me as the house in which I grew up. I must admit that this house‚ although enormous‚ was neither the nicest nor the most comfortable house‚ yet my nostalgic nature has propelled me to treasure that house above all others. Having parted it for almost ten years‚ some details of the house are out of my grasp. The memory of the house now stands as a symbol of my childhood. It is the only place that I remember nothing but pure happiness‚ suffused with youthful innocence and carefree laughter that would
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First off i’m going to tell you some things about my pup i got back in 2010 and i dearly miss this dog and his name is Dirt Well first it was October 23‚ 2010 my uncles dog had puppys and I was the first to chose one out of the litter. I chose one that was a dusty red/brown pup with a white around his neck‚ paws he had no tail he was bobbed. I was in love with this puppy he would always sleep with me every night stay by my side‚ wait for me at the door it made me happy had a tiny mean puppy waiting
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Eighteen years ago‚ my parents moved to the United States from Ukraine to create a better life for our family. Growing up here I found myself becoming easily accustomed to the American ways‚ but even though my family and I may have gotten used to that way of life we never lost sight of our Ukrainian culture. When I think about it‚ the best way that I can describe what my culture is like would be a jigsaw puzzle. When making a puzzle one begins with connecting as many pieces to each other until the
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observations using behavioural categories. Content analyses can also collect quantitative data. These data can be interpreted fairly easily with averages‚ measures of dispersion and graphs (pages 52–53) and are typically objective. Qualitative data are descriptive‚ e.g. answers to open questions from self-reports (page 41) and detailed findings from observations and content analyses. They are harder to analyse as you need to look for
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Descriptive Portrait: My Grandmother When I picture my grandmother‚ I envision shiny grey hair‚ bright blue eyes‚ and the softest hands I have every felt. She is 94 years old and has 12 children. Virginia Irene Dill has raised many children‚ and that makes her the strongest person I know. When I walk through the door of her 75 year old home‚ I think of all the pain and joy my grandmother went through there. After so many years‚ our time together was not quite the same as it used to be since ten
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reintroduced to a few things that I already knew. Each week I was pushed to challenge myself. In the past six weeks‚ I have learned that when reading critically I need to take my time‚ and take a step back from the obvious‚ to fully understand the purpose of the author’s tone and word choice. In addition‚ I’ve learned to expand my mind when it comes to the different types of writing styles. Not all authors are straightforward‚ some are more complex. That level of complexity can come from the day to day
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the first thing that cried out of my mother’s mouth as the back entryway swung open. The chipped wood on the door‚ the scattered coins‚ the front door wide open‚ and the red purse turned upside down had the entire family in shock. This would be a Thanksgiving Day the whole family would never forget. It would likewise be my first phone call to the police. Slowly the phone rang and the officer said‚ “911 what is your emergency?” I answered‚ saying‚ “Help‚ help my house has been robbed”‚ much to
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Today is my 13th birthday‚ I was on the way to get the cake when I was pulled into the alleyway by a man with a mask. As if my brother knew I was in trouble he flew into the alleyway with a killer look in his eyes. “I will give you two seconds to let go of my sister.” he growled dangerously to the man. I tried to run but the hard grip on my arm told me otherwise. “NOW.” He yelled to make his point. The gun slung me to the ground as he drew his weapon and before my brother had time to draw his own
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Ideal Vacation My family had always looked forward to leaving the valley during the torrid summer months. You see I never really had an actual vacation‚ since my father had been gone for eight long‚ dreadful years. He was sent away to a prison thousands of miles away‚ in Florida‚ when I was only six years old. My loving mother talked about ancient vacations we took‚ but I was too young to remember. My father was back home and he was as healthy as a young doctor. It was now summer of 2010‚ and I
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“The Darkest Night of My Life and How God Save Me” Our lives are composed of sorrows and joys. If today we are happy‚ tomorrow we may be sad and vice versa. There are times when everything seems to be perfect and nothing can compare with the happiness that we feel during those unforgettable‚ momentous days‚ while there are some moments when life becomes so sad that they leave a trace of it for the rest of our life. The darkest night of my life was the day my grandmother died. She’s not only a
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