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VOL. III ISS. I
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IN THIS ISSUE 14
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• 10 Vibrancy: Art by Constanza Castro • 14 Lost in Wonderland: Art by Laura Diliberto • 24 Without Blinking by Lea Moser • 26 Through the Clouds by Jessica Ross • 29 A Love’s True Life by Scott Powell• 30 Each a New Day by Meredith White • 34 In the Time of Food by Natalie ParkerLawrence • 38 Did the Moment Ever End? by Thomas Mathews
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• 46 Games to Look Forward to in 2012 by Jessica Ross • 49 A Human Right by Rachel Quinn • 51 Post-Holiday Detox by Ashley Dodge • 54 Rethinking Resolutions by Katie Green • 51 Submit
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seeking the
primal You’ll have to forgive me. At the time of writing this, I’ve just finished watching Battlestar Galactica (the reboot) and am feeling very sentimental to the idea of humanity, and what it means to be human within the vast expanse of the universe. One of the reasons I loved this show is because of the many strong, yet flawed, female characters who were an integral part of the story. I love science fiction and fantasy art because it often portrays women much differently than in non-fantastical stories. At the same time, it can also make female characters very one dimensional, so a great sci-fi piece must achieve a balance. Each woman on Battlestar was different, and not just in appearance, but in personality and in the choices they made: Starbuck was abrasive and rude, but also passionate and deeply spiritual. President Roslin was firm in her leadership, and faced her physical ailments directly and honestly, but sometimes made decisions that went against the status quo. And each of the cylon females struggled with doing what they were programmed to do, and breaking free so they could live and make their own choices. So what does that mean for us? What makes women “women”? We choose to call Wildflower “female-positive” because we know that women come in many forms, and we know that it is not just other women who appreciate the creativity, intelligence, beauty, and innovations of female artists and writers, but also our male counterparts and those who choose to seek out a more unique place on the gender spectrum. Luckily, we think this issue reflects that idea, more than any other issue. Our feature artist Laura Diliberto literally deconstructs the female form, and places it in unique, frightening, and surreal settings. Natalie Parker-Lawrence reflects on a life through the food and smells that encompass our memories. Katie Green tells us to stop stressing about our weight and
our health based on expectations that may not even be our own. And Constanza Castro uses bright colors and exaggerated features to portray mysterious creatures with a haunting familiarity. Per usual, each piece in this issue was chosen with the intent to not only highlight the artist, but to also celebrate their commitment to respecting, honoring and appreciating women for all that they are. If you’ve been following Wildflower for a while, you’ll notice this issue looks a lot different than our past issues. Much of it is the same–we still have cool art and wriitng, by cool artists. But we wanted to spice things up a bit, and really challenge our readers when they look through each issue. We even almost changed the name of the magazine and revamp the entire project, until our assistant editor was adamant that the word “wildflower” was a truthful representation of what we do here in the mag. And we hope that you will continue to tell us what the word means to you, and how you see it defined in your life. I don’t really have New Year’s resolutions, because I prefer to set goals for myself year round, but in 2012, I want to get back to basics. I want to challenge my mind, my body, my creativity. I want this magazine to expand and showcase more artists than ever before. I want you, as the readers and contributors, to feel that you are being represented in our publication. I want to explore who I am as a woman, but more importantly, as a human beyond the definition of my gender. Here’s to a wild 2012.
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Ashley Hennefer, Editor
wildflower in a
butterfly garden By the time this issue is published I will be 27 years old. When I was a little girl dreaming of my future, this present is the furthest from what I had imagined. I figured that by 27 I would be living in a castle built of pure gold with a mermaid for a best friend and at least three pet monkeys. I’d have a butterfly garden where I would spend afternoons writing and watching the sun set behind my lake of liquid milk chocolate. At the very least, I thought I’d be married with kids and have a rockin’ job where I could boss people around and make them go get me coffee. But I don’t have any of those things. Not even the monkeys. What I do have is my own column at a women’s magazine that I’m crazy about. The mission of this magazine mimics my own in life–to give a voice to creative, imaginative, and passionate females from around the world. It has always bewildered me how many women in the arts go unnoticed and underappreciated. As I have spent the last several years trying to make a name for myself as a writer, it has become apparent that at least part of the problem is the lack of venues allowing us to even put our work out into the world. What Wildflower Magazine offers is a creative outlet for me and women like me who seek an inspirational and positive community with whom to share their craft. Perhaps another part of the problem is that our field is one that still requires a bit of defending. In the eyes of society, it seems, our contributions as writers, poets, artists, photographers, don’t necessarily stack up to those with other skills or trades. In this respect, the magazine acts as our defender. Each issue of Wildflower is jam-packed with evidence that what women in the arts have to offer society is not only abundant but invaluable.
But we don’t do this for the money. We do this because it’s in our blood – writing, reciting, painting, photographing. We do this because it’s as much a part of our lives as eating, drinking, bathing, sleeping. We do this because we have to in order to survive. Recently, Ashley Hennefer, editor of Wildflower Magazine, made at least a portion of my childhood dream come true. She didn’t build me a palace, but she did crown me Assistant Editor of the magazine. It’s a job that, for now at least, I can do in pajamas while lounging on my couch in my non-palatial home. I don’t do much bossing around and I still have to get my own coffee. Nonetheless, the job is completely rockin’ and I feel honored to have been entrusted with a bigger role in the publication. As Assistant Editor, I have the opportunity to help recruit talented writers and artists to share their work with the magazine. (This has already proven to be remarkably good for my soul.) In addition to searching for great content, I will get a small say in the look and feel of each issue. Essentially, I get to be surrounded by beautiful writing and artwork from amazing women around the world. It’s an environment so inspiring, it puts even a butterfly garden to shame. I have watched in awe since 2009 as Ashley dedicated her heart and soul to making Wildflower bloom. My goal as Assistant Editor is to offer all my resources to ensure it continues to grow. I believe in Wildflower Magazine with all that I am, and can’t wait to see what the future of the publication holds. What I envision is something even more magical than the life I imagined for myself as a young girl. Golden castles, mermaids, and monkeys don’t hold a candle to what’s in store for Wildflower Magazine. •
Jessica Farkas, Assistant Editor 7
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Constanza Castro • Laura Diliberto 9
VIBRANCY
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Constanza CASTRO Opposite page: Psychadelic Family Portrait. Above: Bittersweet Departure. On next page, from left: The Girls Walk Side to Side; Upside Down Love; Tinkle in Her Eyes; Pretty in Pink with a Touch of Melancholy. 11
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lost in wonderland 14
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Opposite page, from top, clockwise: her last breath; these words; rebirth, the girl who could fly. above: lost. On previous page: the fallen. On “art� page: a statue to worship. 16
Q&A with Laura Diliberto by Ashley Hennefer
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Website: wildflowermagazine.com/lauradiliberto
What are some of the challenges of modeling in your own photos? Do you find yourself being more Location: New York, New York critical of how images turn out, or is the process easier than working with other models? Age: 23 It's definitely a mixture of both! Sometimes I can be critical of how I am posing. It's also difficult many times to get Educational background: I did my undergraduate work the focus and composition just right when you are in front in Arts Administration, as well as Graphic Design. I've of the camera. I would like to branch out and work with always loved the arts and it was a good way for me to models a lot more in the future, but what I love about self get involved in them. It wasn't until after graduation that portraiture right now is the control that I have over my I became captivated with own work. I'm always available to digital photography. I think that if anyone is wanting to model, in any location that I desire. express themselves, whether with I think sometimes that discovering Your art is very whimsiyour own style and what you are photography or something else, cal and fantastical, very passionate about just takes some fairytale-like. Where do then you should just go for it. I've self reflection—literally! you find inspiration? always been a believer in followI've always had a very Faces, limbs and body parts in ing your passions, and not allow- your images are often hidden active imagination. When I was younger I loved fairy or exaggerated. What is the ing any obstacles to blind your tales and daydreaming. So, significance of this? How does it vision. Work, school, and family part of my photography is feel to change your physical atobligations happen, but I think just being able to put my tributes so drastically, or to mask whimsical thoughts into a them completely? that if you have a passion and more tangible form. I try to are doing something to act on it Considering my self-portraits aren't look at the world as somemeant to be autobiographical, everyday, then eventually your thing that can always be I've never felt much of a connecmade beautiful, no matter if tion to myself in the photos, but vision will be realized. I am in a forest or just in my rather as a character telling a story living room. I love looking at or playing a role. I would never what would be a typically boring space and asking myself, want people to get the impression that I'm just saying in "How can I make this look extraordinary?" Flickr does also my work, "Hey, look at me!" So therefore, I don't find it of have some really inspirational conceptual artists. Brooke importance to wear makeup, show my face, or keep my Shaden, Lissy Elle, and Alex Stoddard are people I will figure perfectly aligned all of the time. always look up to.
