Showing posts with label Anna. Show all posts
THURSDAY, JUNE 4, 2009
Anna Holt
English 9
Mr. Salsich
June 4th, 2009
Possibility:
An Esaay
One evening, wedged like a stopper between two days, step outside. Lie back on the dirty sidewalk outside your apartment or on the grass of your manicured lawn. Look up. You will see the sky, vast and unknown, and within the twinkling stars above, you will see possibility. You will feel the obsessive thoughts of what must be, of what will be, the solidity of the future, fade. (Parallelism- “you will) Like poets William Stafford, William Wordsworth and Emily Dickinson, you will see life as the limitless phenomenon that it truly is. Take a moment, one day, to lie back and look up, to witness with your own two eyes the beautiful infinity of what could be.
As William Stafford states, “It could happen any time.” He leaves it up to the reader to define precisely what “it” is, and perhaps that is what makes his words so truly brilliant. “It” is our greatest desire, our truest love, our deepest fear, our best friend. (Tetra colon) It is “tornado, earthquake, Armageddon, (…) or sunshine, love, salvation.” Mr. Stafford’s message is that life will defy probability, and that tomorrow is as unknown as the grand abyss of the sky above. With your next breath, “it could happen,” whatever “it” may be. There are “no guarantees in this life,” no promises of what tomorrow will bring. Life is possibility.
Another poet, Emily Dickinson, seems to agree with Mr. Stafford’s way of thinking. Looking at a collection of her work, one will notice that she often refers to the theme of opportunity and the unknown prospect of the future. She “dwell[s] in possibility.” She seems to say that living this way is better, that it is “more numerous of Windows--Superior--for Doors.” Those who are able to look at life with an unsure opinion about what is to come will see happiness, opportunities. She lives in questions. “Will there really be a ‘Morning’?Is there such a thing as ‘Day?’” she asks. Ms. Dickinson questions even the most fundamental guarantees of life, challenging the things most fail to consider. She “dwell[s] in possibility.”
A third poet who has lived this way is William Wordsworth. While he does not write directly about the uncertainty of what tomorrow will bring, his works show that his beliefs are in tune with those of Stafford and Dickinson. In his poem “Tintern Abbey,” Wordsworth discusses a place he once loved, and seems to imply that it is a place he will continue to return to in his mind as his life progresses. He does not specify what is before him, for his path is unknown. His works, like Dickinson’s, also challenge fundamental things that most of us see as concrete. His poem “The World Is Too Much with Us,” for example, speaks about his somewhat extravagant wishes for a world in which human interference is absent from nature. He wishes to “have sight of Proteus rising from the sea;Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn.” In an indirect and casual manner, Wordsworth lives the life that Stafford and Dickinson speak of.
Perhaps there are probabilities in life. Statistics will show that the sun will probably rise again tomorrow, that your life will probably progress along a predictable path. You will probably die someday, you will probably not achieve your wildest dreams in one lifetime. However, tomorrow is yet to come. Life is like the sky above, the twinkling moon, the untouchable stars. Do not forget that your life begins anew each day. Do dwell in possibility; It could happen.
English 9
Mr. Salsich
June 4th, 2009
Possibility:
An Esaay
One evening, wedged like a stopper between two days, step outside. Lie back on the dirty sidewalk outside your apartment or on the grass of your manicured lawn. Look up. You will see the sky, vast and unknown, and within the twinkling stars above, you will see possibility. You will feel the obsessive thoughts of what must be, of what will be, the solidity of the future, fade. (Parallelism- “you will) Like poets William Stafford, William Wordsworth and Emily Dickinson, you will see life as the limitless phenomenon that it truly is. Take a moment, one day, to lie back and look up, to witness with your own two eyes the beautiful infinity of what could be.
As William Stafford states, “It could happen any time.” He leaves it up to the reader to define precisely what “it” is, and perhaps that is what makes his words so truly brilliant. “It” is our greatest desire, our truest love, our deepest fear, our best friend. (Tetra colon) It is “tornado, earthquake, Armageddon, (…) or sunshine, love, salvation.” Mr. Stafford’s message is that life will defy probability, and that tomorrow is as unknown as the grand abyss of the sky above. With your next breath, “it could happen,” whatever “it” may be. There are “no guarantees in this life,” no promises of what tomorrow will bring. Life is possibility.
Another poet, Emily Dickinson, seems to agree with Mr. Stafford’s way of thinking. Looking at a collection of her work, one will notice that she often refers to the theme of opportunity and the unknown prospect of the future. She “dwell[s] in possibility.” She seems to say that living this way is better, that it is “more numerous of Windows--Superior--for Doors.” Those who are able to look at life with an unsure opinion about what is to come will see happiness, opportunities. She lives in questions. “Will there really be a ‘Morning’?Is there such a thing as ‘Day?’” she asks. Ms. Dickinson questions even the most fundamental guarantees of life, challenging the things most fail to consider. She “dwell[s] in possibility.”
A third poet who has lived this way is William Wordsworth. While he does not write directly about the uncertainty of what tomorrow will bring, his works show that his beliefs are in tune with those of Stafford and Dickinson. In his poem “Tintern Abbey,” Wordsworth discusses a place he once loved, and seems to imply that it is a place he will continue to return to in his mind as his life progresses. He does not specify what is before him, for his path is unknown. His works, like Dickinson’s, also challenge fundamental things that most of us see as concrete. His poem “The World Is Too Much with Us,” for example, speaks about his somewhat extravagant wishes for a world in which human interference is absent from nature. He wishes to “have sight of Proteus rising from the sea;Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn.” In an indirect and casual manner, Wordsworth lives the life that Stafford and Dickinson speak of.
Perhaps there are probabilities in life. Statistics will show that the sun will probably rise again tomorrow, that your life will probably progress along a predictable path. You will probably die someday, you will probably not achieve your wildest dreams in one lifetime. However, tomorrow is yet to come. Life is like the sky above, the twinkling moon, the untouchable stars. Do not forget that your life begins anew each day. Do dwell in possibility; It could happen.
WEDNESDAY, MAY 13, 2009
Anna Holt
May 19, 2009
Mr. Salsich
English 9
Carpe Diem:
A Passage, A Stone, and A Wish
Breath in. Feel air as it sinks into your body, warm spring air with the promise of summer lingering somewhere nearby. As you release this air, say goodbye. Bid a sweet farewell, for it will never return in the precise state. Similarly, a poem will never be read twice the same way. A garden rock will look different each time it is gazed upon no matter how stable it is. Time will not stand still. Embrace today.
A certain passage of Rainer Maria Rilke's speaks about the ever-changing world. However, it has an underlying theme of seizing the moment. As the old Latin scholars have taught us, Carpe Diem. Every opportunity, we must take, because as Rilke mentions, "life is transformation." It is constantly changing, and the opportunities we have one moment will be gone the next. Everything and anything we "encounter" is unique in itself, a beautiful oddity that we may never again have the honor of seeing. We must see everything as surreal, for time is fleeting. These beauties around us, these "things [that] sense our avid interest," are fleeting. Life will not wait for us to catch up on the things we have failed to acknowledge.
There are some things that seem to challenge this proactive view of living. At a glance, the garden stone that sits on Mr. Salsich's desk contradicts what Rilke is teaching in this passage. Solid and still, (appositive-opener) a rock is a dull constant that remains unfazed (FAST) by the changes in its environment. It is a perfect contradiction to Rilke's teachings that "life is transformation," because a rock is almost entirely unchanging. However, perhaps Rilke is trying to make the point that we are what is changing. To us, each moment is unique, whether or not our surroundings are stable. Perhaps the things around us will stay exactly as they are for all of eternity, but we will not. The garden stone will, technically, look the same every time we look at it. However, as we grow and gain insight, the rock will become something different. Perhaps one morning it will look like a weapon, and the next it will be, to us, a piece of art, and maybe one day it will turn into a simple beauty that nature has presented for our enjoyment. We will change. Time will change, and each moment is its own.
Rilke's message represents everything I wish to be. I wish to love time the way I love the most splendid attributes of my life. I wish to love each moment as if it were better than the last, to take advantage of a truly ever-changing world and live it all. Recently, I have been neglecting (FAST) these wishes. They have been forgotten in a rush of studies, a wave of energy, a storm of fear, and an overwhelming sensation of loss (Tetracoleon climax). Today, I pledge to re-construct these wishes and to enjoy my last three weeks at a place a call home. I will expand each moment to be worth just as much as it should be, for "the possibility of intensifying things so that they reveal their essence depends [...]on our participation." I will remember Rilke's words, knowing, as I make my way through these last few weeks, that today will never exist again.(Participle-closer) Every moment of emotion will be "vastly heightened" by appreciation. I will seize the day. (Purposeful Repitition- 'I will")
Whether it be in a poem, a garden stone, or perhaps an armature (FAST) high school essay, let something teach you this lesson: The world will continue to turn even as your life comes to a halt. The stars will still rise and the wind will still fall. Life will not love us tomorrow if we fail to recognize the things it offers today. (antithesis) Go now, away from this essay and away from your worries, I beg you. Another moment has just slipped by: Carpe Diem.
_______________________________________________
Self Assessment:
I really enjoyed writing this essay. I liked the topic and I think I did a good job making my point clear. I also like my repetition of "Carpe Diem," and i think it will leave an impression on the reader. I wish that I had paid more attention to the special tools before the last minute. I had some trouble finding a place for antithesis and also for tetracolon climax. I also think this essay might be a little repetitive and wish i had made it longer so that i could have expanded on my ideas in more specific ways. I also think that the second body paragraph lacks some grace and elegance. Perhaps this happened because i made such a big effort to clarify my thought. I would give myself an A- on this essay
May 19, 2009
Mr. Salsich
English 9
Carpe Diem:
A Passage, A Stone, and A Wish
Breath in. Feel air as it sinks into your body, warm spring air with the promise of summer lingering somewhere nearby. As you release this air, say goodbye. Bid a sweet farewell, for it will never return in the precise state. Similarly, a poem will never be read twice the same way. A garden rock will look different each time it is gazed upon no matter how stable it is. Time will not stand still. Embrace today.
A certain passage of Rainer Maria Rilke's speaks about the ever-changing world. However, it has an underlying theme of seizing the moment. As the old Latin scholars have taught us, Carpe Diem. Every opportunity, we must take, because as Rilke mentions, "life is transformation." It is constantly changing, and the opportunities we have one moment will be gone the next. Everything and anything we "encounter" is unique in itself, a beautiful oddity that we may never again have the honor of seeing. We must see everything as surreal, for time is fleeting. These beauties around us, these "things [that] sense our avid interest," are fleeting. Life will not wait for us to catch up on the things we have failed to acknowledge.
There are some things that seem to challenge this proactive view of living. At a glance, the garden stone that sits on Mr. Salsich's desk contradicts what Rilke is teaching in this passage. Solid and still, (appositive-opener) a rock is a dull constant that remains unfazed (FAST) by the changes in its environment. It is a perfect contradiction to Rilke's teachings that "life is transformation," because a rock is almost entirely unchanging. However, perhaps Rilke is trying to make the point that we are what is changing. To us, each moment is unique, whether or not our surroundings are stable. Perhaps the things around us will stay exactly as they are for all of eternity, but we will not. The garden stone will, technically, look the same every time we look at it. However, as we grow and gain insight, the rock will become something different. Perhaps one morning it will look like a weapon, and the next it will be, to us, a piece of art, and maybe one day it will turn into a simple beauty that nature has presented for our enjoyment. We will change. Time will change, and each moment is its own.
Rilke's message represents everything I wish to be. I wish to love time the way I love the most splendid attributes of my life. I wish to love each moment as if it were better than the last, to take advantage of a truly ever-changing world and live it all. Recently, I have been neglecting (FAST) these wishes. They have been forgotten in a rush of studies, a wave of energy, a storm of fear, and an overwhelming sensation of loss (Tetracoleon climax). Today, I pledge to re-construct these wishes and to enjoy my last three weeks at a place a call home. I will expand each moment to be worth just as much as it should be, for "the possibility of intensifying things so that they reveal their essence depends [...]on our participation." I will remember Rilke's words, knowing, as I make my way through these last few weeks, that today will never exist again.(Participle-closer) Every moment of emotion will be "vastly heightened" by appreciation. I will seize the day. (Purposeful Repitition- 'I will")
Whether it be in a poem, a garden stone, or perhaps an armature (FAST) high school essay, let something teach you this lesson: The world will continue to turn even as your life comes to a halt. The stars will still rise and the wind will still fall. Life will not love us tomorrow if we fail to recognize the things it offers today. (antithesis) Go now, away from this essay and away from your worries, I beg you. Another moment has just slipped by: Carpe Diem.
_______________________________________________
Self Assessment:
I really enjoyed writing this essay. I liked the topic and I think I did a good job making my point clear. I also like my repetition of "Carpe Diem," and i think it will leave an impression on the reader. I wish that I had paid more attention to the special tools before the last minute. I had some trouble finding a place for antithesis and also for tetracolon climax. I also think this essay might be a little repetitive and wish i had made it longer so that i could have expanded on my ideas in more specific ways. I also think that the second body paragraph lacks some grace and elegance. Perhaps this happened because i made such a big effort to clarify my thought. I would give myself an A- on this essay
MONDAY, MAY 4, 2009
Anna Holt
9 English
Mr. Sasich
May 6th, 2009
Goodbye and Hello:
An Essay On Departure
There is nothing quite like goodbye. Its ambiguity is troubling, yet the finality that it carries seems straightforward. The interpretations of parting vary from the hazy (FAST) opinions of Emily Dickinson to the simple thoughts of Naomi Shihab Nye to the lost confusion of a teenage girl. However, it seems to be a universal belief that sometimes the power of absence is astounding. Parting leaves a lasting effect. It "glimmers."
Perhaps the greatest question is not what a goodbye is, but what it means. According to Emily Dickinson, a goodbye is both a blessing and a curse, a mystery that can be bundled up into a word as simple as "adios." The look in your eye as you say goodbye to a section of your life speaks volumes. However the text that this look creates is foreign, confusing. A goodbye is"all we know of heaven, and all we need of hell." It is a sour grape or a bittersweet apple, subjectively enjoyable and potentially unpleasant. Dickinson portrays this message by relating the parting we face in life to the ultimate goodbye of death itself. "My life closed twice before its close,"she says, referring to previous endings she had encountered as miniature replicas of death. She does not try to predict any other closings she might experience in her life, or what these endings may mean, or even whether her past goodbyes have been heaven sent angels or hell driven monsters. Endings are a mystery too "hopeless to conceive." Parting is a riddle, and there are no answers for the questions it presents until it greets us like an unexpected storm or a long lost friend back for a summer time visit.
