eyes full of tears with the excitement of being an integral piece of the compellation and said‚ “I promise Nana.” As I started to chop the celery into what my grandmother told me were to be “paper-thin” slices I drifted away for a moment‚ thinking about what it would be like to be a grown-up‚ having my own Thanksgiving feast. Fast forward twenty years or so‚ and here I am a grown-up or so I believe to be‚ having my first Thanksgiving feast in my newly purchased home. The house is decorated
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causes me to shiver. I go inside of the car to get some cover. As I lean on the seat to get more comfortable‚ I start driving and I continue to look outside. Constant noise of the cars driving by on Sunrise Highway distracts me from being worried about what is going to happen soon. I can see trees and bushes through the window that are planted along the road forming a fence line. The leafless bushes are trimmed at the top so evenly‚ as if someone used a ruler to cut them. On the power lines above
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It was an autumn evening. A girl was staring blankly out the window in her night gown. Her astounding eyes sparkled with sadness. Although nothing couldn’t be concluded from her complex and expressionless face‚ her baggy eyes told the stories of many sleepless nights. Her gaze shifted here and there‚ stopping at each spot only for a few seconds. It was as if she were searching for something‚ anything to distract her mind from the terrible ache in her heart. She had a deep-set of blue eyes
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MATHIAS NICOLAS – MY MOST PRECIOUS GOD’S GIFT God has given all human beings a precious and priceless gift that is LIFE. He is such a marvelous‚ perfect savior that he has blessed women with the privilege of conceiving life. Three years ago‚ I had the privilege of feeling inside of me a tiny seed that needed to be watered with a lot of love and patience in order to become a beautiful and perfect fruit. This seed flourished in eight months and my eyes could finally see that perfect creation that
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Part 1 The story I went with was One More To Lake by E.B White. To me his story felt poetic. He was mesmerized by the smells of the cabin he would stay in as a child. Reason being that I chose poetic writing for E.B White is because how he carefully he chose his words for his story. “I guess I remembered clearest of all the mornings‚ when the lake was cool and motionless‚ remembered how the bedroom smelled of lumber it was made of and of the wet woods whose scent entered the screen” (White 97)
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English 101 Professor White October 1‚ 2014 Biography of Shirley Jackson Shirley Hardie Jackson is a prolific author‚ well known for her short stories and novels. During her time‚ she has written many award winning novels such as “Louisa‚ Please Come Home” and “The Possibility of Evil”CITATION Lit08 \p 3 \l 1033 (Center 3). Provided that‚ she has establish herself as a significant figure in American literature. Although Shirley Jackson has suffered many psychological problems and has gone through
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Childhood Memories Can Be Positive Reinforcement My favorite childhood place was at my grandparent’s house. My grandparent’s last name was Mountain. Their property had the nick name‚ “The Mountain House‚” I remember wonderful memories of spending time there with my family; eating grandma’s famous potato salad‚ tasting grandpa’s fabulous barbeque ribs‚ and most of all eating those wonderful Mountain family cherries. The sounds and smells are truly alive in my memory. These memories are incredibly
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My Quiet Place After a year of living in our small two bedroom house we decided that we needed to add another bedroom. We had made all the decisions of what we wanted it to look like such as the size of the room‚ the size of the closet and what we what kind of mood the atmosphere would give us. I wanted the room to feel welcoming‚ warm and cozy‚ like sitting next to a warm fireplace on a cold snowy night. I wanted to call this room my quiet space where I can relax‚ read‚ and be big enough
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A late December night Like many other nights; it is late and I am tired‚ leaving the bar after my shift and driving home. It must be close to 4o’clock in the morning now; the roads are covered in snow like a cozy white blanket on a cold black night. I seem to be alone on this two lane highway; my headlights are the only ones shining‚ like two beckons in a lighthouse searching for others in the dark. The roads have just been plowed‚ very little is on the pavement but the snow is falling fast‚ within
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My Great-Grandparent’s Farm My Great-Grandparent’s farm is tucked away in the rural village of Mt. Calvary‚ Wisconsin. Mt. Calvary is a small densely populated village consisting of primarily dairy farmers of German Catholic decent‚ that lies in the vast rolling green hills of South-East Wisconsin. My Great-Grandparent’s farm has always been a very special place. It is also a place to go to find peace and serenity when life is overwhelming and hectic. My Great-Grandfather hand built the
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