The Pfeiffer Phoenix Wanderlust Spring 2014 Pfeiffer Phoenix
Cover photography by Melissa Morgal Selected by Phoenix staff
The Phoenix Š 2014 Reproduction of any material within this publication is prohibited without consent of the artist or author of that particular work.
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The Phoenix Wanderlust Pfeiffer University Misenheimer, North Carolina
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Dedicated to Professor Sylvia Hoffmire for everything she has given to Pfeiffer University
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Reflections from the staff on Professor Hoffmire’s last year of teaching at Pfeiffer University
"We will all be sad to see Ms. Hoffmire leave Pfeiffer, but I am sure that she will continue to inspire us all." -Shana Tarlton
“Professor Hoffmire has always been supportive and embracing of our ideas and creativity. She always encourages us to think outside the box and think unconventionally, something which I think embodies the goals of the Phoenix perfectly." -Hannah James
“At first glance, I had no idea what to expect. I know differently now. She is one of the most intellectually sound individuals that I know.” -Joshua Lovell
“Hoffmire's commitment to the written word, it's form and it's function, is inspiring.” -Zachary Dyer
“My freshman year Ms. Hoffmire helped me come out ofmy shell. She offered me a place to be myself, to be silly and to be loud. She offered me a home within a classroom of 8 other goofballs in her Writing Out Loud class. She has encouraged me for the past 4 years to continue writing and work on what I'm passionate about. Over the years she has encouraged me to be who I am, even if it means going against the norms. Words cannot begin to express how thankful I am for everything Ms. Hoffmire has done in my life.” -Claire Johnson
“Professor Hoffmire is the kind of woman that writers hope to dream up. She has a spirit like no other. I will never forget all of the wonderful memories I have had in her classes. My favorite class was definitely songwriting when Ms.Hoffmire and Dr.Kirby paired up as a team. It just worked. I think they helped create magic in a classroom.” -Sarah Hill
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Wanderlust (n.) A strong, innate desire to rove or travel about.
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Letter From The Advisor Spring 2014 I’ve just left a meeting with the staff of The Phoenix. They were involved in the process of the final edit of the magazine before it goes to press. They shared insights, peppered Sarah Hill, the Editor, with questions that she answered efficiently, occasionally extending a query to the staff for discussion. Suggestions were offered, considered, and decisions were made. They moved on to the next task, mindful that a deadline faced them. They’ve been working together nights for the last week, to make sure everything will be ready on time. Letters have gone out to those who submitted material for consideration, pages are assembled, and the file will be delivered to the printer tomorrow. In addition to making decisions on acceptances and rejections, they’ve turned their attention to a celebration which they richly deserve, and which is just around the corner. I’m looking forward to sharing that celebration with them, though mine has already begun because they’ve succeeded. They’ve taken responsibility, they’ve completed a major project, and they barely notice when I step out of the room because I’m not needed. It’s theirs. As it should be. My congratulations to the Editor and her staff. Sylvia Hoffmire Advisor to The Phoenix
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Letter From The Editor “There are two typos of people in this world: those who can edit, and those who can't.” -Jarod Kintz I have been a staff member of The Phoenix every year since I was a freshman. This is my first year as editor-in-chief and it has truly been an eye-opening experience as a leader and editor. Setbacks in the fall semester rendered us without a publication, which I took full responsibility for as the editor. I came back in the spring with determination that we would have enough submissions to create a spring publication and I am proud to say that it has been accomplished. I have been utterly grateful this semester to have a staff that has been so dedicated to the publication of our magazine. After all, this publication would not exist without a spirited staff and the creative endeavors of our students and professors. Our lovely advisor, Professor Hoffmire, will be retiring after this semester and I cannot say what the future holds for the magazine, but it is my hope that students will continue to desire the creative outlet this publication provides. As Green Day’s front man, Billie Joe Armstrong, once said, “Our passion is our strength.” With this, I welcome you to read our words, see our visions, and be inspired.
-Sarah Hill
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The Staff Claire Johnson is from Las Vegas, Nevada. She studied psychology and plans on becoming a therapist someday. She’s been writing poetry since the age of 5. One of Claire’s favorite things in life is slam poetry, specifically poetry by Neil Hilborn and Denise Frohman. Claire’s main goal in life is to eat as much mac-n-cheese as possible. Little Tokyo Lounge in Albemarle has fried mac-n-cheese and it makes her very happy. She loves puppies. Favorite quote: You mustn’t be afraid to dream a little bigger darling.
Hannah James is a senior English major and this is her second semester being on the Phoenix staff. With passions for reading and writing she hopes to enter the literary world through work editing or publishing. Favorite quote: If you take myth and folklore, and these things that speak in symbols, they can be interpreted in so many ways that although the actual image is clear enough, the interpretation is infinitely blurred, a sort of enormous rainbow of every possible colour you could imagine. - Diana Wynne Jones
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The Staff Zachary Dyer is, among many things, a purveyor of fine feline photography, a connoisseur of Samoas Girl Scout Cookies (and a hefty majority of their generic rip offs as well as all things junk-food related), a budding scientist (though that may not be for him to say) and lastly, and arguably most importantly, an admirer of all things well written. Favorite quote: Science is interesting, and if you don't agree you can fuck off- Richard Dawkins quoting former NewScientist magazine editor
Shana Tarlton is a Bu siness Management and Leadership student, in her first year at Pfeiffer. She has an associates degree from Stanly Community College. She adores poetry and language. “I have enjoyed working on the Phoenix and look forward to working on it again next year!� Favorite quote: To thine own self be true, and it must follow, as the night the day, thou canst not then be false to any man.
