grandparents that day, and they said they would be back in a few days. My instincts told me they were at the lake waiting for us, so I was smiling and giddy the whole way there. Everyone had said that they would be there, but when we got there, I said, “I knew you would be here.”

When Grandma was six, she moved to the U.S. from France. She came on the Queen Mary. She didn’t speak English and didn’t bring many belongings. I remember her telling me about this one doll she brought. She still has it. My grandma was one of the almost three hundred thousand French immigrants to the United States a year in the 1950s. According to PRB in their article “Trends in Migration to the U.S.,” the United States admitted an average of 250,000 immigrants a year in the 1950s.

My parents got rabbits that my sister, Kristanya, had to take care of. One day, she lef the cage open and her dog killed the rabbits. She claimed it was an accident, but had told me that she no longer wanted to care for the rabbit. My dad cooked up the rabbits for them to eat. Kristanya came over and asked, “Do you want some? It tastes like chicken.” I politely declined the ofer.

When Kristanya did an ofcial sparring match during a tournament, she accidentally broke a guy’s ribs. Tey were both wearing gear, and the guy was a lot older. Tey were sparring, and my sister kicked him in the side. He went into the bathroom, and when he came out, there was blood, and he said his ribs felt broken. When his kids came to the next project, they said his ribs were broken.

Our yard was always messy. Tere were all kinds of vehicles and tools lying around. Some kind of glass had broken on a rock. Tat day, Jr. went outside without shoes and stepped on the glass. Te glass cut open his foot. He got a rock stuck in his foot, so they went to the hospital to get it removed. When Jr. got back, he was so happy and proud of the rock.

When we were in New York, we stayed with my uncle Jay and his family. I was much younger than everyone else there. David loved wrestling. We would wrestle, and even though he was in ffh grade while I was in kindergarten, I would beat him. David and I were really close.

Grandma was walking around the RV when she hit her head on the hitch. She didn’t realize that she was hurt until I mentioned it. She was bleeding, but not very badly. We got her all fxed up. So Papa bought a pool noodle and cut it so he could cover the hitch, so nobody would bust their heads on it again.

My dad, Jean, Jay, and Charles got into a fght as kids. Dad broke his nose and passed out. Te boys thought they had killed him, so they got a trash bag and took him outside. Tey started digging a hole, and while they were digging, my uncle woke up. When he started getting up, it scared the other boys, but they were also happy that he wasn’t dead.

Me and Tyler used to pretend we were monsters who were going to put Jr. in the oven or the pot of oil. We would chaise Jr. and, once we caught him, we would carry him to the oven or pot. Once we got there, we would set him down so he could escape. Tyler would pretend to be angry while I was frustrated. We would continue in this cycle for hours.

Jean wasn’t a talkative kid. Actually, she wouldn’t talk at all. Te kids, especially uncle Jeannine, would blame everything on Jean. One day, Jean had enough. Jeannine was blaming him for something, and he yelled “No” and started saying that it was them who did everything he was getting blamed for. Jean started hitting Jennine with what he had in his hand. Te kids knew that they had pushed her too far at that point. ***

One Christmas I got strep, so I couldn’t be around every day. I sat in my room and watched as everyone decorated the tree. Grandma saved some decorations for me to put up. When everyone else was done, I got to put up what was saved for me. Our friends came over, but I had to stay away from them. I had to open my presents alone. ***

My dad was into karate when he was a kid. He got a black belt at about the same age as me when we were just starting out. During one of his competitions, he was up against an instructor. Dad kicked the instructor, and the instructor went back to the table. Dad won a trophy, but the instructor ended up in the hospital.

If I had any questions about school, Grandma would help me. I would ask her, and if she didn’t know, she would look it up and help me get to the correct solution. I usually understood afer she started to explain, even if she didn’t. I would tell her that she didn’t need to look it up anymore because I understood, but by that time, she wanted to understand too. If we were both still confused, we would look at more stuf till we understood, or at least I did. We had a trampoline from our friend who had moved away. We were jumping as usual, but Tyler and Kristanya had gotten into an argument. Tey were upset at each other, but we were all playing. Tyler did a really big bounce, and while he was in the air, Kristanya pushed him. Tyler few of the trampoline and into an old kid’s toy we had lying around. Te toy was broken, but Tyler was fne.

