Even as a small child, I have hated the color pink. I guess that I associated it with being a girly-girl. And then there is the sterotyping that goes with "pink is for girls and blue is for boys". What hogwash!
When I was able to choose my own clothes, I liked things that were simple. I never wanted to be lacy because it always made me feel foolish. I leaned towards yellow and my room was lavender. My favorite dress was crisp and white, with tiny red cherries for buttons and on the bodice.
Rebecca seldom wore pink as a baby. My mum bouoght her some clothes as when she was fresh born and knowing how I felt about pink she bought a little white dress with purple rosebuds on it (still have it) and a mint green one.
Then, on a paricularly ordinary day, I worked late (what else is new) and was particular exhausted as I left the school. Walking to my car, I turned the corner of the building a was exposed to a glorious sunset. The sky was alive with color. There was orange, and purple and at least ten different shades of pink. It was so comforting, soothing.
I said, "Okay, God, now I get pink." And from that day until this, it has been my favorite color.
Saturday, July 17, 2010
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Taking A Slam
I have played World of Warcraft for several years now and have enjoyed it at many different levels. At first, I was obsessive. Never having played anything like this before, I wanted to be at it 24/7. I could see why they called it World of Warcrack.
As I became used to working with the game, I entered what I called the documentation phase. I journaled each day's activities. Part of my theatre teacher "thing" I guess. I had a log for each of my toons and wrote down quests completed, the names of anyone with whom I raided etc. This became an all new form of obsession.
After more than a year in the journal phase, I became more neutral about it all. I didn't play as often and in fact could go days without even logging in to see how auctions were going or which of my friends were on.
And then I got cancer. For four montshs, I couldn't play. Just sitting up was an effort and there is just no way to play a game other than a point and click type while lying flat in a chaise. Instead, I began to write. Using the logs I had kept and characters I developed, I wrote stories about my main and they eventually became my blog--The Adventures of Shalimara.
Thinking that other WoW people would enjoy the work, I posted it on my guild's web page and on one of the off-topic forums in the WoW game. SLAM! Was I ever wrong! I got criticized for everything--for blogging, for not being original (although the stories don't follow a WoW plot line but one I created). I got annihilated for posting it at all. And I was told that people don't want to read "cool stories" and that just the word "blog" turned people off.
Well, getting hammered like that makes you think. I should be writing, not playing a game, just as much as they should be reading, not playing a game. This is one of the problems with society. We play too many games. I don't mean just online stuff, but games with each others' emotions and with each others' lives. We have become to comfortable just downing someone else's creativity. Shouldn't all creativity be recognized and applauded, even in this mind-numbing society in which most social interaction comes in the form of electronic print? Yikes.
As I became used to working with the game, I entered what I called the documentation phase. I journaled each day's activities. Part of my theatre teacher "thing" I guess. I had a log for each of my toons and wrote down quests completed, the names of anyone with whom I raided etc. This became an all new form of obsession.
After more than a year in the journal phase, I became more neutral about it all. I didn't play as often and in fact could go days without even logging in to see how auctions were going or which of my friends were on.
And then I got cancer. For four montshs, I couldn't play. Just sitting up was an effort and there is just no way to play a game other than a point and click type while lying flat in a chaise. Instead, I began to write. Using the logs I had kept and characters I developed, I wrote stories about my main and they eventually became my blog--The Adventures of Shalimara.
Thinking that other WoW people would enjoy the work, I posted it on my guild's web page and on one of the off-topic forums in the WoW game. SLAM! Was I ever wrong! I got criticized for everything--for blogging, for not being original (although the stories don't follow a WoW plot line but one I created). I got annihilated for posting it at all. And I was told that people don't want to read "cool stories" and that just the word "blog" turned people off.
Well, getting hammered like that makes you think. I should be writing, not playing a game, just as much as they should be reading, not playing a game. This is one of the problems with society. We play too many games. I don't mean just online stuff, but games with each others' emotions and with each others' lives. We have become to comfortable just downing someone else's creativity. Shouldn't all creativity be recognized and applauded, even in this mind-numbing society in which most social interaction comes in the form of electronic print? Yikes.
