GingerSass

adding ginger to your sass

GingerSass - adding ginger to your sass

Misunderstood

Tell us about a time when you were deeply misunderstood. How did you fix the situation?

Once, when I was in third grade, I wanted to be cool. This was about ’98 so it was pretty badass to wear a dress as a shirt. (Ugh. 90s.) It was really cold out, maybe February, and I decided to wear a dress to school. Not just any dress– a super cool dress of my mom’s with a sleeping dog cartoon on it. I can picture the vivid yellow of the dog lying on a pillow. On the back, it was the dog’s backside (DOG BUTT!) and a bunch of zzzZZZZZ’s. Now, looking back at it, it was DEFINITELY a nightgown. But, shit, my Mom was the coolest so I was going to wear her dress to school.

It didn’t take long for people in my class to say, “Why are you wearing a nightgown to school? Did you forget to finish getting dressed?”

I was mortified. They didn’t get me. I looked awesome. I looked cool. Yet, I looked ridiculous. Even at the ripe ol’ age of 9 I realized I hated having people ask me the same questions over and over again. The questions made me self conscious, not my badassery.

So, I put on my winter jacket– red with a red faux fur hood trim– and hid in my hood all day.

Problem solved.

A teacher probably should have made me take my heavy coat off in our over-heated school. My mom probably should have been called. I probably should have developed my sarcasm at a young age and had a snazzy comeback for the repeated questions.

We don’t always control our reactions to situations that make us feel anything less than badass, especially when we’re kids. Impulses just cause us to react. When it comes down to it, sometimes we can fix the situation. Sometimes we make it worse. Sometimes we just cope by hiding.

Yet, we move on. We get past it.

I’m not the same person I was in 3rd grade. I don’t try to dress a certain way to be cool– I dress how I feel comfy. People grow and change, but they always remember how they feel.

Currently, I feel badass.

Pour les enfants

Today, I challenge you to write a poem for children.

Les Enfants

Lately I’ve been questioning my sanity,
Envisioning daydreams I didn’t know were possible,
Salvaging every moment of these irrational thoughts.

Ever since the sun last shone,
Nebulas have found themselves clouding my thought process.
Funny, how clouded braincells seem to be
Ageless; an inexplicable reminder of childhood,
Nestled in between dalliances of building blocks and watercolors,
Tucked amongst the dustiest of picture books–
Something to remember while till being forgotten.

Jersey Red, Take 2

I wrote a really angsty, tomato-ey filled poem called Jersey Red when I was a freshman in college. It gained me a complex, fascinating reputation amongst my peers. I thought it was brilliant, although, in retrospect, it probably wasn’t one of my best poems.

Today’s prompt is to write a love poem . . . but the object of the poem should be inanimate.

"IMGP9584rd" by Bill Benzon https://flic.kr/p/d6Z8SQ

“IMGP9584rd” by Bill Benzon
https://flic.kr/p/d6Z8SQ

“Jersey Red”

The smell is as fresh now as it was then;
I can recall the soil beneath my nails
digging for the roots of a Jersey Red time and time again.

The pungent smell dances upon my nose, senses swollen
As memories of denim overalls are found amongst the details
The smell is as fresh now as it was then.

These were the years before I grew a hatred for any mud pen,
a time I did not know would turn into fond memories and tales,
digging for the roots of a Jersey Red time and time again.

My innocent childhood cheeks were reddened,
framed by my perfectly parted pigtails.
The smell is as fresh now as it was then.

We’d consult the farmer’s Almanac like Wise Men,
Hoping our tomato plants did not ail,
digging for the roots of a Jersey Red time and time again.

I can still feel the satisfaction of the growth of our garden.
We’d eat the tomatoes on the playset, oblivious to what our hard work had entailed.
The smell is as fresh now as it was then;
digging for the roots of a Jersey Red time and time again.