Naomi Shihab Nye's poem "Adios," speak about the benefits of such a puzzle. She describes parting as the most powerful means of appreciation and acknowledgement. The things that disappear are the things that warm our hands on cold autumn days, the things that "bring[] tears into [our] eyes;" tears that cascade beautifully down our faces as we remember a part of life that is now gone. She implies that perhaps, as difficult as it is to admit to ourselves, goodbye is the most beautiful word in the world. It is our goodbyes that transform the world into a place of freedom, a place we can test the unknown without a care, "letting everything, easily, go." By allowing us to say goodbye, parting lets us live.
My life thus far has had few endings, few goodbyes, and none grand enough to be related to death. My life has been steady; one strong family, one unchanging home, one consistent street, one small town. And (purposeful incorrect use of "and") one cherished (FAST), simple school nestled in between the pine trees and shrubbery of Barnes Road. My first goodbye is before me, looming closer with every passing moment. The ship of time that will carry me to the next chapter of my life becomes clearer each day as it sails towards me, emerging like a giant from a once-foggylandscape. The goodbye that I will soon face has, until very recently, looked distant and clouded. However now it follows me, an inevitable part of my near future. I will soon meet my dreaded close.
Sooner or later, for better or for worst, goodbye will come. (Periodic Sentence) We will be forced to let go of hand we once held, the fear we once fought, the song we once sung. (Loose Sentence) We will save these things away, folded memories kept in the back of our minds for a rainy day. We will have the strength to say goodnight to the past, to look at tomorrow with courage, with freedom, and with strength.
________________________________________________________
Self Assessment
What I like about this essay is that it is personal. Everything I said was honest and true, particularly my paragraph about leaving Pine Point. One thing I'm concerned about is my vagueness. I think some of my ideas could have been a little more specific. I also hope my organization was okay. I hope my chunks were well developed and straightforward. In a way, i also wish this essay was a little bit longer. I feel like i have a lot to say on this topic and that maybe i crammed too much description into one essay. I would give myself an A- on this essay.
9 English
Mr. Sasich
May 6th, 2009
Goodbye and Hello:
An Essay On Departure
There is nothing quite like goodbye. Its ambiguity is troubling, yet the finality that it carries seems straightforward. The interpretations of parting vary from the hazy (FAST) opinions of Emily Dickinson to the simple thoughts of Naomi Shihab Nye to the lost confusion of a teenage girl. However, it seems to be a universal belief that sometimes the power of absence is astounding. Parting leaves a lasting effect. It "glimmers."
Perhaps the greatest question is not what a goodbye is, but what it means. According to Emily Dickinson, a goodbye is both a blessing and a curse, a mystery that can be bundled up into a word as simple as "adios." The look in your eye as you say goodbye to a section of your life speaks volumes. However the text that this look creates is foreign, confusing. A goodbye is"all we know of heaven, and all we need of hell." It is a sour grape or a bittersweet apple, subjectively enjoyable and potentially unpleasant. Dickinson portrays this message by relating the parting we face in life to the ultimate goodbye of death itself. "My life closed twice before its close,"she says, referring to previous endings she had encountered as miniature replicas of death. She does not try to predict any other closings she might experience in her life, or what these endings may mean, or even whether her past goodbyes have been heaven sent angels or hell driven monsters. Endings are a mystery too "hopeless to conceive." Parting is a riddle, and there are no answers for the questions it presents until it greets us like an unexpected storm or a long lost friend back for a summer time visit.
Naomi Shihab Nye's poem "Adios," speak about the benefits of such a puzzle. She describes parting as the most powerful means of appreciation and acknowledgement. The things that disappear are the things that warm our hands on cold autumn days, the things that "bring[] tears into [our] eyes;" tears that cascade beautifully down our faces as we remember a part of life that is now gone. She implies that perhaps, as difficult as it is to admit to ourselves, goodbye is the most beautiful word in the world. It is our goodbyes that transform the world into a place of freedom, a place we can test the unknown without a care, "letting everything, easily, go." By allowing us to say goodbye, parting lets us live.
My life thus far has had few endings, few goodbyes, and none grand enough to be related to death. My life has been steady; one strong family, one unchanging home, one consistent street, one small town. And (purposeful incorrect use of "and") one cherished (FAST), simple school nestled in between the pine trees and shrubbery of Barnes Road. My first goodbye is before me, looming closer with every passing moment. The ship of time that will carry me to the next chapter of my life becomes clearer each day as it sails towards me, emerging like a giant from a once-foggylandscape. The goodbye that I will soon face has, until very recently, looked distant and clouded. However now it follows me, an inevitable part of my near future. I will soon meet my dreaded close.
Sooner or later, for better or for worst, goodbye will come. (Periodic Sentence) We will be forced to let go of hand we once held, the fear we once fought, the song we once sung. (Loose Sentence) We will save these things away, folded memories kept in the back of our minds for a rainy day. We will have the strength to say goodnight to the past, to look at tomorrow with courage, with freedom, and with strength.
________________________________________________________
Self Assessment
What I like about this essay is that it is personal. Everything I said was honest and true, particularly my paragraph about leaving Pine Point. One thing I'm concerned about is my vagueness. I think some of my ideas could have been a little more specific. I also hope my organization was okay. I hope my chunks were well developed and straightforward. In a way, i also wish this essay was a little bit longer. I feel like i have a lot to say on this topic and that maybe i crammed too much description into one essay. I would give myself an A- on this essay.
MONDAY, APRIL 27, 2009
Anna Holt
9 English
Mr. Salsich
April 28, 2009
Kindness:
A Reflection
There is no doubt that bravery is an admirable trait. No one questions the value of friendship, and diligence (SAT) is important to say the least. Humor is bright and honesty is worthy, however there is something that flies high above the regular values we find in our lives. Whether it be in a poem, a short story, or our own lives, it is eternal. Kindness represents the good in the world.
(Ts) In Naomi Shihab Nye's poem, "Kindness," she seems to say that this fact is prearranged. (Sd)Her words imply that the value of compassion goes without saying, that it is the very core of goodness. (Cm)She says that there are times when all seems to be lost that we will learn that "only kindness [can] tie your shoes." (Cm) Her poem reminds us that kindness can save a seemingly dead soul from its sorrow. (Sd) However, on a deeper level, Ms. Nye speaks about what it takes for us to value kindness. (Cm) She says that often, we ignore its wonder simply because we have not yet experienced the sorrow we feel when it is absent. (Cm) You must be scared, and "feel the future dissolve in a moment." (Cs)You must be lonely and cold before you can understand the importance of compassion; "Before you know what kindness really is, you must lose things."
(Ts)At the end of "Winter Dreams" by F. Scott Fitzgerald, Dexter Green proves Ms. Nye's point and seems to have let the will to live slip from the grasp of his shaking hands because of a lack of kindness. (Sd) As he looks at his situation in destitute, he remembers "something in [him], but now that thing is gone." (Cm) He remembers charming laughter escaping from the memorizing lips of Judy Jones. (Cm) He remembers her smile, her hair, her voice, her young eyes gleaming in the sun that warmed the summer they fell in love. (tetracolon) (Sd)He remembers her body and her mind, and on a grander and perhaps subconscious scale, he remembers her kindness. (Cm) It was her kindness, simple and pure, (appositive) that led to everything that made Dexter happy. (Cm)Perhaps it did not make her charming, but it gave her the reason to charm Dexter, and perhaps kindness is not to blame for her intelligence, it was what fueled her to use her mind in positive ways. (Sd3)It was her heart that led to his love. (Cm) The reason for Dexter's unhappiness at the end of the story was that he was lacking this kindness he had once grown to adore. (Cm)While the story ends for the reader, Dexter's life is not over. (Cs)He is simply learning the hard way "how desolate the landscape can be between the regions of kindness."
(Ts)Like that of Dexter Green, my happiness is dependant on kindness. (Sd)It is this aesthetic (SAT) use of one's soul that brings me joy. (Cm) The source of kindness is insignificant, for the mere presence of compassion produces comfort, calming my mind and warming my smile (Loose). (Sd) Kindness does not have to be in large acts, and is often more powerful when used in subtle, seemingly mundane (SAT) ways. (Cm)The stranger on the sidewalk, picking up trash with a smile on her face, the man greeting his friend as he gets off the plane; these are enough to bring warmth to any soul. (Cm)We often forget the value of simple kindness and the importance of benevolence. (Cs)Humanity is priceless. (Cs2)Kindness is essential.
Kindness is the sun hidden on a cloudy day. It is the heart of warmth in our lives, however more often than not, it is hidden by the more overbearing issues of our days, the rainstorms of our lives. (loose) It is a light, and we must carry it with us no matter how our lives unfold. It will watch over us, "like a shadow or a friend."
_____________________________
SELF ASSESSMENT:
I liked this essay a lot. I think if i was to do it again, I would try to make the third body paragraph more specific. I also wish i had more time to work on this essay and I feel like if i started it earlier, I would have been able to improve it. I liked how I was able to bring my ideas out in a strong way while still maintaining good organization, and I am especially proud of my concluding sentence. I'm still working on using the special tools for writing to ENHANCE my writing, and trying really hard not to "over-write."
I would give myself an A-
9 English
Mr. Salsich
April 28, 2009
Kindness:
A Reflection
There is no doubt that bravery is an admirable trait. No one questions the value of friendship, and diligence (SAT) is important to say the least. Humor is bright and honesty is worthy, however there is something that flies high above the regular values we find in our lives. Whether it be in a poem, a short story, or our own lives, it is eternal. Kindness represents the good in the world.
(Ts) In Naomi Shihab Nye's poem, "Kindness," she seems to say that this fact is prearranged. (Sd)Her words imply that the value of compassion goes without saying, that it is the very core of goodness. (Cm)She says that there are times when all seems to be lost that we will learn that "only kindness [can] tie your shoes." (Cm) Her poem reminds us that kindness can save a seemingly dead soul from its sorrow. (Sd) However, on a deeper level, Ms. Nye speaks about what it takes for us to value kindness. (Cm) She says that often, we ignore its wonder simply because we have not yet experienced the sorrow we feel when it is absent. (Cm) You must be scared, and "feel the future dissolve in a moment." (Cs)You must be lonely and cold before you can understand the importance of compassion; "Before you know what kindness really is, you must lose things."
(Ts)At the end of "Winter Dreams" by F. Scott Fitzgerald, Dexter Green proves Ms. Nye's point and seems to have let the will to live slip from the grasp of his shaking hands because of a lack of kindness. (Sd) As he looks at his situation in destitute, he remembers "something in [him], but now that thing is gone." (Cm) He remembers charming laughter escaping from the memorizing lips of Judy Jones. (Cm) He remembers her smile, her hair, her voice, her young eyes gleaming in the sun that warmed the summer they fell in love. (tetracolon) (Sd)He remembers her body and her mind, and on a grander and perhaps subconscious scale, he remembers her kindness. (Cm) It was her kindness, simple and pure, (appositive) that led to everything that made Dexter happy. (Cm)Perhaps it did not make her charming, but it gave her the reason to charm Dexter, and perhaps kindness is not to blame for her intelligence, it was what fueled her to use her mind in positive ways. (Sd3)It was her heart that led to his love. (Cm) The reason for Dexter's unhappiness at the end of the story was that he was lacking this kindness he had once grown to adore. (Cm)While the story ends for the reader, Dexter's life is not over. (Cs)He is simply learning the hard way "how desolate the landscape can be between the regions of kindness."
(Ts)Like that of Dexter Green, my happiness is dependant on kindness. (Sd)It is this aesthetic (SAT) use of one's soul that brings me joy. (Cm) The source of kindness is insignificant, for the mere presence of compassion produces comfort, calming my mind and warming my smile (Loose). (Sd) Kindness does not have to be in large acts, and is often more powerful when used in subtle, seemingly mundane (SAT) ways. (Cm)The stranger on the sidewalk, picking up trash with a smile on her face, the man greeting his friend as he gets off the plane; these are enough to bring warmth to any soul. (Cm)We often forget the value of simple kindness and the importance of benevolence. (Cs)Humanity is priceless. (Cs2)Kindness is essential.
Kindness is the sun hidden on a cloudy day. It is the heart of warmth in our lives, however more often than not, it is hidden by the more overbearing issues of our days, the rainstorms of our lives. (loose) It is a light, and we must carry it with us no matter how our lives unfold. It will watch over us, "like a shadow or a friend."
_____________________________
SELF ASSESSMENT:
I liked this essay a lot. I think if i was to do it again, I would try to make the third body paragraph more specific. I also wish i had more time to work on this essay and I feel like if i started it earlier, I would have been able to improve it. I liked how I was able to bring my ideas out in a strong way while still maintaining good organization, and I am especially proud of my concluding sentence. I'm still working on using the special tools for writing to ENHANCE my writing, and trying really hard not to "over-write."
I would give myself an A-
MONDAY, APRIL 20, 2009
Anna Holt
9 English
Mr. Salsich
4/20/2009
Constructed By Sentiment:
An Comparison of Views
(1) A person starts out as a stick figure, plain, nondescript. (2) Soon, this generic model of a human is given a family and a gender and a name, and in what seems like no time, the black and white figure is beginning to change, wearing a red shirt or a short blond bowl-cut.(Participle) (3) They go about their days, moving around their two dimensional world with precision. (4) However, there is something that changes this mechanicalway of life. (5) One can not live this way forever, and it is with their hearts that they are able to climb out from the paper on which they are drawn. (6) It is with sentiment that they smile.
(Ts) While it is indeed this grand idea of the human heart that leads to true happiness, an excess of emotion will result in a muddled and confused life. (Sd) In Emily Dickinson's poem "I'm Nobody," she speaks about the loveliness of naturally limited emotion. (Cm) She talks about how "dreary (it would be) to be somebody," and seems to define "somebody" as a soul who is so filled with superfluous (SAT word) emotion, they are focused on all the wrong matters in life. (Cm) Emily, wishing for emotional freedom, (appositive) implies that it is better to be rid of dramatic feelings. (Sd) She claims that simplicity is the best way to handle the feelings that dance about within us. (Cm) Her poem says that we must ignore thecondescending (SAT word) opinions of others, and instead focus on simpler, more meaningful matters. (Cm) We must throw away any feelings we have that would make us a "somebody," and embrace only the pure, deep feelings that our souls produce. (Cs) Perhaps an excess of emotion does indeed cause a restrained life. (CS2) Perhaps its nice to be nobody.
(Ts) A similar idea about sentiment is implied in Katherine Mansfield's short story, "The Garden Party." (Sd) As Laura sets eyes upon a dead man who lived a modest life, she does not see loss in his face. (Cm) On the contrary, she sees peace. (Cm) She witnesses happiness as the face of thedeceased seems to say to her, "All is well [...]. This is just as it should be. I am content." (Sd) What Laura takes away from this experience is a viewsimilar to that of Emily Dickinson. (Cm) This man's face, so serene even in death, is proof that those who live purely and simply will be happy. (Cm) They are free from an overload of dramatic and unnecessary sentiment so that there is room left for the more pure emotions of life. (Cs) The man, resting quietly under the gaze of his loved ones, (participle) lived in poverty,constantly frowned upon by his wealthier neighbors.(Cs2) Laura, however, found that in the end, his simple sentiment led to sheer tranquility.
