Alissa Dunn

Happy Thanksgiving, readers!

This time of year doesn't pass me by without reminding me of one of my favorite family stories of all time - The Great Turkey Adventure. This is 100% true! It does start off a little sad, but has a happy ending.

Post -military and post-heart attack, sometime around 1989, my father lost his job as a fuel delivery man for Econoco. My sister was married and living out of the house and I  was a senior in high school. Money was already tight, and this made things much tighter. We ate mostly from a small garden Mom planted out back. I ate green beans, fried squash, sliced tomatoes, and cantaloupe every single day. It was good, and we had plenty on the plate, but I can barely stand to eat fried squash now. Dad managed to find a job as a life insurance salesman for American General, which sounded great at first. Unfortunately, he was given a territory where the previous salesman had sold a lot of policies to people who couldn't afford them. He took the commission, then left the company. When the policies lapsed because the permiums weren't paid, the company took it from my dad's paycheck since it was now his territory. There was very little money for the month - at least three times less than unemployment would have been.

My mama prayed, and my father, showing his will to be a good provider and not allowing himself to be beaten, found a place to hunt wild turkeys somewhere around Bells Ferry Road. He went off early one Saturday morning. When he returned, he came to the door, hollered for mama to come quick, and he thrust her a huge, black garbage bag through the open doorway. I saw him poke his head just inside the door long enough to say, "I'll be back in a sec." Nevermind the fact that he was covered in blood spatters. Eeek!

So, of course, we ran outside to see what happened, thinking he might be hurt. (He was on blood thinner as a heart patient - and would bleed like a stuck pig from a paper cut).

He told us that  he needed to hurry up and clean up his truck before somebody saw it. The bed of his little white truck was mostly red.

"What happened?!" I asked, in horror.

Then, the adventure unfolded, "Well, I was hunting, and I saw this turkey. So, I used my .22 rifle and I shot it. I carried it back to the truck and put it in the bed. I started down the road and once I got onto Bells Ferry (a main highway), I heard the worst noise coming from back there. That thing was up in the bed of the truck, squawking and flapping and having a hissy fit! So, I pulled over, had to catch it, and walk back into the woods with it scratching and pecking my arm, just so I could shoot it again! We had us a fight and I won! But I was scared to death somebody was going to see all this blood and a garbage bag and think I was some kind of serial killer!"

We had a good laugh over that. My mama cleaned and cooked it (after we took pictures, of course) and it was so big, that she and daddy both had to lift the pan and shove it in the oven. Its legs were so big that the door didn't want to close, but they finally got it in there. It kind of tasted like roast, much richer and more flavorful than store turkeys, and we had enough meat for a long time.

When I look back on it, I'm not sad about the circumstance. My dad moved on to become a Lieutenant with the Sherrif's office not long after that. But I learned, and I am THANKFUL to have learned, that no matter what things look like, and what you are faced with, you've got to keep fighting the good fight until you win. Nobody said it was easy. Oh yes...and shoot twice at every turkey.

Have a blessed and happy Thanksgiving!

Alissa

Hello, readers.

Today, I am inspired by a very dear friend of mine, who commented that she was "just wishing."

Now, this made me begin thinking about why we use the word "wish." If you look at it, we often associate wishes with an event that we cannot change, such as, "I wish that guy over there didn't pop his gum!"

or, "I sure wish I would have chosen to do this or that differently, and I'd be better off now for it."

How about, "I wish that I could be in Hawaii on a nice vacation."

"I wish we could be sisters," was something we often said to our friends when I was a little girl.

Wishes, while we tie them up in a nice bundle and cover them up as "hoping," are not the same as hope. Hope is inner encouragement toward a situation. Wishes always appear to focus on the fact that something exists that we cannot change, or happened in the past that we regret.

Look in the bottom of a wishing well or fountain sometime. There's a ton of coins down there. Mathematically speaking, if at least one of those wishes had come true, probably several other coins wouldn't be there just by association alone.

Dreams, on the other hand, are powerful, mysterious, and beautiful. Dreams are where new businesses come from, cures for diseases, new recipes, fun, etc. The beauty of dreams is that they have their roots in the future, as opposed to wishes, which are based in the present or on regrets from the past. Dreams -  along with hope, faith, and motivation -  can absolutely come true. Wishes, rarely ever do, unless you've been throwing some prayers in the mix, too.

Dream freely. It's a beautiful thing. It's free, it's amazing, and it's all yours.