My sister and I were playing hide-and-go-seek tag with some friends. Rose hid behind a tree but didn’t notice the poison ivy. She was covered in poison ivy oil and spread it on me when she touched my back. For days, we were both itchy and uncomfortable. We learned that poison ivy afected us and that we had it in our yard. ***

When my papa was in the Navy and married to his frst wife, he got into a wreck. A kid ran in front of him to get his ball. He dodged a kid and hit a tree. Papa had glass all in him. Tey sowed him up with the glass in him to save his life.

I used to dump salt into my mouth or on my hand to eat it. One day, instead of grabbing the salt, I accidentally grabbed the pepper. I just poured it in my mouth and started choking. Grandma realized and came over to help. Afer that, I made sure it was salt and stayed away from pepper.

When Grandma was in high school, she was bullied. She told the staf about it, but they didn’t do anything. Grandma put up with it for years, but one day she fnally snapped. When she snapped, she beat the bully so badly she had to go to the hospital. Te school tried to suspend Grandma, but everyone, including the bullies, stood up for you.

We went camping where there were these tall water slides. I learned to swim in New York. My sister told the lifeguards that I didn’t know how to swim, so when I got to the bottom, they all rushed to get me. It was super embarrassing, but when Grandma found out, she was pissed. Grandma told the life guards what happened and mentioned that Kristana hadn’t had swim lessons. Kristana had to prove that she could swim.

Papa got back late from a hunting trip. He had several deer in the ice chest. Since it was the weekend, we got to help with them. Papa hung them up, and I sat on the truck while he and dad skinned and gutted them. Sometimes I would play with the antlers on my head.

Grandpa, who is my great grandpa, would always say it was Hanna time when he wanted ice cream. He called me Hanna, so he called ice cream time Hanna time. Hanna Time was our special time. We’d have Hanna time every day. I would sit in bed with him as we ate and talked.

On one of my birthdays, we were going to Gattiland. Tis was what we usually did for a birthday. When we were backing up, my parents ran over our dog, Frosty. Tey put him down while we waited in the car. I didn’t want to ruin my birthday party, so I ignored it and just went on with my day. I had fun at Gattiland, and when we got back, I was too exhausted to think of anything. ***

My grandparents would help me while I was studying for school. Me and Papa were outside grilling while I was doing my school work. I fnished my homework and was studying for a big test. While Papa read out the fashcards, I was in control of the grill. I would answer, and we would stay out and grill for as long as we could while studying. ***

I was tickling Kristanya on her bed. I hadn’t realized the crate was pulled out. It had plastic spikes all around the edge. Kristanya was wiggling and knocked me of the bed and onto the crate. One of the spikes hit and went through my head. I got stitches, then I was fne.

Tis project introduces the Pattern Tool in Adobe Illustrator and reinforces the creation and manipulation of shapes, object editing, color and composition. It requires analysis and critical thinking to visualize how to apply the use of patterns in an ad layout or product design.

Students used the Subtractive Method of sculpture to cut away or subtract the part of the medium that isn’t part of a design. Students created a design on paper then, using a toothpick, traced the design onto a bar of soap. Ten they used a paring knife to carve out the design and used a spoon to carve out larger areas and for smoothing out.

Paula Pavanis

Te rickety, tiny old house reeked. Silent and shrouded, ephemeral ghosts of booze, bacon-grease and chain-smokers lingered deeply ensconced in those old walls. And the daily drills of its resident adults endlessly added to those ungodly stale scents. Te other broken-down homes on the block at least sat in the light and closer to the street, but not ours. We were backwards, concealed from prying eyes behind hideously overgrown shrubs and trees. And the setback placed us precariously close to the dingy pest-infested alley. Tose thirty-fve yards to the street may as well have born the stench of a medieval moat: inhospitable and dank.

Submarine-style quarters dominated the tiny inside, the kitchen its hub. Bumping into something—fridge, stove, sink, table, chair, TV—was just the way of things. Te spotless living room, hidden behind a forever-closed pocket door, exuded all the lifeless welcome of a museum exhibit. It also housed the front door. I loved that door. Its handcrafed cut-glass knob and clear windowpanes held a portal to the magical world of outside. But I lived in the basement for eight years.

