KILLER Review

Killer by Sara Shepard


My rating: 4 of 5 stars
In this sixth enstallment in the Pretty Little Liars series, four girls from the town of Rosewood face frightening threats and circumstances as they attempt to hide devastating secrets from those around them.

View all my reviews >>

ECLIPSE Review

Eclipse by Stephenie Meyer


My rating: 4 of 5 stars
This book is the third in a series by Stephenie Meyer about a girl named Bella who falls in love with a vampire named Edward. In this book, Bella is forced to choose whether she wants to spend the rest of her life with Edward or with her friend Jacob, who is not completely human, either.

I enjoyed most of this book, but I disliked the ending. It was also a little predictable. However, I kept reading through all 629 pages of it, so obviously the good features of this book outweighed the bad.

View all my reviews >>

A Home for Winter (Legend) By Stephany Fox

Once there was a mouse named Makawee who lived on the open, brown plains with her three sons. Winter was quickly approaching and Makawee was looking for a place to hibernate for the winter.
Makawee’s mother had been a wise mouse and had taught Makawee to look for little tunnels in the ground to live in to keep her warm and safe throughout the winter. But Makawee was very foolish, and was not satisfied with living as her mother and all her other ancestors had before her. She decided to look for a home that was more respectable than a tunnel in the ground.
One day, Makawee was looking for food in the forest with her sons. As she was walking, she spotted a sparrow flying into its nest high in the trees.
“What a wonderful creature!” Makawee exclaimed. “It looks so majestic as it flies high in the sky. If only I were a bird!”
Makawee decided that she wanted to live in the highest branches of a tree, like a bird. “If I live in a tree,” she reasoned, “all the other mice will look up at me with envy because I have such a splendid home.”
Since she could not carry all of her sons into the tree at the same time, she grabbed her oldest son in her teeth and began to climb a tall, leafy tree nearby.
As you and I know, mice were not meant to climb trees, but Makawee’s mind was set on her goal of living like a sparrow, so she managed to clamber up to one of the tree’s highest branches. Makawee set her son down, but the little mouse was not able to balance on the narrow tree branch, and he fell to his death on the hard forest floor.
“My son has fallen! I cannot have the same thing happen to my other sons. I suppose I cannot live in this tree,” Makawee said as she hastily climbed down to the ground.
Not long after, Makawee came to a cool, rushing river. The river was so clean and clear that Makawee could see a fish darting here and there in the water.
“What a wonderful creature!” Makawee exclaimed. “It looks so graceful gliding through the water. If only I were a fish!”
Makawee decided that she wanted to live in the water. “I can make a little house for myself and my sons with mud on the riverbed,” she reasoned. “The other mice will look down into the water and envy my lovely home.”
Makawee picked up her second son and jumped into the river. Of course, mice were not meant to swim in the water, but since Makawee was so determined to be like a fish, she managed to hold her breath as she dove toward the bottom of the river. Her son, however, did not know how to hold his breath, and he drowned.
Makawee returned to the surface of the water. “My son has drowned! I suppose I cannot live in the water if my children will not be able to live there with me,” she said as she stumbled out of the river.
Some time later, a Sioux tribe settled on the prairie where Makawee and her one remaining son were still searching for a place to spend the winter. When Makawee saw the members of the tribe, she was beside herself with jealously.
“What remarkable creatures!” she said. “I wish I were like them! It is so incredible how they walk on two feet and live in teepees and cook their food over fires. I would give anything to be like them!”
Makawee decided to build a teepee like that of the humans. She began to search the vast, open plains for something with which to build her teepee.
After many hours of searching among the scrub bushes and rocks, Makawee found an old snakeskin with which to cover her teepee. She took a few twigs from a scrub bush and stacked them into a conical frame. Then she draped the snakeskin over the twig frame and tied stiff, dry grass here and there to hold the teepee together.
Makawee said to her third son, “Now you and I will live like those humans do. All the other animals will be jealous of us because we have such a marvelous home.”
By this time Makawee had grown hungry, and she decided to go find something for her and her son to eat. She instructed her son to stay in the teepee.
As she was searching nearby for food, she turned to admire the house she had built. Just then, two Sioux children ran toward the little teepee and trampled it beneath their feet. Makawee rushed back to the teepee to find that her son had been crushed.
“All of my sons have been killed!” Makawee wept.
Just as she was saying this, she felt something cold and wet fall on her nose. She gazed up at the sky and saw that it had begun to snow. The snow began to fall faster and faster, until all Makawee could see was white.
“I suppose I won’t be able to find a good home now,” Makawee thought bitterly as she began to trudge through the icy snow in search of a tunnel.
But the snow continued to fall fast and steady, and Makawee could not find a tunnel. She wandered the cold, barren plains the whole winter, wishing she had been content with living as her mother had taught her.

Journal Entry #11

School has started. I am going to a new school this year. It is a very small Christian school with about seventy students. Instead of going five days a week, I go two days a week and am given enough homework to fill the other three days (and the weekends, as I am beginning to discover). I have an assignment for my American Literature class to write a legend. I haven't been doing much writing lately, just reading, so I'm excited to buckle down and let my creative juices flow. My Literature teacher gave us five major characteristics of legends that we are supposed to incorporate into our legends: 1) Story is told as though it is true; 2) A story from the past about a subject that was (or is believed to have been) historical; 3) Contains fantasy/unrealistic elements; 4) Handed down though generations; 5) Often used to teach cultural values (similar to a fable) or explain a natural phenomenon. I'll post my legend as soon as it's finished. In the mean time, wish me luck!

NEW MOON Review

New Moon by Stephenie Meyer


My rating: 5 of 5 stars
In this sequel to Twilight, Bella Swan loses Edward Cullen, but her friend Jacob is able to comfort her and help her move on. But strange things begin to happen to Jacob, and Bella finds that she will never be able to completely get over Edward.

View all my reviews >>

Journal Entry #10

We just got back from our camping trip. There were good parts, including roasting marshmallows, spending time with friends, and hiking along a beautiful, rugged mountain trail. There were also lows, including getting lost and extremely tired on our hike and having to sleep in a wet sleeping bag. Overall, it was a pretty good experience though.

Day #1 (Tuesday): We arrived in the afternoon, set up our tents, and started making dinner. After the food and dishes had been cleaned up, my siblings and the young daughter of the people with whom we were camping roasted marshmallows for s'mores. I couldn't have any because of my braces, but I've never been a huge fan of s'mores anyway.

Day #2 (Wednesday): We all rose early, washed up, and ate breakfast. After breakfast we explored the area around our campsite. After lunch, we went on a hike down a mountain, which was beautiful. After a while, though, the trail circled around and we found ourselves trekking up steep paths. A little while after this, we discovered that we were lost, so the men (including my 13-year-old brother) hiked up the mountain to the main road while we girls drank water and ate granola bars. They eventually came back to inform us that we were roughly four city blocks away from our van. We managed to make it back to camp safely, where we ate dinner and played Taboo and Apples to Apples until bedtime.

Day #3 (Thursday): The morning went much the same as Wednesday morning, and after lunch we went fishing. After a quick trip to the visitor's center for some fishing tips, we drove to a small lake nearby. After just a few minutes, however, it started to rain, so we packed up and headed back to camp. Once we arrived, we found that there had been much more than a drizzle at the campground, not to mention hail, which had piled up all over the ground. Since it was still raining, we all headed to our friends' tent, were we warmed up, ate snacks, and played cards. After the rain, we ate dinner and played some more board games. Afterward we decided to get ready for bed, only to discover that rain had entered our tent, and most of it seemed to have landed in my corner. My duffel (which contained my pajamas and clean clothes for the next day) was soaked through, along with my sleeping bag. I ended up sleeping in my clothes.

Day #4 (Friday): We awoke to sunny skies. After breakfast, everyone started packing up. A lot of cleaning had to be done because of all the mud that seemed to coat everything. Around 11:30am, we said our goodbyes and headed home.