Opposite page, from top, clockwise: up and away; where the soul meets body; risen; trap; static electricity; sleeping fits.
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There are many elements—literally—of nature present in most of your pieces. Sometimes the setting takes place outside, but other times nature is inside, like butterflies, birds, spiderwebs, rain, even the universe. What does this signify? I've always loved nature and just think it's a really beautiful thing to incorporate in pictures. Overall, though, what I love about digital photography and the ability to manipulate is that there are no limits to the imagination. Anything you can think of can be created, whether it's levitating off the ground or having butterflies in your living room! When lo oking at your work as a collection, it feels like a story is being told—each image is like a still frame or a snapshot of action. Is there a story you’re trying to tell or is it more like an evolution of the woman portrayed in each capture? In most of my work there is a story being told. Although I do a lot of self-portraiture, my photos aren't autobiographical in nature. Instead I try to place myself in a world where people can feel the emotion of the character, and examine what my story means to them. Whether a photo is simplistic, or highly conceptual, it is meant to go beyond the lens of the camera and into a world that is not our own. What is the editing process like? What software do you use to create, and how do you plan for what the final image will look like? I use Photoshop CS5 and try to always work in a square format. When I plan out a picture I usually sketch out the whole idea and what type of colour I would like to use. If I shoot something on a whim, then I will still always expand around the frame, because I know that I like the square format, and will also take the time to think about what I would like the end result to look like. Planning these things ahead usually makes the editing process go smooth. It can take anywhere from one to six hours to finish an image, depending on how conceptual it is. What are some upcoming projects you have in store? I'm actually working on a "365" project. This is the challenge of taking/editing a photo everyday and then uploading it to Flickr.com. I haven't been able to do it every single day, but I am trying my hardest, and right now I am on day 17 so I'm really excited to see what my portfolio will look like in a year or so from now. Even though it is winter, I would like to be in the woods and do a lot of nature self-portraits in the near future.
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Opposite page, from top: escaping from this body; disunite; the intruder. above, breathe out.
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Jessica Ross • Lea Moser • Meredith White • Natalie Parker-Lawrence • Scott Powell • Thomas Matthews 23
Without Blinking
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There is clarity before the car hits her Then there is blackness The tar is hot it is lava it is the sun Her shoulder is velvet and it is ripped Freckled shoulders break like glass plates There is clarity before the car hits her Then there is buzzing in her ears it is noise it is trepidation Her ears are headphones that are broken She lives in sound proof walls
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It is foul play, it is horse play. everything in living is fragile just barely
just barely
- Lea Moser
through the
clouds b y J e s s i c a Ro s s
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S a s h a wa t c h e d t h e c l o u d s as they formed shapes and then blew away. She sighed dreamily, her hands under her head, lying in the soft grass in her backyard. She heard the crunch of someone stepping on something just to her left, and she jumped up, heart racing. “Didn’t mean to scare you,” James said apologetically, startled at Sasha’s reaction. “You’re late,” Sasha admonished, flipping her long hair back and settling back down. “But listen, I have an idea. We always said that we wondered what was on the other side of the clouds, right?” At this, they both turned to face the sky. They watched the clouds swirl into each other and then apart. “Well check this out,” she whispered conspiratorially and withdrew a small vial with a bright light banging around inside. “What’s that?” “It’s a shooting star! I nabbed it from the elders when they were in council. No one even realizes it’s gone! We can ride it across the clouds and see what’s on the other side!” “A shooting star? You can’t just take those, Sasha! What if something goes wrong? What if it explodes? What if someone—“ “Are you going to escape with me, or not?” Sasha interrupted impatiently. “Our parents will be worried,” James hedged, shifting his weight uncomfortably. Sasha sighed and stood up. She took a deep, steadying breath, staring up at the clouds again. She tried
to look past the clouds to see what was beyond them, but found that the clouds filled the sky, as they always did, and blocked her view of what was on the other side. She looked back down at James and shook the vial at him. “Look, James. I called you here to tell you about this because you said that you wanted to escape just as badly as I did. This is our chance! They’re keeping us prisoner here! Those aren’t really our parents; they’re just clones! If we stay here, we’re going to end up turned into clouds, just like the rest of them. I don’t want to be a part of the clouds; I want to see what’s out there. No one has ever been to the other side of the clouds; they just tell us that we have to become clouds to protect what’s on the other side. Well what’s over there? I want to see what they’re keeping from us! If we stay, we’re going to be stuck floating around as stupid shapes while people stare at us and wonder what else is out there for the rest of our lives! If we do this, if we ride this star, we can see what’s on the other side. We can be part of what so many of our friends became clouds to protect! We don’t have to just sit here, waiting to be turned into clouds. We can go over there and see. Don’t you want to see? Just make this leap with me.” “I’m not going with you,” James said sternly. “And if you try to leave, I’ll tell. I’ll tell the elders that you took a star and that you’re crazy.” Sasha glared at James. She let the betrayal she felt cover her face, because she wanted James to know that she was hurt. He had always shared stories with her about what he hoped was on the other side and what 27
he would do if he could make it here, and now he was refusing to go with her. Sasha almost let her frustrations spill forth in the form of tears, but then she realized that she had the most brilliant idea she’d ever had since deciding to steal the shooting star. She kept her face disappointed, not wanting to let on what she was about to do, since James wasn’t going to go with her. “Fine,” Sasha said dejectedly. “Don’t go with me. But you’re not going to stop me!” At this, she shoved James down, uncorked the vial, and let the shooting star explode out. Just as it was about to fly off into the sky, she grabbed hold of the star’s tail and howled in excitement. “I’m unstoppable,” she cried, as the shooting star took off. She looked down past her feet and saw the horrified and surprised expression on James’s face get smaller and smaller, before he became a speck in the landscape below her. She turned her face toward the sky, watching as the clouds got closer and closer. She tightened her grip
on the shooting star as she got closer to the barrier of clouds, suddenly concerned that she wouldn’t be able to break through, but she screamed in delight when the shooting star cut right through the clouds. She looked around her, her eyes struggling to take anything in because of the light from the star, but as soon as she could see what was around her, she let her happiness flow out of her eyes as tears. As the shooting star began to descend into the new, beautiful landscape, Sasha screamed her excitement. She turned toward a sudden bright light to her left, and smiled at it, soaking up the light. That must be the sun, she thought, letting its warmth wash over her. I’ve heard of it, but I never would’ve thought that I’d get to see it. “It’s better than I imagined,” she said to herself, smiling, as the star led her right into her first sunrise. •
“I’m unstoppable,” she cried, as the shooting star took off.
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A Love’s True Life by Scott Powell
Scott and Emma Powell have been married since 1995, and they have been partners in life since 1993. Their troubles have been few, and their laughter abundant. Woman and man alike thrive when a partnership forms. Side by side they journey through life—sharing its pleasures, and learn that together they can ride out its storms, while the other’s health and happiness become their great treasures. They support one another, sharing failure and success. To this end they practice gentle honesty or success will be scarce. False praise has little value, and criticism without encouragement less. Such common purpose can only enrich how each of them fairs. Challenges will present that must be faced alone. Such times a partner gladly shoulders the rest, and through this commitment the seam is more tightly sewn. Having faced these times they find in each other their best. Beauty is not captured on film, nor reflected in glass. Have you not met beauty who through knowing sheds appeal? True beauty will not, when superficial does pass; have you not met plain, who with familiarity their beauty’s revealed? You must know who your partner is, their wants and desires. Their weaknesses you strengthen, their strength you draw from. By loving this way, you will kindle the fires, that will keep you both warm, whatever may come. •
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each a new day
There is never any warning when the world is about to close in. It might be one of those stagnant days of summer, stifling and sweaty in its stillness. Before anyone senses it, the weather vane rotates with a stiff creak, and the skies darken upon Caprice and her loved ones, none of them safe from the storms that follow her through life. Today, Caprice walks with a heaviness, with a stubbornness, shuffling through her errands. There is no joy in the short walk to the pharmacy, her face emotionless as she ticks items off her list, filling a basket. Suvik, the lone pharmacist, smiles. He asks her about her family and her upcoming trip to Ireland. He has learned all of these friendly details on other days, better days, and it takes him only a glance at Caprice’s tired face to adjust his demeanor. A slightly more professional, more reserved pharmacist has subtly taken over, as he has hundreds of times before. Kindly, he wishes her well as her matted blonde ponytail disappears out onto the busy street. Inside the shop, Suvik is disheart30
ened. He counts back from today, Thursday, and concludes that it was just Monday that Caprice last sprung forth through the very same pharmacy doors, exuberant and grinning. “We’ve finally done it!” She had pronounced loudly, before adjusting her volume in respect of the only other patron of the store. Suvik raised his eyes in interest as she continued. “Liam and I are going to Ireland this fall! I’ve taken off work and we just bought our tickets and now all I need is a passport!” Words bubbled forth from her glossy peach lips as she strode through the shop, picking up a passport application on her way to the counter. “But first I’ll need my photo taken!” Suvik couldn’t help but smile back at Caprice as she shook her shiny hair, smoothed her bangs, and arranged herself on the stool. She posed like Vanna White and as Suvik took her picture her entire body seemed to be smiling. At that moment, her energy transferred to the middle-aged pharmacist and even to the grey haried woman sifting through the greeting cards.