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The Staff Melissa Morgal is an elementary education major with the dream of working with children and animals. She is the middle child of three girls and two very supportive parents. “Being a part of the Pfeiffer Phoenix and creating this journal has been a true blessing!” Favorite Quote: She took the leap and built her wings on the way down.
This is Joshua Lovell’s first year on Pfeiffer Phoenix staff. He enjoys writing in his spare time and is fond of the musical arts. Favorite quote: The Christian does not think God will love us because we are good, but that God will make us good because He loves us. - C. S. LEWIS
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The Staff Mark Lowder is a freshman at Pfeiffer this year. He is very strong in his faith and puts God first, above everything. He is someone who really has enjoyed working on the Phoenix staff this semester. He is a memorable character! Favorite quote: Not a single time have we gotten a right from Congress or from the President. We get them from God. -Glenn Beck
Brittany Elizabeth Zalinsky-Harvell is currently a sophomore at Pfeiffer University majoring in Youth Ministry. This twenty one year old young woman will be celebrating her third anniversary with her husband Clark Harvell this July. Together they have a large fur family consisting of three dogs and two cats. Favorite quote: "I'm selfish, impatient, and a little insecure. I make mistakes, I'm out of control, and at times hard to handle. But if you can't handle me at my worst, then you sure as hell don't deserve me at my best." -Marilyn Monroe
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Table of Contents Dedication to Professor Hoffmire…………………...………………Page 4 Letter from the Advisor…………………………………...………….Page 7 Letter From the Editor………………………………………………..Page 8 Staff Profiles………………………………………………………….Page 9 Table of Contents………………………………………………..….Page 13 Love and Loss Contest Winners………………………………...…..Page 14 Darlene by Luke Donaldson………………………………..……….Page 15 That Fire That Burns Blue and Grey by Averie McComber……......Page 18 ‘Twas Two Days Before Christmas by Rick Rogers………….…....Page 20 Evaluation: Response to an Anonymous Comment………….....…..Page 23 What I’ve Learned by Melinda Earnhardt……………………..……Page 24 Namesake by John Borza………………………………….………..Page 26 Make-up by Claire Johnson…………………………..……………..Page 28 For a Time Such as This by Rick Rogers…………………………...Page 29 You are Divine by Sarah Hill……………………………………….Page 30 Photography and Visual Art………………………………………...Page 31 When We Met in The Rain by John Borza…………………………Page 32 Morning at Moraine Lake by Juanita Kruse………………………...Page 33 Candle in the Wind by Melinda Earnhardt………………………….Page 34 Portrait of an African Woman by John Borza………………………Page 35 Photography by Joshua Lovell……………………………………...Page 36 Blue Prints by John Borza…………………………………………..Page 37 Dance of The Fire Chicken by John Borza…………………………Page 38 Shenandoah River by Melinda Earnhardt…………………………..Page 39 Country Roads, Take Me Home by Melinda Earnhardt…………….Page 40 Hourglass by Juanita Kruse…………………………………………Page 41 Gray Y Caba by Marcela Peralta……………………………………Page 42 So Let it Rain by John Borza………………………………………..Page 43 Alexander’s Dream by Rick Rogers………………………………...Page 44 What I Want by Claire Johnson…………………………………….Page 47 I Like the Way it Feels……………………………………………...Page 48 Op-ed Piece by Dr.Ashley Oliphant………………………………...Page 49 Loving a Girl With Depression and Anxiety by Claire Johnson…...Page 51 God is Love by Joshua “Badbo”……………………………………Page 53 This I Believe by Melinda Earnhardt……………………………….Page 55 “Weigh” Too Envious by Rick Rogers……………………………..Page 57 Heat Lightning by Sarah Hill……………………………………….Page 61 What is Awhile? By Claire Johnson………………………………..Page 62 Back Cover Art: Bird Portal by Chase Spivey……………………...Page 63
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Love and Loss Featured Contest Winners Luke Donaldson & Averie McComber
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“Darlene” At Eight I knew from the moment I met Darlene that she would leave me; there was something very temporary and transient about her. Her voice and laugh refused to linger or reverberate off the walls of the school’s hallways as much as her peers. Even the scent of her cheap cotton candy perfume seemed to fade far—too—fast. Trying to hold her hand was like scooping up a fistful of sand, as it would slowly slip through the interspaces between my fingers. Her skin looked as if it had been painted with a pale pearl gloss, that was flecked with orange freckles that burst into lovely patterns upon her face. We were eight, and our friendship was not clouded by sexual jealousies or perverted by unrealistic expectations. It was unbridled friendship, love of the purest sort. We were confidants, classmates, neighbors, cohorts and partners in childlike mischief. It was an autumn afternoon with the cool breeze tugging at our exposed limbs, and the woods flanking the neighborhood street resembled an ominous tapestry of wailing scarlet and brick red leaves that seemed to cry out in protest at our carelessness. She followed me closely as we navigated the potholes and weather worn blotches of missing asphalt on our Big Wheels. The daylight was slowly receding and we resolved to end the evening with a race home.
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I conceded to give her a slight head start, when in truth she was often time much faster. We took off hurling ourselves ever closer to the stop sign that marked both the finish line and the end of the neighborhood before it yielded the right of way to an intersecting highway. I passed her within feet of the stop sign, having not made preparations to stop in order to win. I flew straight across the intersection into the resuming second half of the neighborhood. She was close behind me; her dainty legs were flailing wildly about in the air around her pedals as her violent speed had long since made her lose control. Her orange hair was flickering in the wind like a candle burning the last wires of its wick, fighting with all of its might to stay lit for just a moment longer— I turned to see the dump truck devour every bit of her. All I could manage was to find her, now contorted side, and after surveying the situation. I closed my eyes so fast and so tightly that nothing came in or out. Even at eight, the permanence of death is all too real. The gargling diesel engine sputtered and hummed as I clasped her trembling hand in both of my own, offering up the only petty consolation I could; my abiding presence in the form of gentle strokes of my thumbs, which continued until the paramedics pulled me away. Even at eight, I was incapable of bringing myself to tell her everything would be alright, children of that age have not yet lost the moral courage to face life head on. I still resent her parents for being unable to bring themselves to confront the calamity. They never left the edge of their lawn. Their sordid gazes observed their daughter’s final moments at a distance, refusing to accept, refusing to share with her those fleeting seconds.