Journal Entry #9

Today we are going camping. Anyone who knows me well will know that I am less than thrilled. I just can't really get into the campfires and dish washing and high-speed internet-lessness. I find nothing exciting about sleeping in a cold tent on hard, rocky ground, with unknown predatory animals rustling through the bushes around me. But I am going to try to smile and make the best of it. :)

THE KAYLA CHRONICLES Review

The Kayla Chronicles by Sherri Winston


My rating: 3 of 5 stars
When Kayla Dean's best friend Rosalie encourages her to join a dance called the Lady Lions to prove that the dance team discriminates against certain girls, Kayla has to decide whether she wants to be like the girls on the dance team or like her best friend, who is a devoted feminist.

View all my reviews >>

MARLEY AND ME Review

Marley & Me: Love and Life with the World's Worst Dog by John Grogan


My rating: 4 of 5 stars
This book is a biography of the crazy yet lovable dog of author John Grogan, named Marley. Though Marley is not a "good dog" by most standards, his loving and faithful heart makes him an unforgettable and cherished pet to the Grogan family.

View all my reviews >>

TWILIGHT Review

Twilight by Stephenie Meyer


My rating: 4 of 5 stars
This book is about a girl named Bella who moves to the small Washington town of Forks to live with her father while her mother and stepfather are traveling. While in Forks, Bella meets and falls in love with a mysterious boy named Edward who has a dangerous secret: he is a vampire.

I liked this book because it was easy for me to relate to Bella. She is shy and unsure of herself, but she is a good friend and cares about the people around her. I disliked Edward, however. He was bossy, overbearing, and overprotective. He was also apt to moodswings, becoming angry and even violent in the blink of an eye.

Overall, I enjoyed this book. The storyline and characters were very intriguing and, though the book is almost 500 pages long, its format made for easy reading.


View all my reviews >>

Meeting (Chapter 13, Story 1)

To Hilda, Saturday seemed to take forever to arrive, but when it did, she put on a red and black gingham dress, baked a pie for her son and his bride, and instructed her husband, Will, to get into the car to leave. Hilda had lived in Scottsdale for a very long time, and knew her way around very well, but the address her son had given her was unfamiliar, so she consulted a map of Scottsdale kept in her glove compartment. "Oh my," she gasped suddenly. "What?" Will gave her a puzzled glance. "It's just that this address is..." Hilda didn't finish her sentence. It seemed that the street her son lived on was the same street she had had to drive down on her way to the police station, the street with the drinking woman and children playing in the busy street. "Never mind," she mumbled absentmindedly, "I'm probably all mixed up." But to Hilda's dismay, she was not at all mixed up. The very same ugly brown apartments that she had hurried past just a few days ago loomed before her as she search for a place to park. "Now, Will," she said, getting out of the car, "I don't really know what to expect, so be polite and try to remember that this is your son we are dealing with." Will just glanced at her and kept walking. Hilda and Will soon found the apartment. The doorbell was broken, so Hilda rapped loudly on the door. No one answered. She knocked again, but still no one came. "Maybe he forgot, Dear," Will suggested, turning to leave. "No, Will is too smart to forget," Hilda replied, and, just as she was reaching to knock a third time, to door swung open. James stood in the threshold, an embarrassed grin on his face. "Sorry, Mom. I couldn't hear you." He stepped aside to allow Hilda and Will into the apartment. It was dark and musty inside, with a distinct scent of beer, cigarette smoke, and window cleaner. There was a lone couch in the middle of the room, and a hallway with a single door on either side of it. "Well, James, this is interesting," Hilda said slowly. "Yeah, It's not much, but it works. Would you two like to sit down?" Hilda eyed the couch, which appeared to have a strange gray film covering it. Will cleared his throat and, grabbing his wife's arm, sat on the couch, pulling Hilda with him. James pulled up a wooden bar stool and smiled. "So, Dad, how are you?" "Fine, Son, and you?" "I'm okay. Thanks for asking." Will nodded. James glanced at Hilda and winced at the dismayed look she was trying to disguise. "The house doesn't usually look like this, Mom. Karen just didn't have time to...you know, clean up." "Certainly," Hilda mumbled. "James, Darling, why does is smell like someone has been smoking?" she asked. "What? Oh, it's the neighbors. The guy next door must smoke five packs a day, at least. Smells up the whole floor. It's terrible." "Uh huh," Hilda grunted. "Then why is there a pack of cigarettes on the floor over there?" "What?" James jumped up, grabbed the cigarettes, and tossed them into an empty flower pot. "Well, the guy comes over sometimes. He always brings those things in here, even though I tell him not to." "Well," Hilda said, sniffing, "you ought to tell him again. He shouldn't be smoking around your wife, especially in her condition." At this, Hilda smiled. "Where is your wife by the way, James?" The color quickly drained from James' face. "Wife? Karen? She's not here right now. In fact, maybe this isn't a very good time. Maybe you both should come by another day, after we've had time to straighten up." James jumped up to lead his parents to the door. Hilda glared at him. A strained silent choked the air for what seemed likes hours. Suddenly, a high-pitched, nasally voice broke the silence. "Jack? Can I come out yet?" "Who is that?" Hilda demanded. One of the hall doors opened and a thin, pale woman with rollers in her hair and a cigarette hanging from her cracking lips appeared. "Oh, dear Lord," Hilda whispered, grabbing Will's hand. It was none other than the old drinking woman she'd seen when she was driving to the police station. James had gone very pale, and he glanced nervously from his mother to the woman who had entered the room. "Well, mother, this is Karen. "What?" Hilda yelped. "Her? You married her?" "Well, yes, Mom, she's really great, really." "How old is she? And why is she calling you Jack?" Hilda stared hard at the woman, appalled by her rough appearance. She guessed that Karen was at least forty, probably ten or twenty years beyond that. "She's twenty-five, Mom. Only two years older than me."

FLYGIRL Review

Flygirl by Sherri L. Smith

My review

rating: 5 of 5 stars
This book is set in the United States during World War II and is about an African American girl named Ida Mae who must, in order to participate in the Women Airforce Service Pilots (WASP) and serve her country, pretend to be white.

Ida Mae's struggles and triumphs made this book very interesting. Having to decide who she really was inside and who she wanted to become shaped Ida Mae's character, while challenging the reader to think about who they really want to be as well.


View all my reviews.

Married (Chapter 12, Story 1)

"Oh! Excuse me, sir!" Hilda exclaimed, seeing the large form looming in front of her was a human being. "Mom?" "I'm sorry?" Hilda looked up into the man's face and realized that he was none other than her own son, James. "James!" She enveloped him in a hug. "Oh, James! Your father and I have been so, so worried about you! Where have you been?" "In jail, obviously," the policeman behind the desk muttered. James scowled at him. "Come on, James. This place makes me feel ill. Let's talk outside." Rain was pouring from a dismal gray sky outside the station. Hilda pulled a small umbrella from her handbag and attempted to cover herself and her son with it. She wasn't tall enough to shield her son from the rain, so he held the umbrella instead. "James, why were you in jail? Do you still live here in Scottsdale? Do you still work at the Institute? Why have you been ignoring your father and I for so long?" Hilda wiped at the tears that had begun to leak from her eyes. "I'm sorry, Mom. I really am. Things just got a little crazy and it was best for me to leave you and Dad out of the whole mess." "But, son, maybe we could have helped you!" "No," James replied, shaking his head. "There was nothing you two could do. Nothing anyone could do, actually." "Well, I suppose all that matters now is that I've found you again. You can come home with me and we'll have a nice big supper, with all your favorite foods. Your father will be so happy to see you. He's missed you so much." "No, Mom, I can't do that." "Why not?" "Because I have my own home now." Hilda studied her son's face. He had lines around his eyes and on his forehead. His skin had a grayness to it she didn't remember, and his hair stood up in greasy spikes all over his head, as if he hadn't washed it in a while. "Of course, son. How silly of me. You're an independent young man now. You would have your own home." "Yes. And there's something else." James hesitated. "I'm...married." Hilda blinked. "I'm sorry, you're what?" "Married, Mom, I'm married." "Well when did this happen? How could you get married without informing your father and I?" "It wasn't really planned. It was sort of a crazy, spur of the moment thing. Nobody knew." "Well I suppose there's no use in crying over spilled milk. What's her name?" "Karen. She's great, Mom. Really great. I think you'd like her." Hilda tried to smile and patted her son's arm. "Of course I will son. When can I meet her?" "Well I...I don't know, Mom." "What do you mean you don't know? How about Saturday?" "Mom, Karen isn't really much for company these days because she's...pregnant. "James, you're expecting a child? My grandchild?" "Yeah." Hilda sniffed. She hated not knowing the latest news, and the fact that her son had managed to get married to the woman who was carrying her grandchild upset her. "Well, if that's the case, I most definitely have to meet her. And see your house. I won't take no for an answer, James! Where do you live?" James sighed, knowing there was no way to persuade his mother once she had set her mind to something. He scribbled his address on the back of a receipt. "Thank you. I will be there at five o' clock on Saturday. And I will bring your father." After exchanging a quick hug and a final goodbye, the two parted.