by meredith white
Sunlight poured in the windows and had Suvik hoped to himself that this time his unlucky friend would have a chance to enjoy it before the clouds passed over once again. Just like every other time, though, the bright and bouncing Caprice was now gone, replaced by a fog that could last from a day to a month, or longer. Out on the sidewalk, Caprice grimaces as a bus flies by, a dusty curtain in its wake. Plodding on through the September afternoon, she turns the corner towards the house she shares with her husband and brother-in-law. Just as she reaches the walkway to their shaded home, the tears she has been hiding from all day spill out onto her cheeks, betraying her to the world. Slowing, she presses her hands up over her eyes, shopping bags sliding down her arms onto her elbows, impossibly heavy and digging into her flesh. “Dammit,” she mutters aloud as she frantically wipes her face dry. Her sinuses are now as thick and as heavy as her spirit, and she finishes her journey back into the house. Inside, everything is as she left it. Liam and his younger brother Devlin wouldn’t be home until almost dinner time, leaving Caprice alone for another two hours or more. Grateful that this is one of her days off from the museum where she works, she deflates onto the couch
and turns on the television, dropping her packages onto the floor. She lifts the newspaper onto her lap, wishing for distraction. She checks the stats on the sports page, works dispassionately at a word scramble, and dutifully scans of the world news. With a glance at the dusty clock on the wall, she is relieved to see an hour has already passed. Sinking into the couch, she stares for awhile at the television before the man’s voice coming from the box becomes white noise. The evening’s darkness comes into the room she closes her eyes in sleep. When the door opens a short while later, Liam stops for a minute at the threshold, and with a sick feeling takes in the sight 31
“Dammit,” she mutters aloud as she frantically wipes her face dry. Her sinuses are now as thick and as heavy as her spirit.
of his wife on the couch, legs covered in newspaper and darkness. By the light from the hall he sees packages laying on the floor next to her, with something pooling out of it on the tile. He looks back to his brother still climbing out of the truck, laden with a case of Guinness in one arm and Chinese take-out in the other. Their celebratory meal now seemed unlikely to live up to the plans they had made driving home from their soccer game. As Devlin bounds up the path to the door, Liam holds his hand up in warning to his brother, who notes the fallen expression on his brother’s face and amends his gait . He approaches quietly and carefully and enters the house. Caprice opens her eyes as the men come in, turning lights on slowly. She blinks her eyes and smiles, walks dreamily into the kitchen,. She fills a glass with water and joins the brothers in the living room. Liam hands her a plate, which he has filled with both lo mein noodles and sweet and sour chicken, her usual order. He passes her both a plastic fork and a paper covered set of chopsticks, offering her a choice tonight in utensils to avoid upsetting her further. Collectively the three begin eating, ignoring the mess on the floor. With an appraising whiff, Liam had identified ice cream as the culprit from the leaking pharmacy bag, and no one seemed to have the heart to acknowledge it now.
“Our team won tonight, Chaps.” Liam chances a smile at his wife as he speaks, using his nickhame for her. He cracks open a can of Guinness and pours it carefully into a glass as he continues, “You know what that means...” “Championships, at the end of the month!” Devlin can’t help breaking in, tossing his hair proudly. His dark bangs flop back playfully on his pale forehead, somehow untanned even after hours of outdoor soccer practice all summer long. After all of their hard work, the boys’ team finally had a chance to win it all. Raising his glass in celebration, his eyebrows raise along with it toward Caprice. Halfheartedly, she lifts her water, and clinks glasses with both of them before changing her mind and reaching for a beer for herself. Drinking out of the can, she swallows more than half of it before retiring to the couch, her food barely moved on its plate. Within an hour, she has retired straight to bed without stopping to change or brush her teeth. Downstairs, the mens’ moods are subdued, but they continue their chatter about the afternoon’s game. This isn’t the first time they have witnessed such a drastic sea change, and they have tacitly agreed over the years to do the best they can to weather the storms while continuing on as normal. On sunny days, their Caprice is ever full of charisma. She charms strangers, zipping through life with energy for everyone she meets. The past few months
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Caprice opens her eyes as the men come in, turning lights on slowly. She blinks her eyes and smiles, walks dreamily into the kitchen.
had been delightfully light and happy, culminating in their decision to take an anniversary trip to Ireland, where Liam would introduce Caprice to his cousins and they would explore the country together. Neither Liam nor Caprice had ever been overseas, and they had spent the last couple of days excitedly looking through travel books and maps, ready to take on the world together. Liam is quiet now, alone. Devlin is disposing of the empty takeout containers in the kitchen. Glancing back at the floor, he can’t ignore the ice cream any longer, though he wants to make it disappear, this tangible evidence of his bubbly wife’s sudden departure. He wipes up the ice cream with a rag, wiping off the container to put in the
freezer. In the packages, he sees the pictures taken at the pharmacy, realizing that she must have picked them up today. He gazes at the carefree and glamourous woman staring back at him from the photo sheet. He wonders when this woman will return to them. Walking upstairs to their bedroom, he looks in on Caprice. “Goodnight Chappy. I love you.” Caprice sits up, face flat and eyes puffy. She smiles at the man standing in the doorway, the strong and kind man who walks with her through life. “I love you too. And tomorrow is a new day.” “A new day.” Liam considers her words as he closes the door behind him, walking towards the stairs. Each day is a new day, as unpredictable as the weather. For both of their sakes, he hopes the sun will shine. •
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in the time of
food by Natalie Parker-Lawrence
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1955
1969 1958 Tricycle days. Eat one-half cricket. Mother pulls out other half. Elvis rides by our house on motorcycle. Stops to talk to me. 1970 Mother waves him away with broom. Does not serve peanut butter with jelly or grilled with fried bananas. Elvis does not come back for lunch or otherwise. 1972 1955-58 Day care, no such thing. Listen and revere Italian grandparents, aunts, great grandmothers, cooking all day—no English. Visit grandfather's grocery next to Stax Records. A butcher, he stands in 1973 bloody sawdust all day and brings meat home in crisp white paper. Eat produce from family farm not inherited by my grandmother because she is the youngest 1977 girl and the only girl born in America. 1958 Little sister born. Mother stays home. Dinner on the table at 6:00 from that time until last night, balanced and color-coordinated. 1978 1961 Mother goes back to teaching kinder garten. Insists on nutritious snacks. One of my kindergarten pals, Andy, sits next to me. Marries Kate, one of Charlie's Angels. His mother, Stella Stevens, kisses Elvis in 1978 the movies. Can reach the water fountain, but the temperature equals or surpasses my bathwater. Nuns distribute ice cream in paper cups with flat wooden spoons. Do not notice fat content = 94 million per cent. The school milk comes frozen in the carton. Can get out thousands of souls in 1980 purgatory if I drink it. Souls out = 11. 1965 Receive cookbook for birthday gift. Learn to make muffins. Eat new candy, SweeTARTS. Makes tongue bleed and turn purple. 1982 1966 Deal with mean boy at lunch. Makes fun of celery and carrots in my sack lunch every day. Shows me mustard on his tongue. Stupid cootie head. 1984 Birth. Drink mother’s milk.
