Affichage des articles dont le libellé est Pictures. Afficher tous les articles
Affichage des articles dont le libellé est Pictures. Afficher tous les articles
mardi 1 mars 2011
It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat. Shame on the man of cultivated taste who permits refinement to develop into fastidiousness that unfits him for doing the rough work of a workaday world. Among the free peoples who govern themselves there is but a small field of usefulness open for the men of cloistered life who shrink from contact with their fellows. Still less room is there for those who deride of slight what is done by those who actually bear the brunt of the day; nor yet for those others who always profess that they would like to take action, if only the conditions of life were not exactly what they actually are. The man who does nothing cuts the same sordid figure in the pages of history, whether he be a cynic, or fop, or voluptuary. There is little use for the being whose tepid soul knows nothing of great and generous emotion, of the high pride, the stern belief, the lofty enthusiasm, of the men who quell the storm and ride the thunder. Well for these men if they succeed; well also, though not so well, if they fail, given only that they have nobly ventured, and have put forth all their heart and strength. It is war-worn Hotspur, spent with hard fighting, he of the many errors and valiant end, over whose memory we love to linger, not over the memory of the young lord who "but for the vile guns would have been a valiant soldier."My VMI yearbook dedication: To all those who doubted me, you only made me stronger.
- Theordore Roosevelt, speech "Citizenship In A Republic", delivered at the Sorbonne, in Paris, France on 23 April, 1910
I survived VMI. I can survive the European Qualifying Examination goddamn it.
lundi 21 février 2011
Here is one of my proudest moments.
Graduation from VMI, first in my class of Electrical Engineering.
Sen. John McCain was our graduation speaker.
This is General Bunting, our superintendant, giving me my diploma.
And no, I did not have to do military service after graduation. All cadets however have to take four years of ROTC, and I chose Navy. I was offered a Navy scholarship (4 years) with a five year commitment, but turned it down (as I had an academic scholarship instead). For the first year or two I thought about commissioning anyway, but then decided not to. Four years was enough for me.
Instead, I went to graduate school at the University of Virginia. Which was like a real college experience.
dimanche 20 février 2011
This is an interesting picture. 
The winter uniform (for parades) consists of grey wool pants with black stripes down the sides.
The summer uniform is thin white pants (called white ducks).
Usually in March, (I guess this picture was taken March 23, 2001)
the entire corps of cadets switches from the winter uniform to the summer uniform.
For the seniors graduating in May, there is a ceremony of burning the grey woolies in the sentinel box in the middle of the courtyard of barracks as these pants will never be worn again.
Each cadet has two pairs of these pants, and each senior usually throws in one or both pairs. I think I only burned one pair and kept one for posterity. Actually, I kept almost all my uniforms, which are currently taking up space in my parent's closet.
The entire barracks stinks of burnt wool for about two weeks afterwards.
The winter uniform (for parades) consists of grey wool pants with black stripes down the sides.
The summer uniform is thin white pants (called white ducks).
Usually in March, (I guess this picture was taken March 23, 2001)
the entire corps of cadets switches from the winter uniform to the summer uniform.
For the seniors graduating in May, there is a ceremony of burning the grey woolies in the sentinel box in the middle of the courtyard of barracks as these pants will never be worn again.
Each cadet has two pairs of these pants, and each senior usually throws in one or both pairs. I think I only burned one pair and kept one for posterity. Actually, I kept almost all my uniforms, which are currently taking up space in my parent's closet.
The entire barracks stinks of burnt wool for about two weeks afterwards.
samedi 19 février 2011
Here is my best friend from college, Rachel. We roomed together three years.
A week after graduation, she married another VMI alum. Theirs was the first alum-alum wedding. The paper in Richmond wanted to cover it. She refused.
She wanted to have her reception at the Alumni Hall on campus, where a lot of other male alumni had their wedding receptions. The Hall was mysteriously "booked" for nothing.
She was a cross-country star and on a four-year athletic scholarship, and after VMI went into the Army reserves for several years, and is now teaching middle schoolers (which probably takes more courage and inner fortitude than going to VMI).
vendredi 18 février 2011
Here I am with my own rat, Anthony,class of 2004, at his breakout.
(end of the ratline, crawl up a muddy hill. In the freezing cold. After having been worked out for a solid week beforehand).
I certainly came out of this one a lot cleaner, though he was cleaning mud out of his ears for a solid week after.
jeudi 17 février 2011
Here I am, with my date, at the formal ring presentation ceremony. Each 2nd class cadet and their date are announced, walk through the saber arch and then the big ring, and their date puts their ring on their finger. (And every once in a while, a ring gets dropped, to the horror of the cadet).
After that, there is one formal waltz, then lots of pictures, and that is pretty much it (followed by a weekend of partying).
mercredi 16 février 2011
This me and a picture of "Uncle" Van, a VMI Alum class o
f 1942. Unfortunately, he passed away last year, so this post is in loving memory of him.
He was quite a history buff, and used to come every year to give a speech to all the new rats about the history of VMI. (The first week, when we were all sleep-deprived, smelly, and wondering "what the hell am I doing here?")
My first year, after his speech, he picked me out of the mass of dirty smelly rats and called me over. He gave me a pep-talk, of the "you can do it girl!" kind.
He continued to keep in touch, and every time he came over for events at VMI, he would stop and see me, and often take me out to dinner or give me candy. Candy! Real food! And most importantly: The hell away from here for one night!
He was so proud of me for making it through. He called me "Miss Meg" in true Southern style, until I got married, then it was "Missis Meg".