MODEL: A MEMOIR Review

Model: A Memoir by Cheryl Diamond

My review

rating: 5 of 5 stars
This book is a memoir written by model and author Cheryl Diamond. The book takes you to the streets of New York, where teenage Cheryl fights to make a name for herself within the harsh and unforgiving modeling world. Cheryl experiences triumphs, setbacks, laughs, and tears as she grows and matures into a not-so-typical New York Model.

I liked this book because Cheryl's experiences are so intriguing. Her writing style makes you feel as if you are right there experiencing Manhattan right alongside her. This is definitely a recommended read!


View all my reviews.

Jail (Chapter 11, Story 1)

About five years later, James' mother received a perplexing call from the local police station. "Your son has requested to see you, Mrs. Jones," the officer informed her curtly. Mrs. Jones promptly picked up her keys, got into her car, and drove toward the police station. She had no idea what James could have done to deserve being locked up. He had always been a good, obedient son, always telling the truth and rarely getting into trouble. For reasons she couldn't explain, sometimes Mrs. Jones secretly wished that James would do something mischievous just once, but James remained an angelic child until the day he left home. Mrs. Jones turned onto a side street called Dylan Avenue. It was not a busy street, but there was enough traffic to make Mrs. Jones wonder why the mothers of the dozens of children playing in the street didn't make them play in a safer spot. The street was lined with ugly, dirty brownstone apartments, and the sidewalks were littered with cola cans and fast food wrappers. The smell of cigarette smoke and body odor seeped into Mrs. Jones' car. She shuddered when she glimpsed a haggard old woman laughing loudly and lifting a bottle to her lips. As she turned onto a quieter street, Mrs. Jones prayed that her son would never end up living in a place like that. Within a few minutes, Mrs. Jones had arrived at the police station. She had never been inside one before, and she wasn't sure how she should go about tracking down her son. A tall, muscular policewoman approached Mrs. Jones where she stood in the middle of the small parking lot. "Excuse me, can I help you?" the policewoman asked. "Yes, please, my name is Hilda Jones, and I am trying to find my son, James Jones. I was called a little while ago by a policeman who told me James wanted to see me." "Okay, Mrs. Jones, follow me." The policewoman led Hilda into a dismal, gray building. There was a policeman sitting behind a large green desk, and his eyes were glued to a computer monitor. "Ask him about your son," the policeman said. "Alright." Mrs. Jones approached the man behind the desk and cleared her throat to get his attention. "What?" he snapped. "I'm sorry to interrupt you, sir, but I was called about my son and--" "Name?" "Pardon me?" The policeman sighed. "What is your son's name, lady?" "Oh, his name is James. James Jones." "Sorry, lady, but your son's not here." "Excuse me?" Hilda said nervously, tightening her grip on her keys. "He was released yesterday," the policeman said. "But sir, I was called not even an hour ago, and I was told he was here." "Well somebody made a mistake, because he's not here." "Well where is he?" Hilda asked. "How should I know? Home, maybe." "Can you tell me where that is?" "Where what is?" "His home. Where does he live?" "You're his mother and you don't know?" The policeman raised an eyebrow. "We've been out of contact for the past few years. Would you please tell me where he lives?" "I'm not supposed to do that." The policeman looked back at his computer. Hilda transitioned her keys to her left hand, wondering if he was finished speaking to her. "Sir?" The policeman looked up, seeming to have forgotten her existence. "What now, lady?" "It's very, very important that I find my son." "I'm sorry lady, but even if I could give you that information, I don't have it." "You mean to tell me that you lock people up without asking for their address?" The policeman shrugged. Hilda felt as though she might cry. "Oh dear," she said, her voice cracking. The policeman looked at her for a moment, shook his head, and looked back at his computer. Hilda had been looking forward to seeing her son, and now all chances of that were gone. She opened the door, stepped out of the police station, and crashed into something tall and wet.

KEEPING CORNER Review

Keeping Corner by Kashmira Sheth

My review

rating: 4 of 5 stars
This book is about a girl named Leela who is living in Ghandi-era India. When Leela's husband dies, she is subjected to live the life of a widow, having to shave her head and "keep corner" in her house for a full year, even though she only 12. Leela learns to appreciate the world around her and find the good in bad situations during her year of keeping corner, and she finds that sometimes tradtion needs to be broken so that new ideas can improve life.


View all my reviews.

MINERVA CLARK GETS A CLUE Review

Minerva Clark Gets a Clue by Karen Karbo

My review

rating: 5 of 5 stars
This book is about a 7th-grader named Minerva who finds impermeable self-confidence and courage after receiving an electric shock. Minerva goes on to solve a complicated murder mystery involving her own friends and family members.


I liked this book because I could relate to Minerva. She was very critical of herself, very shy, and had difficulty being herself and being honest with other people. I admired how brave and "real" she was after being shocked, and hope to eventually experience a similar change in my own life.


View all my reviews.

FLUSH Review

Flush by Carl Hiaasen

My review

rating: 4 of 5 stars
When Noah Underwood's father is sent to prison for sinking a casino boat that he believes to be dumping waste tanks into the ocean, Noah decides to help his father prove his suspicions. Noah and his siter, Abbey, get into all kinds of trouble as they attempt to prove that their father is sane and telling the truth, while keeping the owner of the boat from polluting the ocean around their home in the Florida Keys.


I really enjoyed this book because it was filled with action and suspense. Noah, Abbey, and their parents are very passionate about keeping the beaches and oceans clean, and they are willing put themselves at risk to stop the casino boat from polluting. This book encourages readers to fight for what they believe in and to always do the right thing, because "what comes around goes around."


View all my reviews.

Internship (Chapter 10, Story 1)

James had been a straight-A student in high school, and when he graduated as valedictorian of his class, he already knew exactly what he wanted to do with his life. He wanted to be a biologist, researching and discovering all there was to know about life on earth. Like every other graduate of Scottsdale High, he wanted to work at the Scottsdale Research Institute. Even then, no one knew anything about the Institute except for what had been rumored on the street, and most of the rumors concerned the amount of money generated there. People said that even the janitor at the Institute had a six figure income. They said that the floors were made of gold tiles, and the walls were covered in silver paint. James had known better than to believe all the gossip, but he had a hunch that big and important things were going on within the Institutes's cold stone walls, and he knew for a fact that the majority of the scientists employed there specialized in biology. Anyone who knew James Jones knew that he was strong-willed and determined, but everyone in the town of Scottsdale was shocked when James managed to find a job as an intern at the Institute. People came to visit James' parents every day, hoping to find out why James had gotten the job and what he was doing at the Institute, but James' parents informed every visitor that they really didn't know much more than they did. "James isn't supposed to tell us what goes on at his job," James' mother would say, "but we know he's doing wonderful things and we are very proud of him." Whenever people approached James himself about the subject, he would hurriedly end the conversation and hurry away. By the time he had been working at the Institute for a year, he was avoiding all contact with people. He went to work early in the morning and came home late at night, long after the townspeople had gone to sleep. He moved out of his parents' home, neglecting to give them any way to contact him. People whispered about James Jones, making up wild stories about his disappearance, but no one really knew what had happened.