Love,

Alissa

Hello, readers! Long time, no type! I have been a busy little bee! On July 7th of this year, I began my first college class. I decided that with the economy non-functioning at present, it would be best for me to take the opportunity to earn some additional qualifications in Networking Technology for future advancement in my working career. I still love the art of writing, and promise I will continue with it as time permits. In the meantime, please bear with my sporadic blogs.

Today, I'd like to talk about something that will make many high school teachers, editors, and even some readers cringe. My extreme dislike of Literature classes. Eeek! I think I actually heard several thuds of teachers' bodies hitting the floor after passing out cold.

Here is what I mean. I write because I love it. I consider writing to be an art form. I believe most of us can agree with this statement. I do not, however, believe that writing is a science, although they do share some similarities. Science, like writing, has tangible and intangible qualities. Science is about the why as well as the what. Writing can be, too. However, with science, there are theories. Theories are where we get into realms of the uncomfortable. For instance  - Darwin's Theory of Evolution is quite controversial. Why? Because theories, unlike complete hard evidence, take bits and pieces of hard evidence and the gaps are filled in with speculation. Because humans speculate differently, this creates a difference in belief, which can turn ugly. There is little room for emotion in true science.

Writing, on the other hand, should be treated much differently.  Like an art. For instance, let's say you read a story about a lovely woman who wears a blue shirt every day, but on a Monday she picks up a red apple and decides to wear green the next day.  In literature class, you will likely spend two or three pages of a text book dissecting the intended message or underlying tones of that one sentence, and trying to determine the significance of the green shirt, or the apple.

To be honest, in class, many times, I received a different feeling than that of the teacher when discussing fiction works. This is because, in my opinion, it is subjective to your own imagination. That is why it is art. It is a manner of expressing oneself or conveying a message, or just making something beautiful. I prefer for the stories that I write to be a personal journey for every reader. This is something that I don't feel can have a right or wrong mark on a paper for, unless you are writing user guides or math books or nonfiction. Fiction stories are made to exercise the imagination; therefore, in my opinion they are made to be enjoyed, not broken down into pieces.

So let's leave art to art, and science to science and never the twain shall meet. At least at my house we will.

Take care of one another, and I'll try to update you more often!

Alissa

Happy Father's Day in memory of my Daddy.

This is the man who wasn't perfect, but lived life the right way, with morals and principals - no matter what. He stood up for what was right, even if it was the hard, uphill battle. I'd love to share some happy memories with you.

My Daddy taught me how to fish (minnows are the best bait - crickets fall off the hook, and worms drown), he taught me how to save money and how to be handy around the house. We used to shoot BB guns in the backyard while we'd grill hamburgers or steaks. He taught me how to protect myself, but also how to be fair and honest.

Daddy used to call me his "Sugar Booger" or "Stinker Pie-dinker" and sometimes, "Po-Dunker Punkin." I still remember the smell of his aftershave. He had a wonderful sense of humor and he taught us that it was okay to laugh and have fun, but not at the expense of others. He was always waiting for me at the bottom of the stands when we'd get off the field after marching in the band during half time. He'd hand me a Coke, and when my best friend's parents never showed up, he'd buy her a Coke, too. Sometimes, he'd throw in an Atomic Fireball (that really hot candy).

My most favorite memory is that he always gave me a hug and said he loved me before we parted. I am so glad to have had that wonderful experience, and I feel truly blessed.

Yesterday, my sister and I went over to Greenlawn Cemetary in Roswell, GA. We were there to visit my father's grave. We placed some purple irises and white lillies on his grave. You'd think this would have been a sad event, but it was actually one that brings us a lot of joy. We laughed, had a good time together, and enjoyed the moment. This was a moment that was one of peace - because of our faith, we believe that his spirit is in Heaven and he is having a wonderful time; therefore, we know that as long as we walk in our faith, we'll join him someday. I do still cry at times when I miss him, but I rejoice also because I know he's probably eating peanut butter or a chili dog in Heaven. (he loved both so much).

I love you, Daddy.  

Well, readers, Pumpkin the cat reminded me that I have gone astray from my writing of uplifting and inspirational blogs. So, in order to appease the loudest meower in the household - who just so happens to be correct - here we go!

Who are you? Do you ever think about that? What am I supposed to be? What am I supposed to do with my life? What have I done so far? I think each of us has or will ask some of those questions of ourselves over the years. We call this soul-searching.