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Visit California to see American grand mother. Eat scrambled eggs with vanilla. Taste new soft drink, Fresca. First boyfriend. Make shrimp with garlic sauce. Learn a head of garlic does not equal a clove of garlic. House smells for months. Grow bosoms. Second boyfriend. His family eats fast food like KFC. Grills barbequed pork steaks every Saturday night. Mother thinks this food is low class like them. Third boyfriend. He introduces me to yogurt, granola, Chinese food from a restaurant. His sweat tastes like blueberries. Marry the chicken and barbeque guy. Eat turtle soup and fried quail in a potato nest at Commander's Palace in New Orleans on the honeymoon. Stand in line fourteen hours to see the King Tut exhibit. Graduate Assistantship in the English department. Eat omelets and cornbread at university cafeteria. Kitchen ladies smirk at the plate on my tray. First job teaching high school. Drink double Martinis—with two giant olives—everyday after school. Scoop ice cream with the wrong man. Learn all the methods of scooping. Practice scooping with fervor. Jettison Ice Cream Man and his wife. Earn MA in Linguistics. Visit Europe. Scarf down best Chinese food in London. Order thin pizza in Venice, baked in spite of the cooks running around trying to watch soccer finals. Find cornichons and brandy in the fois gras in France. Jettison KFC husband. Slurp oysters with photographer in Hot Springs, Arkansas. Learn to eat cold avocado soup and chil ed scallop mousse line and strawberries and cream in Montreal. Start and end the year at 104 pounds. Marry the photographer. Pour Cham
boise into the champagne-filled flutes at the wedding. Make aioli for the recep tion with close friend, a food stylist. Receive news that mother-in-law chunked the crystal punch cups at my father after we left for Cape Cod honeymoon. Learn that my father ducks and remains unharmed.
1989
Golden Retriever dies. Reconsider the whole baby idea: maybe I will love a baby as much as that dog. Have baby. Amazed: I love the baby more than that dog. Read Linda McCartney’s book. Become a vegetarian—eat nothing with a face. Eat nothing that screams when it dies. 2008 Child gets Type I Diabetes. Measure every bit of food. Think about food + time every second of the day and night. Divorce Oyster Man. Lose appetite for 180 pounds of husband, the food photographer, and his lover, my ex-friend, the 90-pound food stylist, equaling 270 pounds of excess weight. Last husband = stupidhead boy (see 1966). Adds five sons to the table. Devour pizza at midnight. Relieve the planet of gallons of 2009 milk and boxes of cereal gone in one day. Watch this non-Italian husband make homemade pasta and spaghetti gravy my grandmother thinks is the closest to hers. Die a little. Grandmother dies—best cook (not just Italian food) in the universe. Deliver eulogy. Remind hundreds of people her 2010 salad dressing tasted like dessert. Order saganaki, calimari, tapas in Greek town in Chicago. Eat at Tuscany's on Clark Street across from Wrigley Field on one of our honeymoons: butternut squash raviolas with sage and brown butter sauce. Recreate recipe for Christmas gifts. Get three surgeries and get radiated thirty-four times because of breast cancer diagnosis. Question oncologist. Says it
1994 1999 2001 2001 2002 2006
could have been caused by eating an unwashed apple.
2007
Apply to MFA program in Creative Writing at UNO. Food = Comfort. Weigh this much before: yes, but I had a new baby the next day. Read Animal, Vegetable, Miracle by Barbara Kingsolver. Write to her cheese maker in New England. Receive cheesemaking ingredients and instructions in the mail. Major fail at making mozzarella cheese. Do not admit this to any Italian members of family.
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Visit France, Italy, and Spain. Write and eat. Eat and write. Eat mussels, gelato, seven-course lunches with wine in the cafeteria at the winegrowers' college in Montpellier, paella in La Camargue, pain au chocolat at dawn in Paris. Tour vine yard where the families have pimped out their children for centuries to offer bread and cheese making patrons thirsty for the wine they sell. Feed mine to their latest black dog. Leave through the chapel behind secret doors where they hid their books and wine from the Nazis. Pursue sushi addiction at Lee’s Gas Station in Memphis. First trip to inner Mexico: San Miguel de Allende. Learn to clean and cook cactus, make guacamole, eat churros, savor Spanish hot chocolate, add beans with queso fresco and chilequiles to break fast possibilities. Miss the jugo verde every damn day. Recreate recipe for spicy mayonnaise for sushi and for jugo verde. Decide that Barbara Kingsolver is patron saint of growing, cooking, and eating. Husband decides Mario Batali is a god. Plants only twenty tubs of tomatoes, peppers, and herbs for summer garden. Drives forty miles to find thick cactus pads for jugo verde even though he has never tasted it. Get two essays taken by Edible Memphis about funeral food in the South and children picking their own food from local farms. Write essay on Mario Batali's sex
life. Forget to tell husband.
Summer 2010 Return to Mexico. For some reason must take husband. Learns enough Spanish to ask women in our hotel kitchen for the recipe for jugo verde: nopales, cucumber, parsley, celery, fresh cold orange juice. Eat Oaxaca cheese and hot greasy empanadas stuffed with ephemeral squash blossoms. Crush Mexican choco late in the molcajete for thick brown mole. Eat tortilla espanola decorated with a smiley face of pimentos and green olives. Steep dried hibiscus flowers for darkly red te de Jamaica. Watch the man with the machete at the mardes mercado strike, trim, sculpt, drain, sack hairy coconut. Eat dinner with Ann-Mary and Bob on Monday. Discover at breakfast on Friday that Bob died on Thursday. Eat breakfast on Saturday and every day since: count out lives in coffeespoons not churros. Future restaurants, markets, pantries, ovens, tables, linens, plates, bowls, strangers, guests, family, friends gather round. wash up. come eat. feed dogs. get seconds. empty plate. clear table. drink up. fill up. sustain us. Sustenance. •
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did the moment ever end?
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by Thomas Matthews I remembered when the air was cooler,
but not quite cold enough for a coat. You asked if we might need one later. “No,” I said, “the fire will be enough for the night and then we can all go inside.” It was autumn and the weather actually behaved like it was supposed to—cool and dry, sprinkled with the last lingering traces of summer. The leaves would break free of the branches and glide gently downward, covering the yard in a multihued tapestry. Everyone agreed with me about not needing a coat. Wearing only a t-shirt and shorts, I was actually able to forget that you’d be gone for so long even though the vigil your mother held for you was only an hour old. We all held hands, Tyler, James and myself as she led an open prayer in the mostly dark room. Candlelight danced across all of our faces, most of them presenting an intentional indifference or a reluctantly restrained solemnity. There was a silence in between each of your mother’s words that pierced my spirit. It wasn’t in a way that I would consider divine. No, it was something very human. I actually managed to forget that.