Monday, June 21, 2010
Discoveries of a Level 80 Noob--Gear Score
You would think at level 80, one would know the game inside and out but hey, I am a 55 year old woman who wants to have a little fun. I don't take myself or the game too seriously and I am having a blast, even though my corpse is currently lost in Icecrown.
Notes on Being A Hunter--Gear Score
Okay, so nobody would have expected me to enjoy playing a hunter. First of all, I am almost a vegetarian in real life and second, I am against sport hunter. Soooooo...being the hypocrite that I am...I started my hunter, Shalimara about the same time I started my mage, Rexena.
Now in every other game I had played, I was a caster. It seemed that this was the norm for me, however a month into my playing (thanks to a game card provide by my wonderful nephew, Jimmy) my brother joined in the fun and rolled a mage. I didn't want to play the same toon as Rick, so I practically abandoned Rexy (called Sexy Rexy by other gnome friends) and began playing Shali as my main. It has been self love ever since and the only one even close is Rienquemort (French for Remember the Death), my Death Knight.
Recently I have made some discoveries about playing a Night Elf Hunter. Yes, even though I reached 80 ages ago, there is still a lot to learn about play in this expansive game.
First of all, the all important Gear Score--or GS in the game world. Gear is the aim of the game. I have had countless conversations with other players about which gear is best and what stats you should look for in each class. I had never even looked at my GS, so to discover I had only a little over 3000 was a shock and a realization. I had to get better stuff. Right now I am at 4383. This allows me into some of the better dungeons, where I can get more good stuff to raise my score. HOWEVER, just because something has a higher gs, doesn't mean that it is appropriate for your toon.
One of the things I have discovered about some of the younger (okay so everybody pretty much is younger, what I mean is the children) players is that they don't pay attention to stats. They think a "purple" is better than a "blue" simply because it is epic. However, a spell casting buff is wasted on a hunter. Spirit and Intellect are not all that important either. A piece of epic armor with these buffs is relative useless, even though it might be an epic piece. A blue that has a strong stamina, crit, attack power or strength boost would be much better. (Considering my views on sport hunting, the intellect thing is irony at its finest.)
Some runs require a high gs. For example, at 4383 I can't get into HoR* on the heroic setting. (*This means Halls of Reflection.) I can't do some of the high end raids. There are thousands, literally, of web pages that talk about gear and make suggestions for which items are best.
So, I could sit here and talk all day but I have to rescue Shalimara from the Pit of Sauron and I need five more Emblems of Valor to get that new belt that will raise my gs to over 4400. Next time? Rotations and builds for the hunter toons.
Notes on Being A Hunter--Gear Score
Okay, so nobody would have expected me to enjoy playing a hunter. First of all, I am almost a vegetarian in real life and second, I am against sport hunter. Soooooo...being the hypocrite that I am...I started my hunter, Shalimara about the same time I started my mage, Rexena.
Now in every other game I had played, I was a caster. It seemed that this was the norm for me, however a month into my playing (thanks to a game card provide by my wonderful nephew, Jimmy) my brother joined in the fun and rolled a mage. I didn't want to play the same toon as Rick, so I practically abandoned Rexy (called Sexy Rexy by other gnome friends) and began playing Shali as my main. It has been self love ever since and the only one even close is Rienquemort (French for Remember the Death), my Death Knight.
Recently I have made some discoveries about playing a Night Elf Hunter. Yes, even though I reached 80 ages ago, there is still a lot to learn about play in this expansive game.
First of all, the all important Gear Score--or GS in the game world. Gear is the aim of the game. I have had countless conversations with other players about which gear is best and what stats you should look for in each class. I had never even looked at my GS, so to discover I had only a little over 3000 was a shock and a realization. I had to get better stuff. Right now I am at 4383. This allows me into some of the better dungeons, where I can get more good stuff to raise my score. HOWEVER, just because something has a higher gs, doesn't mean that it is appropriate for your toon.
One of the things I have discovered about some of the younger (okay so everybody pretty much is younger, what I mean is the children) players is that they don't pay attention to stats. They think a "purple" is better than a "blue" simply because it is epic. However, a spell casting buff is wasted on a hunter. Spirit and Intellect are not all that important either. A piece of epic armor with these buffs is relative useless, even though it might be an epic piece. A blue that has a strong stamina, crit, attack power or strength boost would be much better. (Considering my views on sport hunting, the intellect thing is irony at its finest.)