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All I heard was the muffled sound of Darlene fighting to take in breaths,
I can still hear her gasps.
The contractions of her crushed diaphragm and the arrhythmic oscillations of her chest act as my metronome; this is my Tell-Tale Heart. I can never rid myself, nor would I, of the memory of Darlene. However, often times I cannot even remember the sound of her voice, or if she even spoke at all. Or worse, if Darlene was just some phantasm. It’s as if my entire recollection of her passes as briefly as the memory of a fading dream. Some dreams are physically painful to pull yourself from. But no dream can make speed bumps incite such a debilitating sickness inside me that I am forced to pull over because I begin dry heaving, oftentimes to the point where I cough up blood. Or that smell, that reeking foulness of diesel, that torments me and instantly sends me back to that moment. Or whenever I hear a dump truck, my body and mind curdle as I fight off urges to run to the window to scan the horizon of the road for the silhouette of her mangled body. I had always assumed Darlene would leave me, but the bitter irony, the cruel and sadistic irony, is in how long she has stayed with me.
-Luke Donaldson– 1st place in “Love and Loss” Contest
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That Fire that Burns Blue and Grey If only you could see it. If only I could make you feel it. That electric shock that runs through my veins, That fire that burns blue and grey.
The way my breath is stolen and the fear of never catching it. The heat that starts at my fingertips, And runs rampant through my toes. The drumming in my heart that beats until I’m deaf.
If only you could see these things. If only I could make you feel them.
Then you’d know this hopelessness. Then you’d know this destruction. You’d know this hurt. But you don’t see it, you don’t feel it.
I continue to burn. I burn through it as it burns through me. I have lived through this fire many times Pfeiffer Phoenix 18
And I will survive it again,
And again, And again, And again, And again,
And for as long as it takes to make you see it, to make you feel it. That fire that burns blue and grey.
-Averie McComber– 2nd place in “Love and Loss” Contest
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‘Twas Two Days before Christmas By: Rick Rogers (Written to my wife Cathy for our first Christmas together) ‘Twas two days before Christmas and all I could hear, was the banter of carols with holiday cheer. My dwelling was festive with twinkles aglow, that made their own music and words we don’t know.
Been easy to focus on sadness and gloom, economy, famine, and visions of doom. Why bother to dream when there’s no hope in sight? Where can I find solace this cold winter’s night?
No snuggling kiddies or pup by the fire, no crackling chestnuts or gifts I desire. Still plenty of reasons to fall on my knees, and thank our dear Savior for meeting my needs.
No sooner did misery flirt with my head, the Spirit of God made me joyful instead. Reminding me of the immaculate Son, whose beautiful presents are second to none.
My health and my vibrance, the air that I breathe, sound notions, resilience, the Lord I receive. All reasons to revel and turn from my dross, as I followed the star which now leads to the cross.
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Then suddenly came a quite different noel, it sounds like the chime of a telephone bell. “Hello” I would answer, “Hey Honey” she’d say. “I’m thinking about you this pre-Christmas day”
It’s Cathy my sweetheart, I thought “this is good!” She’s warming my “fire” as no one else could. Her voice reeks with laughter and playful demure, My love has been captured as never before.
There’s something about her I cannot surmise, except the sincerity seen in her eyes. They tell of a woman excited by life, with no time for drama, dissension, or strife.
We’d chit-chat for hours, where did the time go? How could this be happening? I may never know. My smile was now broad as I hung up the phone, I’m cheesin’ like Erkel, good thing I’m alone.
“Oh, Lord I must have her!” “Be patient” He said, “Just cradle your Mojo, and crawl into bed”. “Remember, it’s Christmas and I do still give, I’ll nurture your dreams for as long as you live”.
“But she’s perky, she’s pretty, so funny and smart, the moments are empty each time we’re apart!” “Relax” God would say with His comforting voice, “Yes, she’s all that you see, such an excellent choice!”
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“Her yen comes from me as I’ve given to you, have faith and just trust Me in all that you do”. “Be patient and prayerful, and wait for My nod, My plans are the best or I wouldn’t be God”.
With eyes growing weary from juvenile joy, my thoughts took me back to when I was a boy. ‘Twas torture to wait for the presents I’d see on the morning of bliss ‘neath that ol’ Christmas tree.
Some things never change although now I’m a man who can climb in his crib without needing a hand. I’ll be up ‘fore the rooster and run to the tree to open that present where Cathy will be!
And then when I find her, Lord what will I do? my hope is to be a good steward for you. “Then Dance her, Romance her, and Dash her with charm, be for her, adore her, it can’t do no harm!”
I drifted away as my Lord tucked me in, still smiling and soothed by the pleasure it’s been. He spoke these few words as He walked out the door, “Now praise me… just praise me… then praise me some more!” So Christmas came early, but still I am glad for the time that we spent and the talk that we had. I’m ever so pleased by that “Holy Night” call and the Merriest, Cathy-est, Christmas of all!
