The wind whipping in my hair, I strode along the sandy path. My mom walked silently beside me, both of us trying not to be blown over. Even though this was a simple hike, not a collecting trip, my trained eyes constantly scouted the ground ahead of me, then the grasses, then the low plants near the trail, and back to the trail again. Over and over my eyes repeated the same pattern: trail in front of me, grasses, plants, trail again. My mom and I started conversing about something - was it ecology? Was it peacebuilding? Was it the complex topic of how the world falls apart around us? Whatever it was, my mind was whirring, but my eyes kept up their tireless scouting. My gaze wandered from its predetermined path, to a cherry tree not much smaller than me. I spotted a huge green, tube-shaped object hanging from a branch of this tree. “Wait, wait a minute”, I said to my mom. I dashed through the grass to the tree. My eyes opened wide. A wild cherry sphinx caterpillar! Something I’d been looking for my entire life! “What did you find now?”, my mom asked amusedly. Snapping off the branch that the caterpillar was perched on, I was about to reply when I saw something unsettling: a small white dot on the green and purple striped body of my caterpillar; then another, and another. Without a word, I walked back to the trail, and presented my find. Suitably impressed by its sheer size, my mom inquired as to the name of the animal. “Sphinx drupiferarum”, I said gloomily. “Doomed to die a terrible death”.
I like how this starts out happy and then ends on a gloomy note. You made that transition very well. Starting with the excitement that you had never seen this caterpillar before, and ending with the fact that he would die. Even though you do not say directly, you can tell that its death bothers you a great deal, which brings back the prompt, your pet peeve. I also like how you portray the world as one you are alone, or at least one of very few humans in. The conversation with your mom that is put second to the search for specimens. Later, her amused tone as you come back, like she knew you weren't really listening or the conversation or maybe because she was humoring you. Once you show her she seems “suitably impressed by its sheer size,” but not necessarily because she understood its significance to you or its rarity. I may be completely wrong, but I appreciated the words you used to paint this story.
9:06ish AM. Eyes still adjusting to the bright morning light, I walked out of Emery, bound for Latin in Cook-Hyde. A grin flickered on and off across my face as I recalled that I had been made (by a lack of competition, in all fairness) editor of The Flyer. A cold wind made me hasten, and I was moving fast as I passed the arts center. Suddenly, a force moving faster than I attached itself to my waist, and after the initial reflexive rebalancing of myself, I endured the characteristic shock of realizing that someone had just grabbed me. The shock did not last long and was quickly replaced by affection. I am touched every time my sister sees me at school and runs to say a very physical hello to me. It confuses me, because at home she generally abhors any "touchy-touchy" on my part, as she occasionally calls it. But mine not to wonder why, mine just to walk arm in arm with her to the green door into Cook-Hyde--it is CH there, I think--where I tore myself from my contemplations to ask her what class she was going to. "English," she answered, never showing any frustration that I have her schedule memorized out of school but forget it as soon as I get to school. "Oh, yeah," I responded dazedly as I turn the other way to my Latin class. "Love you, see you later." She smiled and waved as she walked away. I forgot about the exchange seconds later as I hurried into class, but I wonder if my subconscious knowledge of her support keeps me going even more than the conscious knowledge that I'm Editor-in-Chief of The Flyer.
Anna I really loved reading this post! You're description at the beginning of leaving emery and walking through campus is definitely something I can relate with. That cold chill of the morning air really does a good job of waking you up immediately. Although I don't have a sibling at the school, I can understand what you're saying about it catching you off guard when someone grabs you. There have been many mornings where a friend squeezes my arm as I walk by them, and it really shocks me at first, but then it turns out to be one of the best aspects of your day.
My temper is rather short right now. I have too much homework, and tonight, I'm drowning in it. Usually, I can get it all done without too much stress, but not tonight. Tonight I have eleven pages for history, and I should really start my essay. Tonight I have a paragraph for Physics, due tomorrow. Two math worksheets, equivalent to a test, due tomorrow. I don't understand them. English. And Latin, due Wednesday, which I'll put off and regret. And I have a term paper to start. It is overwhelming right now. I feel like it will never end, this pile of homework. It is going to eat me alive. And for me, when this happens, the only thing I can do is get through it. Push my way through all the important, need-a-good-grade homework so that I can go to bed. I'll be better in the morning. I know I can do this. It's just a lot.
This is great, Haley Jo! I know exactly how you were (are?) feeling, having gone through the same thing most nights for the last two weeks. I love the repetition of "tonight" and of "due tomorrow." It really gives a sense of urgency. The short sentences (and non-sentences) also contribute to this. I also really like how you say that your homework is going to eat you alive, not that you feel like it is (of course, you do assuage the fears of carnivorous homework in the last sentences, which really wrapped up the piece nicely with their believable optimism). The way you bluntly list all your assignments also helps show how overwhelmingly much there was that night (and that it was only Monday couldn't have made it seem any better). Great job!