You were always the strongest of us. Well, definitely stronger than me. That is something I could never forget. You always took care of me, but I never realized it at the time. I can’t say you saved my life like those men in your squad. Still I was touched by you. That night in front of the fire and the morning after was the last time we saw you before you shipped off. Remember how much colder it was in the morning? There was fog, but it was starting to burn away as the sun lazily rose. I tried not to shiver, but you gave me hug when you saw my shoulders shake. The rest of us all drove home, after giving you hugs and wishing the best of luck. I knew you’d be back, after seeing you wave goodbye from the front yard. It was so green in the hazy blue. Remember how we kept in touch online only sparingly? You could only get in contact every month or so. You were only allowed to use a computer for recreation so many minutes a month or some such thing, according to protocol. I don’t remember. I made sure to never ask a question because I’d have to wait so long to hear the answer. Luckily we asked you the things you’d want from us before you left. 39
“So, what aren’t they going to have over there of your hand. that you’re going to miss?” I asked. Then you turned away for a moment as if trying to “What? You mean, besides shampoo?” You looked think of an answer. “I don’t know,” you said, getting up, “life.” deadly serious. I had to take another drink. I suppose we’d both “They don’t have shampoo?” I replied in practical shock. had too much already, but clearly not enough. The others “Just kidding. They’ll have that. Cereal and fruit were drifting downstairs, oblivious to the seriousness of our snacks—that’s what I’d really want.” I remember it well. conversation and we made sure it stayed that way. You You looked like you could eat it all right then and there. were the first to smile at them, offering a small laugh as Without telling you before hand, we went to the store and they reached the basement. I soon followed suit. got you a big package of all the things you requested, It’s not often I share a moment with anyone. Sadly but never expected us to send. Of course, we managed it always seems to be on the verge of parting ways. In all to sneak in a little surprise with it—a toy harmonica so you the years I’ve known you, that was the only one we had. I could entertain the troops around some distant campfire suppose that makes sense. in the desert. The first few That was the way weeks after your "You’re usually right about things should have departure were these things I guess." always been. numb. I thought I’d As a be hearing about woman, you were some accident in "What things do you mean?" I strong—as a boot camp or a asked, taking hold of your hand. plane crash on medic, even stronger. I could never the way to battle. imagine you in Each passing day Then you turned away for a war, but that was you still lived was moment as if trying to think of all I had come to another victory, know by then. The and a happy one an answer. "I don't know," you occasional paper at that. Gradually said, getting up. "Life." letter would drift though, the numbback to us after oh ness subsided and I so long. Imagine was able to get on that, actual letters in this day and age. You told us of the with my life. I never felt guilty about that. things you had to do out there in the desert, but they were The letters helped and hindered. Just as I was able never done alone. I’m sure you withheld the worst of it so to function on my own, I’d hear from you and be afraid we wouldn’t be afraid. for your safety once again. Then I’d wait some more and Could you have thought we wouldn’t understand? be fine. Sure, you said in your letters that you enjoyed the Could you have wanted to keep your image in our eyes harmonica and the cereal, but how long had it taken for untarnished? I suppose that’s what I would have done me to receive your thanks? Had something happened to while holding back the tears. To me, you never changed. It you since then? You never did bother to put dates on the was only those last sad words—talking about how worried letters. you were you might not be coming back. The first time I almost lost you was harder than “Are you really that scared?” I asked innocently the second. Having some insurgent sic their dog on you that last night. was the most gruesome bit of detail you had decided to “Of course. This is going to be one of the major share. It came running out at your squad in the middle of events of my life—maybe the last one,” you said, no longer the dark desert. It went for you first, but one of your men trying to spare the mood. The lights were dim, but I could intervened. Its teeth punctured the flesh of his arm while still see you clearly. the soldier screamed in the night. The dog snarled with a “That’s not going to happen,” I responded a little full mouth, muffled by blood and his mangled uniform. You too harshly, but you obviously understood my reasons. shot the mutt point blank with your sidearm and the rest of “You’re usually right about these things I guess.” the men went after its master as you tended to his wound. “What things do you mean?” I asked, taking hold I’m thankful there was no need for a second shot, but, of 40
course, you already knew that without me having to tell you. I wonder… did you share a moment with him as well? Did you experience that divine connection between the wounded and the healer? Were you scared even as your squad reported back that they had killed the man who had attacked? I would have been too weak to run into the darkness with so much bravery. Then again, I’m too weak to be afraid. But then things seemed to pick up. His wounds healed quickly. You would regale him with the calming melody of that harmonica I sent you, and probably with other guards as well. I felt I had done my part with that. Not only did I help you along, but I helped you to help others in my small way. I think that was the only letter that made me laugh, but it wasn’t for very long. A mere moment of escape just isn’t long enough. And so the months dragged by. There were times when I wouldn’t think about your journey through the desert for days on end. In the beginning I didn’t want to ask you anything because it would take too long to get an answer. After a while, asking you questions was something I desperately needed. The things I would ask all at once—they were thrown out randomly across the entire front of the page, spreading like fire. It was nothing but the simple dribble that every enlisted person hates to hear. Did you have to kill anyone yet? How hot is it? Are you scared? Bored? Happy? What about shampoo? The answers would trickle in over the months, across several slips of paper addressed to me alone. I’m sure you sent the others their own special letters that answered the same questions like some revolving slideshow of redundancy. Every human being wants to know what it’s like to end the life of another. Secretly, we are asking ourselves: Would I be able to do it too? Now that I think about it, the second time you got attacked was much worse than the first. As you sat in that passenger seat of that Humvee travelling down the dirt road, avoiding the stones cast by local children, you were probably nervous. Did a stone manage to shatter the glass, sending you off course? I doubt it. It was too much to bear when that roadside bomb detonated under your truck. There was fire, heat, and panic. I’m sure you had to stay calm. That was what you did best, no different than our night in the basement. Did the world disappear in the haze? Were you floating in a pure white before being pulled back into the dust and fire? Knowing you, the medic inside must have jumped back into action immediately after the attack.
The driver lost both legs. He also suffered several severe burns throughout the rest of his body. When that story was first told to me, I forced myself to wait a moment before hearing what had happened to you. That poor man—just as brave, but simply sitting on the wrong side of the vehicle. Only a few seconds passed before I allowed the rest of the news to come in. But, that was long enough. Your parents had called me personally. I supposed they chose not to tell me face to face because no one wanted to cry. It would have been easier that way. But, naturally, you only suffered a few minor burns. Ultimately, you were alright. Again, you had tended to someone’s wounds. When the smoke gave way to screams after the first seconds of fear, your hands were too busy stopping the blood to cover your ears. From what I heard, there would be no songs played. He survived, but did he really? You kept him alive until reinforcements arrived and airlifted him back to base where they stabilized him before sending him home. I imagine how somber it must have been that night in camp. The only question I never asked you was whether or not the feeling was getting too familiar. Do you remember the end of that summer season when we all went swimming in the lake? The leaves were already growing brighter in the advancing autumn sun, but it wasn’t cold enough to drive us inside. We all had a nice day at the beach with barbeques and volleyball. The sand was warm, not scorching. The sky was blue, not choked with black. Do you remember that? Tyler skinned his knee and you helped him take care of it, tending to his wound no differently than how you would do it later in life. We all laughed then. When I heard you were okay after the explosion it was like waking from a vivid dream. It wasn’t relief I felt after the first few moments. It was the dreadful acceptance of a second near death incident that would no doubt be a harbinger of others to come. I couldn’t take that anymore. So I did what I had to. I stopped writing to you. The paper letters would arrive in the mail, one after the other, but spread out over weeks. With each lack of response I had hoped you would stop sending me updates so I could live my life. It was horrible, I know, but I couldn’t go on. Occasionally, you’d enclose a picture. You and your unit were all decked out in combat gear, holding your weapons. I laughed when I first saw the happiness the photographs presented. Then, I started to page through the old pictures I had of you. Your smile was different somehow. While you were still the same beautiful woman, 41