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Evaluation: a response to an anonymous comment When you decided to leave your comment on an evaluation of my presentation, I bet you didn't think about me. Oh, I'm sure you thought something about me, as I am the one who your comment was directed to. But you didn't think about me. You didn't think about the hours of work that I put into preparing my presentation. You didn’t think about the years of study that led me to my field. You didn't think about the monthly training that I received to be qualified to be nationally certified to present the workshop to you. You didn't think about my terrifying stage fright, or the fact that I fought through that just to give my presentation. All you thought about were my breasts. I must say that as far as unsolicited sexual comments go, yours was not the most vile I've received. Don't mistake that for a compliment, or a forgivenessit's not, and you should absolutely feel like the scum that you are. It was startling, straightening up the stack of evaluations and seeing your comment. Like getting punched in the gut, but a little more unexpected, seeing my name alongside your unwanted and unnecessary commentary on my breasts. I’m sure that you felt that anonymity was on your side, and it’s true- I don’t know who you are. You are faceless, nameless, an entity that I neither know nor ever care to know. But you know who I am, and now you know that I’ve seen your comment, and I say: Fuck you. I don’t want your comments and I don’t want your apologies. I want you to hold your tongue whenever you want to comment on a woman’s body. I want you to stay your hand when you think of writing your thoughts about someone else’s skin and all it contains. I want you to think of how small you might feel if someone were to reduce your years of hard work and dedication to a sentence about your genetics, and to hold back anything you might want to say“compliment” or otherwise- to a fellow human being.
-Anonymous Pfeiffer Phoenix 23
What I’ve Learned 2012 January taught me to appreciate the little things, like a beautifully decorated birthday cake and homemade dinner with my family and boyfriend. February taught me to look past the ideas of what love is supposed to be. March taught me that even the plans you think you have can come crashing down around you. April taught me that I am the only person who can fix me, put me back together, pick me up, and blah blah blah. May taught me to second guess the choices in friendships of my past, present, and future. June taught me to forget the idea of love and my future that I thought I had. July taught me to cherish my girlfriends. August taught me that Pfeiffer really is my home. September taught me that some people settle for history instead of chemistry because they've 'been through a lot together'. October taught me that it's okay to be a little kid again. Meow! November taught me to be thankful for something different every single day. December taught me that my family is really AWESOME and that I am blessed beyond belief.
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What I’ve Learned 2013 January taught me to speak my mind and go after what I want. February taught me to plan a fake wedding, aka a wedding at the Sydney Opera House in Australia. March taught me to celebrate new life and a long-lived one. April taught me that moving on totally meant a summer in Harpers Ferry, WV. May taught me that if giving my all wasn't enough, I was giving it to the wrong person. June taught me that life in West Virginia would be awesome! Why ask why when you can ask when? July taught me that fishing off of a boat, watching fireworks over the ocean, and going to a hookah bar is awesome. You realize you like someone when you see their arm behind you on the lifeguard tower. August taught me that leaving a family you've had just a few months hurts worse than leaving your real family. September taught me that my life was finally coming together. Graduation in sight, potential love on the horizon, and forgiveness of a loving God made me feel complete. October taught me that singing truly is one of my passions. November taught me to be thankful, and showed me what an influence a true HERO like Carlotta LaNier had on my life. December taught me that even though Christmas was different this year, I got to spend it with family, when other people didn't. It also taught me to love the little things that add up to bigger things.
-Melinda Earnhardt
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Namesake By: John Borza What is in a name? A rose by any other name is just as sweet. However, If you call the flower a “fart blossom” you will discover a faint odor about it. Names make the man. Names make the woman. But from where does the power come? A name can hold the past, Partake in the present, And create a future. What is in a name? The odorous plant that one must bear. The bittersweet chocolate that stays on the breath, And you don’t know if you like it or not. The name does not have to hold back, For a man can make his name glorious for years to come. At the same time, A powerful king can lose all his fame with one folly. What is in a name? This garden of various colors, Aromas, And tingles in the ear. The coffee stains that never wear with time.
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Names go above all else, For even the gods above fear their name in vain. To speak a name in foul tongue, To slander the very being of a man, This is true agony. For names last far more than any man or god. What is in a name? That the Fates bring it upon themselves to embroider them in their tapestry. A slight nick in the stich, A false word said, Will destroy the man, His sons, His lineage, And all who share the same name. What is in a name? The lives of all who were, Are, And will be. What is in a name? Power
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Make-up
BY:
Claire Johnson
You look so beautiful when you don’t wear makeup. I love it. He whispers across the expanse between us. What seemed like inches Has
now
turned
into
m i l e s.
Because little does he know, I still have some on. Why is it he only makes these confessions in the dark? Days go by, I see him again. You look tired, he says. Are you sick? My smile fades, he doesn’t notice or think I look beautiful without my makeup.