God tells us that He knows us so well, that He even knows the number of hairs on our heads. Now imagine someone caring enough about you to take the time to memorize the exact number of hairs on the head of every single individual in the entire universe, at any given time, past, present, and even future. I don't even know how many hairs I have on my own head, but God does.

God says in his Word that He knew us before we were even formed in the womb. Not knew of or about us, but really knew us. 

Now, let's break this down logically, for those of you who like logical explanations. Since God says that He knew us before we even came into physical existence, one can determine that our presence is not only pre-determined, but quite purposeful. We were part of a plan before we even came to be. One can only determine that if God took this much time to plan the existence and presence of each of us, that He knows already who we are. He knows our hearts, our minds, and our souls. He knows our faults, our missteps, our joys, the sound of our laughter, our cries, and the sound of our voices when we ask to speak to Him.

Even so, God is gracious enough to let us make our own decisions. Are we going to participate in the plan, or not? You are a creature that God has a purpose for and a tremendous love for. If we want to know who we are supposed to be, I believe we need to ask the One who knows us most of all.

Go ahead and ask!

Take care, my friends.

Blessings,

Alissa

I wanted to share a little something that I wrote for a friend of mine who is a manager. She wanted something to help motivate her employees to become involved and take charge of their own destiny. In these days of global career competition, one must always try to think of positive ways to improve their professional worth. It is rare in this day and time that opportunities are handed out and offers made. Employees must be willing to show their interest and be willing to earn promotions. I hope my story will at least make you hungry, if not motivate you to take charge of your dreams.

Hello, Readers!

I've been studying (again) for another Cisco certification. This time, it is the CCNA Voice concentration. It's rather exciting, in my opinion. My certification exam is in a couple of weeks, and I have been studying hard. This (and any IT or networking certification) requires me to learn an awful lot of networking terminology, and it requires one to think logically. I must think about ip addressing, protocols, dial plans, dial peers, how they work, how the network tranports the calls, how the network elements process the calls, etc. But, I find it interesting as well.

Thinking logically is something I can easily overdo, and have done ever since I was a child. Those who know me closely know how easily I can overthink things. I have a tendency to scrutinize and analyze details until I have obtained a what I consider to be a logical conclusion. My mind runs through every possible scenario - from the most obvious to the most outrageous. The problem with logical thinking is that it is really works best when you focus on only the facts. Why? Because speculation and assumption can be your undoing, but some of both are necessary sometimes.

For instance, if you were to tell your doctor that you have a headache, he will ask you about the headaches. You give the doctor details. He takes those details and makes a diagnosis. But, what if the doctor speculated that you had a brain tumor (heaven forbid)? He won't just crack open your head and operate right then. He must follow the facts in order to make the correct diagnosis and treatment. True logic means that sometimes many questions must be answered.

Logic is very important in life. However, some things are not, and will never be logical, as I learned when I was a child. I remember lying awake, wondering about things like space going on forever. How is that possible? Forever HAS to end. There would be something to stop it. That something is propped up against something else to hold it up. That something else is three dimensional and must have a front and a back - the back is touching something...oh dear. You see? Sometimes logic just cannot work without hard facts. So, one must sometimes look at a situation and determine that there is no answer. It just is.

The same thing happened to me when I thought about God. How did He get here? He just did. What about the people who don't believe in creation by God? None of us can explain where the elements came from to create the Big Bang, even if there was one. No one can explain how the very first atom came to be. It just did.

Too bad there isn't a "It just does" multiple choice answer on those exams...Faith is about believing based on what you feel is right - even if you don't always understand it. Logic is about believing what you understand to be right.

I hope I have given you something to think about now!

Have a great day,

Alissa

Studying is hard sometimes. It doesn't stop when you get out of school, either. In the "real" world, you have to continue to learn. I have been studying a lot lately and needed a break to clear my mind. So, I got a nice cup of coffee that I made with skim milk and some cinnamon. The taste is comforting, and it reminded me of this one particular day from when I was in the third grade. Two of my friends - Angie and Wendy - had been discussing which option they'd pick if they could only have one of the five senses. Now, of my friends, Angie was the smart one, but also shared my goofy sense of humor. (And we still act much the same when we're together today). Wendy, on the other hand, enjoyed writing poetry in the 2nd grade.

Wendy approached me and asked, "Alissa, if you were to have to pick one of the senses that you couldn't live without - which one would it be? Angie and I decided that we'd want to keep our sight because without it, we wouldn't be able to see the beauty."