Some runs require a high gs. For example, at 4383 I can't get into HoR* on the heroic setting. (*This means Halls of Reflection.) I can't do some of the high end raids. There are thousands, literally, of web pages that talk about gear and make suggestions for which items are best.
So, I could sit here and talk all day but I have to rescue Shalimara from the Pit of Sauron and I need five more Emblems of Valor to get that new belt that will raise my gs to over 4400. Next time? Rotations and builds for the hunter toons.
Sunday, June 20, 2010
Roy Family Genealogy
It never ceases to amaze me that there are so many people searching for some kind of roots. I began searching for mine in 2005 when my father, Antonio Harvey Roy, died. I had not known Tony very well. My knowledge was merely a collection of reminiscenses of others and a few odds and ends of information. Among Tony's papers, was a six page document that he called, "The Book". It detailed information that was fascinating to me and took me through American history and into France. It was also the beginning of a "hobby" which is a lifelong research project. In this first blog, I will recount the information from "The Book" added to a few comments that my father made to me before he died.
Life in Rouen During World War II
My father was born in Rouen in February of 1936. His mother's name was Alfredine but I have not been able to find much of her history yet. More about why later. His father was actually an American citizen named Harvey Joseph Roy.
Harvey had an interesting beginning as well. He was born in Canada around Montreal. His father was Damien Risaine Roy and his mother Carmelite Baril. (Their marriage is documented in the Drouin records available on ancestry.com.) They had many children, by some accounts as many as fifteen but I have only been able to document eleven thus far. In any case, Harvey wanted something better, so he moved to Massachusetts. The idea was that he would earn enough money to send for his sisters and brothers. He must have been naturalized (another record I am looking for) because he enlisted in the United States Navy and was stationed in France. It was there that he met Alfredine who was nine years younger than he. I know that the Canadians had a huge presence on the Normandy coast, but in the one photo I have of Harvey he is in an American naval uniform as confirmed by a friend of mine who is a naval commander.
Alfredine was a dark-haired beauty with one child, (Micheline). They fell in love and after Harvey's term of service, he left the Navy and returned to France. They were married although rumor has it that my father was conceived prior to that wedding and that is why Harvey returned to France quite quickly. They were quite happy living as a family in Rouen and had three more daughters to accompany their only son: Lydia, Claudine Marie, and Danielle (for whom I am named). On May 10, 1940 all that changed. This was the day that the Nazis invaded France and the kickstart to a four year occupation that changed this twig of the Roy family forever.
The French coastal town of Dieppe was a natural place for an infiltration and it is only a stone's throw from Rouen. (I will blog later about the history of this area and Rouen in particular). Anyway, during the night Harvey and many other men in the city were taken from their homes. Tony says it was months before the family found out where they were--a work camp known as Compeigne (another later story).
As Alfredine was pregnant with Danielle at the time, my father was left to try and bring in some money for the family. He was only four years old! He told me that he would do chores for pennies and was able to buy bread and milk with these paltry coins. One day, a huge black car pulled in and they took Tony away. He thought he was going to a camp like his father and he was terrified. The soldiers, however, took him to a vineyard and gave him employment as a grape stomper. They would lift him into great vats and he would walk around mooshing the grapes to exact a juice which was later fermented into wine. Tony told me that he would be so tired at the end of a day's work that he would collapse and sleep, sometimes without eating. He also said the juices stained his legs so badly that he looked like he was blue from the waist down. He was terrified not to go when the car would pull in to fetch him, and this is how a five year old boy was able to sustain his mother and sisters during the war. Tony spoke of this frequently because later in life, his mother turned on him and he never understood why. This was also the time in which he encountered his "angel" for the first time.
Harvey was in Compeigne for three years. I am not certain of the camp's liberation day, but as it was just outside of Paris I am assuming it would have been around that time. When the Nazis left Paris, Hitler commanded that everything be destroyed but the nazi officer in charge didn't want to go down in history as the man who destroyed Paris and he declared Paris to be an open city.