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For a Time Such As This By: Rick Rogers (Written for the hopeless romantic) While orchestral strings cushion a melodic expression of love and expectation, your soul is immediately captured by its lure. They entice, invite your imagination into an affair with subtle pulses of the harp, gentle whispers from violas and violins, and trusting cellos backed by the powerful tone of basses to chaperone your journey. Lifting you onto a cloud of love with thoughts of the woman behind a veil of imagery beside you, they silently embrace the longing within. This prelude is played with a very slow movement that massages the heart and breathes expressions of gentle, peaceful amore, and reflections of what once was, and what now is. Every note speaks tranquility. To taste pure love at this juncture of a perpetual longing, is to know the heart beating beside yours is as accompanying as the music of this symphonic vision. During the measures when basses were more pronounced, you’d think of those moments in your life when the burden of loneliness weighed heavily on your spirit. These were times when your reach could not grasp that beautiful companion you knew was out there in a special corner of God’s universe aching for your presence as well. The violas were saying “she’s coming”. The violins were hinting “she’s already here”. With each unsuspecting crescendo carefully planted in its place, there were reminders of the unbound joy she would bring. The basses grow distant now. The storm of emptiness bows out gracefully, and the night sky is filled with a myriad of stars light years away. Still, welcome rest from your long journey. As the fading melody comes to a close, the harmony of chords open a new door, while an old one closes behind you. Softly, cellos re-enter, while basses adorn your new paradise. Inexplicably, submerged notes offer a radiant coating of assurance. Something is different now. The deep notes of the bottom strings herald a new beginning. They arrest your flight of fancy, and bring reality within your grasp. Through the mist, your queen arrives, and your dreams find a spangled, passionate place in a realm of hope. Fading hues illuminate the path that brings you both into the very presence of God. He is with you. He is holding you. He has welcomed the two of you into His chamber, and as the music drifts off into an ember of eternal love, all is well. You are home in each other’s heart after a lifetime of yearning. The final notes of the melody bring warmth as you bask in knowing that it is an unspeakable grace that has kept you and your love… for a time such as this.
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You are divine when you are born. As you grow, the world takes your divinity and replaces it with emptiness. We are in a constant search for ways to fill a well that is perpetually dry. We become occupied with school and jobs and money. It is important who your friends are and what accessory will complete the perfect outfit. We need the new car so that we can show it off, but as we are driving to town, we do not dare to pick up that man that has been walking in the heat for hours. We acknowledge his existence, but we do not stop. Our guilt begins to dwindle along with his appearance in the rearview mirror and we think about where we want to eat for dinner. We expect results when we work hard and we get disappointed when the results do not yield what we wanted. We dwell for a week and then we move on. It may leave a scar but we convince ourselves that that is what makes us who we are and the world does too. Women want love. Men want sex. We surround ourselves with as much beauty and pleasure as we can and we will take it in any shape or form. We need it (whatever it is) to be artistic or whimsical or pure. We hate pain and sadness because we are not equipped for it. We focus on losing weight. We save up to take that much needed vacation we have been waiting for all year long. We go to church and believe that god will send us to heaven if we live a life under his rules. We take drugs to get higher than we have ever been before. We travel, but only to the beautiful, glamorous parts of the world that will not miss us when we are gone. We deny the truth at all costs and accept only what we are comfortable with. When the people we love die, a little bit of us dies too. We drink alcohol as if it were water because we cannot ever have just one drink. As the years pass, every little goal or tidbit or truth or excitement eventually starts to fade and we feel ourselves separating from the rest of the world. We are alone again and we know there is still something missing. All this time we have tried to live and learn, there is still something missing. And when it is our time to stop breathing on this earth, we remember all the ways in which we tried to fill the emptiness. We are as hollow as an empty bottle.
By: Sarah Hill Written for all of those who feel uncomfortable in society. Pfeiffer Phoenix 30
Photography & Visual Art
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“ When we met in the rain” Pfeiffer Phoenix 32
By: John Borza
Morning at Moraine Lake
Taken by Juanita Kruse Pfeiffer Phoenix 33
Candle in the Wind
Taken by Melinda Earnhardt Pfeiffer Phoenix 34
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Taken by Joshua Lovell
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Blue Prints– John Borza Pfeiffer Phoenix 37
Dance of the Fire Chicken– John Borza Pfeiffer Phoenix 38
Shenandoah River
Taken by Melinda Earnhardt Pfeiffer Phoenix 39
Country Roads, T ake Me Home
Taken by Melinda Earnhardt
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Hourglass Taken by Juanita Kruse Pfeiffer Phoenix 41
Gray Y Caba Taken by Marcela Peralta
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“ So Let it Rain”
By: John Borza
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Alexander’s Dream
By: Rick Rogers (Written in honor of Mom’s retirement from Bell Telephone Company) When Alexander rested, after telephones were tested, And proven to be worth their weight in gold. He drifted off to sleep, as he dreamed a tale so deep, That this vision ‘til today was never told. He saw a two-way line, but he never took the time, To imagine all this global conversation. So, needless to include, that this most inventive dude, Was amazed at what would be his corporation.
If talk is cheap (he thought), then employees can be bought, Since it’s through their skills he’d make a hefty profit. And with chatter on the rise, it would come as no surprise, That rates would challenge gossipers to stop it.
Now, standing in the wings, among some other things, Was an applicant who loved to use the phone. But it was really funny, how she thought they’d pay her money, For doing what she did for free at home.
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She thought she might as well, take the job with Mr. Bell, Even though the finer print was so misleading. ‘Cause her children had a way, of getting hungry every day, Not to mention all the toys that they’d be needing.
So, this lady named Elaine, had decided to remain, And do her part to help this giant grow. Making friends, and waves, and dents, with the ladies and the gents Who we’re certain found her interesting to know.
It’s a special time like this, that causes us to reminisce, Of days when mom was in her novice years. We would call her, sure enough, as she did important stuff, Thinking tattle-tales was music to her ears.
Then on Friday nights we’d meet, at the subway up the street, With the shopping cart and cravings of our own. We would charm her in the aisles, using flattery and smiles, As the A&P became our second home.
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We had Girl Scouts and Cadets, there were really no regrets, ‘Cept that Christmas when she found the cutest pup. We thought Santa was in town, ‘til our world came tumbling down, When the landlord said we had to give him up.
Then we made it through our teens, and you know what that means, That an independent life became our quest. So while I was sailing seas, and big sis was wearing skis, Our mom was ever present at her desk.
Now it’s time to turn away, not despising any day, That the Lord has set aside for her to share. And, although she is our mother, we’re allowing you to love her, As this tribute clearly shows how much you care.
