
Welcome
to my website!
As a
teacher, I have seen it all. I've taught all ages--
elementary through graduate school, but for the
past 11 years, I have taught English (composition
and literature) at the community college level.
Since the spring of 2000, most of the courses I've
taught have been offered in an online setting. I
have taught for Howard College (San Angelo), Kaplan
University, University of Phoenix (online), and
Panola College. At Austin Community College, I am a
full-time writing tutor and English adjunct
professor, and have served on the Distance
Learning, Spring Literary Fest, and Academic
Affairs committees. In addition, I have represented
adjunct faculty as a campus representative and
secretary/treasurer.
One of
the highlights of my career at ACC happened in 2003
when I spearheaded an effort at the Texas
Legislature to allow long serving adjunct faculty
in community colleges to obtain health insurance by
joining each college's group plan. I am pleased to
say that today that bill is a state
law.
In 1985,
I earned a BS in Education in at Texas A&M
University and an MA in English at Angelo State
University in 1996. Currently, I am working on my
Doctorate of Education with a specialization in
Online Teaching and Training at Capella University.
I have completed my coursework, passed my
comprehensives, and entered the ABD stage (all but
dissertation).
In 2003,
I had weight
loss surgery
and I have lost over 60 pounds. I am certain that I
can still lose the rest of my weight-- it's just
going to take time. Meanwhile, I am obsessed with
living well (I love the Farmer's Markets in
Austin), getting physically and spiritually fit,
and wearing fun clothes (lol).
I enjoy
reading, writing, walking, and swimming. Within the
community, I've volunteered as a Girl Scout
assistant leader, raised money for ACC College
Connections, and supported the arts. I have a
daughter who attends college in the Austin area,
enjoys Harry Potter, art, and blogging, and a
husband who is a mechanical engineer and weekend UT
tailgater and golfer. The three of us (and our two
yorkies) couldn't be happier.
My
greatest writing strengths are clarity and
proofreading. My primary weakness is my vocabulary.
If I had only studied Latin in high school, surely
I could roll off multi-syllabic jewels! As a
teacher, I realize that I am not perfect and that
helps me to be more sensitive to the imperfections
of my students.
My
favorite book of all time would have to be a tie
between George Eliot's Middlemarch and
Truman Capote's In Cold Blood. I like
Eliot's novel because it depicts human nature and
the dynamics of society so accurately. On the other
hand, Capote's novel is the quintessential true
crime masterpiece. No other author can touch his
artistic genius in the nonfiction crime
genre.
I look
forward to an energetic exchange of ideas as we
learn together about how to communicate more
effectively.
Becky
Villarreal
:)
My
Collection of Eulogies
Dust
in my Attic
Maw
Maw left me her sewing machine.
She
passed one sweltering Louisiana day
Twenty-five
years ago.
Robert
Kennedy
also
died that day,
but we
didn't know until later.
We
grieved hard for Maw Maw.
At six I
knew
the
family would never be the same
when
things disappeared.
First
Mac--
that
horse
old as
Momma.
then the
cows
the
pigs
the
chickens
one by
one.
And
while the crops shriveled
that
sewing machine began collecting dust in my
attic.
Grief
was followed by blame--
Some for
coming around too much
by those
who rarely came
while
Paw Paw just stared.
they
said Maw Maw would roll in her grave
when
Aunt Margie got pregnant
So she
married that old man
who
nearly destroyed that precious girl
who
couldn't tell until later.
My
momma's talents are limited
to
tennis
and
cooking Cajun cuisine
playing
bridge.
So Maw
Maw worried--
Someone's
got to fix things in a family
in
junior high
I
made my first "C"
in
home-ec
learned
how to make
cheese
straws
nachos
chocolate
chip cookies
and
quiche
but
never mastered
fixing a
hem
or a
button
while
that sewing machine collected dust in my
attic.
Maw Maw
cooked three meals a day
the
dutiful wife
even
when she was so sick
and so
big
she
could barely walk
WHERE'S
MY SUPPER WOMAN?!!
he'd
roar
as we
stared at the floor.