I can't remember what my reply was, but I remember thinking that it seemed like a grown up question to me. It also made me appreciate all of the senses. So, I am thankful to have them all and wanted to share some of my favorites:

Touch - Warm sunshine on my back on a cool day; a genuine hug; how a smile feels on the inside

Taste - Chocolate; cinnamon; macaroni and cheese (not all together!)

Smell - Clean clothes from the dryer; fresh flowers; shaving cream

Sight - Smiles on the outside; watching birds; anything in nature

Sound - Smiles in action (laughter); birds chirping; the spa.

I hope you'll take time to pick a few of your favorites this week and enjoy. Now I have to get back to learning about call legs and dial peers and other voice over IP things...

God bless,

Alissa

As it gets closer to my birthday, I think a lot about my mother. After all, she brought me into the world almost 36 years ago. She told me that I was born three weeks early, in a military hospital in West Germany, at 7:15 am. She called an ambulance and had me 15 minutes after arriving at the hospital. I was in a hurry, I suppose. She called me her "miracle baby," saying that the doctors had told her after my sister was born that she'd never have any more. My mother, not being one to give up when she's determined, kept trying for 4 more years. I am the result of stubbornness mixed with faith. I guess that's not a bad combination. I weighed only 5 and a half pounds and the nurses called me "peanut."

There was a big blizzard around the time I was supposed to have been born, so mama said that was a miracle, too. We'd have not made it to the hospital.

My mama, being the goodly Southern lady that she is, fattened me up real quick and raised me into the tall creature you see on the website.

When we were little (and back home in GA), my sister and I were lucky enough to have a mother who worked at home so she could spend time with us when we were out of school in the summer. We'd play outside and mama would cook us some soup or a pot pie for lunch (which smelled so good cooking). Then, we'd all sit down and watch her "stories." She loved to watch All My Children (and still does). Before that, a show came on called Ryan's Hope.

Now, here's where it gets interesting. I remember once asking her where babies came from, and she told me that when a man and a woman love each other, they get married, and then God puts a baby in the woman's belly when it's time. Question answered.   

Well, we were watching Ryan's Hope, and this lady was pregnant. Now, we'd been watching this all summer, and I didn't remember her having a husband. So, I got all upset and cried in my soup about how this lady got pregnant and wasn't married and I thought it could happen to anybody. I just knew that any second, at seven years old, my stomach was going to start growing a child. My mother quickly told me that the lady had been married and her husband just wasn't on the show. But I don't think we watched soaps with her after that. I think we ate before they came on and played outside.

So, I am sure, as you can see, raising me was a very special chore...er, treat, for my mother.

I am very glad to have the mother I have, but I still don't like to watch soaps to this day when I am off from work.

Have a great day, readers.

Alissa

Ah, the old thought train. It races about in my mind sometimes, taking me to all sorts of interesting places. I'm certainly glad God invented imagination and daydreaming. I've always enjoyed the respite that both offer. Many times, one thing starts the mental train engine, and it speeds off, going faster and faster, passing all sorts of stuff, and I can hardly stop it. As, you'll see below - I'm feeling this way today.

Today, I was talking to a friend of mine about dolls. She enjoyed them as a child. I, on the other hand, had a dislike for dolls. They were boring. I had a couple - some Barbies, and an "Adopt-a-Doll" (the ancestor to the Cabbage Patch Doll), and some stuffed animals. Sure, you could dress them up and pretend to make them talk, but what else?

With dolls, you had to use your imagination, and in my childhood opinion, you might as well have had a rock. After all, an inanimate object sitting there staring you in the face by any other name is...an inanimate object. And, thinking of a doll speaking back to me was...spooky. So, I made up my own interactive toys - my Frisbee became a stewpot when we'd go outside and play. I always pretended I was cooking chop suey. I didn't know what chop suey was (and still don't) but mine had grass and mud in it - with some wild onions. I'm sure the real thing is much tastier. Down in the woods, my sister and I had a pretend candy store.

I think one of my all time favorite things to do was to pretend I owned a book store. You'd never have thought that one, huh? I'd stack up books in my room at my desk, and get a calculator and add up the prices on them; bag them up, give them to pretend customers, then then unbag them and start over. I also pretended to be a waitress and a cashier.  I suppose I was destined for customer service back then and didn't even know it.

Funny...to think all of that came from a doll.

Have fun this week and use that noggin of yours for something fun.

Alissa