(Ts)In Naomi Shihab Nye's poem, "The Traveling Onion," she reminds us of a greater idea about sentiment. (Sd) While it is possible that she agrees with Ms. Mansfield and Ms. Dickinson, Nye's poem speaks to the fact that our soul, unfixed and ever-changing, is held together with sentiment. (Appositive)(Cm) We are defined by our emotions, by our memories. (Cm) Her poem is reminding us that when we "fall[] apart on the chopping block," when our souls are exposed to the world, it is neither our accomplishments nor our current situations that define us, but our passions, our fears, our sentiment. (Sd) We are the onion, made up of "pearly layers in smooth agreement" and "small forgotten miracles." (Cm) The layers are our feelings, our passions and our joys and our fears which sit alongside one another in harmony. (Cm) The neglected miracles represent our memories, the things we cared for once which we hold dear to us still. (Cs) When we let our sentiment die, we are an onion lost in a stew, "limp [and] divided."
(1) At the dawn of our existence, the world is a blank sheet of paper, and we are merely the black and white figurines that occupy its blank canvas. (2) We will grow, and as we do experiences and emotions will mold us into who we are. (3) We will be constructed by sentiment. (4) However, we must not let this beautiful expression of the soul become overbearing. (5) If we manage to forget what "should" be important, if we see simple passion in our emotions, if we let our hearts roam free, that is when we will truly live.
9 English
Mr. Salsich
4/20/2009
Constructed By Sentiment:
An Comparison of Views
(1) A person starts out as a stick figure, plain, nondescript. (2) Soon, this generic model of a human is given a family and a gender and a name, and in what seems like no time, the black and white figure is beginning to change, wearing a red shirt or a short blond bowl-cut.(Participle) (3) They go about their days, moving around their two dimensional world with precision. (4) However, there is something that changes this mechanicalway of life. (5) One can not live this way forever, and it is with their hearts that they are able to climb out from the paper on which they are drawn. (6) It is with sentiment that they smile.
(Ts) While it is indeed this grand idea of the human heart that leads to true happiness, an excess of emotion will result in a muddled and confused life. (Sd) In Emily Dickinson's poem "I'm Nobody," she speaks about the loveliness of naturally limited emotion. (Cm) She talks about how "dreary (it would be) to be somebody," and seems to define "somebody" as a soul who is so filled with superfluous (SAT word) emotion, they are focused on all the wrong matters in life. (Cm) Emily, wishing for emotional freedom, (appositive) implies that it is better to be rid of dramatic feelings. (Sd) She claims that simplicity is the best way to handle the feelings that dance about within us. (Cm) Her poem says that we must ignore thecondescending (SAT word) opinions of others, and instead focus on simpler, more meaningful matters. (Cm) We must throw away any feelings we have that would make us a "somebody," and embrace only the pure, deep feelings that our souls produce. (Cs) Perhaps an excess of emotion does indeed cause a restrained life. (CS2) Perhaps its nice to be nobody.
(Ts) A similar idea about sentiment is implied in Katherine Mansfield's short story, "The Garden Party." (Sd) As Laura sets eyes upon a dead man who lived a modest life, she does not see loss in his face. (Cm) On the contrary, she sees peace. (Cm) She witnesses happiness as the face of thedeceased seems to say to her, "All is well [...]. This is just as it should be. I am content." (Sd) What Laura takes away from this experience is a viewsimilar to that of Emily Dickinson. (Cm) This man's face, so serene even in death, is proof that those who live purely and simply will be happy. (Cm) They are free from an overload of dramatic and unnecessary sentiment so that there is room left for the more pure emotions of life. (Cs) The man, resting quietly under the gaze of his loved ones, (participle) lived in poverty,constantly frowned upon by his wealthier neighbors.(Cs2) Laura, however, found that in the end, his simple sentiment led to sheer tranquility.
(Ts)In Naomi Shihab Nye's poem, "The Traveling Onion," she reminds us of a greater idea about sentiment. (Sd) While it is possible that she agrees with Ms. Mansfield and Ms. Dickinson, Nye's poem speaks to the fact that our soul, unfixed and ever-changing, is held together with sentiment. (Appositive)(Cm) We are defined by our emotions, by our memories. (Cm) Her poem is reminding us that when we "fall[] apart on the chopping block," when our souls are exposed to the world, it is neither our accomplishments nor our current situations that define us, but our passions, our fears, our sentiment. (Sd) We are the onion, made up of "pearly layers in smooth agreement" and "small forgotten miracles." (Cm) The layers are our feelings, our passions and our joys and our fears which sit alongside one another in harmony. (Cm) The neglected miracles represent our memories, the things we cared for once which we hold dear to us still. (Cs) When we let our sentiment die, we are an onion lost in a stew, "limp [and] divided."
(1) At the dawn of our existence, the world is a blank sheet of paper, and we are merely the black and white figurines that occupy its blank canvas. (2) We will grow, and as we do experiences and emotions will mold us into who we are. (3) We will be constructed by sentiment. (4) However, we must not let this beautiful expression of the soul become overbearing. (5) If we manage to forget what "should" be important, if we see simple passion in our emotions, if we let our hearts roam free, that is when we will truly live.
TUESDAY, APRIL 14, 2009
Anna Holt
Mr. Salsich
English 9
April 13, 2009
My Brother, My Friend:
A Reflection on a Poem
Families differ. Some are broken, split down the middle with a sharp knife of neglect, while others are held together with love and support. Some are falling apart, a blanket with frayed edges and weak thread. However, unlike any other phenomenon (FAST) of life, family is forever. While some will disagree, begging us to listen to their story of loss and hurt, a mother will always be a mother and a father will remain a father. No matter the circumstances, a brother will always be a brother, a comrade, a friend.
In Naomi Shihab Nye's ode, "The Little Brother Poem," she speaks about her personal relationship with her sibling. She tells her story with anecdotes and memories; however there is a larger idea at play. In the beginning of the poem, she tells us about inconsequential items that force her mind to remember her brother. She discovers "a packing box, a white rag," and wonders what his reaction would be if he were there with her. These things stand for deeper concepts. Perhaps what Ms. Nye is trying to say is that even in his absence, she continues to discover things about her brother that she had previously ignored- important things, aspects of his personality she had left to rot at the bottom of her list of worries. Perhaps a packing box is a long lost love he never told his sister about, and maybe a white rag represents a hidden anger with the world. As the poem continues, Nye says that she regrets his "face bleeding" as a result of her carelessnesss. These lines, seemingly simple and subtly wise, stand for something more significant than a childhood accident. (Participial Phrase) She is sorry for everything she did that caused her brother pain. Every wound she inflicted, every drop of blood he shed, every tear that she ignited, she regrets. (Asyndeton) In the last line of her poem, Ms. Nye relates "fingering receipts and stubs" to the memories of the two of them that she still holds dear. She hopes to gain his forgiveness, to come back into his life as a stable and supportive friend. She hopes that, at the end of his days, when he craves some form of positive energy, her brother will be able to "find [her] later." She hopes to be there when he doesn't have "so much time".
What was it that inspired this wish to reconnect with her brother? It was love, no doubt, but perhaps the event that triggered this need to act on her sisterly adoration was her own personal pain. In the short story "Sonny's Blues" by James Baldwin, a similar occurrence takes place. For years, Sonny's brother had taken Sonny's troubles as an inevitable snowball of problems. He did not see a solution for his aggrieved (FAST) brother, and therefore looked at the situation as a lost cause. However, when his own promising life came to a halt as his young daughter was taken from him, he sees Sonny's troubles for the first time. His pain "made [Sonny's] real." The same sort of powerful event could have taken place as Ms. Nye decided to go to her brother with offerings of comfort. She makes references to the fact that this apology is sudden. She is "dumping out a whole drawer at once," finally paying attention to her brother's need. Perhaps, after years of blissful ignorance, she had experienced pain of her own. Perhaps suddenly, like the storm that hits an unsuspecting crowd, like a tiger who murders its naive prey, devastation took hold of Ms. Nye's life (periodic sentence). Perhaps "[her] trouble made his real."
In the end, some siblings will not have this revelation (FAST) of understanding for the pain of their relatives. Some will never truly connect and will remain awkwardly tied through the family they were born into. Some will never have had the miscommunication in the first place. No matter what relationship a given family may have, we are eternally tied to our siblings. A brother will always be a brother, a comrade, a friend.
Mr. Salsich
English 9
April 13, 2009
My Brother, My Friend:
A Reflection on a Poem
Families differ. Some are broken, split down the middle with a sharp knife of neglect, while others are held together with love and support. Some are falling apart, a blanket with frayed edges and weak thread. However, unlike any other phenomenon (FAST) of life, family is forever. While some will disagree, begging us to listen to their story of loss and hurt, a mother will always be a mother and a father will remain a father. No matter the circumstances, a brother will always be a brother, a comrade, a friend.
In Naomi Shihab Nye's ode, "The Little Brother Poem," she speaks about her personal relationship with her sibling. She tells her story with anecdotes and memories; however there is a larger idea at play. In the beginning of the poem, she tells us about inconsequential items that force her mind to remember her brother. She discovers "a packing box, a white rag," and wonders what his reaction would be if he were there with her. These things stand for deeper concepts. Perhaps what Ms. Nye is trying to say is that even in his absence, she continues to discover things about her brother that she had previously ignored- important things, aspects of his personality she had left to rot at the bottom of her list of worries. Perhaps a packing box is a long lost love he never told his sister about, and maybe a white rag represents a hidden anger with the world. As the poem continues, Nye says that she regrets his "face bleeding" as a result of her carelessnesss. These lines, seemingly simple and subtly wise, stand for something more significant than a childhood accident. (Participial Phrase) She is sorry for everything she did that caused her brother pain. Every wound she inflicted, every drop of blood he shed, every tear that she ignited, she regrets. (Asyndeton) In the last line of her poem, Ms. Nye relates "fingering receipts and stubs" to the memories of the two of them that she still holds dear. She hopes to gain his forgiveness, to come back into his life as a stable and supportive friend. She hopes that, at the end of his days, when he craves some form of positive energy, her brother will be able to "find [her] later." She hopes to be there when he doesn't have "so much time".
What was it that inspired this wish to reconnect with her brother? It was love, no doubt, but perhaps the event that triggered this need to act on her sisterly adoration was her own personal pain. In the short story "Sonny's Blues" by James Baldwin, a similar occurrence takes place. For years, Sonny's brother had taken Sonny's troubles as an inevitable snowball of problems. He did not see a solution for his aggrieved (FAST) brother, and therefore looked at the situation as a lost cause. However, when his own promising life came to a halt as his young daughter was taken from him, he sees Sonny's troubles for the first time. His pain "made [Sonny's] real." The same sort of powerful event could have taken place as Ms. Nye decided to go to her brother with offerings of comfort. She makes references to the fact that this apology is sudden. She is "dumping out a whole drawer at once," finally paying attention to her brother's need. Perhaps, after years of blissful ignorance, she had experienced pain of her own. Perhaps suddenly, like the storm that hits an unsuspecting crowd, like a tiger who murders its naive prey, devastation took hold of Ms. Nye's life (periodic sentence). Perhaps "[her] trouble made his real."
In the end, some siblings will not have this revelation (FAST) of understanding for the pain of their relatives. Some will never truly connect and will remain awkwardly tied through the family they were born into. Some will never have had the miscommunication in the first place. No matter what relationship a given family may have, we are eternally tied to our siblings. A brother will always be a brother, a comrade, a friend.
TUESDAY, APRIL 7, 2009
Anna
Anna Holt
Mr. Salsich
4/8/2009
English 9A
Light of Bravery;
The Courage to Live
As she collapsed onto the tile floor, her body dissolved (FAST) in a river of tears. Fear ripped through her skin, scraping the troubled confines of her soul. Darkness. (Fragment) The sound of her breath echoed into the screaming silence around her, and for a moment, as she heaved and wallowed (FAST) in the murky waters of loss, the agony defeated her (loose sentence). We all will be faced with moments such as this in our lives, however, rest assured that a momentary surrender to pain will not last. We will pull from our pockets a shimmering light that we have saved for a moment like this, and this light will save us (Antithesis). Courage is our guardian.
In Anne Sexton's poem "Courage," she speaks of audacity in terms of simple and forgotten moments, but her greater meaning lies in the idea that courage is equivalent to strength. In the third stanza, Sexton advises that we show courage by, "giving [despair] a back rub." She is suggesting that it is courageous to nurture our troubles. Courage is present when one shows the strength to accept their sorrow and to fight through the rockier passages of time. In her closing line, Ms. Sexton suggests that when we are greeted by the inevitable guest of death, we will, "put on [our] carpet slippers and stride out [of life]." She suggests that we die with dignity; with power and with control. Sexton feels that courage is represented most acutely in strength. Her poem implies that the cushier parts of life are simple, lacking the need for such a bold characteristic as bravery. She suggests that love, for example, is "simple as saving soap." She does not identify a relation between love, which is recognized by many as the most powerful of all gifts of mankind, and courage. Perhaps she is correct. Perhaps for some, courage is represented most purely in strength itself.
Personally, I disagree with Ms. Sexton's views on this topic. While this characteristic is undoubtedly linked with strength, I feel that courage is a phenomenon all its own. It is a mix of personal morals and admirable (FAST) motives, and most importantly, it is unique to each human being on this earth. It is the layer of us that shows through when we let go of a strong facade or correct a wrongdoing. Courage is independence. Self-empowerment and decision making are the building blocks of bravery, for there is nothing more difficult than holding your own in a world of skeptical eyes and contradictory expectations. Courage is making the "first step, as awesome as an earthquake" in the life-long journey of individuality. Perhaps most importantly, to have courage is to have a smile. It is this smile, pure and defiant, that will bring you the bravery that life requires. Courage is the ability to smile freely and to love passionately and to care deeply at the moment when the very core of hate is hurled in your direction. (Polysyndeton) Courage is more than Ms. Sexton suggests. It is more than strength.
Life is hard. In our time on this earth, we will chart unknown waters and we will make mistakes. We will find ourselves lost, confused, and scared in an ocean of darkness. There are times when we will look out ahead of us and see that the road of struggling seems to stretch on for miles, multiplying like a folded silk. However, we will not give in. We will shake the right hand of fear. We will look it in the eye and fly above its wickedness with freedom. We will have the courage to live.
Mr. Salsich
4/8/2009
English 9A
Light of Bravery;
The Courage to Live
As she collapsed onto the tile floor, her body dissolved (FAST) in a river of tears. Fear ripped through her skin, scraping the troubled confines of her soul. Darkness. (Fragment) The sound of her breath echoed into the screaming silence around her, and for a moment, as she heaved and wallowed (FAST) in the murky waters of loss, the agony defeated her (loose sentence). We all will be faced with moments such as this in our lives, however, rest assured that a momentary surrender to pain will not last. We will pull from our pockets a shimmering light that we have saved for a moment like this, and this light will save us (Antithesis). Courage is our guardian.