She
would have enjoyed eating out
just
once
Momma
sighs
but he
wouldn't take her.
Last
year Aunt Rosy passed
in
an old folk's home
with
eyes dulled with duller memories
she
squeezed a strange hand
and
inquired
about
the grandchild her sister
adored.
But
Elizabeth never saw that girl
grow
up
graduate
and run
away
to marry a man
she
would have accepted
without
an explanation.
never
held
her
great granddaughter
who
carries her name
and
still her legacy collects dust in my
attic.
What
would Maw Maw think?
Does
outcome
cause
her to thrash in a dark grave
or
rejoice with angels?
I
wonder
lounging
on a quilt
she
built
with
her big aching heart
humming
to the gentle whirring of a
machine
that
will forever collect dust in my
attic.
Dedicated
to the memory of Elizabeth Ray Strother (d.
1968)
Copyright
1993 by Becky Stieber Villarreal
Her
Final Mission
Joined
in grief
we clasp
hands and encircle her
chanting
Hail Marys foreign to my Protestant
ears
now an
odd comfort to my withering soul.
As the
blessed words
permeate
the dismal darkened atmosphere
heavenly
lights seem to blaze from the
ceiling
while
flickering candles illuminate
our
tear-streaked cheeks.
Abuelito
breaks
to hold
her still warm
forever
forgiving hands
A
portrait of despair.
While
our weary eyes watch the dancing
numbers
cruelly
rekindling our vain hopes--Or is it a
sign?
Alas we
realize
her
spirit must depart
still we
squeeze estranged hands
sadly
echoing the sacred words again
again
and again
fulfilling
her final mission--
A broken
family
joined
in prayer
one last
time.
Dedicated
to the memory of San Juana Valles Villarreal
(1932-1994)
Copyright
1994 by Becky Stieber Villarreal
The
Middle of Seven
They
say
Aunt
Eleanor was born big
and
mean
the
meanest and the baddest of the
bunch.
it's
hard to believe.
I used
to call her when loved ones were
sick
or
dying
and Aunt
Eleanor prayed
and
prayed and prayed and prayed.
And you
know those people got better.
In old
photos
she
smiles at me
her dark
eyes gleaming with mischief
(or is
that something else?)
They
say
when she
was little
Thera
would flee from her wrath
running
deep into the woods
where
she would kneel and pray:
"Oh
Lord, please forgive my dear
sister
Elner.
She does
not really hate
us
all
or mean
those cruel things--
OUCH!
Elner
let go of my hair!
You are
hurting me!
I said
YOU ARE HURTING ME!"
I have a
nephew named John
He's got
to be the baddest child ever born
nearly
fell out of that boat
last May
just to spite us all.
You
should have seen Aunt Eleanor's dark
eyes
sparkle
when he
threw
a
tantrum
decorated
the walls
with
crayons
or
called someone
"stink-butt."
She
liked 'em bad
My Aunt
Elner.
Thera's
kids
tried to
tell me she was still mean
and
ornery.
"No,
she's not!"
I would
shriek
with
teeth and fists
clenching
yearning
to yank
a few strands
to
emphasize my point.
Don't
you know that HER prayers
made my
friend better?
That
poor girl suffered
in that
cold
sterile
hospital
long
enough
miles
away
from
two
precious
boys
who
wailed for the warmth
of their
mother's arms
until I
called Eleanor
who
asked the Lord
to
please send Kim home
And now
she is.
Tears
sting my eyes
when I
remember how
poor
Aunt Eleanor suffered
in
another cold sterile hospital
where
they poked and prod
"Ouch!
You are hurting me!"
and they
poked and prod
"I said,
YOU ARE HURTING ME!"
So we
prayed
and
prayed and prayed and prayed and prayed and
prayed
and we
all asked the Lord
to
please let Eleanor go home
And now
she is.
Dedicated
to the memory of Eleanor Faye Hatch
(1935-1998)
Copyright
1998 by Becky Stieber
Villarreal
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