Its door was always closed. Tere wasn’t enough room in the small hall to even open it all the way. And opening it was a bit scary. Exceedingly steep and narrow, the steps to my room were more like a modifed ladder. Peering down an open submarine hatch comes to mind. Tey weren’t even wide enough for my little eight-year-old feet. Although fully fnished and furnished, that basement was dark. Dim and difuse, daylight fltered in only through two window-wells full of spider webs. Despite the antiseptic cleanliness habits of my mother, it was a basement. It still smelled musty like dirt. Creepy but harmless vinegarroons loved it. Millipedes and scorpions found it a welcome refuge too. I never dared set foot out of bed without the light on and checking under that bed. Children, especially those from insular families like mine, families with secrets, seldom realize how something like living in a basement seems to the outside world. During a visit, my adult daughter saw that old house for what it was: “run down.” My upbringing was indeed debasing: categorically subterranean. Run into the ground, to be precise.

Light exists along many wavelengths. Some are rendered imperceptible and unavailable to limited human anatomy. Ultra-violet for one. But the humble bumblebee sees it. Tat light not only guides them directly to dinner, but also serves us up our needed human dinners via their pollination. Light means life for many, and fortunately travels more than one path.

My childhood environs were unmistakably, forebodingly dark. But fortunately light seeps in through even the smallest crack. Against all odds, light not only found its way in, but found a way to stay. It had come once before. It was the light, and life, that music afords. But the parental units were having none of it. Refusing to take me to school for music practice, they lef me to walk yearround that forty-fve minutes to school on a busy road with no shoulder nor sidewalk. It might be easy to believe I was less than loved, but folks who grew up with dirt foors and no indoor plumbing until 1963 believed we were living the life of Riley.

Not surprisingly, eleven seemed the zenith of their tolerance for anything deemed play; anything not directly related to the dollar. Afer all, graduating from eighth grade was seen as the pinnacle of academic achievement in Mom’s family. Abject poverty’s demons tormented the poor souls who endured the Great Depression. In their defense, many we knew valued only work. Creativity was unheard of. It was the purview of the wasteful, country clubbin’, snooty, stuck-up, rich folks. Tey came to Mom to have their hair done. Te parental units used every trick their pea-pickin’ brains could think of to keep me on the straight and narrow road of hard tack survival. Teir task? Insuring creativity’s muse, her light, would never touch me. Tat was their version of love.

Words were mere formalities to them and therefore nearly meaningless. Tey read the bills and . Words weren’t creative. Ever stealth, that muse never once took her eyes of the light and the love of words she saw in me. Creeping unseen past that dark and overgrown yard, she quietly snuck past their archaic notions in our back door.

“Words can be like X-rays if you use them properly—they’ll go through anything. You read and you’re pierced.”

—Aldous Huxley, Brave New World

She arrived in the form of a dictionary. Not just ANY old dictionary mind you. No way. My dictionary, , published by Funk and Wagnalls in 1966, was as big as the ones sitting on their own stand in the library. It was so diferent from the boring student dictionaries at school I couldn’t believe what I’d been missing. Tere were extensive explanations of possible meanings and usage for even common words. Etymologies, timelines of usage, antonyms, and synonyms covered each of those ffeen-hundred-and-sixty-fve pages. And that was just the English dictionary. Te supplement held French, German, and Spanish dictionaries, a dictionary of quotes, popular baby names, medical terminologies, and more.

It was my birthday gif. And I was only twelve.

I knew for certain then and there that miracles and muses, and the glorious light they bring, actually exist. Daddy the fall-down, horrifc drunk could never have imagined such a wondrous gif for me: one I would fall in love with. I always wondered if one of his more literate women “friends” recommended it.

With the gif of that dictionary, words became my best friends. I spent hours in my basement reading my dictionary. Life was pretty lonely during those times. I wasn’t old enough to visit friend’s homes afer school. And I desperately needed something inspiring and creative to pierce the darkness that surrounded me.

On the rare days he was sober, Dad would sit at the upstairs kitchen table with the . Afer my dictionary came, he fgured it might be good for us to use it together. Te “It Pays To Increase Your Word Power” vocabulary builder was a regular feature. Dad would read me the word, but not the defnition. I looked it up in my spanking new dictionary. Tis was a happy time for us both. We would laugh and talk about the silly multiple-choice options the editors ofered. Since laughter was nearly non-existent at home, I cherished those moments connecting over words. I’m sure my Dad never imagined just how true the statement “It Pays To Increase Your Word Power” would become for me. Addiction creates dark walls in families. His birthday gif and our time together over words were our only connection.