Cooperation (Chapter 9, Story 1)

"What is that, Kella?" Michelle asked. "I don't know. Nothing, probably," Kella replied. The letter was very short and appeared to have been typed on a typewriter. The ink was smudged in places, as if water had been spilled on it. Dear Mr. and Mrs. Jones, it read, We are pleased to inform you that Project Roman is progressing as planned. We appreciate your cooperation. The signature at the bottom was so blurry that Kella couldn't read it. "Kella, can I have that envelope?" April asked. "Sure," Kella said, handing it over to her sister. She wondered why such a short, simple letter had been put in such a bright envelope. It wasn't as if there was any urgent information inside. Kella also wondered why the letter was thanking her parents for cooperating with the Scottsdale Research Institute. Kella's father had hated the Institute, saying that the ugly gray building brought down property values and they were throwing away his precious tax dollars on worthless tinkering. Karen always glared at him whenever he said anything about the Institute, and usually made some snide remark about James wishing he were smart enough to work at the Institute. Kella's father always winced when Karen said things like that.

Cabinet (Chapter 8, Story 1)

"I'll come too," Kella said, following her sister into the den. Laura was sprawled on the dingy beige carpet, holding one hand in the other. Blood trickled down her arm. "I fell," she said simply, her voice shuddering. Michelle bent over her younger sister, asking to see the cut and telling Laura that it wasn't too bad. There was a filing cabinet in the den which was used predominately as a skyscraper when the younger girls played Barbies. None of the children were sure if anything was inside it; it was kept securely locked at all times. Apparently, Laura had climbed on top of the cabinet and it had fallen over, causing its two drawers to burst open and their contents to fly all over the room. Kella began to clean up the myriad of papers and envelopes that littered the floor, examining everything as she did so. Most of the papers were credit card bills, but there were also report cards, letters from the landlord, and receipts. Kella had no idea how all the contents of the filing cabinet had been organized, so she simply began to stuff the papers back into the cabinet's drawers. Finally, after what seemed like hours, the last bill had been put away and both drawers had been put back into the cabinet. Kella pushed the heavy cabinet back into the corner, praying as she did so that her mother wouldn't notice that it had been tampered with. "Kella," April said, "you missed one." There was a bright red envelope on top of the TV. Kella wondered how she's missed it. Picking it up, she noticed that it was addressed to James and Karen Jones, whereas the other letters had been addressed only to Karen. There was no return address on the envelope. It's probably just another bill, Kella told herself. But, just to be sure, she lifted the envelope's flap and pulled out a folded piece of white paper. Unfolding the paper, she saw that the Scottsdale Research Institute letterhead was at the top.

Cooking (Chapter 7, Story 1)

"Will you look at the time?" Karen huffed, glancing at her watch. "I'm late. You'd better get in there and watch those kids now. Don't forget to give them dinner." With that, Karen turned on her heels and walked back down the corridor. Kella sighed and entered the apartment. Usually, her siblings used any time that their mother wasn't home to wreck the house, but today the apartment was in relatively good condition. "Hey everybody," Kella greeted them. The little kids smiled and waved, and Michelle went into the kitchen to help Kella. Kella went into the kitchen herself and began to pull food items from the shelves on the wall. There were some spaghetti noodles, a can of tomato sauce, and some canned green beans. Michelle pulled out two pots and she and Kella began dumping the canned items into them. "How was the doctor?" Michelle asked. "Okay, I guess. He was really nosey," Kella replied. "That's his job," Michelle reminded her. "I guess." "The debt collector came by again." "Oh yeah?" Michelle nodded, stirring the green beans. "He said something about jail this time. Of course, I couldn't hear much of what he said, since Mom always makes us go in the back when he comes." "Don't worry, Michelle. Everything is going to fine. Mom will get a job, and she'll be able to pay off the debt." Michelle shrugged. "Kella," she said quietly, "you don't have to lie to me. I'm not a little kid anymore. I understand what's going on. It does scare me sometimes, but I'd rather know the truth." Kella didn't say anything. She knew treated Michelle like a baby, even though there was only a two year difference in their ages. There was a loud crash followed instantly by the wail of a small child. "Laura's crying. I'll go see what happened," said Michelle.

Apartment (Chapter 6, Story 1)

Kella and her family lived in an old brownstone apartment on the southeast side of town. Most of her classmates lived in the same building, but Kella never spent any time outside of school with them; her siblings and mother kept her too busy. The apartment would have been a tight squeeze for a family of three, so it was nearly bursting at the seams from the exertion of containing Kella, Karen, and the six other people who lived there. The house was always in a shambles. Books, Barbies, and popped balloons littered the hallways. Milk, eggs, oatmeal, and tomato sauce dripped from every surface of the kitchen. The trashcans were always overflowing with dirty diapers, unpaid bills, and broken shards of glass. Even if Karen had been able to afford nice furniture, there wouldn't have been any room for it. But the family did what they could with what little they had. There was one small table in the center of the kitchen. There should have been four chairs placed around it, but they were always being used for makeshift tents or TV stands, and when one of the table legs had been broken years ago, Karen had sawed the remaining three legs off and, since then, the family ate Asian-style, on the floor. There was also a small oven and a sink in the kitchen, which were seldom used since no one in the house cooked and paper plates were almost always used at meals. There were two other rooms, a den and a bedroom; both were used for sleeping. There was a double bed in bedroom where April, Laura, Kailey, and Joshua got to sleep, since they were little. The rest of the family took turns sleeping in the love seat in the den. When it was Karen's turn to sleep there, Kella, David, and Michelle put on their socks, gloves, and winter coats and slept on the floor, but if it was one of their turns, all three shared the couch. There was no bathroom in the apartment, so in the mornings the four older children had to walk out of the apartment, down the corridor, and up a flight of stairs. The bathroom, which served two floors, was nearly always occupied, so when it became vacant, they all had to attempt to brush their teeth, wash their faces, and comb their hair simultaneously to avoid being late for school.

Karen (Chapter 5, Story 1)

"Kella?" Kella!" Kella turned to see her mother heaving her hefty body toward her. She was usually in a bad mood, but she seemed even more upset than usual. Kella glanced at her watch. She had told her mother she would be home half an hour ago to babysit. For a fleeting moment, she felt a pang of guilt, knowing that she had let her mother down and possibly caused her to miss an important engagement. But Kella knew her mother far too well to feel guilty for long. Most likely her mother had spent the morning draining booze from a coffee mug and gossiping about nothing in particular to her friends, and it was likely that she had planned to do the same things in a coffee shop or bar while Kella stayed at home and tried to control her six younger siblings. "Kella, you selfish brat, what are you doing out here? I know I told you to be home so I could go out this afternoon. But of course, you could only think of yourself. It probably didn't occur to you that I do like to go out and have some fun now and then, did it? Of course, you wouldn't understand. You go about all day, doing whatever you want, never thinking about your poor mother." Karen grabbed Kella by the arm and, still complaining about Kella's selfishness, dragged her home.