aging gracefully into maturity through the photos I still had because you thought it was too slimy. from high school and before, your smile in the newest “Just slide your hand downward so as not to get picture was rigid and more disciplined. stuck by his sharp fins,” I said. You were the same person, but I didn’t know you You winced as you did so. And after only a few anymore. moments—probably a lifetime of agony for the fish, you The military had molded you into something new. managed to get the hook out. Of course, you dropped Your beauty remained, but I wondered if it was now only the fish back in the water before you could appreciate its a mask, covering something underneath that was now value. We all laughed at that. changed when it had once been as beautiful as your face. “It was really slimy,” you said, still wincing. Because of this, or perhaps in spite of it, eventually I got “Yeah, but at least you’ll be able to do it yourself my wish. You stopped writing. I wonder how long it took next time.” you to realize. Did you think they were getting lost in the Of course, we had to go to the store and buy dinmail? Did you understand what I was doing right away? It ner. It was pleasant that way. There were paper cups and doesn’t matter I suppose. napkins dotting the old picnic table in my backyard. The From the letters I did receive before you stopped, I grill was smoking in the background, and we were happy. heard you were recovCome to think of it now, ering nicely. You had While you were still the we were too young then. only been holed up Too young to know what same beautiful woman, for a day or two after life was and too young aging gracefully into the attack. You were so to know that you’d ever strong. I wasn’t surprised ship off. We weren’t even maturity through the by that. More missions eighteen. photos I still had from ensued, but that would Sadness—is it just remain a void in our a word? I wouldn’t know high school and before, relationship. It was a place what to call it anymore. your smile in the I dare not tread. And it What I felt when I heard was a place you couldn’t newest picture was rigid the news was something escape. different entirely. I’ve been and more disciplined. The war sad before, but never so, dragged on. Such a well, disconnected. major event in both of You were the same person, I remember hearing that our lives, and I simply the men in your squad but I didn't know you chose to change the were supposed to shoot channel every time they anyone that came across anymore. spoke about it on televithe convoy. Did they fire sion. After a while I had first or was it all a surprise? actually tricked myself into not being able to see your face Somehow I think things played out in a way that I’ll never on every soldier firing a weapon or screaming an order in be able to truly understand. Arabic at civilians. Did you suffer as you died? I can’t imagine how Our generation has a habit of doing that. Looking you wouldn’t have felt anything at all. Did your life flash beback across the decades, it probably wasn’t too different fore your eyes? Every time you saw one of our faces, did for our parents in Vietnam or grandparents in World War you realize it was a face you’d never see again? Did you Two. Of course, even Vietnam didn’t last as long as yours. see mine? Or perhaps it was like a letter that was never Do you remember when you caught that fish on replied to—read, received and soon forgotten. my parent’s boat? We had all taken it out that day to These are the questions I wish to ask, but I know I’ll land us dinner. The bobber drifted calmly in the water, no never receive a reply. differently than it did when I was a child, fishing in the local They told me your entire squad was wiped out in stream. Just like me then, you erupted in excitement when a single pass. They used RPG’s to knock out your vehicles, the fish dragged it under the surface. It was practically a but then it all came down to ordinary gunfire and heroism. minnow when you pulled it out, but you wouldn’t touch it At least in the latter, you had them beat. 42
Did you join the fight or were you gunned down while trying to help a fallen friend? Either way would have been something for which you’d be more than capable. I can’t imagine which I would prefer. All I know for sure is that they removed three bullets from your body. Two entered from the front, one in the back. I hope you were already dead by the time that one hit. I think my heart beat slower when I heard, but of course I had already given every other beat to you. Do you remember when we were sitting in the basement on that night before you left? We kissed and then after everyone came downstairs, we all went outside. You said something that I couldn’t quite hear, but we laughed anyway and I added another log to the fire while we all attempted to sing. I can still hear the music—can you? They never did find that harmonica, did they? Lost to the ages—reacquired by the earth, just like our friendship which I thought deserved to last forever. Usually in the movies, they show funerals held on rainy days, but today is quite sunny. Not far from here there is a playground with children playing, blissfully unaware in a way that we once knew. You can’t really hear them from here, but I imagine they sound happy from what little fragments of their laughter drifts across the breeze. Whenever we would write to each other, I tried, with mixed emotions, to tell you how I really felt about all this. I peppered my words with caring attitude and tone, but somehow I imagine that it came out as nothing but bland and shallow on the page. The procession has ended and I’m still here. Even your parents have already left. Do you remember, well, life? I guess I’m not always right about these types of things after all. I watch languidly as this letter drifts into the ground with you, but I can’t, or won’t cry. I’ve said everything I need to say. Somehow I knew we’d meet again under these circumstances. That was one of the reasons I refused to write. I can still see you waving goodbye to me from the front yard. I can still see the fish dangling on the line and
your beautiful face in the flickering light of candles. Will this be the last time that I stand over the grave of a fallen friend? Are we sharing a moment even now? Did the moment ever end?
I think my heart beat slower when I heard, but of course I had already given every other beat to you.
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Ashley Dodge • Jessica Ross • Katie Green • Rachel Quinn 45
G A M E S TO LOOK F O R WA R D TO IN 2012 BY JESSICA ROSS
All I do is homework and play Borderlands. Just about every gamer I’ve talked to that has played Borderlands loves it. Borderlands 2 will hopefully be just as entertaining and amazing as the first one, and if it is, it’s going to rock the video game market this year. FINAL FANTASY XIII-2 I can’t imagine that anyone is surprised that there’s another Final Fantasy game coming out, because I feel like they have about a thousand games with a new coming out about every five seconds. That doesn’t make it any less exciting, though. I expect more amazing graphics, more fun fighting, and another (or the same) great storyline. GAME OF THRONES With as popular as the books and TV series have become, it’s no surprise that Game of Thrones is making its way into the world of video games. Hopefully the game will be just as intriguing and exciting as the book and show.
Of course, there are way too many games coming out in 2012 to even begin to cover all of them, but these are the ones that popped out at me as I went through the list. I’m sure I missed a few good ones (again, a LOT of games coming out this year), but hopefully this will at least give you a taste of what to look forward to in gaming this year. Assassin’s Creed III, Borderlands 2—the predecessors to both of these games have become pretty well-known and loved. I admit that, when I first tried to play Assassin’s Creed, I found it odd that you had to live someone else’s life in the past or whatever the weird storyline was, but you forget that that’s happening pretty quickly as you just play the game and have way too much fun. BORDERLANDS 2 Anyone who has tried to hang out with me since I bought myself a PS3 knows that I love Borderlands way too much. HALO 4 People who are into Halo are really into it. I guess because I haven’t done more than play multiplayer on any of them, I can’t see the appeal, but supposedly, these games are incredibly fun. I imagine Halo 4 will be exactly like the previous games, but with more “revolutionary new things” (that are actually exactly the same as everything in the old games) that will keep gamers playing and talking about how amazing the “new _ _ _ _ _” is. 46
FABLE: THE JOURNEY If you’ve been following the Fable franchise, then you may be excited for the next Fable just for the next part of the storyline. There are those that felt that all of these games were pretty much the same, but I enjoyed the story and missions and leveling up your will to get sweet powers. Unfortunately, as far as I can tell, this new Fable is for the Kinect, and I don’t have one (nor do I know many people who do), so I’m not entirely sure how many people are going to end up actually buying this game, no matter how excited they are for it. KINGDOM HEARTS 3D: DREAM DROP DISTANCE I admit that when the first Kingdom Hearts game came out for the PS2, I was in love. This game combined excellent gameplay with an interesting storyline and characters from games and movies that I love. Of course, I got Kingdom Hearts 2 when it came out, but I skipped over Chain of Memories, because I didn’t have a Game Boy Advance at the time. Maybe it was that I skipped a game, or maybe it was just that I was expecting it to be just like the first game, but the story started to get a bit odd. It got sort of hard to follow with all the craziness with things in dreams and some other person not being real (but secretly actually being real) and when I finished the game, I didn’t know or care what was going on. I could have gone back and played Chain of Memories, but I just never really got around to buying it. I’m sure that smarter and
more dedicated fans than I exist out there, and so they will be excited for the next game in the series. MARIO PARTY 9, LUIGI’s MANSION 2, PAPER MARIO 3DS, MARIO & SONIC AT THE L O N D O N 2 0 1 2 O LY M P I C G A M E S ( 3 D S ) Because they are Mario (/Luigi) games, people are going to buy these, whether they want to or not. Likely, they’re going to be just like their predecessors, but everyone will love them anyway. It’s impossible not to love Mario Party. I heard good and bad things about Paper Mario, but apparently, it was successful enough to be turned into a game for the 3DS, so we’ll see what happens with that.
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METAL GEAR SOLID SNAKE EATER 3D Metal Gear Solid: Snake Eater was an amazing game, and I’m interested to see how it will translate to the 3DS. I don’t have a 3DS, though, so it’ll be a while until I either get to play it, or get to hear about it from someone who does have one.
been so long since the last one came out. When I first heard that Diablo III was coming out this year, I stopped and said to myself “Diablo III? I don’t even remember Diablo I or II. Oh, wait…” It’s been a while, Diablo, so hopefully you’re worth the wait. SLY COOPER: THIEVES IN TIME I loved the first game in the franchise, but I felt that they slowly went downhill. It’s been a while since the last one, and they went through the trouble of calling the first three Sly games “Classics” and reformatting them for the PS3, so hopefully they will make it worth it by making this game as amazing as the last few should have been. • Check out Jessica’s video game reviews at www.wildflowermagazine.com.