Afer we fnished upstairs, I was nowhere near done. I would retreat to my basement and read every entry of every word we had just learned. Te roots and usages fascinated me. I would look up the synonyms frst, pick out the ones that called to me, and then look them up too. Te antonyms came next. My creative muse wasn’t content to sneak in the backdoor and hide in a corner. Not a chance. She was in full form now. I was learning both the power and nuance of language: learning to paint convincing pictures with words.

It served my adolescent self well in important ways. Progressing in school at that point meant essays and essay questions. I soon learned I could write my way through just about anything, even if I barely had an inkling of the answer. Papers kept coming back with A’s. With the vocabulary and nuance of language I was learning from my dictionary, my social status began to improve. I helped friends write papers. When I got into trouble for something or the other, I could reason and talk my way out of it with adults. My poorly edu- cated parents were no match for my new found skill, and that quickly drove a wedge between us that, rightfully so, was much needed for the survival of my sinking spirits. Tey’d successfully kept the muse and the light of music out of the house. But once the muse of words came carrying her torchlight, I was on fre. Now determined to escape the darkness of the dungeon they had created, I, predictably for an adolescent, sometimes morphed into a smug smartypants too big for my britches. Whether good or bad, the power of words was taking up permanent residence.

I still have my 1966 . Last year my best friend even bought me the stand I had always wanted for it. It stands open, always ready for a new discovery. Reliably thorough, I prefer it to the abridged defnitions provided by online dictionaries and etymology sites. Sixty character explanations aren’t enough for the nuance I seek: for the word paintings that still light my internal fres. I recently found an identical unused copy of my dictionary at an estate sale, so sadly I let the original go. It was ffy years old and sat open next to me through every paper I wrote: Vocational School, Undergraduate Studies, and Graduate School. It was also the only dictionary my children ever knew.

Te power of words my dictionary gifed me presented a unique challenge in graduate school. A twenty-three year old teacher’s aide, of course trying to prove his mettle in a bid for a paid position, failed my frst paper. Always the learner despite my advanced age, I shamelessly consulted the writing center tutor. Afer reading the rubric for the assignment and my paper, her frst words forever ring in my ears. “ Te frst things I notice is that you are a writer.” She continued, “We don’t write here. We follow conventions. Tey are so much easier than what you do.”

Tat was music to my ears I’m sure my word muse smiles her contented assent, her job well done.

Dr. Mary S. Lemmond

Did it take courage to make a big change in your life?

Perhaps you moved to Ruidoso to attend college, or for work, or to retire. Maybe you changed your marital status, had a baby, or provided care for a person who was ill or dying.

Te change might have caused you to experience fear or anxiety. Once you made the decision to change you might have thought there was no turning back or shouted, “NO WAY” when you thought ‘can I do this.’ Once the challenge was achieved, or at least you lived with it for a while, you might have refected on the experience and said, “Piece of cake!” or maybe, “How did I ever do that?” Change elicits many emotions. Change takes courage.

Courage is an emotional strength that involves the will to achieve goals in spite of difculties.

How does a person get that will? We can look to Positive Psychology where courage is one of six Virtues. According to frontiersin.org, “Virtues are the core characteristics valued by moral philosophers and religious thinkers. [Tese virtues] put the emphasis on character strengths.”

Courage’s character strengths are bravery, perseverance, honesty and zest. Tese strengths help us show fearlessness while dealing with difcult situations.

Look at the changes you’ve encountered or will encounter in the future - can you be courageous, persistent, truthful or enthusiastic? Whether the answer is yes or no, the character strengths of courage are accessible. But being available isn’t enough. We must cultivate the character strengths just like we build strong muscles.

Te character strength bravery builds resilience when people actively cope with challenges and overcome them. Building courage might be done in steps. Start by concentrating on the result(s) of a courageous task. Try doing something small and relatively safe – karaoke, for example, or trying out for a sport, or acting in a small theatre. Build on successes, then take bigger steps to accomplish what you really want. As confdence soars and boldness grows, you can use bravery in ways you never dreamed possible.