Institute (Chapter 4, Story 1)

Kella was in no particular hurry to get home, where her younger siblings were sure to be crying, fighting, and begging to be held, and her mother was sure to be angry for some reason or other, so Kella decided to take the long route home. Since the town was so small, it never took more than fifteen minutes to walk anywhere, but if she walked behind the psychologist's office into Shady Stream Park, behind Scottsdale Research Institute, and through the used car lot, she could add five minutes to her trip. Kella was intrigued by the Research Institute. There was nothing particularly interesting about it on the outside; it was just a large cement building with a large parking lot filled with cars. It was the inside of the Institute that interested her. She had been inside only once, on a field trip with her third grade class. There hadn't been very much to see at first. The walls were bright white and scientists in white lab coats roamed about the building. None of the scientists spoke, and, since the children had been told to be silent, there were no sounds, except for the clack of shoes against the linoleum floor and a faint humming that seemed to come from the rear of the building. Kella had gotten bored within minutes of entering the building, so she's snuck off with another classmate, Tommy Hodges. "Are you sure this is a good idea?" asked Tommy, who was, at the time, Kella's best friend and constant companion. "Of course it is, Tommy," Kella had replied, and, taking Tommy's hand, she led him down a hallway toward the humming sound. The humming grew louder and louder, until Tommy wrenched his hand from Kella's and covered his ears. The walls began to take on a strange gray color, there were fewer scientists milling about, and the lights were getting dimmer. The hallway went on for a little while longer, until Kella and Tommy reached a set of large metal double doors. A sign on the right door said "DO NOT ENTER" in large red letters. Looking around, Kella realized that she and Tommy were all alone. "Come on Tommy, let's go in." "But Kella," Tommy whined, "the sign says not to." "There's nobody here, Tommy," Kella said. "Nobody will know. Are you scared?" Tommy hesitated. He was, in fact, very frightened, but he couldn't tell Kella that. "No, of course I'm not scared. Are you?" "Me? No, I don't get scared." Kella winced, realizing that she had just told a lie. Her father hated lies. "Well, sometimes I get scared, but I'm not now. Come on Tommy. We'll just take a quick peek inside, then we'll go find the others. Okay?" Tommy looked nervously around at the dingy, barely-lit hallway. What had once been a barely-audible hum was now a loud thwack thwack thwack that made the ground beneath his feet quiver. There was a bright light seeping beneath the doors; maybe his teacher was on the other side. "Fine," he said.

Town (Chapter 3, Story 1)

The receptionist smiled at Kella as she walked past the front desk. "Would you like me to make an appointment for next week, Hon?" she asked. "No, thanks," Kella replied, "I'm busy." "Well how about the next week?" The receptionist raised an eyebrow at Kella. "I have to check my calendar," Kella replied, turning away from the desk. "I'll let you know soon." Kella breathed a sigh of relief when she finally exited the building. The warm rays of the afternoon sun caressed her face, and Kella could hear birds chirping and a dog barking somewhere in the distance. At one time, Kella had despised living in this small town. She hated how everyone knew her name--and her business--without ever formally meeting her. She hated the regularity of the town, how it never seemed to change, and how everyone living there had the same ideas about everything. But the town had grown on her, and now she couldn't imagine being without its quiet tree-lined streets and old-fashioned buildings.

Cuts (Chapter 2, Story 1)

"Are you sure about that?" the psychologist asked, leaning forward in his creaky chair. "Of course," Kella mumbled. The shrink's office was small, dark, and cold, and it smelled like tuna fish. Kella hated that smell. It reminded her too much of her father; he had loved tuna. "Alright then." The psychologist--Brian was his name--leaned back and formed a tent shape with his hands over his immense gut. "If there's nothing wrong, then why have you been cutting yourself?" Again, Kella almost laughed aloud. Is that what her mother had told this man? That the scars on her arms and legs were self-inflicted? Kella knew her mother, Karen, would never admit that she was the one who hit Kella with electrical cords and sliced her wrists with kitchen knives. She would never tell anyone that she threw dinner plates at Kella's head and screamed at Kella to leave home and never come back. Kella should have known that when the social services lady came by the other day, Karen would blame everything on Kella. Kella didn't understand why her mother hated her so much. She loved all her other siblings to death, smothering them constantly with affection and tender loving care. But the woman treated Kella like a dog, and now the truth was beginning to seep out. Kella couldn't hide the evidence of her mother's abuse forever, and it frightened her to think of what might happen if the authorities ever found out. "Do you have anything else to say?" Brian asked. "Time's just about up." Yes, Kella agreed, it probably was. But of course, she kept the thought in her head. This stranger wouldn't understand her predicament. "No. Can I go now?" "Sure, go ahead." Kella hopped up from the leather seat and strode to the door. "Don't forget to come back next week," Brian called after her. Fat chance, Kella thought. "Yes, sir. Goodbye."

10 Dollar Bill (Chapter 1, Story 1)

Kella's father once told her that the most important thing in life is honesty. "Kella," he said, "no matter what happens to you, be honest. Even if telling the truth hurts someone or makes your life more complicated, good things always come to the honest people in the end." Kella wondered, as she sat on the big, black leather couch in the psychologist's office, if her father was honest. She wondered if anything he ever told her was true. He told her he would never leave her, didn't he? And yet, here she was, avoiding the psychologist's beady eyed stare, all alone with her father nowhere to be found. He'd left her, her mother, and her other 6 siblings in an old broken down motor home with nothing to remember him by but a note that said, "I'm sorry" and 10 dollars. At this thought, Kella almost laughed. Really, Dad, 10 dollars? What's a single woman with no job and seven kids supposed to do with that? Kella had decided that the money would be of no use to her mother, so she took it. She told herself that she didn't want her mother to be hurt by her father's stinginess, but in reality, she just wanted--no, she needed--something to remember him. Tattered and ripped, the bill still resided under her bed in a small shoebox, and Kella took it out of the box, closed her eyes, and wished for her father to come home every night. Every morning, she awoke hoping he would be down at the kitchen table, joking with one of Kella's little sisters or kissing Kella's mother, but every night she was left with nothing but a steadily fading image of his face in her mind. Kella remembered the psychologist sitting in front of her and glanced up. What had he asked her? Oh yes, he wanted to know if she had ever been hurt by anyone close to her. "No," Kella said softly, "never."

Yarn

Rough, warm, and fuzzy
Goes though my hands and needles
Making something new.

Sun

The sun rises up into the clear blue sky
Smiling at all it sees.

It whispers a song of warm days to come
As it melts winter's snow from the trees.

Lazy

I know I should be showering
Or ironing my jeans
But lounging around in my PJs
Is so much more fun to me.

I know that if I studied
For the test I have tomorrow
I'd at least score a B, probably an A
Without having to worry about it at all.

I could straighten my room,
Or paint my nails,
Or read, or wash the dog.
But instead I sit glued to my computer
Typing a poem for my blog.

Relatively Part 2

Ready for another lengthy installment of my Relatively story?

“Philip!” Mayhem called. “Where on earth is my tea?”

“Coming, sir!” Philip replied, balancing at wide silver platter piled with two teapots and three plates of cakes as he hurried to his master as quickly as his short legs would carry him.

“Here you are, sir,” Philip said, placing the bounty of tea things in front of Mayhem, trying his best not to slosh tea or drop any cakes, lest Mayhem be catapulted into a tantrum.

“Thank you, Philip.” Mayhem nodded at his faithful servant and reached for a chocolate cake.

“It’s been a dreadful day and you know tea always soothes my frazzled nerves.”

poured Mayhem a cup of tea and watched anxiously as Mayhem sipped slowly from the china cup. “Is everything to your liking, sir?” Philip asked.

“Yes, Philip, I suppose it’s alright. Although I’d prefer these cakes to have a bit more parsley in them.”

“Parsley, sir?”

“Yes, Philip. Why, I read just the other day that parsley aids the digestion and alleviates stress, and I am inclined to believe the author of that particular article.”

“Oh? If you don’t mind my asking, who wrote it?”

Mayhem looked down at Philip, who was considerably shorter than Mayhem, even when Mayhem was seated. “Me.”

