The Bean Queen

I looooooove beans. They are so versatile and tasty, they can go as a side dish to any meal or be all alone. Packed with protein and music, what more could you ask for?!? My mom would always make the best pot of navy beans and ham during fall and winter months, nothing better. Sometimes she would make them during the summer, but that was rare. I would ask if we could have beans and mom would say, “Katie, that isn’t really a warm weather meal.”

She knew that that was one of my favorite things to eat though so she would make them for me, sometimes; I was sort of a brat about my beans. So I would help my mom sort the navy beans from the bag they came in and find rocks and other things mixed in. My mom would say, “See that (pointing to a pebble) is why we sort the beans.” I would nod in a “yep, you’re right!” kind of way, then we would pour them into the big pot and cook them all day. All day!

When they would finally be ready to eat I would say, “alright, let’s hurry up and paa-ray!” My dad would say, "find your brother so we can pray." Then everyone would dish up their beans, sit down and eat. Delicious! It’s hard to describe my love for beans without sounding like a weirdo, but I don’t care. I will proudly be the “Bean Queen!”

farts & kisses,

Katie "The Bean Queen" Rowe

Old People Like Me

One summer evening my husband and I decided to go out to dinner. We had yet to try P.F. Chang’s so we gave it a shot. Everything was going great, until I got up to use the restroom. I waited my turn in line and then when it was my turn I made my way to the stall. I was met by a 90 year old woman coming out of another stall looking confused. My first thought was, “Alzheimer’s. Where is her family.” I looked up at some middle aged women for the “yes, she is with me” look. All I got from them was a “I’m getting the heck out of here!” look. Thanks, thanks a lot. So after this elderly woman and I had a ten second stare down she spoke to me, words I will never forget, “Will you button my pants?” I looked around for a hidden camera or something, but there was nothing, nada.

There were still a few people scrambling from the restroom, my last hope gone. I looked at the old wobbly woman and asked, “Do they button or snap?” They were hooks. I was a good two feet taller than her so I leaned over and hooked her pants for her. She said thank you, I said you’re welcome. After I finished in the bathroom my husband asked what took so long and all I said was “I had to button this old lady's pants.” I let him look at me puzzled for a little while, then I explained.

"Mountain Biking"

In the neighborhood I lived in as a kid there was a park that my dad and I would ride our bikes at. It was a two and half mile course, an enjoyable bike ride and I looked forward to them every week. I would chat with dad about school and whatever else was on my mind as we would pedal along. My favorite part was that it was my time with dad, no little sisters to get in the way to ask, “Are we riding the whole way around?”

On one trail there was a small hill that I could never gain enough speed to get to the top of; I was maybe six or seven, so it looked like a mountain to me. Dad would zip right up to the top of the hill and I would stay at the bottom whining, “I can’t make it up there.” Dad would always ride back down and we would back up from the bottom of the “mountain” to get some speed to get to the top. He would always make it, I would always chicken out.

Eventually I would just walk my bike up and dad would say, “you can try again next time.” So from then on every time we went to ride around the trail we would go to the hill and I would try to make it to the top. I really can’t remember if I ever did make it to the top on my own. I don’t know why that hill was so scary to me. It was probably the loose gravel that worried me the most. When dad and I talk about our park/neighborhood bike rides the famous hill usually comes up. Then I change the subject quickly by saying, “remember that little dog that would sit on the neighbor’s porch and chase us every time we rode by its house?”

This Kind

When I write an essay I attempt to do everything I can to persuade the audience, make them feel comfortable in reading what I am writing. I try to think, "would I want to read this?" If the answer ends up being no, I know I went wrong somewhere...somewhere. When I write, unless I feel the need to indulge in my personal life I don't. If my personal flaws are something that I can comfortably make fun of I will, using sarcasm. I try not to write essays and state dramatic opinions. I don't enjoy controversy, I would prefer to avoid it because there is always something else to write about. If I have an experience that is beneficial to my essay and not too personal I will likely include that experience into an essay, other than that, I don't feel the need to do so.
I won't lie, if someone does something noteworthy (stupid) I might talk/gossip about it later to my close friends, I would never include that in an essay...Learning from the past is important. Reflecting on the past is a must, everyone has a past and it shapes everyone's writing.

Exploring Uncharted Aguas

TA-daaaa! Finally, it took me about 15 tries to get a blog address, apparently everyone has already used every other combination of my name. I've been sick all day, zombied out on the couch when I could have been playing in the snow! The blog is something new-ish to me and should be fun. I'm not a fan of sharing my writing with others this way, but it's something different, we'll see how it turns out.