Another courage character strength is perseverance. Before you can think about sticking with it, you might have to reframe past failures that didn’t go quite as well as you wanted and caused you to quit the challenge. What is reframing? It’s looking at events, ideas, and tasks diferently. Once you see possibilities instead of failures, perseverance can help with success and achievement. An outstanding book on this subject is , by Angela Duckworth. Her information is a roadmap for pushing through to the end of a project, degree, book you are writing, or enhancing physical stamina, or whatever other challenge you are facing.

Honesty is an act of courage as it helps you show respect for yourself, your objectives, and the promises you’ve made. Honesty is hard sometimes because we might not know ourselves. Tere also can be a fne line between being honest and hurting someone’s feelings. If we use rationalization or excuses for our behavior, we need to stop and become mindful. One way is to think about situations afer they occur. Refecting on what you did or said might help determine a wiser way to respond the next time you are in a similar situation.

My favorite courage character strength is zest. We can take on change if life is approached with joy and energy. One way to incorporate zest into our lives is to analyze everyday tasks and actions. What brings liveliness and passion? Investigate activities that motivate you. I love to write. Te time I spend writing just breezes by. Tis is called fow. I’m totally caught up in the project and lose track of time. Being like this energizes me, and my mind then considers other things that I can write (or paint or build or study). Courage becomes instinctive. You look forward to it! Another way to build zest in your life is to share good things that happen each day. Tis can be one-on-one or recorded in a journal. When you realize all the good things in your life, it’s easier to grab courage.

We need courage in many areas of life. Many times, change requires courage. Change can be something we choose, or it can be something that arises abruptly, like COVID 19. When you are in the middle of a change, take a deep breath and contemplate bravery, determination, sincerity, and excitement. Could these character strengths help nurture your courage?

Te phrase “take courage” is one we can live. It’s possible to study and grow the attributes of courage. Courageous can be who we are…

Sage Bennett attended ENMU-Ruidoso during the Fall 2022 semester, during which she wrote “ Te Bird from Hell” for ENGL 2310: Intro to Creative Writing.

Mayjah Cervantes attended ENMU-Ruidoso during the Spring 2022 semester, during which she wrote “A Great Love Lost” for ENGL 2310: Intro to Creative Writing.

Marie Chafn was a dual credit high school student during the 2022-2023 academic year at ENMU-Ruidoso. She wrote “Looking On” during the Fall 2022 semester in ENGL 2310: Intro to Creative Writing.

Mari attended ENMU-Ruidoso during the Spring 2022 semester, during which they wrote “Stagnant” for ENGL 2310: Intro to Creative Writing.

Jack McCaw is a Professor at ENMU-Ruidoso, where he has taught many science courses over the past 15 years. Professor McCaw began his photographic interests early in life, taking family and vacation snapshots and quickly progressed into 35mm photography by junior high. His interests in nature and photography grew steadily, and eventually he attended New Mexico State University where he received a B.S. in Wildlife Science and a M.S. in Wildlife Biology. McCaw worked his way through college using photography as his main fnancial means, working at three camera shops along the way, as well as working as a darkroom technician for several studio photographers. Professor McCaw is in the 26th year of his teaching career, where he continues to teach as a resource faculty at ENMU-Ruidoso. Afer retirement, he plans to travel, photograph and delve into flm-making. You can fnd his photographic work on Instagram at: @jackmccawphotography.

Jacob McCaw attended ENMU-Ruidoso during the 2022-2023 academi year, during which he produced some of his work in this issue for his graphic design courses.

Jviaondra Proby attended ENMU-Ruidoso during the Spring 2022 semester and wrote “Cold December” for ENGL 2310: Intro to Creative Writing.

Sadie Roser attended ENMU-Ruidoso during the Spring 2022 semester, during which she wrote “Screwdriver or Hatchet” for ENGL 2310: Intro to Creative Writing.

Jef Frawley, Professor of English, Editor; Student Managing Editors: Jayli Lueras, Arabella Snead-Schmitz, Ami Bhakta, Miriam Lucker, Dade Girven, Caitlin Daughtery, RJ Gonzalez.

ENMU-Ruidoso students interested in working for the ? Contact Professor Jef Frawley @ jef.frawley@enmu.edu. We need creative people, writers, artists, computer whizzes, graphic designers, social media gurus, and anyone else interested in fun and weird stuf !

Tis year’s issue is possible thanks to a Devasthali Family Foundation Grant from the Community Foundation of Southern New Mexico.