In Anne Sexton's poem "Courage," she speaks of audacity in terms of simple and forgotten moments, but her greater meaning lies in the idea that courage is equivalent to strength. In the third stanza, Sexton advises that we show courage by, "giving [despair] a back rub." She is suggesting that it is courageous to nurture our troubles. Courage is present when one shows the strength to accept their sorrow and to fight through the rockier passages of time. In her closing line, Ms. Sexton suggests that when we are greeted by the inevitable guest of death, we will, "put on [our] carpet slippers and stride out [of life]." She suggests that we die with dignity; with power and with control. Sexton feels that courage is represented most acutely in strength. Her poem implies that the cushier parts of life are simple, lacking the need for such a bold characteristic as bravery. She suggests that love, for example, is "simple as saving soap." She does not identify a relation between love, which is recognized by many as the most powerful of all gifts of mankind, and courage. Perhaps she is correct. Perhaps for some, courage is represented most purely in strength itself.
Personally, I disagree with Ms. Sexton's views on this topic. While this characteristic is undoubtedly linked with strength, I feel that courage is a phenomenon all its own. It is a mix of personal morals and admirable (FAST) motives, and most importantly, it is unique to each human being on this earth. It is the layer of us that shows through when we let go of a strong facade or correct a wrongdoing. Courage is independence. Self-empowerment and decision making are the building blocks of bravery, for there is nothing more difficult than holding your own in a world of skeptical eyes and contradictory expectations. Courage is making the "first step, as awesome as an earthquake" in the life-long journey of individuality. Perhaps most importantly, to have courage is to have a smile. It is this smile, pure and defiant, that will bring you the bravery that life requires. Courage is the ability to smile freely and to love passionately and to care deeply at the moment when the very core of hate is hurled in your direction. (Polysyndeton) Courage is more than Ms. Sexton suggests. It is more than strength.
Life is hard. In our time on this earth, we will chart unknown waters and we will make mistakes. We will find ourselves lost, confused, and scared in an ocean of darkness. There are times when we will look out ahead of us and see that the road of struggling seems to stretch on for miles, multiplying like a folded silk. However, we will not give in. We will shake the right hand of fear. We will look it in the eye and fly above its wickedness with freedom. We will have the courage to live.
SUNDAY, APRIL 5, 2009
England Journal
Entry 1-
Despite the fact that my body is begging for rest as I sit on our Continental flight, my mind has never been so very excited. As I gaze out of my small airplane window to the grand Atlantic below, my eyes twitch, willing me to close them. My fatigued muscles seem to cry out for rest, and my movements demand strength that I currently lack. However, I will not give in to this exhaustion and miss the beauty of our trip over the sea. My mind and emotions do not match the soft lull in energy that I am physically experiencing. They are awake, full of thoughts of English poets and London's rich culture. My head, pulsing with energy, soars through my hopes for the eight days that lie ahead. My mind weaves through memories of last year, when I sat at home visiting the Pine Point website to check up on the ISP trip. It is strange to think that after years of anticipation, it is me sitting in this airplane seat instead of Danica Mitchell or Sewell Robinson. It came as a surprise, in a sense, when i realized that it is finally my turn to experience what I've been waiting for all these years. I continue to gaze out of the window, and I feel my eyes begin to give in to the temptation of sleep. I open my eyes one last time to see a spot of land watching us from a distance. It glimmers. Hello London.
Entry 2-
The sounds of blissful birds bless my ears as I sit tucked in between the railings of a small staircase. I can feel the harsh cold of the metal on which I sit, and the sharp Spring air chills my skin, but the feeling is refreshing; brisk. A fountain murmurs softly nearby, and i hear the distant sounds of amicable conversation. The sun reflects off the water before me like crystals, and its fierce light brings out the green of the grassy quad, renewing its heath after a winter under snow. The brave daffodils spring up from the dirt, greeting the newness of the day with the bright curiosity of a child. Surrounding nature's wonder are tall brick walls. They demand respect. They are powerful, grand, watching like sentinels as a new season unfolds. As I inhale, i smell the fresh foliage around me as well as the lazy dregs of breakfast food. The sun shifts and illuminates the space i have chosen to occupy. For a moment I feel blinded, enslaved by the light. My eyes adjust, seeing the loveliness around me, simply escalated by the shift in the sky.
Entry 3-
This cit is clean. Te streets are lined with grand bricks and litter is rare as you make your way down London's stone sidewalks. It is sophisticated. stylish people in black garments make their way down the streets with elegance, and classy cafes are scattered throughout the city. It is classic and polite, with an air of intelligence and mystery within its towers and archways. The whispers of Charles Dickens and William Shakespeare roam the streets, blessing them with charm and history. The trees themselves seem to be entranced by London's loveliness. I am quite enjoying the city, thank you.
Entry 4-
London is peaceful. As we made our way through the tube and across cobbled sidewalks, i noticed a serene state, though the city's cheerful bustle wouldn't have suggested it at a glance. Brits passed, going about their mornings in a way entirely unknown to my foreign mind. I could smell the exhaust of classic tax-cabs and saw the buses racing by, yet somehow in the midst of disarray and activity, the city was calm. It was as if a blanket of equality and respect, of appreciation and moderation had been thrown over London's occupants like a blanket; a shield from havoc. People ran, but the ran with grace. People argued, but didn't yell. Cars briskly drove down city streets, but they did so with serenity and focus. The market we visited today only elevated this feeling of peace. As our class entered the Sunday Market, people from all around the world greeted us with their offerings. There was a humane appreciation and honest respect for each of the cultures represented in by the street vendor's stands. The glowing peace of this city seems ever present, hovering above England like a light from the sky.
Entry 5-
I was so struck by the greatness of Windsor Castle. The grad expanses of greens, perfectly trimmed and lined with petals, seemed to stretch on for miles. The stone and marble that made up the outside walls represented nothing but the epitome of power, emanating strength with their very existence. The rooms themselves were decadent, accented with pretty things. The windows were delicate and he stonework neat. It made me wonder of the events that occurred behind Windsor's gated boundaries. Who was betrayed? Who fell in love, and whose heart was broken? Who fought and who died? he castle pulled my interest to its long lost stories like a magnet. I was intrigued, and the stone turrets of Windsor have yet to leave my mind.
Entry 6-
Tonight's Evensong was the very essence of tranquility. for 30 minutes, all was let go, set free, released and absorbed by the music that surrounded us. The matters that had muddled our thoughts previously were given away and easily destroyed by the majestic decorations of the chapel. For some, it was a religious time, for other simply a moment of rest. For me, it was simple and pure tranquility.
Entry 7-
From body paints to tribal masks, I thought everything about today’s performance of The Tempest was breathtaking. After reading through this Shakespearean play in class, I was fascinated to see such a unique interpretation of the characters and plot. I saw a real relation to the imprisonment and prejudice that the Black South Africans felt during the time of apartheid. Near the end of the play, Prospero cleansed Ariel with pure water, and as he did so, a layer of white paint came off Ariel’s body, a life of captivity falling from his skin. Perhaps this freedom from enslavement played into the theme of forgiveness that was apparent in today’s show. As Prospero looked at his brother, the man who had betrayed his love and destroyed his trust, he was able to forgive him of his “rankest faults.” However, more difficult still, he was able to forgive himself for the years he had spent playing slave-master to Ariel and Caliban. The Tempest ended with a spotlight on an unlikely character – Caliban. Today’s interpretation depicted Prospero asking for Caliban’s “indulgence.” To me, this was fascinating. As people around me gathered their things, sensing an end to the show, Prospero tied together forgiveness and slavery by asking for his servants’ forgiveness; “Let your indulgence set me free.”
Entry 8-
I is strange to look back on the past eight days of my life. I am not bold enough to say that it has been a life changing experience, nor am i ignorant enough to believe that things will be the same in the future as they were before this trip took place. It has been a wake-up call, a transition. It has led us into the spring semester with flying colors, but all good things must come to an end. As I sit once again in an airplane window seat, I feel the closure that this day carries with it. I see the end of one journey and the distant promise of the beginning of another. No matter how much we try to deny or ignore it, this ending is representational of another, grader ending. I gaze out the window to see a spot of land far behind us. It glimmers with our memories. Goodbye London.
Sonnet-
The Escape
She stands like a pillar in front of the stage
Her eyes fixed and still on a point far beyond
The bright lights so strong and the faces so fond
Her body breaks free, escaping the cage.
Conformity binds like snakes round her throat
Dissolve into nothing when the music persists
As it opens her soul she unballs her fists.
The audience glimmers and take off their coats.
Entry 1-
Despite the fact that my body is begging for rest as I sit on our Continental flight, my mind has never been so very excited. As I gaze out of my small airplane window to the grand Atlantic below, my eyes twitch, willing me to close them. My fatigued muscles seem to cry out for rest, and my movements demand strength that I currently lack. However, I will not give in to this exhaustion and miss the beauty of our trip over the sea. My mind and emotions do not match the soft lull in energy that I am physically experiencing. They are awake, full of thoughts of English poets and London's rich culture. My head, pulsing with energy, soars through my hopes for the eight days that lie ahead. My mind weaves through memories of last year, when I sat at home visiting the Pine Point website to check up on the ISP trip. It is strange to think that after years of anticipation, it is me sitting in this airplane seat instead of Danica Mitchell or Sewell Robinson. It came as a surprise, in a sense, when i realized that it is finally my turn to experience what I've been waiting for all these years. I continue to gaze out of the window, and I feel my eyes begin to give in to the temptation of sleep. I open my eyes one last time to see a spot of land watching us from a distance. It glimmers. Hello London.
Entry 2-
The sounds of blissful birds bless my ears as I sit tucked in between the railings of a small staircase. I can feel the harsh cold of the metal on which I sit, and the sharp Spring air chills my skin, but the feeling is refreshing; brisk. A fountain murmurs softly nearby, and i hear the distant sounds of amicable conversation. The sun reflects off the water before me like crystals, and its fierce light brings out the green of the grassy quad, renewing its heath after a winter under snow. The brave daffodils spring up from the dirt, greeting the newness of the day with the bright curiosity of a child. Surrounding nature's wonder are tall brick walls. They demand respect. They are powerful, grand, watching like sentinels as a new season unfolds. As I inhale, i smell the fresh foliage around me as well as the lazy dregs of breakfast food. The sun shifts and illuminates the space i have chosen to occupy. For a moment I feel blinded, enslaved by the light. My eyes adjust, seeing the loveliness around me, simply escalated by the shift in the sky.
Entry 3-
This cit is clean. Te streets are lined with grand bricks and litter is rare as you make your way down London's stone sidewalks. It is sophisticated. stylish people in black garments make their way down the streets with elegance, and classy cafes are scattered throughout the city. It is classic and polite, with an air of intelligence and mystery within its towers and archways. The whispers of Charles Dickens and William Shakespeare roam the streets, blessing them with charm and history. The trees themselves seem to be entranced by London's loveliness. I am quite enjoying the city, thank you.
Entry 4-
London is peaceful. As we made our way through the tube and across cobbled sidewalks, i noticed a serene state, though the city's cheerful bustle wouldn't have suggested it at a glance. Brits passed, going about their mornings in a way entirely unknown to my foreign mind. I could smell the exhaust of classic tax-cabs and saw the buses racing by, yet somehow in the midst of disarray and activity, the city was calm. It was as if a blanket of equality and respect, of appreciation and moderation had been thrown over London's occupants like a blanket; a shield from havoc. People ran, but the ran with grace. People argued, but didn't yell. Cars briskly drove down city streets, but they did so with serenity and focus. The market we visited today only elevated this feeling of peace. As our class entered the Sunday Market, people from all around the world greeted us with their offerings. There was a humane appreciation and honest respect for each of the cultures represented in by the street vendor's stands. The glowing peace of this city seems ever present, hovering above England like a light from the sky.
Entry 5-
I was so struck by the greatness of Windsor Castle. The grad expanses of greens, perfectly trimmed and lined with petals, seemed to stretch on for miles. The stone and marble that made up the outside walls represented nothing but the epitome of power, emanating strength with their very existence. The rooms themselves were decadent, accented with pretty things. The windows were delicate and he stonework neat. It made me wonder of the events that occurred behind Windsor's gated boundaries. Who was betrayed? Who fell in love, and whose heart was broken? Who fought and who died? he castle pulled my interest to its long lost stories like a magnet. I was intrigued, and the stone turrets of Windsor have yet to leave my mind.
Entry 6-
Tonight's Evensong was the very essence of tranquility. for 30 minutes, all was let go, set free, released and absorbed by the music that surrounded us. The matters that had muddled our thoughts previously were given away and easily destroyed by the majestic decorations of the chapel. For some, it was a religious time, for other simply a moment of rest. For me, it was simple and pure tranquility.
Entry 7-
From body paints to tribal masks, I thought everything about today’s performance of The Tempest was breathtaking. After reading through this Shakespearean play in class, I was fascinated to see such a unique interpretation of the characters and plot. I saw a real relation to the imprisonment and prejudice that the Black South Africans felt during the time of apartheid. Near the end of the play, Prospero cleansed Ariel with pure water, and as he did so, a layer of white paint came off Ariel’s body, a life of captivity falling from his skin. Perhaps this freedom from enslavement played into the theme of forgiveness that was apparent in today’s show. As Prospero looked at his brother, the man who had betrayed his love and destroyed his trust, he was able to forgive him of his “rankest faults.” However, more difficult still, he was able to forgive himself for the years he had spent playing slave-master to Ariel and Caliban. The Tempest ended with a spotlight on an unlikely character – Caliban. Today’s interpretation depicted Prospero asking for Caliban’s “indulgence.” To me, this was fascinating. As people around me gathered their things, sensing an end to the show, Prospero tied together forgiveness and slavery by asking for his servants’ forgiveness; “Let your indulgence set me free.”
Entry 8-
I is strange to look back on the past eight days of my life. I am not bold enough to say that it has been a life changing experience, nor am i ignorant enough to believe that things will be the same in the future as they were before this trip took place. It has been a wake-up call, a transition. It has led us into the spring semester with flying colors, but all good things must come to an end. As I sit once again in an airplane window seat, I feel the closure that this day carries with it. I see the end of one journey and the distant promise of the beginning of another. No matter how much we try to deny or ignore it, this ending is representational of another, grader ending. I gaze out the window to see a spot of land far behind us. It glimmers with our memories. Goodbye London.
Sonnet-
The Escape
She stands like a pillar in front of the stage
Her eyes fixed and still on a point far beyond
The bright lights so strong and the faces so fond
Her body breaks free, escaping the cage.
Conformity binds like snakes round her throat
Dissolve into nothing when the music persists
As it opens her soul she unballs her fists.
The audience glimmers and take off their coats.