My family members can attest to the fact that I have an array of pet peeves. Depending on how tolerant I am feeling, they can range from mouth breathing, loud drinking, and invasions of personal space, to erratic driving, cold feet, and the sound of peeling bananas. Today, in the wake of many well-crafted meals this weekend, we had a left-over night. I set out to make a sandwich for dinner. I toasted a piece of my favorite "When Pigs Fly" sourdough bread, then blanketed it with spicy guacamole, topped with a few slices of fresh-cut parmesan cheese, and finally added a thin piece of grilled chicken on top. My parents were having boring soup. I asked if I could retreat to my room and read while I ate (even though I was really planning on watching Netflix in the peaceful confines of my room). They said no. I reluctantly sat down with them, whereupon my dad started slurping his boring soup. I looked at him and said, "Really? You're going to eat like that?" He laughed and continued to enjoy his soup. I could feel the hairs on my neck standing at attention as the nauseating slurps rang through my head. I held back the urge to scream as I picked up my dinner and relocated myself to the opposite end of the table. I had some relief from the gross noises, but then they started in on college talk. I rushed through my dinner with the bitter taste of annoyance on my tongue. I writhed in my seat as their unrelenting questions continued. Once I had finished, I made a dramatic escape as I exclaimed, "I can't possibly get into college if you never leave me alone long enough to do my homework!" And so, here I am, doing my homework now that my breathing has slowed and the hairs on my neck have fallen back into their less agitated stance.
I love this, Meredith. I think any teenager can really relate the overall idea and that really any person can relate to having the small annoyances like somebody slurping soup. I like how you repeat that the soup was "boring" multiple times, it creates a nice thread through the whole thing. I also like the physical description of how you felt at the end, the hairs on the back of your neck and your breathing. I think you could add what kind of soup it is though, I found myself wondering that through out the whole passage.
I hate eating folded potato chips. I contribute these feelings to the loud crunching noise that seems to go on and on, but mostly to the overall discomfort in my mouth. The sharp edges poke around the roof of my mouth and into my cheeks making me cringe. I dislike this feeling to the point where I consciously buy certain brands that tend to have more flat chips than curved, folded, or layered chips. While making my way through a bag I instinctively reach for the flat chips, but when I encounter a folded one, usually at the end of a bag, I automatically break it into two flat chips. When I was younger, I remember getting a piece of a chip stuck in my throat, the sensation, the razor like corners of the chip jabbing and scraping its way down my throat, is one I associate with eating folded chips sometimes so I set out to avoid it by all means necessary.
I haven't written in a while. Not writing as in, school papers and essay and even, this. I mean the kind of writing where I don't think about what I'm going to write next. The seamless stream of consciousness where every word I write with my fingers seem to have meaning yet, I didn't have to think too hard. That's my favorite kind. When you're mind is so blank, almost like a canvas, and you begin with one thought, only one. And usually, that one thought gives off a little something as if to remind you that this is the inspiration you're looking for, it stirs something inside. I'm not sure what it is but, it's a strange feeling that drives me to anything I can write with; a pen and a scrap of paper, a napkin, my hand. That kind of driving spirit, that physically pulls me towards my my notebook, hasn't filled me in a while. Not since the beginning of the summer when all I had was time, and now I can't seem to find the time to sleep, I'm fighting to keep my eyes open as I write this, and this makes me so sad. Not the lack of sleep, I can get over that, but, the fact that my fingers haven't buzzed in months, my stomach hasn't churned with excitement when an idea strikes. I haven't had the seamless stream of consciousness that makes every word and sentence flow into a piece of work. And, I just miss it.
I love this piece, both because it's so subtle and so real. I think that it's subtle because if you don't think about it, you miss the juxtaposition of writing a piece in a style you don't enjoy about not writing in a style you don't enjoy. I love that it's so real, and by real I mean descriptive but also true. I love the same type of writing, and so I was sucked in immediately by the description you gave. I knew exactly what you were saying, and that it something to be proud of. I also really thought your first two sentences were a great hook that made me really want to read more. And I enjoy how succinct this piece is. You really knew what you wanted to say, and you were able to convey both your point and your sadness in a few sentences. Well done.
I can't go to sleep at night unless my room is clean. By "clean" I do not mean spotlessly vacuumed and dusted. I don't even mean absolutely everything put away. I mean that clothes can't be on the floor, papers that aren't 100% necessary cannot be out on my desk and any random things strewn about from the past afternoon and night must be put away. Every night I also unpack my stuffed full, chaotic soccer bag, put dirty clothes in my laundry basket, straighten my cleats, shinguards, goalie gloves and brace and repack it leaving a space for when I put in my t-shirt, shorts and socks the next morning. I place it in the same place every night next to my basketball bag, next to my dresser. My backpack must be packed, zipped and placed in front of my desk. My computer is closed and my phone plugged in beside my bed. I cannot remember a time I did not do all of this before going to bed, no matter how tired I am.