We officially affirm, that this loan has come to term, As memories erase the payment due. But, as you replace her file, keep in mind it’ll take a while Since Alexander’s Dream is leaving you!
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What I Want By: Claire Johnson I want to be with you. I want to love you. I want to know what your face looks like when you’re sleeping. I want to know what it’s like to lay in bed all afternoon with our bodies entangled in the sheets and your strong arms keeping me safe. I want to be able to wake up next to you every day. I want to know what it feels like to be sad and nuzzle my face against your shoulder. I want to know what your hair feels like after you’ve been at the beach all day. I want to become so intoxicated with your scent, that alcohol no longer has an effect. I want to learn all the words to your favorite song and live to the beats of the music. I want to learn about your family and call your mom by her first name. I want to eat tacos with you the morning after we drink too much. (I want to build a pillow fort and fuck you in it.) I want you to love me as much as I love you. I want our love to be envied by others and compared to the great love stories. But most of all, I want to be able to call you mine and for you to call me yours.
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Like The Way It Feels My feet are barely touching ground My heart feels like it's upside down The world keeps spinning round and round, and I like the way it feels The world is spinning round and round My life feels like it's upside down My dreams just can't get off the ground, but I like the way it feels I close my eyes so I can see The way that things are meant to be This want is not enough for me, and I like the way it feels I wipe my eyes so I can see That you and I aren't meant to be This pain has got a hold on me, but I like the way it feels This feeling comes so naturally Let's talk about our chemistry Baby you gave your love to me, and I like the way it feels You took your love and left me cold There's another girl so I've been told My broken heart wants me to fold, but I like the way it feels Your wife she tries so hard to see The you I know you used to be The you you are for only me, and I like the way it feels Inevitably you two made three And outside your family This shattered heart you gave to me, but I like the way it feels
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Op‐ed piece written by Dr. Ashley Oliphant Last semester, a freshman who was completing his second writing course with me stayed after class to ask the following question. “Dr. O,” he said, “I have learned so much about writing in your classes, but I don’t know how I am going to continue to improve if I am not enrolled in a composition class. Is this the best I am ever going to be as a writer?” After taking a moment to think about it, I provided an answer: “No, your skills have not reached a peak if you are really committed to z expanding them.” He then wanted to know, “What do I do to get better?” The simplicity of my response surprised even me: “Read.” Puzzled, he said, “Read. Read what?” “Anything. Read anything,” I explained, “but read.” When I was 20 years old or so, I began to notice that all of the successful and smart people whom I wanted to emulate had one thing in common: they were always involved in a book in their free time. The newsroom editor at the motorsports newspaper, where I worked part‐time in college, needed a distraction from his hectic life as a race reporter, so he read books about baseball. My brother, a real‐estate appraiser, loves to read books about the mafia. My favorite professor at UNC‐Charlotte is a fiction addict and he likes to decompress with a mainstream novel. At around 20 years old, I also began to recognize that because of the drastic increase in the number of pages I was reading for college, my writing was improving at a remarkable rate. These two observations were solidified when I began my career as a teacher of college writing: my strongest and most interesting student writers were the ones who read the most outside of class. Emerging writers who immerse themselves in the ideas of others will strengthen their writing skills. One of the most effective ways to learn to write is to bombard your brain daily with the sentences of published writers. As a professor in the college classroom for more than a decade
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now, I have seen these two parallel trends acting together: at the same time that there has been an increase in the number of unprepared students who enter Writing I or II, there has been a corresponding decrease in the amount that students read on their own. This piece is not intended to scold students but to offer encouragement. First, as I told my Writing II student, just read. Choose books about topics that fascinate you. The titles I read often catch my students off guard. I just finished reading Bob Marley: The Untold Story by Chris Salewicz. I am currently involved with Don Felder’s book Heaven and Hell: My Life in the Eagles (1974‐2001). Despite what my students may think, I don’t read T.S. Eliot’s “The Waste Land” in my free time. Books about rock and roll are my guilty pleasure after a long day at work. Start small and devote 10 or 15 minutes at the end of each day to reading. Before you know it, you could have a book‐a‐week habit. Make sure a stack of enticing books is constantly available in your home. You don’t have to go bankrupt buying them. Most of my books come from Goodwill or from amazon.com (where some texts are only 1 penny with an additional $3.99 for shipping). The librarians in the reading audience would probably want me to add that library cards are free. Go see what the Gustavus Adolphus Pfeiffer Library has to offer. Put your reading to work for you. Many employers ask prospective job candidates what they are reading and what they think about it during interviews. Once you have the job, no matter what career field you are planning to enter, you will need to know how to carry on a professional conversation. Whether you are at a cocktail party, on the golf course or stuck in a taxicab with a client or colleague, it is important that you have something to say about the world. You will be a more engaging conversationalist if you have thoughts swimming around in your head, and as a continual reader, you will have constant access to a well of good ideas. Do yourself a favor and find a great book today. Next up for me is Timothy White’s Long Ago and Far Away: James Taylor – His Life and Music. You can borrow it when I’m finished.
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Loving a Girl with Depression and Anxiety By: Claire Johnson Loving a girl with depression and anxiety means Loving her on her best days when she seems invincible And can take on anything. Loving her on her worst days, When getting out of bed Is the biggest struggle. On these days, curl up next to her And pull her close. Bring her soup and candy, Even if she says she doesn’t want it. Sometimes just asking you to do something Will be the biggest struggle for her. Because even though she knows you love her She often imagines you laughing and saying no. This alone will send her into a tizzy of Insecurity, because she knows prettier girls Check you out every day. When she gets like this, remind her How much you love her. Bring her sunflowers and tell her she’s gorgeous. Sing her favorite songs to her. No matter how bad you sound, It’ll still make her laugh.