During his incarceration, Tony only saw Harvey once. The soldiers came to the farm where the family now lived, and they told Alfredine that she could visit her husband in the camp. She would be allowed to bring Tony and she was to go to the train station and take a certain train with other wives. For some reason, the pair was late and missed the train. The one that they were supposed to catch was known to be filled with German soldiers. The French Resistance attacked it and many of the wives were hurt and I believe he said that some were killed along with the German army men. Tony and Alfredine did not know this until they returned to Rouen, having taken a later train into the camp. They were able to see Harvey. Tony told me that he always had remember his father to be a big man--in stature and spirit. He described this Harvey as bones with skin wrapped around them. He didn't see Harvey again until after the liberation.
I will post more later, detailing how the family returned to the United States.
Life in Rouen During World War II
My father was born in Rouen in February of 1936. His mother's name was Alfredine but I have not been able to find much of her history yet. More about why later. His father was actually an American citizen named Harvey Joseph Roy.
Harvey had an interesting beginning as well. He was born in Canada around Montreal. His father was Damien Risaine Roy and his mother Carmelite Baril. (Their marriage is documented in the Drouin records available on ancestry.com.) They had many children, by some accounts as many as fifteen but I have only been able to document eleven thus far. In any case, Harvey wanted something better, so he moved to Massachusetts. The idea was that he would earn enough money to send for his sisters and brothers. He must have been naturalized (another record I am looking for) because he enlisted in the United States Navy and was stationed in France. It was there that he met Alfredine who was nine years younger than he. I know that the Canadians had a huge presence on the Normandy coast, but in the one photo I have of Harvey he is in an American naval uniform as confirmed by a friend of mine who is a naval commander.
Alfredine was a dark-haired beauty with one child, (Micheline). They fell in love and after Harvey's term of service, he left the Navy and returned to France. They were married although rumor has it that my father was conceived prior to that wedding and that is why Harvey returned to France quite quickly. They were quite happy living as a family in Rouen and had three more daughters to accompany their only son: Lydia, Claudine Marie, and Danielle (for whom I am named). On May 10, 1940 all that changed. This was the day that the Nazis invaded France and the kickstart to a four year occupation that changed this twig of the Roy family forever.
The French coastal town of Dieppe was a natural place for an infiltration and it is only a stone's throw from Rouen. (I will blog later about the history of this area and Rouen in particular). Anyway, during the night Harvey and many other men in the city were taken from their homes. Tony says it was months before the family found out where they were--a work camp known as Compeigne (another later story).
As Alfredine was pregnant with Danielle at the time, my father was left to try and bring in some money for the family. He was only four years old! He told me that he would do chores for pennies and was able to buy bread and milk with these paltry coins. One day, a huge black car pulled in and they took Tony away. He thought he was going to a camp like his father and he was terrified. The soldiers, however, took him to a vineyard and gave him employment as a grape stomper. They would lift him into great vats and he would walk around mooshing the grapes to exact a juice which was later fermented into wine. Tony told me that he would be so tired at the end of a day's work that he would collapse and sleep, sometimes without eating. He also said the juices stained his legs so badly that he looked like he was blue from the waist down. He was terrified not to go when the car would pull in to fetch him, and this is how a five year old boy was able to sustain his mother and sisters during the war. Tony spoke of this frequently because later in life, his mother turned on him and he never understood why. This was also the time in which he encountered his "angel" for the first time.
Harvey was in Compeigne for three years. I am not certain of the camp's liberation day, but as it was just outside of Paris I am assuming it would have been around that time. When the Nazis left Paris, Hitler commanded that everything be destroyed but the nazi officer in charge didn't want to go down in history as the man who destroyed Paris and he declared Paris to be an open city.
During his incarceration, Tony only saw Harvey once. The soldiers came to the farm where the family now lived, and they told Alfredine that she could visit her husband in the camp. She would be allowed to bring Tony and she was to go to the train station and take a certain train with other wives. For some reason, the pair was late and missed the train. The one that they were supposed to catch was known to be filled with German soldiers. The French Resistance attacked it and many of the wives were hurt and I believe he said that some were killed along with the German army men. Tony and Alfredine did not know this until they returned to Rouen, having taken a later train into the camp. They were able to see Harvey. Tony told me that he always had remember his father to be a big man--in stature and spirit. He described this Harvey as bones with skin wrapped around them. He didn't see Harvey again until after the liberation.
I will post more later, detailing how the family returned to the United States.
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