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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.
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.
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.
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.
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?
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.
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."
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."
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.
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. ;)
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.
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.
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...
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?"
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?"
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.
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!
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