TUESDAY, FEBRUARY 24, 2009
Anna Holt
English 9
Mr. Salsich
February 26th, 2009
Brave New Worlds:
A Losing Battle
To dream of perfection is human nature. Constantly, we consume ourselves with the everlasting task of creating an earth full of unparalleled excellence. We seem to crave this perfection, yet we remain ignorant to the questions that must first be answered if we wish to live in a flawless world. How does such a thing come about, and perhaps more importantly, what exactly would it be like?
In some cases, when the stars are aligned and the sun hits just right, the world reaches a state of raw perfection on its own, however more often than not, it is the result of a sacrifice (Periodic Sentence). At the end of Shakespeare's "The Tempest", Prospero’s actions lead to a spectacular new chapter for the isle’s inhabitants. It was his forgiveness that led to this change, this new life of hope. The king, once a bitter and resentful man, gave up everything he had for the benefit of those around him. After years of plotting and a growing need for vengeance, Prospero looked at Alonso. He did so without censure (SAT FAST), and said to the man who deceived him, “I do forgive thy rankest fault.” He was able to look beyond his need for revenge, soaring high above the plots of retribution that had once consumed him, giving up his satisfaction (Loose Sentence). It was this act of mercy that softened the heart of his enemy and opened the doors to a “brave new world”. Prospero’s forgiveness allowed the island to move beyond the disagreements of the past, and ended a long-winded game of dishonesty. It allowed opportunities for the future and the hopes of a repaired relationship. It allowed (Parallelism) the isle to let go of everything that was holding it back from utter perfection.
We live in a world far away from the peaceful island that Shakespeare speaks of. Our earth has become a place where violence hides behind every street corner, where respect is forgotten and prosperity (SAT FAST) is defined by personal wealth, however the things we are lacking are basic. Our energy is constantly consumed by the enervating (SAT FAST) requests of society, but what our souls crave is much more basic than our culture suggests. We need simplicity. Our world needs to move beyond the petty issues of wealth and power to the more significant aspects of life. Perhaps more importantly, the human race needs to find respect for one another. We must move beyond labels and social groupings, finding a distinct appreciation for each individual, no matter their race, background, or sexual orientation. Each of us is the same at heart. However, most of all, we need to reunite with the greatest gift we are given as people. We need to rekindle the warmth that comes from the most powerful tool in existence. As the Beatles once told us, “all you need is love.”
In truth, perhaps there is no such thing as a “brave new world.” Perhaps this kind of loveliness will only exist in the pages of books, teasing us with the false hope of a perfect world. However maybe, in between our busy days and restless nights, we will find a moment when all is right. Perhaps we must accept the inevitable flaws of our earth, and focus our minds on the beauty instead.
TUESDAY, FEBRUARY 17, 2009
Anna- Draft
Anna HoltFebruary 18th, 2008Mr. SalsichEnglish 9Power in Music: An Essay1. How blessed we are to be able to see, to witness brilliant colors and beautiful faces. 2. How lucky we are to touch, to literally feel the world with our own hands and feet, and how lucky we are to hear. 3. Because we have this gift, we are able to perceive laughter and we are able to listen to all of the loveliness nature has to offer (Compound-complex sentence). 4. Let us remember these blessings, but let us never forget what is, to some, more powerful than anything else; the power of music.
(TS) Caliban is ferocious. (SD) A vile and mediocre creature, spite emanates from his every pore of his skin, (Appositive- Sentence Opener) however music has proven that even the darkest souls can be brought into light with the proper emotional vehicle. (CM) Caliban speaks of "sounds and sweet airs" when he hears the sounds of the night. (CM) The music lulls him into a sleep so sweet, he "crie[s] to dream again." (SD) Perhaps for Caliban, the harmonious sounds of Ariel’s music represent the only peace he has. (CM) He spends his days cursing Prospero and dwelling in self-pity, however when his ears open up to an evening tune, he finds himself drifting in a slow-moving river of happiness. (CM)Music is his mother, his friend, his lover; the one thing there to sooth him as he lives a life of loneliness. (SD) The "twangling instruments" that rush over the island are also neutral in opinion. (CM) Usually, even the air itself seems to hate this cold and angry creature. (CM) The music is something that sits by his side and simply exists, beautifully uninvolved, without judgment or resentment. (CS) Caliban is a monster, but with the right circumstances, a monster can become nothing more or less than you or I, a human with the simple will to live.
(TS) To me, music is the greatest form of inspiration. (SD) As I lie in bed on a hectic evening, waiting for sleep to bless my mind, the melodies and harmonies of a comforting song strike a chord of peace and stillness inside my racing heart. (CM) Music inspires the serenity that my soul subconsciously craves. (CM) It is a still moment in a sea of movement, the eye of the tornado, a lull in the storm. It also serves as motivation. (SD) There are times in life when we want to give up, to forget our goals and aspirations and live an easy but unfulfilled life. (CM) Music pulls me out of these ruts with vigor and force, reminding me of the importance of perseverance. (CM) Perhaps most importantly, it is an escape. (SD) Often, I find myself lost in the music that blares through my ears, and I am set free as it seeps into my soul. (CM) For those few moments, my fears are nonexistent. (CM) I let go of my woes and allow the sounds that surround me to reach deep into my heart and capture my mind. (CS) Music has power in my life (Short Sentence). (CS2) It sings me to sleep, plays me my motivation, and when I am lucky enough to let go of life's worries, pulls me into a surreal state of utter freedom.
1. There is no doubt that music is both influential and helpful to a person, however its power is often underestimated. 2. What an ingenious concept; a series of sounds with enough energy and grace to make you cry with joy, make you scream in anger, or make you smile in a bittersweet understanding (Parallel Prepositional Phrases). 3. For Caliban, music is peace. 4. For me, music is inspiration. 5. What, I wonder, is music to you?
(TS) Caliban is ferocious. (SD) A vile and mediocre creature, spite emanates from his every pore of his skin, (Appositive- Sentence Opener) however music has proven that even the darkest souls can be brought into light with the proper emotional vehicle. (CM) Caliban speaks of "sounds and sweet airs" when he hears the sounds of the night. (CM) The music lulls him into a sleep so sweet, he "crie[s] to dream again." (SD) Perhaps for Caliban, the harmonious sounds of Ariel’s music represent the only peace he has. (CM) He spends his days cursing Prospero and dwelling in self-pity, however when his ears open up to an evening tune, he finds himself drifting in a slow-moving river of happiness. (CM)Music is his mother, his friend, his lover; the one thing there to sooth him as he lives a life of loneliness. (SD) The "twangling instruments" that rush over the island are also neutral in opinion. (CM) Usually, even the air itself seems to hate this cold and angry creature. (CM) The music is something that sits by his side and simply exists, beautifully uninvolved, without judgment or resentment. (CS) Caliban is a monster, but with the right circumstances, a monster can become nothing more or less than you or I, a human with the simple will to live.
(TS) To me, music is the greatest form of inspiration. (SD) As I lie in bed on a hectic evening, waiting for sleep to bless my mind, the melodies and harmonies of a comforting song strike a chord of peace and stillness inside my racing heart. (CM) Music inspires the serenity that my soul subconsciously craves. (CM) It is a still moment in a sea of movement, the eye of the tornado, a lull in the storm. It also serves as motivation. (SD) There are times in life when we want to give up, to forget our goals and aspirations and live an easy but unfulfilled life. (CM) Music pulls me out of these ruts with vigor and force, reminding me of the importance of perseverance. (CM) Perhaps most importantly, it is an escape. (SD) Often, I find myself lost in the music that blares through my ears, and I am set free as it seeps into my soul. (CM) For those few moments, my fears are nonexistent. (CM) I let go of my woes and allow the sounds that surround me to reach deep into my heart and capture my mind. (CS) Music has power in my life (Short Sentence). (CS2) It sings me to sleep, plays me my motivation, and when I am lucky enough to let go of life's worries, pulls me into a surreal state of utter freedom.
1. There is no doubt that music is both influential and helpful to a person, however its power is often underestimated. 2. What an ingenious concept; a series of sounds with enough energy and grace to make you cry with joy, make you scream in anger, or make you smile in a bittersweet understanding (Parallel Prepositional Phrases). 3. For Caliban, music is peace. 4. For me, music is inspiration. 5. What, I wonder, is music to you?
MONDAY, FEBRUARY 2, 2009
Freedom draft
Anna Holt
English 9
February 3rd, 2009
Mr. Salsich
Freedom and Imprisonment;
A Discussion
Freedom is magnificent. Independence and free will are glorious. It is these things which allow us to do as we please and be who we are, but with each positive comes an equal and tragically opposite effect. Captivation, imprisonment, and confinement take their toll on people around the world each and every day. However, is it at all possible to live as a prisoner and still be free? Perhaps it is, for freedom works in mysterious ways. It is one thing that can reach us in our darkest hours, releasing out minds from imprisonment in the most unlikely circumstances.
If I was ever to become a physical captive, I would hope to see things that would keep my mind off of the confinement, the loneliness, and the emotional darkness of imprisonment. I would hope to see one thing each day that would allow my thoughts to escape the confinement of my body, exploring the unknown canvas of my mind. I would hope for something that would bring back memories to dance across my thoughts, careless and free. (Tri-colon- I Would Hope) More than anything I'd want to see my best friends. I wouldn’t need to speak to them, for seeing them once a day would satisfy me. I would watch from my cell window as they laughed, happily and carelessly living their lives. Witnessing the utter freedom of the people I love would bring a smile to my face and independence to my mind. One can hold another as a physical slave, forcing them to do as they are commanded. They can bind another to a brick wall, capturing their helpless hands in shackles. An able man can steal one’s body, but there is no way to take a soul. As a captive, I would watch in inspired silence as my best friends lived their lives, and this sight alone would allow my heart and soul roam wild. My mind would fly free, soaring far beyond the boundaries (FAST) of my physical incapabilities.
As my inner-self continued to swerve in and out of infinite possibilities, I would look down at the world and realize, with utter amazement, that I was as free as a bird. Perhaps there is truth in the common cliché, for a bird is nothing at all if not free. They greet the day without a care and sing with all their might from dawn until dusk. They are physically free from the restraints we face as humans, able to fly over water and mountain. Mentally they are free as well, their lives lacking pressure and judgments. As Bob Marley sings about relaxation and freedom in his song, “Three Little Birds,” he seems to speak to the freedom of birds. They sit by his window “singing sweet songs of melodies pure and true,” sending him a message. The birds tell him to let go of his constraints and worries, for “every little thing is going to be alright.” Soaring, singing, seeing, I wish to be as free as the carefree birds outside of my window, inspiring others to live the beautiful and bright life that they do.
There are many types of freedom and imprisonment. We can be physically confined or emotional captives (FAST), or we can be flying above the boundaries that are given to us. The choice is ours. No matter what the situation, our hearts and our minds can remain free. They are our own. Despite the circumstances, the limitations, or the consequences (Tri-colon), forget imprisonment. Be free.
_______________________________________
Self Assessment-
To be honest, I do not think that this piece of writing represents my best work. I feel that it lacks elegance , and if I was to do it again I would try to add a more poetic touch. However, i do think that this essay is clear and to the point. There isn't a lot of ambiguity and it is easy for the reader to understand. I also like the last paragraph a lot because it carries a strongmessage that I truly believe in. One writing issue I'm still working on is maintaining smoothness while still making clear chunks and supporting details.
I would give myself a B on this essay
English 9
February 3rd, 2009
Mr. Salsich
Freedom and Imprisonment;
A Discussion
Freedom is magnificent. Independence and free will are glorious. It is these things which allow us to do as we please and be who we are, but with each positive comes an equal and tragically opposite effect. Captivation, imprisonment, and confinement take their toll on people around the world each and every day. However, is it at all possible to live as a prisoner and still be free? Perhaps it is, for freedom works in mysterious ways. It is one thing that can reach us in our darkest hours, releasing out minds from imprisonment in the most unlikely circumstances.
If I was ever to become a physical captive, I would hope to see things that would keep my mind off of the confinement, the loneliness, and the emotional darkness of imprisonment. I would hope to see one thing each day that would allow my thoughts to escape the confinement of my body, exploring the unknown canvas of my mind. I would hope for something that would bring back memories to dance across my thoughts, careless and free. (Tri-colon- I Would Hope) More than anything I'd want to see my best friends. I wouldn’t need to speak to them, for seeing them once a day would satisfy me. I would watch from my cell window as they laughed, happily and carelessly living their lives. Witnessing the utter freedom of the people I love would bring a smile to my face and independence to my mind. One can hold another as a physical slave, forcing them to do as they are commanded. They can bind another to a brick wall, capturing their helpless hands in shackles. An able man can steal one’s body, but there is no way to take a soul. As a captive, I would watch in inspired silence as my best friends lived their lives, and this sight alone would allow my heart and soul roam wild. My mind would fly free, soaring far beyond the boundaries (FAST) of my physical incapabilities.
As my inner-self continued to swerve in and out of infinite possibilities, I would look down at the world and realize, with utter amazement, that I was as free as a bird. Perhaps there is truth in the common cliché, for a bird is nothing at all if not free. They greet the day without a care and sing with all their might from dawn until dusk. They are physically free from the restraints we face as humans, able to fly over water and mountain. Mentally they are free as well, their lives lacking pressure and judgments. As Bob Marley sings about relaxation and freedom in his song, “Three Little Birds,” he seems to speak to the freedom of birds. They sit by his window “singing sweet songs of melodies pure and true,” sending him a message. The birds tell him to let go of his constraints and worries, for “every little thing is going to be alright.” Soaring, singing, seeing, I wish to be as free as the carefree birds outside of my window, inspiring others to live the beautiful and bright life that they do.
There are many types of freedom and imprisonment. We can be physically confined or emotional captives (FAST), or we can be flying above the boundaries that are given to us. The choice is ours. No matter what the situation, our hearts and our minds can remain free. They are our own. Despite the circumstances, the limitations, or the consequences (Tri-colon), forget imprisonment. Be free.
_______________________________________
Self Assessment-
To be honest, I do not think that this piece of writing represents my best work. I feel that it lacks elegance , and if I was to do it again I would try to add a more poetic touch. However, i do think that this essay is clear and to the point. There isn't a lot of ambiguity and it is easy for the reader to understand. I also like the last paragraph a lot because it carries a strongmessage that I truly believe in. One writing issue I'm still working on is maintaining smoothness while still making clear chunks and supporting details.
I would give myself a B on this essay
THURSDAY, JANUARY 29, 2009
Mr.Salsich
1/29/2009
English 9
Anna Holt
Writing Prompt- Discuss a matter you once thought you knew “for sure” but of which you are no longer certain.
Eternal Forgiveness;
A Response to a Prompt
“Live the questions now. Perhaps then, someday far in the future, you will gradually, without even noticing it, live your way into the answer.”
- Rainer Maria Rilke
Dancing across the sand in bare feet, (Participial Phrase, Opener) the floral patterns of my Land’s End dress spinning alongside me, I was endlessly tolerant. My sympathy was that of an angel, my mind untainted (FAST) by stories of cruelty. This was the time when I would have found good in anyone’s actions, no matter how corrupt. There was no excuse for blames or censure. I was the epitome of forgiveness.