So here is a picture of him, proudly sporting his ring, and me, with mine. (I actually wasn't supposed to be wearing it at this point, as we weren't supposed to wear it until after the formal ring presentation ball that night.)
Miss you Uncle Van.
f 1942. Unfortunately, he passed away last year, so this post is in loving memory of him.He was quite a history buff, and used to come every year to give a speech to all the new rats about the history of VMI. (The first week, when we were all sleep-deprived, smelly, and wondering "what the hell am I doing here?")
My first year, after his speech, he picked me out of the mass of dirty smelly rats and called me over. He gave me a pep-talk, of the "you can do it girl!" kind.
He continued to keep in touch, and every time he came over for events at VMI, he would stop and see me, and often take me out to dinner or give me candy. Candy! Real food! And most importantly: The hell away from here for one night!
He was so proud of me for making it through. He called me "Miss Meg" in true Southern style, until I got married, then it was "Missis Meg".
So here is a picture of him, proudly sporting his ring, and me, with mine. (I actually wasn't supposed to be wearing it at this point, as we weren't supposed to wear it until after the formal ring presentation ball that night.)
Miss you Uncle Van.
mardi 15 février 2011
This is my mother-in-law's (Josée's) favorite picture from our wedding. She teared up when she saw it. I think I look a bit funny, as I am biting my lip, but it is a good picture of Alain. Actually, he usually has good pictures taken of him. I hate that. I have to dig through pictures of us to find okay ones of me.
Anyway, happy 36th birthday my favorite French!
lundi 14 février 2011
Here I am, with two guys Britton on the left and Bill on the right from my class, second class year. (the years count backwards: 4th (or rat) is freshman etc. until 1st = senior)
It was the presentation of the class ring ceremony, one of the most important events in a cadet's life. The rings are incredibly huge, as big possible. Actually, the rings we are wearing are the everyday rings, in titanium I think, versus the gold rings, with the same design, for special occasions.
ETA: These are the "combat rings". It took me awhile to remember what they are called. Tradition has it that you are supposed to throw it against the radiator in your room so that it gets its first nick.
The design on the rings varies every year, one is the "institute side" and has the date of founding 1839, and one is the class side, and has each class year. You are supposed to wear the class side facing in towards the rest of your body (closest to your heart) until graduation, and then turn it around to the institute side after graduation.
The traditional stone is a red garnet for the school colors, red and yellow, but many cadets don't get garnet now.
I got a sky blue topaz because it was tradition - my first class mentor (steve, in previous picture) had a sky blue topaz, and his mentor did, etc.
I also have a minature version of the ring. The main gold ring is way too huge, even though I got the smallest weight option available.
dimanche 13 février 2011
I wonder whether everyone is getting sick of seeing my pictures.Anyway, this is a picture of me the following year (a bit more hair). It was such a pain to grow out.
At first, the administration didn't want to let the women grow their hair out. Then they said that it could be grown out, but couldn't touch the collar, and we couldn't use more than two barretts on the sides or one big one in the middle.
Yeah, it is clear that a bunch of military men thought that one up all by themselves. They obviously never had to deal with hair this length, plus taking on and off hats all day long (as you go in and out of buildings). It gets to be a mess. They finally relented and decided we could go with military regulations (gee, why didn't anyone think of this before?!) wherein it could be grown out to any length, but in uniform had to be braided, in a bun, etc. such that it didn't touch the collar and looked okay.
Yay!
So here I am, my hair a bit blonder than natural, in an awkward hair growing out phase. My uniform (the coattee, used for dressier occasions) also appears to not fit me correctly. The stars are for academics, meaning I had above a 3.5 GPA.
samedi 12 février 2011
Here I am, the coldest, most exhausted, and dirtiest I have ever been in my life, but extremely happy.
Anyone want to postulate why?
VMI= Virginia Military Institute, a 4-year military college.
Actually, it was my choice to go, my parents tried desperately to talk me out of it, as it was the first year that women were accepted.
vendredi 11 février 2011
Thought I would change from baby pictures (also, am running out) so I thought I would post my (surprise!) military school pictures.I suppose this picture will get some reactions.
Yep, that's me as a VMI Rat at 17 years old.
As said before, Dad loves my hair short.
After graduation from high school, I had my hair cut short (though not quite as short as this), to get used to having it short before I got it shaved off here.
Actually, I didn't mind it so much.
1) You're not really given time to shower, wash your hair, etc. so it might as well be short.
2) There are a lot more important things than hair.
3) It does grow back.
Some of the girls shaved their heads completely bald, along with the rest of the guys in their company. They all got in trouble and were confined to post until their hair grew back to regulation length. Which was longer for the girls than for the guys, so slightly unfair. But the girls had started the head shaving party, so I guess it was mostly their fault anyway.
It was odd because one of the girls looked rather cute, even with her head completely shaved, while the other just looked like an alien. Fortunately, I think I look at least presentable with short hair. But anyway, see number 2 above.
I didn't shave mine. This was pretty much as short as it got. Though it did have the tendency to stick straight up from time to time (toilet brush head).
That's why I'm not too fussed now if I get a bad haircut.
dimanche 6 février 2011
Here is a photo of my grandparents (mother's side) on their wedding day.Grandpa John and Grandma Eleanor.
Do I look like my grandmother?
Perhaps the coloring no, but I think the eyes yes.
He called me "toilet brush head" as a baby, and would slam doors so that I would wake up from my naps whenever he came to visit.
(so that he would be able to see me)
She came and lived with us for several years in South America after he was gone.
If we have a daughter, I want to name her Eléonore (at least as a middle name.) Alain says no. We'll see about that.
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