RESIDENT EVIL REVELATIONS (3DS), RESIDENT EVIL, OPERATION RACCOON CITY (PS3, X360) For fans of the Resident Evil series, it has to be exciting that they’ll be releasing a game of the 3DS and for larger consoles. I don’t have a 3DS, so I won’t be getting Revelations, but I can’t wait to kill some zombies when I get back to Raccoon City in Operation Raccoon City. Games that I’m excited for, but you may not be: ALIENS: COLONIAL MARINES the Aliens quadrilogy are four of my all-time favorite movies, but I will admit that they got progressively worse (and don’t even get me start on the Alien vs. Predator movies, which, though I still enjoyed them, were incredibly terrible). I’m going to get this game because I can’t help myself – if it involves Aliens, I must have it, but I do not have high hopes for this game. This will probably end up being another poorly made first-person shooter that gets terrible reviews once people start playing it, but I’m excited for it nonetheless. DIABLO III I played Diablo II in my middle school computer literacy class, so another Diablo game interests me, but mostly for the sake of nostalgia. I don’t have a computer that’s great for PC games, so I haven’t played either of the previous Diablo games in years. I may look at getting a desktop (or something), just so I can play this and other PC games coming out this year. I worry that other people won’t be as interested in this game as others simply because it has 48
A human
right
With the freedom of the internet at stake, one woman reflects on the impact it could have on her life. by Rachel Quinn
For the past month, on and off, I have had a “neck problem.” However, it is now a confirmed ruptured disc in my neck that was caused because I have an already deformed disc in there. Well, that’s the consensus until the inflammation goes down enough so I can go ahead and have a MRI. This enforced week in the house hasn’t been so bad because of one thing. And that one thing has been the Internet. Though I am mobile in so much as I can walk around and make cups of tea, I am on so many prescription drugs that I cannot drive anywhere. I just so happen to live in the middle of nowhere and driving is the only option to get anything done. Even to get a pint of milk. I live about 20 mins out of the city and it means that if I want to go in and mingle (ignoring the difficulty I have with turning my head to the left) I have to have a bit of an expedition through the windy country roads of Cork and wrestle with parking. All in all, a bit too much of a fuss considering the level of the medication I am on currently. Cut back to a few weeks ago when I first started
with the neck and back issues, it was timed marvelously well with our move into this new house. And as with all new moves the house was lacking an internet connection. For that week I was off work I was in the middle of no where, with only Skyrim on the Xbox for as long as my attention span allowed me to play on it and the company of two cows and one bull in the field out the back. I had cabin fever big time. The drugs didn’t help of course, one of which causes blurred vision and the other which causes drowsiness and relaxes you to a point where you just cannot be bothered with anything. It meant that staring out over the fields and being sat in the same position for an hour was a normal thing for me. It sucked. “Read a book!” Mother suggested. “How about you finish that project you started ages ago?” was the suggestion from my other half. No. My brain didn’t want to. I couldn’t be bothered to eat. Making a cup of tea was a chore and bugger it all if I didn’t just go back to bed to nap because I had nothing else to do and hey, it meant my neck stopped aching for a while. 49
Cabin fever though more related to those livused to having this connection, this massive network. Not ing out in the wilds of Canada, America or the outback having access to it was like having an arm cut off. And in of Australia can hit even people stuck in hospital, house some white whine kind of way I felt selfish that while I was bound in their city apartment or in their quaint little home ill I was resenting people who had internet connections. in the country. I was cut off from the outside world physical- Taking that and looking at the changes afoot in ly and technologically. It got so bad I went back to work the virtual world and the people that want to bar certain early, before I was meant to and as a result put myself doors into it; the internet, or a solid, reliable, uncensored more permanently back into the sick bin. connection to the internet (it’s not the content but the way Here I am now though, half way through another we get to it that’s being controlled) has downgraded itself week off work and not suffering from being a luxury to a necessity. So from any of the issues menmany things need the internet to comtioned before. With the addition plete simple tasks. Devices need an of the Internet I now have this internet connection to activate themline of communication with an selves for use, products need the interThe internet, for all on/off switch I can control which net to provide resources, certain tasks means I can go out and explore it’s foibles, has to be are now becoming internet based; without ‘being in control of paperless statements, online billing and considered the new payments. On a side note it’s a wonheavy machinery’ or otherwise being a risk to myself or others. der that people even have physical social interaction. Or When it connected money in their wallets any more. Even there certainly wasn’t a case of at least an expansion here, in Ireland I have a wireless credit an explosion of information or card. Not that many places let me use a rush to do everything I wasn’t on that idea. it but I don’t even have to take it out of able to do for the month previmy wallet now to pay for things. ously. But now I can see what’s Being able to make the decihappening in the UK on the sion to talk to someone, show people BBC website and if I want to I something and be part of a community can log in and play a few computer games on Steam or of millions that you can turn off and on is brilliant. You can Battle.net. Most of all I’m no longer stuck in a house in the almost see why the large majority of people consider it, middle of the Irish countryside alone. and want it to be seen as a human right. • The internet for all it’s foibles has to be considered the new social interaction. Or at least an expansion on that idea. You can include a large number of people into a discussion about one topic. You can email groups of people about your day/product/event (not overlooking the whole opt-in/opt-out option here). People are growing up now only knowing the internet and it’s resources, businesses are now only developing on an internet backbone. While my generation are the last people to be able to say they were pre-internet (Windows 3.1 in the house), we were the first youth to grow up with a computer as we recognise them now, that could through a series of beeps and hisses talk with another 1000 miles away. Then it was a luxury, and one I can say I was blessed with but it then meant it was one I expected to have from then on in. On the plus side, not having the internet gave me the choice to go home and not sit in front of my computers and let people know I was still around. I could disappear and be alone. The problem came when the choice to no longer want to be alone was taken away from me. I’m 50
post-holiday detox Delicious feasts are part of the holidays, but once January comes around, our bodies are ready to get back to a normal diet. Here are some simple and quick recipes to get in the groove for the new year. by Ashley Dodge
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apple spice crisp The holidays are over, but not ready to give up the taste? This apple crisp can be made in the microwave in five minutes, and you can make throughout the year when you want a little taste of winter.
Cooking time: 5 min Prep: 5 min Serves: 1 You will need: 1 apple, chopped with skins on (I chose a large Fuji apple) 1 tsp cinnamon 1 tsp nutmeg 1 tbsp agave nectar (if needed, you can add 1 tbsp agave+1 tsp sugar) 1 tbsp quick cooking oats Directions: 1. In a small, microwave-safe bowl, add in apple, spices and agave nectar. Mix until combined. 2. Sprinkle on tbsp of quick-cooking oats. 3. Heat in microwave 1-3 minutes, until apples are slightly tender, but still have a slight crunch. 4. For an added touch of sweetness, you can top with vanilla ice cream, non-dairy ice cream, vegan whipped cream, or traditional whipped cream.
momma’s chicken mix
Cooking time: 20 min Prep: 10 min Serves: 3 to 4
This recipe from my childhood is easy to throw together after a busy day of work, and contains only a few ingredients.
2 cups pre-cooked grilled chicken strips 1 onion, chopped 1-2 green bell peppers, chopped 3 potatoes, chopped 3 tbsp vegetable oil Salt and pepper, to taste *1 can buttermilk biscuits (optional)
You will need:
Directions: 1. I usually buy, in the frozen section of the grocery store, the pre-cooked grilled chicken strips, and simply heat them in a medium or large skillet (I used my electric skillet, set to 350 degrees)with the 3 tbsp vegetable oil. Heat according to pack age directions- or heat for 5-7 minutes. 2. While chicken is heating, chop potatoes, place on microwave safe plate, and cook for 3 minutes. 3. Add potatoes, green bell pepper(s), onion and seasonings to chicken mixture. Cook for 10-20 minutes, until chicken is heated through and potatoes are fork tender. 4. Serve in bowl with fresh-baked buttermilk (my mom buys the Philsbury kind) bis- cuits on the side. 52
easy southwest stir-fry This is a quick and flavorful weeknight meal, which plenty of veggies. Serve with a side of tortilla chips, guacamole, or salsa.
Cook time: 15 min Servings: 4 You will need: 1 cup white or brown rice (I used white because I was crunched for time) 1 tbsp olive oil or vegetable oil 1 to 1 ½ cups frozen bell pepper mix, or fresh (red,green,yellow, cut into strips) 1 16 oz can crushed diced tomatoes 1 tbsp flour 1 tbsp chile powder 1 tbsp onion powder 1 tbsp garlic powder 1 tsp cumin 1 tsp oregano Sprinkle red chili flakes Salt and pepper, to taste 1 can red kidney beans,drained 1 can white beans, drained 1 can corn, drained 1 tbsp cheese mix (vegan,Colby Jack, Monterey Jack)* 1 ½ cups tortilla chips 1 can salsa Directions: 1. Following the directions on your rice package or box, cook rice. 2. While rice is cooking, take a skillet (I used my electric skillet, set on 300 degrees) and heat oil, about one minute. 3. Add to the skillet the frozen (or fresh) bell pepper mix. 4. While the peppers are cooking, using a medium sized bowl, stir together the can of crushed tomatoes, flour, and seasonings. Mix until flour is no longer visible. 5. Add tomatoes to pepper mix in skillet. Stir to combine. 6. Add in kidney beans, white beans, and corn. Stir to combine. 7. Turn heat down to 200, (or same heat if you’re cooking on stove top) and let cook five minutes, or until heated through. Add cheese. 8. When rice is done cooking, add rice to mixture, stir, and serve over tortilla chips, wrap into burrito shells, or eat alone. 9. Enjoy! 53
Rethinking Resolutions Are weightloss resolutions made out of concern for our health? Or are women letting advertising seep into their self-image?