Today, I question this eternal clemency I once believed in so fervently (FAST). I think of the Holocaust, hate towering over love as the sounds of death escaped from Nazi gas chambers. I think of an abused wife, tears and mascara streaming down her face and across her broken heart. (Participial Phrase, Closer) Perhaps there are some things that can’t be justified. Society would agree. According to Time Magazine, 47 people were put to death in 2007 as a penalty for their crimes. The government can seem merciless, but what would our country be without these laws of justice? In a time marked by terrorism and violence, perhaps my endless river of forgiveness is a youthful way of looking at the world.
My opinion about unconditional forgiveness has become a battle between heart and mind. My head uses logic. When people make harmful mistakes, they should not be continually excused. When a human consciously hurts another, there is no moral excuse for his or her actions. The answer seems clear when I look at it this way. There is good and bad in the world, and we must maintain justice to achieve peace. However, this logic is not enough to drown out the more sympathetic opinions of my heart. A part of me, deeper than my mind, argues that we are each small pieces of a bigger picture. We must let go of the mistakes of those around us. Each of us has good and bad, and perhaps forgiveness of the darker sides is the only way to let the light shine through.
As I grow older, I encounter more moral arguments such as this each day. I am slowly discovering that the answers to these questions are not black and white, but rather light and dark shades of grey. Perhaps these shades will become more defined as I continue to experience the things that life has to offer, but for now I am satisfied. Perhaps I will wake up one morning with the answers in my hand, or perhaps there are no answers for such questions. (Purposeful Repetition, "Perhaps") There was a time when I saw the world through rose colored glasses – a world full of mercy. However, I have begun to question the legitimacy (FAST) of certain instances of forgiveness. For now, I will not fret over my hesitant opinions and unsure beliefs. I will remember the words of a wise poet, and "live my way into the answers."
1/29/2009
English 9
Anna Holt
Writing Prompt- Discuss a matter you once thought you knew “for sure” but of which you are no longer certain.
Eternal Forgiveness;
A Response to a Prompt
“Live the questions now. Perhaps then, someday far in the future, you will gradually, without even noticing it, live your way into the answer.”
- Rainer Maria Rilke
Dancing across the sand in bare feet, (Participial Phrase, Opener) the floral patterns of my Land’s End dress spinning alongside me, I was endlessly tolerant. My sympathy was that of an angel, my mind untainted (FAST) by stories of cruelty. This was the time when I would have found good in anyone’s actions, no matter how corrupt. There was no excuse for blames or censure. I was the epitome of forgiveness.
Today, I question this eternal clemency I once believed in so fervently (FAST). I think of the Holocaust, hate towering over love as the sounds of death escaped from Nazi gas chambers. I think of an abused wife, tears and mascara streaming down her face and across her broken heart. (Participial Phrase, Closer) Perhaps there are some things that can’t be justified. Society would agree. According to Time Magazine, 47 people were put to death in 2007 as a penalty for their crimes. The government can seem merciless, but what would our country be without these laws of justice? In a time marked by terrorism and violence, perhaps my endless river of forgiveness is a youthful way of looking at the world.
My opinion about unconditional forgiveness has become a battle between heart and mind. My head uses logic. When people make harmful mistakes, they should not be continually excused. When a human consciously hurts another, there is no moral excuse for his or her actions. The answer seems clear when I look at it this way. There is good and bad in the world, and we must maintain justice to achieve peace. However, this logic is not enough to drown out the more sympathetic opinions of my heart. A part of me, deeper than my mind, argues that we are each small pieces of a bigger picture. We must let go of the mistakes of those around us. Each of us has good and bad, and perhaps forgiveness of the darker sides is the only way to let the light shine through.
As I grow older, I encounter more moral arguments such as this each day. I am slowly discovering that the answers to these questions are not black and white, but rather light and dark shades of grey. Perhaps these shades will become more defined as I continue to experience the things that life has to offer, but for now I am satisfied. Perhaps I will wake up one morning with the answers in my hand, or perhaps there are no answers for such questions. (Purposeful Repetition, "Perhaps") There was a time when I saw the world through rose colored glasses – a world full of mercy. However, I have begun to question the legitimacy (FAST) of certain instances of forgiveness. For now, I will not fret over my hesitant opinions and unsure beliefs. I will remember the words of a wise poet, and "live my way into the answers."
MONDAY, JANUARY 12, 2009
Anna Holt
English 9
Mr. Salsich
8 January 2009
Betrayal
A Discussion of a Theme in Shakespeare’s The Tempest
As the wise and powerful Prospero speaks to his young daughter about matters of his past, feelings of betrayal linger in his voice. More than anything, the former king feels deceived. His current state is both undesirable and enraging, however I think that hidden beneath a yearning for revenge, Prospero feels nothing but sorrow. His brother, “whom next to [himself]of all the world [Prospero] loved,” took his trust and tore it apart, a knife tearing through a defenseless sheet. Later in the passage, as Prospero continues to describe the story of his former reign, Shakespeare inserts metaphors and parallelism to stress just how much he entrusted to Antonio. He uses an effective bend of verbs, stating that he let Antonio, “perfect how to grant suits, how to deny them, who to advance and who to trash.” He uses a metaphor when he tells is daughter that the whole kingdom looked for a “tune pleased his ear,” saying that Antonio was made a hero in the castle and that everyone wished to satisfy his wants. What Prospero is implying in this passage is that he is hurt. More than wanting his kingdom back in his possession, more than yearning for his friends, more than wishing for the delights of society, Prospero aches for the brotherhood that once existed between Antonio and him. Years after the day of Antonio’s betrayal, Prospero still feels the pain inflicted by the event. He wonders how one that he cared for so deeply could be so heartless, so insincere, so blatantly oblivious to the feelings of brotherly love.
English 9
Mr. Salsich
8 January 2009
Betrayal
A Discussion of a Theme in Shakespeare’s The Tempest
As the wise and powerful Prospero speaks to his young daughter about matters of his past, feelings of betrayal linger in his voice. More than anything, the former king feels deceived. His current state is both undesirable and enraging, however I think that hidden beneath a yearning for revenge, Prospero feels nothing but sorrow. His brother, “whom next to [himself]of all the world [Prospero] loved,” took his trust and tore it apart, a knife tearing through a defenseless sheet. Later in the passage, as Prospero continues to describe the story of his former reign, Shakespeare inserts metaphors and parallelism to stress just how much he entrusted to Antonio. He uses an effective bend of verbs, stating that he let Antonio, “perfect how to grant suits, how to deny them, who to advance and who to trash.” He uses a metaphor when he tells is daughter that the whole kingdom looked for a “tune pleased his ear,” saying that Antonio was made a hero in the castle and that everyone wished to satisfy his wants. What Prospero is implying in this passage is that he is hurt. More than wanting his kingdom back in his possession, more than yearning for his friends, more than wishing for the delights of society, Prospero aches for the brotherhood that once existed between Antonio and him. Years after the day of Antonio’s betrayal, Prospero still feels the pain inflicted by the event. He wonders how one that he cared for so deeply could be so heartless, so insincere, so blatantly oblivious to the feelings of brotherly love.
FRIDAY, DECEMBER 12, 2008
Anna Holt
December 15th, 2008
Mr. Salsich
9 English
Though "mistake" appears to be a simple word, it carries all the problems of the world on its meek shoulders. The direct cause and effect of any negativeoccurrence is, in short, a mistake. However beneath the problem and underneath the devastating results, lies a small voice yelling from within. The ever-present reminder of a mistake, the empty emotion held in our hearts, is the sick feeling of regret.
(TS)Regret haunts me most often in the little things I do, the snide remark that was overheard, the rude comment in a moment of frustration. (SD)I have never stolen anything, never had a serious run in with the law, neverphysically injured another, however on a day to day basis some of my actions, I'm sure, have injured the mind and heart and soul of more than one human being. (CM)I have spoken without thinking, caught up in the nasty humor of the moment. (CM)In an instant of thoughtlessness, I have forgotten the importance of kindness. (SD)For me, the worst feelings I can remember have come from looking someone in the eye and realizing that I have hurt them. (CM)No matter how much time is put between past and present, there are some words that will stubbornly stand by a person forever. (CM)To know that in the past I might have been cause for such anunhappy relationship between a memory and a heart brings me a cloud of misery. (SD)While an honest apology can mend a relationship, a seemingly insignificant remark will bring regret for a lifetime. (CM)Perhaps this is what we all deserve. (CM)Every one of us, from the kindest person you know to the coldest hearts of this earth, makes careless mistakes with their words, and weather we choose to express this regret or keep it sheltered within us, every one of us feels an occasionally stab of guilt. (CS)It is ironic, in a sense, but my biggest, smallest, and only regrets lie in the power of my own words.
(TS) As I look ahead at the times that are to come, I do hope to become more aware of words, however more importantly, I hope to change the way I look back on these mistakes. (SD) As my classmates have said, we should not live with regrets. (CM) I remind myself of this every day, but the mistakes of my past live on even when I try to accept them. (CM)Perhaps I am the only one who remembers the things that I have done wrong, but nevertheless, mistakes echo in my heart, haunting me like an apparition(FAST). (SD) Regret, ominously(FAST) standing at the doorway to a soul, is something I wish to abandon. (SV SPLIT) (CM) Isn't there a way to learn from the past, but still live free from the burden of your blunders? (CM) This is the change I wish to make. (CS) I wish to escape the stone walls of regret.
We all make mistakes, but in truth, mistakes are what make us. (Chiasmus) It is a lovely thing, really. Once guilt and misery have been washed out of a bad decision, it is merely a learning experience, molding us into who we are. Everything, the bird up above, the stranger on the street, has regrets to live with. We must cleanse ourselves of these mistakes and, carrying all we have learned at our sides, walk through life with simple peace.
December 15th, 2008
Mr. Salsich
9 English
Though "mistake" appears to be a simple word, it carries all the problems of the world on its meek shoulders. The direct cause and effect of any negativeoccurrence is, in short, a mistake. However beneath the problem and underneath the devastating results, lies a small voice yelling from within. The ever-present reminder of a mistake, the empty emotion held in our hearts, is the sick feeling of regret.
(TS)Regret haunts me most often in the little things I do, the snide remark that was overheard, the rude comment in a moment of frustration. (SD)I have never stolen anything, never had a serious run in with the law, neverphysically injured another, however on a day to day basis some of my actions, I'm sure, have injured the mind and heart and soul of more than one human being. (CM)I have spoken without thinking, caught up in the nasty humor of the moment. (CM)In an instant of thoughtlessness, I have forgotten the importance of kindness. (SD)For me, the worst feelings I can remember have come from looking someone in the eye and realizing that I have hurt them. (CM)No matter how much time is put between past and present, there are some words that will stubbornly stand by a person forever. (CM)To know that in the past I might have been cause for such anunhappy relationship between a memory and a heart brings me a cloud of misery. (SD)While an honest apology can mend a relationship, a seemingly insignificant remark will bring regret for a lifetime. (CM)Perhaps this is what we all deserve. (CM)Every one of us, from the kindest person you know to the coldest hearts of this earth, makes careless mistakes with their words, and weather we choose to express this regret or keep it sheltered within us, every one of us feels an occasionally stab of guilt. (CS)It is ironic, in a sense, but my biggest, smallest, and only regrets lie in the power of my own words.
(TS) As I look ahead at the times that are to come, I do hope to become more aware of words, however more importantly, I hope to change the way I look back on these mistakes. (SD) As my classmates have said, we should not live with regrets. (CM) I remind myself of this every day, but the mistakes of my past live on even when I try to accept them. (CM)Perhaps I am the only one who remembers the things that I have done wrong, but nevertheless, mistakes echo in my heart, haunting me like an apparition(FAST). (SD) Regret, ominously(FAST) standing at the doorway to a soul, is something I wish to abandon. (SV SPLIT) (CM) Isn't there a way to learn from the past, but still live free from the burden of your blunders? (CM) This is the change I wish to make. (CS) I wish to escape the stone walls of regret.
We all make mistakes, but in truth, mistakes are what make us. (Chiasmus) It is a lovely thing, really. Once guilt and misery have been washed out of a bad decision, it is merely a learning experience, molding us into who we are. Everything, the bird up above, the stranger on the street, has regrets to live with. We must cleanse ourselves of these mistakes and, carrying all we have learned at our sides, walk through life with simple peace.
THURSDAY, DECEMBER 4, 2008
Anna Essay
December 4, 2008
Mr. Salsich
Anna Holt
English 9
The Life Task and a Light Chain
A Reflection to a Passage
When we enter the world, we are fresh and bright in the newness of existence. We are naive, oblivious to any rules that fate might hold. As we embark upon the journey of life, no one can inform us of real regulations, of instructions, of requirements that we must fulfill, (Purposeful Rep) however somewhere along the line, we are expected to discover certain things for ourselves. We are expected to interact, to mingle, to escape solitude, and we have but a few fleeting years to do so.
In the words of a ghost, “It is required of every man that the spirit within him should walk abroad among his fellowmen, and travel far and wide.” Perhaps Marley’s visit is a warning to Scrooge. He is telling his partner that we all must “wear the chain[s] we [forge] in life,” that it is the same link which we will carry with us for all eternity. He is conveying the message that we must be proactive in life, and that true success can only come from kindness, from friends, from interactions with others. Perhaps the most difficult thing about completing this life assignment is realizing that it exists. As Scrooge sits locked away in his shop, he is like a newborn child, unaware of the task that awaits him. His mere being exudes ignorance to the things he must do. The ghost’s visit is something that Scrooge must heed, a final warning, a last chance, an advantage that the rest of us do not have; he must take action.
It is said that we are all born equal. We are each given the same chance to create a light chain, to be free in death. However some of us can not learn to be kind people without a helping hand. Marley’s visit should have been an alarm, setting off alerts in Scrooge’s heart that he does not have much time left to free himself of the weights he has created. Goodness will find Scrooge, but first, Scrooge must look within to find his own goodness. (Chiasmus)
Mr. Salsich
Anna Holt
English 9
The Life Task and a Light Chain
A Reflection to a Passage
When we enter the world, we are fresh and bright in the newness of existence. We are naive, oblivious to any rules that fate might hold. As we embark upon the journey of life, no one can inform us of real regulations, of instructions, of requirements that we must fulfill, (Purposeful Rep) however somewhere along the line, we are expected to discover certain things for ourselves. We are expected to interact, to mingle, to escape solitude, and we have but a few fleeting years to do so.
