The First and the Last Visit To Cedar Crest Drive There is a full moon. It is pitch black and raining outside. As I lookdown the street I can see the fog setting only feet away from me. It is on this evening when my curiosity gets the best of me. I want to know why my mother never allowed me to go down Cedar Crest Drive. I’ve heard many stories about a haunted house down there. The stories‚ however‚ have varied. I heard somebody had been gruesomely murdered in there. I also
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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 to hold all of our belongings. I wanted a room to hide away from the screaming children‚ which was my main goal. After we built the room it was big enough to hold two dressers
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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 apartment it would shake from side to side and occasionally would hold someone captive until the elevator repairman came to get them out. My apartment was located on the third floor. It had a small foyer with a small closet to the left‚ a living room that measured 11 feet by 17 feet . It also had a very small kitchen that only one person could cook in at a time otherwise you would be constantly bumping into the other cook. Next to the small kitchen was a half size bathroom whose vanity mirror would
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bathroom‚ which isn’t exactly what I’d call home‚ connects two rooms. First opening the wooden door and pushing the metal handle down‚ it was cold and didn’t have a “homey” feeling. Surrounded by white brick walls floored with flattened carpet that seems to go with almost any color. As far as a working space‚ it’s pretty simple. It includes a basic wooden desk and cushioned chair under it. Once I unpacked and “spiced up the place” a bit‚ the room didn’t look too bad. As with every housing building there
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of my front door. A “Welcome” door mat lies on the porch of my home‚ awaiting visitors. On the other side of the front door is an elegant home in which I reside in. To me‚ there is no place like home. On the first floor of my home are the living room‚ kitchen and den. The sweet aroma of my mother’s fried chicken defines our home. When family or friends come over they always expect my mom to be in the kitchen cooking. Her fried chicken is everyone’s favorite which draws them to the kitchen as they
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Home Sweet Home As you walk through the big white wooden door to my one-story house that contains four bedrooms‚ we have our new brown suede couches. In the front corner there’s a 50” plasma TV rested on a glass TV stand with different types of systems laying on the shelves including a stereo‚ DVD player‚ and a cable box. By our brick fireplace there is a really tall 80’s speaker along with another one laying on top of the wall. When you first walk through my door and look straight you there’s
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just talking any kind of chaos‚ it’s organized chaos. Between the yells‚ the disagreements‚ the fun‚ the anger‚ the fouls‚ and the joy you find team harmony that no other sport can obtain. The lights dim as the home team bursts out of the locker rooms doors like a dolphin bursts out of the water for a fresh breath of air. The floor then became filled with six foot men in jerseys and shorts; often you would see what seemed like a short man compared to the other tower-like bodies but that made an
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through the roof. I stealthily entered the dark living room. Windows covered with dirt‚ the moonlight struggled to get through the darkness in thin rays. The sofa and chairs fell over revealing deep grooves on the ground where they had sat for so long. Wallpaper lay curled on the floor. A large hole dug through the wall stood as though daring anything or anyone to enter. Picture frames hanged crooked. An awkward bookcase sat in the corner of the room‚ undisturbed for a long time. Selecting the correct
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house. There is a grand wrap around porch that is decorated with rocking chairs and assortments of breathtaking flowerpots that my Great-Grandmother puts together. My favorite room in the house is the kitchen that is always filled with the aroma of fresh handmade dinner rolls and homegrown vegetables. Many of the rooms are adorned in old family photos and beautiful hand painted porcelain dolls. Behind the house is a large and weathered red barn accompanied by two tall and tattered grain silos
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