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by Katie Green
On any random day, approximately 30 million Americans will be on a diet. Given that it is the first month of the year, that number is probably quite a bit higher. This is the time of year that the number of gym memberships in. creases and diet programs offer all sorts of discounts.
This is, after all, the most popular time of the year to go on a diet, and it’s still early enough in the year that most of you who have made resolutions to lose weight are probably still counting calories and working out three times a week. While there is nothing wrong with going to the gym and trying to eat a healthier array of foods, most people go on diets for the wrong reasons. They don’t go on diets because they have high blood pressure. They don’t go on diets because they have or are close to having diabetes. They don’t go on diets because they have cholesterol problems. I should know. I went on my first diet in eighth grade, and I have been on and off several different programs every year since. I didn’t go on any of those diets because I had high blood pressure or anything of the sort. I went on a diet because I was tired of being the biggest person in my class. I went on a diet because I thought there was something wrong with me. I thought that if I lost weight, I would have more friends. I thought that if I lost weight, I would happier. I thought that if I lost weight, I
would find a boyfriend. As you have probably noticed, not one of those reasons has anything to do with my health, and I suspect that most of you who have been or are on diets have felt the same way. Sure, we say we’re trying to lose weight for our health, but that’s not true for most of us. One survey found that thirty percent of women would trade at least one year of their life for their ideal weight. Twelve percent would trade two to ten years. If their main concern was their health, they wouldn’t be willing to die sooner. Once we stop lying to ourselves about why we really want to lose weight, we can stop and ask ourselves if losing that weight is really all that important. Contrary to popular opinion, all fat people are not unhealthy. The summer after my freshman year of high school, I was thirty pounds “overweight” according to most BMI charts. But you know what? I could jog a mile and a half straight—the last quarter of a mile uphill. According to most people’s assumptions of fat people, I shouldn’t have been able to do that. But I did. And then I gained more weight. I got up to seventy
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pounds “overweight.” My sugar levels were fine. My blood pressure was fine. Aside from the fact that the numbers on the scale were higher than the charts said they should be, there was nothing unhealthy about me. I wasn’t gaining weight. I had been the same weight from sophomore year of high school to sophomore year of college. I walked at least a mile every day going to and from class, and I walked faster than most of the people around me. I was also eating better than I ever had before. I had great friends. I had a boyfriend. I was happier than I ever had been before. So why wasn’t that enough? Why did I have to try to lose weight? I was happy. I was healthy. And yet I didn’t weigh what the charts said I should, and I didn’t fit into size six jeans, so I wasn’t happy with how I looked. I tried to fix it. I ended up gaining more weight when I failed. I’m sure that’s something most people can relate to. You go on a diet to lose weight. You lose a few pounds. Then you get discouraged for whatever reason and stop dieting. The next thing you know, you’ve gained back most if not all of the weight you lost – and sometimes you even gain more weight. Why do we do this to ourselves? Why do we allow advertising companies and the diet industry to convince us that there’s something wrong with us just because we have some fat on us? Most of the women I see who are worried about their weight aren’t even overweight by any chart I’ve ever seen. Women are so preoccupied with their weight that they spend countless hours and dollars trying to get to or remain what they consider their ideal size. Imagine what we could do with all that time and energy and money. Weight Watchers online costs a little under twenty dollars a month. That’s over two hundred dollars a year that we could spend on more important things. We could donate to charity. We could put the
money in savings. We could buy that DVD collection that we’ve been eyeing for a while. Whatever. And then there’s all that time that we spend thinking about food. Imagine how much free time you would have if you weren’t constantly trying to figure out what you were allowed to eat and what you weren’t, if you weren’t always reading up on how much exercise was the right amount of energy. I understand that the new year has already begun. Maybe you’ve gotten further in your weight loss journey than you ever have before. If that genuinely makes you happy, go for it. If you have actual health problems due to your weight (either because you are overweight or underweight), of course you should try to do something about it. But if you aren’t unhealthy, if you’re struggling to lose weight, if you’re beating yourself up because you can’t lose weight, I have a suggestion for you: stop. Make a new resolution to love yourself for who you actually are. Make a list of things you like about yourself. Take all the money that you were planning on spending on a gym membership and a weight loss program that you’ll end up not using next month and buy yourself something that you’ve always wanted but couldn’t bring yourself to buy. We only get one life to live. We have got to stop wasting time feeling bad about ourselves because our jean size is in the double digits. Who cares? If your weight is the only thing about your life that you don’t like, then you should consider yourself pretty darn lucky. And if your weight is one of many things that you don’t like about your life, try fixing something else. Unless you’re actually unhealthy, losing weight won’t fix anything. It’s a cosmetic problem. I assure you, there is a much better use for your time and money. You just have to figure out what that is. •
Why do we do this to ourselves? Why do we allow advertising companies and the diet industry to convince us that there is something wrong with us?
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www.wildflowermagazine.com/submit
april 2012 submission deadline march 1, 2012
art. writing. commentary.
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contributors
Ashley Hennefer is the Editor of Wildflower Magazine. She is also an environmental journalist at the Reno News & Review, and is completing her M.A in Literacy at the University of Nevada, Reno. She lives in Reno, Nev. with her boyfriend Andrew.
Jessica Farkas is the Assistant Editor of Wildflower Magazine and a freelance writer living in Las Vegas, Nev. She has a Bachelor of Arts in Journalism from the University of Nevada, Reno and has been writing professionally since 2006.
Ashley Dodge is a poet and writer living in Reno, Nev. She graduated from the University of Nevada, Reno with a BA in journalism, with a minor in English. Apart from writing, Ashley works full-time as a social media freelancer and writer, writing short stories and poetry in her spare time.
wildflowermagazine.com/ashleyhennefer
wildflowermagazine.com/jessicafarkas
wildflowermagazine.com/ashleydodge
Born in Mexico City, Constanza Castro moved to Las Vegas, Nev. with her family in 1998 where she has since worked relentlessly to build a name for herself as an artist. Primarily known for her work in film, Constanza has won several awards for her art, and her work is on display in a prestigious studio in Mexico City.
Jessica Ross loves to read and write and is currently finishing up blueprints for a time machine. She’s working on a degree in Linguistics and Cultural Anthropology and is currently working on putting together a collection of poems and short stories.
Katie Green is a freelance writer and editor. She graduated from the University of Minnesota in 2010 with a B.A. in English, and she now lives near Atlanta, Ga. She loves reading and writing, and she has recently started to understand the joys of video games.
wildflowermagazine.com/jessicaross
wildflowermagazine.com/katiegreen
wildflowermagazine.com/constanzacastro
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january 2012
Lea Moser is a graduate from the University of Nevada who majored in political science. She hopes to be a candidate of an M.F.A. program in the future, and in the long-off future, hopes to sustain an income as a writer.
Meredith White is a Mental Health Practitioner, blogger, and writer living in the Twin Cities. She has a degree in Psychology and Spanish. Most of the time, she is either looking for the next adventure or enjoying the one at hand.
wildflowermagazine.com/leamoser
wildflowermagazine.com/meredithwhite
Natalie Parker-Lawrence is an educator and writer Memphis, Tenn. Natalie lives with her husband in midtown Memphis in one-hundredyear-old house where her daughter, five stepsons, two daughters-in-law, one grandchild, and two golden retrievers come and go. wildflowermagazine.com/natalieparker lawrence
Rachel Quinn is from an IT background in Operations and Engineering and currently works in technical support for a popular electronics and software manufacturer. She currently lives in Cork City, Ireland and writes in her spare time anything from short stories, nonsense verse to witty snapshots of the world around her.
Scott Powell is an aspiring writer whose goal is to complete a novel that he believes is worthy of publication. He graduated from U.N.L.V. in 1986 with a bachelor's degree in Management Information Systems. He has been working in the legal field for approximately 21 years after a series of ill-advised career moves.
wildflowermagazine.com/rachel-quinn
wildflowermagazine.com/scottpowell
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Thomas Matthews is 27 years old and resides in the Minneapolis area where he has lived his whole life. He currently works in the insurance industry but hopes to make a career out of writing in the future. wildflowermagazine.com/thomasmatthews
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