In the words of a ghost, “It is required of every man that the spirit within him should walk abroad among his fellowmen, and travel far and wide.” Perhaps Marley’s visit is a warning to Scrooge. He is telling his partner that we all must “wear the chain[s] we [forge] in life,” that it is the same link which we will carry with us for all eternity. He is conveying the message that we must be proactive in life, and that true success can only come from kindness, from friends, from interactions with others. Perhaps the most difficult thing about completing this life assignment is realizing that it exists. As Scrooge sits locked away in his shop, he is like a newborn child, unaware of the task that awaits him. His mere being exudes ignorance to the things he must do. The ghost’s visit is something that Scrooge must heed, a final warning, a last chance, an advantage that the rest of us do not have; he must take action.
It is said that we are all born equal. We are each given the same chance to create a light chain, to be free in death. However some of us can not learn to be kind people without a helping hand. Marley’s visit should have been an alarm, setting off alerts in Scrooge’s heart that he does not have much time left to free himself of the weights he has created. Goodness will find Scrooge, but first, Scrooge must look within to find his own goodness. (Chiasmus)
TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 18, 2008
Annas Post
Mr. Salsich
9th Grade English
Anna Holt
November 20th, 2008
Love and A Hero
A Reflection on Heterosexism
Once upon a time, there was 36 year old woman with short brown hair, a genuine smile, a blue oxford shirt, and a friendly tone that emanated across the room like a ray of sunlight. In truth, the fact that she was a lesbian needn't have been noted at all. As Stump Olsen stood before us, this scrap of knowledge was an insignificant piece of information, simply stating that like all humans, she felt love. Love is whatever we make it, endless and forgiving, beautiful and perfect in any form. Love is love, and who are we to try and change that?
(TS)Today, a woman, a hero really, came to speak. (SD)As Stump began to talk, her words were strong, natural. (CM)She smiled as she told us of the hardships she'd faced in her lifetime, as if they were beautiful memories, building blocks of her past that had done nothing more than mold her into the human being she'd become. (CM)Her eyes looked to have the kind of peace one only gathers from a true self-respect, a beautiful acceptance of oneself. (SD)I stared into those eyes and considered all of the hate that had been thrown at Stump Olsen. (CM)Who are we to find an insignificant "abnormality" about a person, and throw it back at them as if it were dirt? (CM)When is there an excuse for such a ludicrous display of prejudice? (SD)The raw fact that a woman who had endured so much in her lifetime was standing before me, laughing as if she had not a care in the world, as if all of her days had been as wonderful as this, is incredible (PARTICIPLE). (CM)Where did that sense of peace come from? (CM)After years of wishing she was something else and being told there was something wrong with her, Stump stood in the LTC Board Room with a smile, her words pure, her mind at ease (ABSOLUTE). (CS)It is said that a warrior is found on the battleground, but perhaps if we look a little closer to home, a soldier is right before our eyes.
(TS)As we listened to the words of a victimized lesbian, the immorality of her stories began to sink in. (SD)We are each entitled to our own opinion, our own thought, our own voice. (CM)However to express the hate that you feel toward another is, as a whole, unacceptable. (CM)To tell another human being that they are somehow polluted because of who they are is to defy even the most basic of human morals. (SD)Only an unrealistic sense of power among weak people will come from heterosexism. (CM)To hate, to kill, to loathe another human being because of their sexuality will do nothing but satisfy a judgemental person with the belief that they are somehow more powerful because of their "better" orientation. (CM)No matter how hard we try, putting a person down will not raise us up. (SD)In a country that is to be led by a black man, where women and Asians and Indians have made their mark on society, how is it that homosexuals are still considered tainted by many? (CM)“I knew I shouldn't talk about it,” said Stump, reflecting upon her childhood and the moments that she came to terms with her sexuality. (CM)It is an atrocity that in this day and age, a person does not feel safe telling the world about the attraction he or she was born with. (CS)It is not the sexuality of Stump Olsen that creates bad things on this earth, it is the immoral weakness and infinite cruelty of those who can not understand equality.
As we left the board room, we muttered words of thanks and issued smiles of appreciation for her time with us. However, we were thanking Stump for so much more than the 45 minutes she spent talking to us. We were thanking her for her bravery, her individuality, her positive outlook when her world crashed around her, when hatred tried to swallow her. We were thanking her for finding the strength to look us in the eye say with a smile "My name is Stump Olsen", as if no one in the world was any more beautiful, more "normal", more perfect than she.
_________________________________________________
I think that my points in this essay are very strong. I do a good job of bringing them forward and stating solid opinions. One writing issue I'm still working on is defining my chunks. At times, I feel that they run together. This essay in particular has some disorganization in the first body paragraph. I feel that some of the sentences are disjointed from one another. I would give myself an a- on this essay.
9th Grade English
Anna Holt
November 20th, 2008
Love and A Hero
A Reflection on Heterosexism
Once upon a time, there was 36 year old woman with short brown hair, a genuine smile, a blue oxford shirt, and a friendly tone that emanated across the room like a ray of sunlight. In truth, the fact that she was a lesbian needn't have been noted at all. As Stump Olsen stood before us, this scrap of knowledge was an insignificant piece of information, simply stating that like all humans, she felt love. Love is whatever we make it, endless and forgiving, beautiful and perfect in any form. Love is love, and who are we to try and change that?
(TS)Today, a woman, a hero really, came to speak. (SD)As Stump began to talk, her words were strong, natural. (CM)She smiled as she told us of the hardships she'd faced in her lifetime, as if they were beautiful memories, building blocks of her past that had done nothing more than mold her into the human being she'd become. (CM)Her eyes looked to have the kind of peace one only gathers from a true self-respect, a beautiful acceptance of oneself. (SD)I stared into those eyes and considered all of the hate that had been thrown at Stump Olsen. (CM)Who are we to find an insignificant "abnormality" about a person, and throw it back at them as if it were dirt? (CM)When is there an excuse for such a ludicrous display of prejudice? (SD)The raw fact that a woman who had endured so much in her lifetime was standing before me, laughing as if she had not a care in the world, as if all of her days had been as wonderful as this, is incredible (PARTICIPLE). (CM)Where did that sense of peace come from? (CM)After years of wishing she was something else and being told there was something wrong with her, Stump stood in the LTC Board Room with a smile, her words pure, her mind at ease (ABSOLUTE). (CS)It is said that a warrior is found on the battleground, but perhaps if we look a little closer to home, a soldier is right before our eyes.
(TS)As we listened to the words of a victimized lesbian, the immorality of her stories began to sink in. (SD)We are each entitled to our own opinion, our own thought, our own voice. (CM)However to express the hate that you feel toward another is, as a whole, unacceptable. (CM)To tell another human being that they are somehow polluted because of who they are is to defy even the most basic of human morals. (SD)Only an unrealistic sense of power among weak people will come from heterosexism. (CM)To hate, to kill, to loathe another human being because of their sexuality will do nothing but satisfy a judgemental person with the belief that they are somehow more powerful because of their "better" orientation. (CM)No matter how hard we try, putting a person down will not raise us up. (SD)In a country that is to be led by a black man, where women and Asians and Indians have made their mark on society, how is it that homosexuals are still considered tainted by many? (CM)“I knew I shouldn't talk about it,” said Stump, reflecting upon her childhood and the moments that she came to terms with her sexuality. (CM)It is an atrocity that in this day and age, a person does not feel safe telling the world about the attraction he or she was born with. (CS)It is not the sexuality of Stump Olsen that creates bad things on this earth, it is the immoral weakness and infinite cruelty of those who can not understand equality.
As we left the board room, we muttered words of thanks and issued smiles of appreciation for her time with us. However, we were thanking Stump for so much more than the 45 minutes she spent talking to us. We were thanking her for her bravery, her individuality, her positive outlook when her world crashed around her, when hatred tried to swallow her. We were thanking her for finding the strength to look us in the eye say with a smile "My name is Stump Olsen", as if no one in the world was any more beautiful, more "normal", more perfect than she.
_________________________________________________
I think that my points in this essay are very strong. I do a good job of bringing them forward and stating solid opinions. One writing issue I'm still working on is defining my chunks. At times, I feel that they run together. This essay in particular has some disorganization in the first body paragraph. I feel that some of the sentences are disjointed from one another. I would give myself an a- on this essay.
WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 12, 2008
Mr. Salsich
English 9
Anna Holt
November 12th, 2008
The Gift to Us All:
A Response to an Essay
A person may see and do and accomplish countless things during their time on this planet. However what are sights and actions and successes without the air that we breathe? How is life possible without the earth beneath our feet? For some, earth is simply a place, obvious and ignored. For other, earth is the sanctuary (FAST), the beautiful phenomenon that allows us to exist, the sole reason for happiness.
(TS)The Way to Rainy Mountain, an essay written by N. Scott Momaday, speaks to an old woman’s place in nature. (SD)As the author discusses the life of the deceased, a recurring theme gracefully makes its way into the sentences. (CM)Time after time, the appreciation of the environment is described, but not directly stated, as if its importance in this woman’s life was so evident that one needn't mention it at all. (CM)“[She] had a reverence for the sun,” a particular respect for the warmth that was given to her, a conscious admiration for the greatest and most powerful aspect of nature, hanging above like a sentinel (FAST). (SD)For this woman, nature was a constant. (CM)It was the one thing that remained the same, inevitable, unwaveringly consistent. (CM)It seems that her future was often undefined, but when she looked upon the plains of Oklahoma to see before her “a single knoll” or “great green and yellow grasshoppers,” she knew she was home. (SD)At the end of this essay, the author speaks about their grandmother’s final hours. (CM)She is described as nearly naked, praying, as if she was giving herself up to death, for it too is a part of nature.(CM) “Her long, black hair, always drawn and braided in the day, lay upon her shoulders and upon her breasts like a shawl,” and she seemed to greet the end of her life with a certain serenity (FAST), chanting solid prayers as she uttered her last breaths. (CS)Perhaps more than anything, this woman was at peace with the natural gifts of the world.
The grandmother that I read about today is dead and gone now. She is buried somewhere, far beneath the earth’s surface. She is entirely oblivious to the current state of the world, but she knows that a mountain in the Midwestern United States still stands tall. She knows that the birds still greet us each morning and that snow still caps the most severe areas of the world. She knows of the endless planes and the “billowing clouds” and the brilliants sunsets that bless this planet. She knows that nature is the one thing that will never die.
English 9
Anna Holt
November 12th, 2008
The Gift to Us All:
A Response to an Essay
A person may see and do and accomplish countless things during their time on this planet. However what are sights and actions and successes without the air that we breathe? How is life possible without the earth beneath our feet? For some, earth is simply a place, obvious and ignored. For other, earth is the sanctuary (FAST), the beautiful phenomenon that allows us to exist, the sole reason for happiness.
(TS)The Way to Rainy Mountain, an essay written by N. Scott Momaday, speaks to an old woman’s place in nature. (SD)As the author discusses the life of the deceased, a recurring theme gracefully makes its way into the sentences. (CM)Time after time, the appreciation of the environment is described, but not directly stated, as if its importance in this woman’s life was so evident that one needn't mention it at all. (CM)“[She] had a reverence for the sun,” a particular respect for the warmth that was given to her, a conscious admiration for the greatest and most powerful aspect of nature, hanging above like a sentinel (FAST). (SD)For this woman, nature was a constant. (CM)It was the one thing that remained the same, inevitable, unwaveringly consistent. (CM)It seems that her future was often undefined, but when she looked upon the plains of Oklahoma to see before her “a single knoll” or “great green and yellow grasshoppers,” she knew she was home. (SD)At the end of this essay, the author speaks about their grandmother’s final hours. (CM)She is described as nearly naked, praying, as if she was giving herself up to death, for it too is a part of nature.(CM) “Her long, black hair, always drawn and braided in the day, lay upon her shoulders and upon her breasts like a shawl,” and she seemed to greet the end of her life with a certain serenity (FAST), chanting solid prayers as she uttered her last breaths. (CS)Perhaps more than anything, this woman was at peace with the natural gifts of the world.
The grandmother that I read about today is dead and gone now. She is buried somewhere, far beneath the earth’s surface. She is entirely oblivious to the current state of the world, but she knows that a mountain in the Midwestern United States still stands tall. She knows that the birds still greet us each morning and that snow still caps the most severe areas of the world. She knows of the endless planes and the “billowing clouds” and the brilliants sunsets that bless this planet. She knows that nature is the one thing that will never die.
WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 5, 2008
Anna Holt
English 9
November 5th, 2008
The Garden Party:
An Unseen Cruelty
From afar, a civilization looks exquisite. By definition, a culture is a group of people working together, a group of people contributing, a group of people supporting one another. However upon closer examination, perhaps this river of “cooperation” is not as magnificent as it once appeared. Perhaps upon closer examination, a civilization is not the lovely world of kindness we once assumed it was, but a cruel and isolated island of inequality, of social judgments and class. Perhaps the moment a penny is thrown into the situation, the heart of community dies, and wealth is able to sink its harsh talons into the unsuspecting culture at hand.
The Garden Party, by Katherine Mansfield, at first seemed to be an attractive story of appreciation, however after a second look, I see that this story speaks no more to the beauties of living than it does to the viscous brutality of prejudice. At the thought of entering the shabby village below her estate, Laura shivers. "The very smoke coming out of their chimneys was poverty stricken. Little rags and shreds of smoke, so unlike the great silvery plumes that uncurled from the Sheridans' chimney," she says, not stopping to consider that the fate of wealth was never in the hands of these people. Compared to Laura's extravagant lifestyle, the modest dwellings are tainted, dirty in their unappealing environment. While this kind of prejudice is subconscious, it is precisely the attitude that slowly redefines the laws of morality. While Laura and her family have a garden party, they forget the troubles of the lower class simply because they feel it is acceptable to do so. They are wealthier, therefore, they are better, and inconsiderate actions are not frowned upon. Near the end of the story, Laura finds herself in a room with the deceased husband of one of the poor widows. As she looks upon his face, she witnesses peace. She sees that in the end, no matter our race or class or home, we are alike, and opens her eyes to the fact that the people around her are treated like scum and living in despair. This is not a story of the beauty of happiness, but a story of the beauty of equality.
Perhaps Laura lives in a mansion atop a beautiful hill while the lower class inhabits "mean dwellings" that have nothing but dirt to accentuate their non-existent charm. Perhaps the Sheridans have horse drawn carriages and lace tablecloths. Perhaps they go to church every Sunday in gowns of silk and lovely hats. However, perhaps none of this matters. Perhaps the beauty of life is not found in pretty things, but the peace of a dead man's face, and in the pure social equality that our world lacks.
English 9
November 5th, 2008
The Garden Party:
An Unseen Cruelty
From afar, a civilization looks exquisite. By definition, a culture is a group of people working together, a group of people contributing, a group of people supporting one another. However upon closer examination, perhaps this river of “cooperation” is not as magnificent as it once appeared. Perhaps upon closer examination, a civilization is not the lovely world of kindness we once assumed it was, but a cruel and isolated island of inequality, of social judgments and class. Perhaps the moment a penny is thrown into the situation, the heart of community dies, and wealth is able to sink its harsh talons into the unsuspecting culture at hand.