“I see, sir. And where, may I ask, did you get your information?”

“How many times must I tell you, Philip? The voices inform me daily in all aspects of knowledge.”

Philip raised his eyebrows, but only slightly, so that Mayhem would not notice and mistake his doubt for disrespect. “Yes sir. If it’s all the same to you, sir, I think I’ll go see about supper now.”

“Don’t forget the parsley!”

Philip nodded and, bobbing his head at his master, turned and hurried out of the room.

Philip could not remember a time when he had not lived with Mayhem in the little house in the hill. The packed dirt floors and walls, the heads of foot-long earthworms hanging from the ceiling, and the sharp, pungent smell of decay and earth were all he had ever known. On occasion, his master would permit him to exit the little dwelling to pick some flowers to brighten the otherwise dim residence, or to check if any letters had been dropped in the mailbox. While there where almost always flowers of some sort reaching up through the tangled grass disguising Mayhem’s house, there was hardly ever any mail; after all, the mail carrier wouldn’t have known where to leave it. It seemed that no one knew anything of the existence of Mayhem and his faithful companion, which was just the way Mayhem wanted things. “We wouldn’t want any intruders roaming about, sticking their noses into my personal affairs,” Mayhem always said. But Philip could never completely extinguish his deep, yearning desire to explore the world outside.

It took mere moments for Philip to reach the kitchen, as Mayhem’s house had only three rooms which were all clumped together. Mayhem had told Philip on several occasions that his house was shaped like a turnip: it had a long, thin hall that led from the front door to three rooms that were all bunched together in a bulb shape. There was the kitchen, which had a small, curtained lavatory in one corner and the tiny black back door in another. Next to that was Mayhem’s study, where he spent the vast majority of his time. And, connected to both of these rooms was Philip’s room, which doubled as a storeroom for vegetables, fish packed in salt, gardening tools, paper, pens, ink, books (all written by Mayhem, because Mayhem didn’t want any bothersome ideas from the mind of any other to influence his dear servant) and a myriad of other random articles. In the corner was Philip’s bed, covered with a thick down blanket which Philip has sewn himself.

Philip searched the small pantry for something to cook for supper. There were a few onions and some dried pork. Philip also managed to find some cooking wine and a bag of flour, and he proceeded to pour a little of the wine into a bowl and mix in some salt, pepper, and parsley. The pork went into the wine to marinate, and the onion was thinly, tossed in flour and fried in a little oil. Mayhem had once informed Philip that one should eat at least one raw vegetable at every meal so as to cleanse the digestive tract and prevent the growth of parasites, so Philip went to his room and, after rummaging about for a moment, found a couple of carrots. He carried these back to the kitchen and proceeded to remove the pork from the marinade, fry it quickly, and arrange the little meal on two ceramic plates.

Just as Philip was piling the meal onto another silver platter (Mayhem had a strange fondness for them, and over the years, he’d collected at least a dozen) he heard the voice of his master.

“Philip? Am I to die of old age before I receive my evening meal?”

“Coming, sir,” Philip replied, and he hurried into the study.

“There you are, sir,” Philip said, placing a plate in front of Mayhem. After Mayhem began to eat, he sat on the floor and began to eat as well.

“Philip, my boy, have you ever wondered what I do in here all day?” Mayhem asked, his mouth full of pork.

In fact, Mayhem had told Philip countless times of his tinkerings and experiments, but Philip had lived with his master more than long enough to know how to reply to this question. “No, sir, please tell me.”

“Well, Philip, to discuss my activity in its entirety would take a lifetime, but here is what I have been doing of late.” With this, he set his plate aside, and, standing up, he strode across the small room and plucked a round, green jar from a collection of similar jars on a shelf.

“Do you know what this is, Philip?”

“No, sir.”

“Look closely, Philip! How on earth do you intend to learn anything if you don’t closely examine the world around you?”

“Sorry sir I…” Philip looked very hard into the jar and saw a small round object floating in liquid. “Yes, sir, that’s very nice.”

“Nice! Nice? Why Philip, you must not understand what is contained in this jar. Otherwise you would not say something so stupidly idiotic as “Nice”. You might say, “Run for your life!” or “We are all surely doomed!”, but nice, Philip, most certainly does not describe this.”

“I’m terribly sorry sir,” Philip said. “We are all surely doomed.”
Mayhem frowned at Philip. He had a strong inclination to smack some sense into the boy, but he refrained. He was not a man of violence, and he knew that Philip was not nearly as intelligent as he.

“Philip, pay heed my boy, and witness the wonders of the universe!” At this, Mayhem tapped the jar gently with his thumb.

At first, Philip saw nothing, and began to try to think of something to say that would please Mayhem. But, after a moment, the little ball began to move. Before it had been moving, yes, but not on its own as it did now. The thing began to rock violently within the liquid and suddenly, an appendage not unlike a leg sprouted from the ball. Next came what appeared to be an arm, then another, and then another leg. Two horn-like structures protruded from what seemed to be the head of the ball, and two eyes flashed open. Last, the middle of the ball pulled apart into a mouth shape and began to do something not unlike talking, except there was no sound.

“My, sir, this is interesting!” Philip said.

“Yes, my boy, it is indeed.”

The thing in the jar continued its frenzied chattering, and, although it still made no sound, it seemed to be relaying a very distressing message.

“What’s it saying, sir?”

“That’s somewhat complicated, Philip. You see, if I were to take him from this sound-altering liquid, he would be speaking at a decibel level much too high for us to hear.”

“Oh.”

“But, you see, because he is in the liquid, if you put your head very close to the jar” (at this, Philip leaned his ear against the cool glass of the jar) “you can clearly hear him.”

Sure enough, Philip heard a squeaky, high-pitched voice calling from inside the glass, but he still could not quite tell what the thing was saying. After relating this to his master, Mayhem replied, “Yes, that’s the problem. He seems to be quite worried about whatever he’s saying, yet I don’t speak his language. I was hoping that, by some strange stroke of good fortune, you might understand him. But you don’t.”

At this, Mayhem snatched the jar away from Philip’s face, replaced it on the shelf, and began his meal again.

Journal Entry #8

As you can see, I've changed the layout of my blog some, and even did a little of the CSS myself!

The day before yesterday we had a big snow storm. Snow was blowing everywhere and falling in huge drifts from the roof. Our poor dog was up to her shoulders in the powdery white snow. Yesterday, however, the sun came out, hot and eager to melt the snow away. But there is still about a foot of snow in our backyard, and our dog is running around back there, eating icicles and playing in the snow.

John D. Rockefeller

John D. Rockefeller was born in Richford, New York on July 8th, 1839 to William A. Rockefeller and Eliza Davison. Though he was destined to become one of the richest men in history, his beginnings were not so grand. Rockefeller's father was a traveling salesman who preferred wandering throughout the country to staying at home with his family. He left his wife, Eliza, to raise and care for their six children by herself. Rockefeller moved several times during his childhood years, to Moravia and then Owego in New York, then to Strongsville, near Cleveland, in Ohio. Two years after moving there, Rockefeller, at age 16, got his first job a a bookkeeper's assistant. He worked very hard and gave ten percent of every paycheck to church.

Four years later, Rockefeller went into the produce commission business with a partner,
Maurice B. Clark; they named their business Clark & Rockefeller.

About this time, the production and distribution of oil became a popular money-making method. Though only in his twenties, Rockefeller knew a business opportunity when he saw one, and decided to invest in the emerging industry. Rockefeller and three other men, including M. B. Clark, his two brothers, and a man named Samuel Andrews, built a refinery in the Cleveland area. A few years later, Rockefeller bought out the Clark brothers for $72,500, and renamed the firm Rockefeller & Andrews.

Rockefeller was a smart business man. He knew when and how to borrow money, invest profits, and use the waste produced in his refinery to raise his income. By 1867, two more men, including John's brother and a man named Henry M. Flagler had joined Rockefeller & Andrews; thus, the name was once again changed, this time to Rockefeller, Andrews & Flagler. John's refinery was now the largest in the world.