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When you love a girl with depression and anxiety, Make sure you kiss her every night. Tell her you love her, Before turning off the lights. Hold her close and nuzzle her neck, Whisper sweet nothings and jokes into her ear. If you do this, even on the worst days, She will still be able to feel your love.
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GOD IS LOVE By: Joshua “Badbo” It’s so great to be standing up here, Have you ever just stood at the end of a pier And seen how far the ocean goes, science has answers but how much does the notion know? Walking on the beach seeing all the sand wondering how many pieces there are, Look up at night and try counting the stars, don’t get far. It happens. Look at someone’s head and count how many hairs, Feeling like life don’t like you when something begins to tear. At night you see a full moon, you’re in college your dreams are beginning to zoom, In or out, whichever one but it was your call, or I mean your choice which route. Taking a detour in life is not always fun, You feel your head spinning as if you just spun 100 times around, I’m trying to spread The Word through verbs or nouns. The Word as in The Bible and all the great stories of Jesus Christ, Who is alive, as this goes on just feel the vibe. Trying to count up how many problems you have, I’m too hyper. I’m too stupid. I’m not pretty enough, I’m fat. I’m not muscular. I can’t make it through college, so many things I have wrong with me Why God didn’t you give me better looks so I can attract any? Why God didn’t I get more smarts so I can understand easily? Why God do I not have patience? Why God did you take my friend or family member away? I loved them, you knew this, I might should’ve shown it more maybe through a kiss. Why God? Why God? Why God? This situation is too hard to handle, life’s a tight rope with no handle.
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I am balancing between life or death, maybe this drug will give me one last breath, To be free, I mean it’s something I need, you obviously don’t care when I bleed. Or do you? I always ask for a sign but don’t hear, and shortly after feel my face up with tears, From emotions. God why haven’t you spoken? Am I not the golden token? Do you not see me choking On this worlds high, it doesn’t help why? I was driving one day and said, “God give me a sign that you’re there.” As I said that without thinking, I pulled up to a stop sign. I realized maybe you have to stop and truly listen, I would ask the question without the time giving I’m sorry. Be still and know that I am God! I will listen and separate myself from me and the world, And quit texting that one girl. Full attention on you, my problem’s still there but not stuck to me like glue, I feel less stressed about things, and carefree But careful of the worldly things, that I don’t need. Jesus has the answers but give him the time, he’s working through you to heal the blind. So don’t be blind by the world’s properties, they don’t last You don’t have to buy into it and ask for a bag I’m not saying things won’t come up as your journey in life goes through But trust in God and you’ll pursue Through the greater side of the fence, Don’t be strayed away from the little hints. They work too! God is love!
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At some point in your “JOURNEY� at Pfeiffer University there has been someone who has given you an assignment and asked you to write about something in which you believe. Although my assignment was given to me several years ago, I still have the paper that I wrote for Dr. Jewel Mayberry in Writing II. I remember writing about believing in music. I remember getting a phenomenal response from my classmates and Dr. Mayberry. That is when I really learned to trust my writing. However, the most important thing I learned from this assignment is that, at this point in our lives, as parents, children, siblings, friends, significant others, loners, outcasts, husbands, wives, Pfeiffer Falcons, and whatever else you choose to identify with, it is of vital importance that we believe in SOMETHING! -Melinda Earnhardt
This I Believe I believe in a man named Jesus, he's saved my life more than once. I believe in my family. I believe in a thing called love. It knows no boundaries. I believe in true love and it lasting forever. I believe in soul mates (and what we could be). I believe in being thankful for the days I have, the days I get to spend with the ones I love. I believe in guardian angels, I have a few of my own. I believe in memories, the good ones are priceless, the bad ones are lessons learned. I believe in heartbreak. You've got to deal with the pain before you can experience happiness. I believe in doing the right thing because I want to, not just because it's right. I believe in doing the wrong thing if it's for the right reason. I believe in hope. I believe in pictures, they tell a story.
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I believe I am beautiful, most days. I believe in kisses, they're a great judge of chemistry. I believe in hugs, they're a great judge of commitment. I believe in apologizing, I do it A LOT, and often for no reason at all. I believe in music, it flows through my veins like blood. I believe that by holding an instrument, you're holding my heart in your hands. I believe that when I make music, people see and feel my passion. I believe in respect. You get what you give. I believe in crying, I do it because I want to, there doesn’t have to be a reason. I believe there are no coincidences. Everything happens for a reason. I believe in myself. I will make the best of this life I've been given, no matter what. I believe in you even when you can't believe in yourself. I believe in miracles. I've seen people survive their disease, walk against their odds, and live albeit their fatal diagnoses. I believe in faith. Care a lot, share a lot. I believe in peace, a world without hatred, prejudice, war, and poverty. A perfect world where love is the only battlefield. I believe in change, it's inevitable, and almost always works out for the better. I believe in laughter, it really is the best medicine. I believe in smiles, whenever and for whatever reason. If it makes you happy, whatever it is, let people know.
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“Weigh” Too Envious Rick Rogers (written on behalf of envied women) What an interesting turn of events this has been in the past several months. A New Year’s resolution gone awry? How could this be? There I was—just like everyone else—making a vow to change something, when that Times Square ball dropped at the stroke of midnight. In my case, I would rearrange my “house.” Not the house with all the furniture, curtains, and fixtures, the one with the soul that is feeling kinda down right now during a time when it should be rejoicing. Let me explain… Like many other women, I approached the New Year with a determination to lose weight once and for all. Sure, I’d been down that road countless times in the past, but this time I was determined to make it different. I would not only enroll in a nutritional weight-loss program, but I would also join a gym. At first it was an excruciating battle (packing my gym bag every night, getting up extra early in the morning and making my way to the club, having to shower and change into my professional attire before heading to work). “There must be a better way”, I thought before remembering that I had indeed tried them all. As if this new regiment wasn’t taxing enough, I had to portion my food intake, turn down the goodies I was accustomed to making a meal out of, and learn to eat lunch with the usual cast while their menus knew no bounds. “Ugh!”