The Garden Party, by Katherine Mansfield, at first seemed to be an attractive story of appreciation, however after a second look, I see that this story speaks no more to the beauties of living than it does to the viscous brutality of prejudice. At the thought of entering the shabby village below her estate, Laura shivers. "The very smoke coming out of their chimneys was poverty stricken. Little rags and shreds of smoke, so unlike the great silvery plumes that uncurled from the Sheridans' chimney," she says, not stopping to consider that the fate of wealth was never in the hands of these people. Compared to Laura's extravagant lifestyle, the modest dwellings are tainted, dirty in their unappealing environment. While this kind of prejudice is subconscious, it is precisely the attitude that slowly redefines the laws of morality. While Laura and her family have a garden party, they forget the troubles of the lower class simply because they feel it is acceptable to do so. They are wealthier, therefore, they are better, and inconsiderate actions are not frowned upon. Near the end of the story, Laura finds herself in a room with the deceased husband of one of the poor widows. As she looks upon his face, she witnesses peace. She sees that in the end, no matter our race or class or home, we are alike, and opens her eyes to the fact that the people around her are treated like scum and living in despair. This is not a story of the beauty of happiness, but a story of the beauty of equality.
Perhaps Laura lives in a mansion atop a beautiful hill while the lower class inhabits "mean dwellings" that have nothing but dirt to accentuate their non-existent charm. Perhaps the Sheridans have horse drawn carriages and lace tablecloths. Perhaps they go to church every Sunday in gowns of silk and lovely hats. However, perhaps none of this matters. Perhaps the beauty of life is not found in pretty things, but the peace of a dead man's face, and in the pure social equality that our world lacks.
THURSDAY, OCTOBER 23, 2008
Anna's Essay
Mr. Salsich
October 20th, 2008
Anna Holt
English 9
Stubbornly Ignorant:
An Essay on Appreciation
“Thanks, I appreciate it,” I said as I walked out of the Shell Station, and even as the words slipped through my lips, I didn’t consider their meaning. It was true that I was happy for the unopened gum in my hands, yet as my slipper-clad feet drug across the pavement, what else did I appreciate? Did I notice the wind blowing my hair into an easy river down my back, or the crisp leaves crunching beneath me, or my mother’s face, nonchalant (FAST) and blasé, as she filled the Acura gas tank (Purposeful Repetition)? Perhaps for just one moment, I was struck by the sheer beauty of everything around me; or perhaps this moment was like all the rest, forgotten and ignored, just one of the millions of memories that will make up my life. Perhaps this is one of the moments that exemplify what appreciation is; or perhaps this moment is a perfect example of what I should have been thankful for as I unwrapped my gum.
(TS)In Zora Neale Hurston's essay, "How It Feels to Be Colored Me", she teaches us not about the things she loves in herself, but about the things that should be appreciated by everyone. (SD) She believes that it is important to recognize not only yourself, but your surroundings. (CM)Along with loving her own achievements, she saw what most people miss about the world. (CM) Ms. Hurston saw the sky and the sun and the air and the happiness that floats around like bubbles making their way through the crowded street. (SD) On one occasion, this woman is entirely captivated (FAST) by an explosion of sound, and looks around to discover that "the great blobs of purple and red emotion have not touched (the man beside her).” (CM) He is impervious (CM)Ms. Hurston is able to find the true beauty, the true meaning, the true sensation of the music she is hearing, while her comrade seems entirely immune to the passion of the notes. (SD)In conclusion, Zora believes that deep down, we are all the same. (CM)We are "a jumble of small things, priceless and worthless." (Purposeful Repetition) (CM)From the deep and passionate people who embrace the world with open arms, to those of us who remain stubbornly ignorant to the wonders of life, we are all the same. (CS)Zora Neale Hurston did not need to appreciate herself; she was able to appreciate the whole world.
(TS)After reading Ms. Hurston’s essay, I wish I could appreciate the things she does, but sadly, I find that I appreciate my friends, my family, and myself more than the subtle beauties of the world. (SD)As I look back on my fourteen years, I am thankful for many things. (CM)The things I appreciate the most are the people in my life who illuminate the darker passages of time. (CM)After that come my opportunities, and my world of happiness to fall back on should I fail when I decided to walk through these open doors. (SD) (SD)While these magnificent entities of life are something to notice, something to love, perhaps I am missing the bigger picture. (CM)Perhaps when I walk out of the gas station and sniff at the overflowing garbage can and energy inefficient vehicles, I am missing the things that need to be noticed. (SD) There are times here and there when I stop to look at the bumble bee hovering above the flower, but once in a while isn’t enough. (CM)I am missing the smile from the woman changing the trash bag, and I am missing the clean air flowing in from the sea (Purposeful Repetition). (CM) I am so consumed with myself, my friends, my life, that I forget to notice what is around me. (CS)Perhaps today, while I see myself and my life for all that they are, I miss the inconsequential subtleties (FAST) of the world; the ones that were made to be appreciated, even if it is only by the lucky people who possess the wisdom to do so.
I am almost back at the car now, and as I reach my hand out to open the door of the passenger’s seat, I bite into that first piece of gum. My mouth explodes in a fury of mint, and for just a moment I stop and inhale. The wind is fierce against my skin, the smell of autumn is crisp as it enters my body, and the sky is a shocking blue that I have never truly noticed until this very second. The birds have never sounded so sweet, the grass never looked so green; I have never been so alive. I forget myself, I let go of everything that I am, and in one brilliant moment, I love the whole entire world.
_______________
October 20th, 2008
Anna Holt
English 9
Stubbornly Ignorant:
An Essay on Appreciation
“Thanks, I appreciate it,” I said as I walked out of the Shell Station, and even as the words slipped through my lips, I didn’t consider their meaning. It was true that I was happy for the unopened gum in my hands, yet as my slipper-clad feet drug across the pavement, what else did I appreciate? Did I notice the wind blowing my hair into an easy river down my back, or the crisp leaves crunching beneath me, or my mother’s face, nonchalant (FAST) and blasé, as she filled the Acura gas tank (Purposeful Repetition)? Perhaps for just one moment, I was struck by the sheer beauty of everything around me; or perhaps this moment was like all the rest, forgotten and ignored, just one of the millions of memories that will make up my life. Perhaps this is one of the moments that exemplify what appreciation is; or perhaps this moment is a perfect example of what I should have been thankful for as I unwrapped my gum.
(TS)In Zora Neale Hurston's essay, "How It Feels to Be Colored Me", she teaches us not about the things she loves in herself, but about the things that should be appreciated by everyone. (SD) She believes that it is important to recognize not only yourself, but your surroundings. (CM)Along with loving her own achievements, she saw what most people miss about the world. (CM) Ms. Hurston saw the sky and the sun and the air and the happiness that floats around like bubbles making their way through the crowded street. (SD) On one occasion, this woman is entirely captivated (FAST) by an explosion of sound, and looks around to discover that "the great blobs of purple and red emotion have not touched (the man beside her).” (CM) He is impervious (CM)Ms. Hurston is able to find the true beauty, the true meaning, the true sensation of the music she is hearing, while her comrade seems entirely immune to the passion of the notes. (SD)In conclusion, Zora believes that deep down, we are all the same. (CM)We are "a jumble of small things, priceless and worthless." (Purposeful Repetition) (CM)From the deep and passionate people who embrace the world with open arms, to those of us who remain stubbornly ignorant to the wonders of life, we are all the same. (CS)Zora Neale Hurston did not need to appreciate herself; she was able to appreciate the whole world.
(TS)After reading Ms. Hurston’s essay, I wish I could appreciate the things she does, but sadly, I find that I appreciate my friends, my family, and myself more than the subtle beauties of the world. (SD)As I look back on my fourteen years, I am thankful for many things. (CM)The things I appreciate the most are the people in my life who illuminate the darker passages of time. (CM)After that come my opportunities, and my world of happiness to fall back on should I fail when I decided to walk through these open doors. (SD) (SD)While these magnificent entities of life are something to notice, something to love, perhaps I am missing the bigger picture. (CM)Perhaps when I walk out of the gas station and sniff at the overflowing garbage can and energy inefficient vehicles, I am missing the things that need to be noticed. (SD) There are times here and there when I stop to look at the bumble bee hovering above the flower, but once in a while isn’t enough. (CM)I am missing the smile from the woman changing the trash bag, and I am missing the clean air flowing in from the sea (Purposeful Repetition). (CM) I am so consumed with myself, my friends, my life, that I forget to notice what is around me. (CS)Perhaps today, while I see myself and my life for all that they are, I miss the inconsequential subtleties (FAST) of the world; the ones that were made to be appreciated, even if it is only by the lucky people who possess the wisdom to do so.
I am almost back at the car now, and as I reach my hand out to open the door of the passenger’s seat, I bite into that first piece of gum. My mouth explodes in a fury of mint, and for just a moment I stop and inhale. The wind is fierce against my skin, the smell of autumn is crisp as it enters my body, and the sky is a shocking blue that I have never truly noticed until this very second. The birds have never sounded so sweet, the grass never looked so green; I have never been so alive. I forget myself, I let go of everything that I am, and in one brilliant moment, I love the whole entire world.
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SATURDAY, OCTOBER 18, 2008
Anna's Revised Essay
Mr. Salsich
Anna Holt
English 9
October 7, 2008
The Balance of Life:
Loss and Gain between Two Characters
An old man hobbled to the grocery store check-out slowly, looking nervous and staggering his footsteps as if he was walking on rocks. He seemed to be going blind, and as he warily inched across the tile floor, I noticed the light of his wedding ring. The lowly man looked unhealthy and deprived, but when his wife found her way to his spot in line, hurriedly shoving a box of low-sodium butter into their cart, a smile like none other broke out across his wrinkled face, erasing any misfortune that was once there. Every story has its ups and downs, but perhaps there are instances when the good things in life simply outweigh the bad.
“Sonny’s Blues” by James Baldwin presents us with a character much like the old man at the grocery store, who possesses a love deeper than his woes. What Sonny lacks is conventional happiness. When he gets up each morning, he does not know the challenges that will face him. He does not know the pain or hardship of the day ahead. (Purposeful Repetition). Sonny opens his eyes not only lacking knowledge of the future, but also lacking a friend. Through the cruelties of fate, Sonny lost both his parents, and through the anguish of drug abuse, he has, in a sense, lost his brother as well. He is alone. Near the end of the story, when Sonny’s life seems entirely lost, a passion pulls him up from his pit of despair. Sonny sits down in front of the piano, entering his own realm of happiness and for once finds a reason to live. Through notes and rhythm and gain and loss, he is one with the music. Sonny has no money, no friends, no plan, (Purposeful Repetition) but his one love casts a light so bright that one need not see his many losses and imperfections.
For Sonny, happiness found a way into his life when there seemed to be no escape from sorrow, but what’s gold to one person is dirt to another, and Dexter Green, the main character from F. Scott Fitzgerald's short story "Winter Dreams", wasn’t so lucky. Looking from afar, Dexter Green had all his wishes come true. He was a shining beacon of success, a light for poor boys that wanted to make a difference in the world of business. His pretty words and charming wit earned him wealth and respect, but this kind of happiness is not the deep passion that can make a life joyful. For him, the thing that could fulfill his life was Judy Jones. Judy, who captured his heart with one smile, was the gain he needed. Judy, who’s nasty comments and hurtful reappearances and “roller-coaster inconstancy (could not) diminish his love for her” (Clinton S. Burhans), was the final piece in the puzzle of Dexter's life. By the end of the story, Judy's spark dies out, and Dexter sits alone, a young man with nothing to live for. With the loss of the woman he once loved, he fails to see beauty in anything he has gained throughout his life. It seems trivial, really, to be worrying about fame and fortune when your true love no longer exists. Dexter has gained an artificial world of happiness, but lost his soul.
In our time, we will lose loved ones and we will lose dreams and we will lose that which we thought belonged to us. We will lose battles, but perhaps we can find something so beautiful that we are able to win the war. What we must remember is that no matter how many inconsequential gains or losses we come upon, there is an ultimate gain that we strive to achieve. It is our calling, our love, our passion, and that is what we live for.
Anna Holt
English 9
October 7, 2008
The Balance of Life:
Loss and Gain between Two Characters
An old man hobbled to the grocery store check-out slowly, looking nervous and staggering his footsteps as if he was walking on rocks. He seemed to be going blind, and as he warily inched across the tile floor, I noticed the light of his wedding ring. The lowly man looked unhealthy and deprived, but when his wife found her way to his spot in line, hurriedly shoving a box of low-sodium butter into their cart, a smile like none other broke out across his wrinkled face, erasing any misfortune that was once there. Every story has its ups and downs, but perhaps there are instances when the good things in life simply outweigh the bad.
“Sonny’s Blues” by James Baldwin presents us with a character much like the old man at the grocery store, who possesses a love deeper than his woes. What Sonny lacks is conventional happiness. When he gets up each morning, he does not know the challenges that will face him. He does not know the pain or hardship of the day ahead. (Purposeful Repetition). Sonny opens his eyes not only lacking knowledge of the future, but also lacking a friend. Through the cruelties of fate, Sonny lost both his parents, and through the anguish of drug abuse, he has, in a sense, lost his brother as well. He is alone. Near the end of the story, when Sonny’s life seems entirely lost, a passion pulls him up from his pit of despair. Sonny sits down in front of the piano, entering his own realm of happiness and for once finds a reason to live. Through notes and rhythm and gain and loss, he is one with the music. Sonny has no money, no friends, no plan, (Purposeful Repetition) but his one love casts a light so bright that one need not see his many losses and imperfections.
For Sonny, happiness found a way into his life when there seemed to be no escape from sorrow, but what’s gold to one person is dirt to another, and Dexter Green, the main character from F. Scott Fitzgerald's short story "Winter Dreams", wasn’t so lucky. Looking from afar, Dexter Green had all his wishes come true. He was a shining beacon of success, a light for poor boys that wanted to make a difference in the world of business. His pretty words and charming wit earned him wealth and respect, but this kind of happiness is not the deep passion that can make a life joyful. For him, the thing that could fulfill his life was Judy Jones. Judy, who captured his heart with one smile, was the gain he needed. Judy, who’s nasty comments and hurtful reappearances and “roller-coaster inconstancy (could not) diminish his love for her” (Clinton S. Burhans), was the final piece in the puzzle of Dexter's life. By the end of the story, Judy's spark dies out, and Dexter sits alone, a young man with nothing to live for. With the loss of the woman he once loved, he fails to see beauty in anything he has gained throughout his life. It seems trivial, really, to be worrying about fame and fortune when your true love no longer exists. Dexter has gained an artificial world of happiness, but lost his soul.
In our time, we will lose loved ones and we will lose dreams and we will lose that which we thought belonged to us. We will lose battles, but perhaps we can find something so beautiful that we are able to win the war. What we must remember is that no matter how many inconsequential gains or losses we come upon, there is an ultimate gain that we strive to achieve. It is our calling, our love, our passion, and that is what we live for.