But Rockefeller, Andrews & Flagler did not stop growing. On the contrary, by 1870, business was booming and Rockefeller's refinery now made more money than any other. John changed the name of his refinery to Standard Oil. Standard Oil absorbed many of the refineries in Cleveland and New York.

Rockefeller had just one problem in the course of his career. By 1904, Rockefeller and his partners owned corporations in over a dozen states. Because it was difficult to manage all of them, Rockefeller organized all of his corporations into a single large corporation, called the Standard Oil Trust. It was around this time that people began to accuse Rockefeller of monopolizing the oil industry. To monopolize an industry is to “obtain exclusive possession of”¹ an industry. In truth, this is exactly what Rockefeller had done. He had a hand in virtually every aspect of the oil industry in the United States.

In 1904 a woman named Ida Tarbell published an article titled The History of the Standard Oil Company. Through the publication of this article, Tarbell made apparent the monopolization of the oil industry by Rockefeller. The state of Ohio took notice of her article and forced the Standard Oil Trust to dissolve.

Rockefeller continued to be successful, even after this hard blow. Still giving ten percent of every paycheck to church, he also made considerable investments in several colleges, including Spelman College, University of Chicago, and Denison University. He built the Rockefeller Center in New York City and invested in many medical ventures, including the research of hookworm disease, which, thanks to his investments, was eradicated. He gave away about $550 million in total.

Rockefeller died on May 23, 1937. He had had two goals in life: to earn $100,000 and to reach the age of 100. The first of these goals he most definitely reached, but he died two years before he turned 100. John Rockefeller is estimated to have been worth about $1,500,000,000. Given the worth of the dollar then and now, he was, by far, the richest American in history.

John should inspire all of us to pursue our goals, reach for the stars, and never say never. He is proof that, as long as we are willing to work hard and never give up, we can accomplish whatever we set our minds to.

Relatively Part 1

Below is the beginning of a short story I am writing. Please let me know what you think.

If you were to visit a certain small town called Relatively and go down the wide, dusty lane called Friar, you would eventually pass a small hill rising nonchalantly from the otherwise flat, grassy countryside. You would, probably, pass by the hill, perhaps commenting on the bright yellow buttercups and purple lilacs springing up from the top of the hill, wondering how they managed to grow there without human help. You would continue along, absorbing the beauty of the tall, shady trees and wide, shimmering lakes along Friar Lane, until you reached wherever it was you were going.

However, in the unlikely event that you were to stop and further examine the hill, you might be surprised to find a little wooden door wedged into a circular hole in the side of it. And, if you knocked on this door, a small, bald little man in a navy blue suit with three red buttons up the front and a green-and-white striped handkerchief peeking out of the breast pocket would open it.
“Yes?” he would say, raising his eyebrows in curiosity, because very rarely would he have reason to open this door.

Upon inquiring as to who all lived beyond the little wooden door and how in the world they came to reside there, the man in the blue suit would cock his head and reply, “Why, sir (or madam), the honorable Cyrus McMayhem resides here, and he would be quite upset if he found out I was talking to you at this moment, so it would be best if you went on your way. I am terribly sorry.”

At this, most people would turn away, and, though the question of who this Cyrus McMayhem was might stay permanently in the back of their minds, they'd continue along their way.

Now, in the event that you happened to be a very inquisitive and perhaps slightly annoying kind of person, you probably would not leave; you’d sneak around back and discover a black door even smaller than the wooden one up front. Not wanting to be turned away again, you would not bother to knock; instead, you would try the doorknob and, finding the door to be unlocked, you would sneak inside and discover wonder and adventure far beyond the reaches of your imagination.

But, as I said, you would most likely go about your business, never giving the little hill adorned with buttercups and lilacs another thought.

In His Steps

Last night I finished reading the book In His Steps by Charles M. Sheldon. I had to read this book for Language Arts. The book is about a pastor who encourages his congregation to make all decisions only after asking "What would Jesus do?". Those who decide to take this challenge on change radically, and they change the world around them as well. I wouldn't normally have chosen this kind of book to read, but it was very thought-provoking and I would recommend it. One a scale of 1-10, with 1 being terrible and 10 be amazing, I would give this book a 6 or 7.

Journal Entry #7

I have always dreamed of going to China. It seems to mysterious, majestic, and marvelous. Unfortunately, it's not cheap to go there, so I have a little piece of China in my window: a bamboo shoot. I bought it in a little store in Castle Rock for 99 cents. It's about 6 inches tall, with 5 more inches of roots. It has nine soft green leaves that stretch out from the main stem in all directions. It sits in a small, thin jar that might have housed some olive oil or vinegar at some time; there is water up to the rim of the jar, which I refill from time to time when the bamboo shoot has been especially thirsty. It sunbathes in my window, my little piece of China, reminding me to keep reaching for my dreams.

Journal Entry #6

Yesterday I had my eyebrows waxed for the first time.

I am a frequent shopper at Ulta (a store that sells just about anything that can be labeled "cosmetic" or "beauty enhancing"), and I've been shopping there even more since I got an Ulta gift card for my birthday two months ago. So, I managed to save up enough points on my UltaMate Rewards card to get a free eyebrow waxing.

I wasn't quite sure what to expect. I bought an at-home waxing kit last year and tried it, but the hair wouldn't rip out, so I gave up. I knew the process of waxing must not be too excruciating; otherwise, no one would get waxed! So, I summoned what little courage I had and went to get my eyebrows waxed.

It wasn't too bad, actually. The lady who waxed my eyebrows wiped hot wax onto my forehead, smoothed a cotton strip on top, and, quick-as-a-flash, ripped it off. It hurt, yes, but only for a second or so. After she'd finished the waxing part, she proceeded to pluck away stray hairs, which was also painful, but only momentarily. (I later discovered I bled a little in a couple spots. I'm not sure if this was the result of the waxing or plucking.) Then, we were done.

My eyebrows don't look too much different, just a little cleaner and neater, but I'm very glad I had the experience.

Beauty

What is beauty?
Is it a perfect smile with no crooked teeth?
A perfect, flat stomach to bare at the beach?
Is it perfect blond hair that blows in the wind?
Or perfect legs to carry you toward every whim?

What is beauty?
You tell me "Be happy!" with how I appear.
Yet all around me perfect models poke fun and lear.
"You'll never be pretty!" magazines and ads tease.
Is beauty something I will never achieve?

Journal Entry #5

I just got back from walking Daisy. She is a little overweight because we always seem to be too busy or too lazy to walk her. This is the first Saturday in a long while that I haven't had anywhere to go, so I figured I had no excuse.

Daisy loves her walks. She knows when we go into the garage to get her harness and leash that she's going to get to go out, so she starts jumping all over the place. I don't know if you've ever tried to put a harness on a dog who won't sit still, but believe me, it's no picnic. Anyway, after I got her all geared up, we went out. Daisy has not learned to walk beside me instead of in front of me, so I have to make sure I hold onto the leash very tightly.

Today we walked around my neighborhood, then through our neighborhood park. We encountered two other dogs along the way, a black lab and another dog which I couldn't identify. The lab wasn't on a leash, so he came over to sniff Daisy out. Literally.

Daisy knows when it's time to return home. She knows when to cross the street, go up the driveway, up the porch steps, and into the door. She knows that when we get inside, I'll give her one of her favorite treats, an ice cube. Even though the whole routine seems a little repetitive, Daisy is always excited to see what new things she will see, hear, and sniff when we go on walks.

Night

A red sun sets behind the clouds
Everything is masked in black.
Earth stands still, everything sleeps
Until morning comes back.

Morning comes too early, though
Without it life could not be.
Bustling, hustling, through daily routines
We prepare for the day that is coming.