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Then, without notice, one day I turned a “corner” and things not only became easier, they became routine! The weight began to drop, the skin got tighter, the stares from strangers became prolonged, and the shocked expressions from friends and family who hadn’t seen me in a while became more and more amusing. This is good, no? NO…not enough! I work in a doctor’s office with a few women whose envy is so noticeable I can see the tension in their faces when I approach, and feel the daggers in my back when I walk away. I’ve even had a few occasions when patients would try to engage my co-workers in a praise session as they marveled at my makeover. Wanna see some unnecessary paper shuffling or some phony smiles accompanied by shallow words? Then come around the office when this is happening. Even the doctor is somewhat aloof and has made absolutely no attempt to recognize my almost 60 pound weight loss, despite the fact that I no longer need high blood pressure or diabetes medicine! How is it possible to feel so great, yet so horrible at the same time? Sweet and sour feelings such as this used to be easy to fix. I’d just soothe myself with a pint of my favorite ice cream and let the healing begin. Now, things are different. On this particular day, I headed home after work and communed with thoughts of failure despite the obvious success displayed in the form of my new shapely figure and invigorating health. Oh yes, I had failed.
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I failed to prepare for the brand of individual who would not be happy for me. I failed to ask the fitness trainer which piece of equipment I should use to make my skin thick as opposed to tight. I also failed to convince myself that it doesn’t matter who’s jealous of me. After pulling into the garage, I paused to listen to the rest of the song playing on the radio, then slowly gathered my bags and made my way inside. I’m not even hungry, just tired and disgusted. A bubble bath sounds good right about now. Once inside the house, I managed to free up a couple of fingers from my hands which were loaded with bags, so that I could retrieve my mail settled on the floor beneath the mail slot. Not a moment to spare for the depressing evening news. No appetite for even a nibble. Calgon, here I come. The somewhat muffled sound of hot water pouring into the tub foreshadowed rich, soothing bubbles. A perfumed candle and soft music are beginning to turn my bathroom into the therapeutic chamber I so desperately need to take my mind off the fangs of human nature. For now, I’d just sit on the edge of my bed and wait until the tub is ready. Flipping through the mail beside me may not have been a good idea as a couple of bills and junk mail offer no comfort. But then, something interesting emerges from the bottom of the pile. From all outward appearances it looks like a greeting card, but how could it be? My birthday is months away, and there’s no holiday in sight. The only thing I know for sure is that it’s from my best friend, Flo. Curiously, I opened it and felt a rush of something that warmed my heart and brought tears to my eyes.
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Oh my goodness! How thoughtful! How timely! I’m at a complete loss for words! I’ve heard about these cards, but never received one. It’s a new line of greeting cards that’s designed to do exactly what it just did for me, make me feel appreciated and my efforts noticed. That’s Flo for you. My friend, my best friend. I’ll call her as soon as I finish my bath. OH NO…the water!! I darted to the bathroom to turn off the water which by now had reached the safety drain. My soft bubbles await, the candle has scented the room, and the smooth jazz music has punctuated the ambiance. As I slowly ease into the mix, I close my eyes and smile. That huge green-eyed monster which had me so under-torn, has now been reduced to a diminutive, tiny imp now in search of some other victim. I’ll face tomorrow with a new spring in my step. Meanwhile, I like this song; This moment; This…me!…aaah.
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When did heat lightning become meaningful to me? My brother was the first person to ever tell me what heat lightning was. I remember that night so vividly. He was smoking a cigarette and talking nonstop. I just sat opposite of him listening to his words and watching them pour out from behind a cloud of smoke. He can be full of shit sometimes, but he's also a pretty smart guy when he wants to be. I thought it was going to storm. He looked at me and said, “You're a dumbass, Sarah. That's just heat lightning." He can always make me laugh about the smallest things. I was enraptured by the way the lightning was so far away, but still so visible. The sky was on fire. It occurred to me that it was the equivalent of standing out in the storm, except it was not raining and I was not worried about getting struck by lightning. It seemed untouchable and so did we. I wish that my brother could find everything that he is looking for. Hell, I wish he knew what he was looking for. It's insane how you forget something until you try to remember it. If you try hard, I mean really hard, you might just get lucky and revive something gorgeously overlooked. I would like to say that I have some great metaphor on how our bond reminds me of my mortality, but all I can think of is Kurt Cobain and a young boy who says Smells Like Teen Spirit is about killing. He has to be wrong. I start wishing I knew more about politics or science or even poetry, maybe. But I am as dumb as they come. I am just a rock in a creek, surrounded by change and beauty and life. I am just a stagnant, dull, lifeless, little rock waiting to be moved by the current.
-Sarah Hill (Written for my older brother, who never fails to make me smile)
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What is awhile? By: Claire Johnson You are always the most beautiful, When I haven’t seen you in a while. But what classifies a while? Is it the weeks I have to wait, Until I get to see you again? Because surely you’ll be more beautiful to me In those short highly anticipated days than ever before. Or is a while those mere seconds, That it takes to blink. Because when I open my eyes And I see your smiling face, You are truly the most beautiful thing I’ve seen.
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Back Cover Art: Bird Portal by Chase Spivey
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