At afternoon we stop to rest
The sun is still in the sky.
Heading home from work or school
To wait once again for night.

The sun again sets behind the clouds
Another day is done.
Safe in bed we say this prayer:
"Lord, bless the morning to come."

Rain

Icy cold and wet
Falls in sheets to the dry earth
Makes everything new.

Snow

Soft, white, and frozen
Falling softly from above
Makes the ground sparkle.

Journal Entry #4

Today when I woke up it was snowing; now it is sunny and considerably warm out.

Journal Entry #3

Last night I had a debate for my worldview class at the home school coop my family attends. It went quite well, much better than I had anticipated actually. I wasn't half as nervous as I had expected to be. I was on a team with two other kids. We were debating the negative side of the statement, "The death penalty should be instituted in all capital murder convictions." I did our side's opening statement, was cross-examined (or something like that), and sat down.

When I got home, I had a little surprise waiting for me. An eight-legged surprise, to be more specific. I was straightening up my room when I noticed a brown splotch, about half an inch in diameter, on my sweater, which was laying on my bed. I am not the neatest eater, so I though maybe it was some chocolate or syrup, but, upon looking a little closer at the splotch I discovered it was a spider! I don't know about you, but a half-inch spider is more than enough reason to ring the alarm in my opinion. I knew when I moved to the basement that I would encounter some spiders, but I was hoping they would be of the smaller variety!

What do I do? What do I do? I wondered, my stomach flip-flopping. I could get my mom or dad, but they were both busy and spiders have a way of mysteriously disappearing when you turn your head for just five seconds, so I couldn't risk waiting for them. I could get my brother, but he had a way of just scaring spiders, causing them to run all over the place, instead of killing them. No, I was going to have to do this myself.

First, I put on my thickest long-sleeved pajama top and the pajama bottoms that came closest to my ankles (I have never been able to find pajama pants that aren't high-water on me). I put on the toe socks my sister gave me for my birthday a few years ago that reach my knees to protect the exposed part of my feet and shins. I took out my contact lenses, pushed my glasses up my nose as far as they could go, and, taking one last glance at the vermin on my bed, I went upstairs.

Time for execution. I grabbed the handle of the vacuum with a sweaty hand and dragged in downstairs. I plugged the vacuum in outside my room near the stairs, just in case I had to make a quick getaway. Okay, Stephany, you can do this! I told myself. I disconnected the tube attachment from the vacuum, and lugged it into my room. Ha! That spider was still right where I left him. I took a deep breath, aimed the vacuum hose very close to the spider, and hit the on button. Vrooooom. The vacuum revved to attention, sucking up a few inches of my sweater, including the spot where the spider had been. Now what? I wondered as I watched the vacuum consume more and more of my favorite sweater. I had to turn the vacuum off. But what if the spider was still on my sweater? What if he jumped on me and bit me? What if I died? No, I had come this far and I had to finish this out. With trembling fingers, I turned the vacuum off. The power drained from it, and the hose went limp. I slowly and carefully removed the hose from my sweater and, what do you know! The spider was gone. Feeling triumphant, I hung up my sweater, put the vacuum away, and slept in peace knowing that if there were any more spiders, I could handle them.

Journal Entry #2

I love Fridays. I love being able to stay up late on Friday night, knowing I can sleep in the next morning. I love finishing school and not having to pick it up again for a couple of days.

Today my sister had piano practice, and I went along so I could exchange some shampoo and conditioner I'd bought at Ulta. You see, I went last Thursday to buy it because I'd gotten an ad in the mail saying that both the shampoo and conditioner were on sale for $3.99. I'd been wanting to try the shampoo out for some time, but usually it costs $9.95 (the conditioner is $10.95), which is a little out of my shampoo price range. So I was quite excited to see it on sale. However, when I got to the register at Ulta, I found that the sale didn't start until the next week, which is this week.

So, today I went back to Ulta and returned the hair products, then I bought them again for the sale price.

I have a debate tonight for the worldview class at the coop we attend. I am very nervous about it, because I have enough trouble just talking to people; debating (or fighting, depending on how you look at it) with them is a whole other thing. My brother is going with me, though, so hopefully that will make things a little more comfortable. Plus, they're serving dinner (for free!), which is always good. I'm crossing my fingers for pizza. ;)

Book Review: Don't You Know There's a War On?

Don't You Know There's a War On? is a novel by Avi. It is about a boy named Howie who is growing up during World War II. When Howie finds out that his teacher, Ms. Gossim, is going to be fired simply because she is going to have a baby, he decides to entervene and tries to help her.

I enjoyed this book because it was quick and easy to read. The style of language used in the book helps you imagine being in New York, where the story takes place, in the 1940s. Howie's compassion towards others inspires me to have compassion on others as well.

Food

While ice cream and cupcakes are always a treat,
I know broccoli and carrots are what I should eat.
Candy and cookies call from the shelf
But apples and oranges will better my health.
Gumdrops and chocolate beg to be tried
But I will resist and have salad--this time.

Journal Entry #1

The wind is blowing very hard outside, even though it's sunny and warm. I am wondering whether it will bring more warm weather or if we're in for more snow.

We attend a home school coop called Alatheia Academy, and I usually go on Thursdays, but my sister is sick today so I stayed home with her. I am not a very good nurse; I saw her twice the entire time my mother was away.

A new Kohl's department store opened yesterday about 15 minutes away from our house, and my mother and I are planning to visit it later. Kohl's always has good deals, but maybe today they'll have even more.

Since my sister was sick, I didn't go to Bible study at my church last night. I stayed home and blogged, ate snacks, and read. I'm currently reading a book called Don't You Know There's a War On? by Avi. I'll post a review on it as soon as I finish it.

I'm still searching for a job. I have a Starbucks application to fill out today; I hope to take it to Starbucks on Saturday. I have already filled out applications to Cici's Pizza, Aerpostale, and another Starbucks. I need to take them in...

Emily Dickinson Poem

Emily Dickinson is one of my favorite poets. Here is a poem of hers I really love...

Auction

One of my favorite things about writing is describing my setting. I love to close my eyes and imagine the place my characters live, work, or play. Sometimes I like to make up a setting just for the fun of it. Below is a description of an auction. I have never been to one, but I have seen them in movies and read about them in books, so hopefully my description is pretty accurate...

The air is musty and still, the smell of cologne and sweat hangs in the air. Dust coats the chairs and floor, and hangs still in the air, as though it is waiting, like everyone else, for the auction to begin.

The auctioneer, a short, stout fellow, who is balding badly and wearing a stiff brown suit, approaches the front of the room, mopping sweat from his forehead with a dirty handkerchief.

"Good morning, ladies and gentlemen, and thank you for joining us," he says. "This morning, we are planning to auction a variety of rareties, and we have quite a few to go through, so shall we begin?" He pauses, waiting for the crowd to respond.A hushed whisper ripples through the crowd, and he takes this as a signal to proceed.

"Yes, we have here a lovely cut crystal vase. Does someone bid $25 for it?" Someone raises a tentative hand. "Yes, $25, do I hear $30? Will anyone pay $30 for this lovely crystal vase? Yes sir, thank you, do I hear $40? $50? How about $60?"

Sunlight-A Haiku

Warm and buttery
Wrapping its arms around me
Makes me want to dance.

Spring Returns

I feel as though I have been locked up inside forever. My limbs are aching to run out and away into the wild blue yonder, my feet long to delight in the cool green comfort of fresh spring grass. But it's dark so soon after the day's responsibilities are done, and too cold for any gallivanting. So, I stay inside, waiting for spring.

After what seems like forever, it comes, sweet, fresh, and clean, bringing with it the joy of a thousand children laughing. Flowers bloom, the snow subsides, then melts away, washing the stolid, musty winter air away.

New Blog

Thanks for visiting my new blog! I plan to post stories and poems I write, reviews about books I read, and other literature-related things. Please keep checking back for updates!