My family is extremely important to me. So ironically, I have been cut off from half my gene-pool for my whole life. I have a donor father who I don’t know, but this man is a yes donor. Which means he agreed to meet me when I turn 18. Turing 18 has many meaning to the average individual, but for me particularly this has always been a day that has seemed a lifetime away. When you turn 18 you become an adult, you graduate from high school, and you will be big and tall, just the way the seniors look to a child. But for me, it also means meeting the man who made my life possible. Seeing a man who I look like, with distinctively non-Longnecker features, and who I act like, even though we have never met. My parents have been warning me as the date draws closer to not get my hopes up. They say he might have a family who does not want me, or he might be dead, or he might be a creep. Despite all that a part of me knows that it will all work out, and in 142 days I will be able to start the process to meet another side of my family.
Emmy, this is a great post. I have talked to you about this at school before, so I know that it is a part of your life, but reading it in front of me gave it a new meaning. I have met both of your parents and I know that you have an awesome family, but I can't imagine what it would feel like to have such a strong biological connection to someone whom I have never met. Your post is really concise and I especially liked the end where you talked about the warnings that your parents have been giving you, which they are doing because they don't want you to get hurt. But the fact that you "know it will all work out" makes me feel like it will work out too. It's a really hopeful post and it highlights how different families can be.
Every night, without fail for the past 15 years, my brother has eaten his whole meal with his mouth wide open. Up until this past year, I would ask him to please stop doing that, because it made me unable to eat my own meal. Almost every night, I would be asked by my mother to please just leave him alone, he can do that if he really wants to. Tonight when we all sat down for dinner, he took his first bite, and his mouth was wide open. What a surprise. I asked him to please chew with his mouth closed, and my mother said please leave him alone. I suppose that is one thing I will always be able to count on with my family.
The wind whipping in my hair, I strode along the sandy path. My mom walked silently beside me, both of us trying not to be blown over. Even though this was a simple hike, not a collecting trip, my trained eyes constantly scouted the ground ahead of me, then the grasses, then the low plants near the trail, and back to the trail again. Over and over my eyes repeated the same pattern: trail in front of me, grasses, plants, trail again.
ReplyDeleteMy mom and I started conversing about something - was it ecology? Was it peacebuilding? Was it the complex topic of how the world falls apart around us? Whatever it was, my mind was whirring, but my eyes kept up their tireless scouting. My gaze wandered from its predetermined path, to a cherry tree not much smaller than me. I spotted a huge green, tube-shaped object hanging from a branch of this tree. “Wait, wait a minute”, I said to my mom. I dashed through the grass to the tree. My eyes opened wide. A wild cherry sphinx caterpillar! Something I’d been looking for my entire life!
“What did you find now?”, my mom asked amusedly. Snapping off the branch that the caterpillar was perched on, I was about to reply when I saw something unsettling: a small white dot on the green and purple striped body of my caterpillar; then another, and another. Without a word, I walked back to the trail, and presented my find. Suitably impressed by its sheer size, my mom inquired as to the name of the animal.
“Sphinx drupiferarum”, I said gloomily. “Doomed to die a terrible death”.
I like how this starts out happy and then ends on a gloomy note. You made that transition very well. Starting with the excitement that you had never seen this caterpillar before, and ending with the fact that he would die. Even though you do not say directly, you can tell that its death bothers you a great deal, which brings back the prompt, your pet peeve. I also like how you portray the world as one you are alone, or at least one of very few humans in. The conversation with your mom that is put second to the search for specimens. Later, her amused tone as you come back, like she knew you weren't really listening or the conversation or maybe because she was humoring you. Once you show her she seems “suitably impressed by its sheer size,” but not necessarily because she understood its significance to you or its rarity. I may be completely wrong, but I appreciated the words you used to paint this story.
Delete9:06ish AM. Eyes still adjusting to the bright morning light, I walked out of Emery, bound for Latin in Cook-Hyde. A grin flickered on and off across my face as I recalled that I had been made (by a lack of competition, in all fairness) editor of The Flyer. A cold wind made me hasten, and I was moving fast as I passed the arts center. Suddenly, a force moving faster than I attached itself to my waist, and after the initial reflexive rebalancing of myself, I endured the characteristic shock of realizing that someone had just grabbed me. The shock did not last long and was quickly replaced by affection. I am touched every time my sister sees me at school and runs to say a very physical hello to me. It confuses me, because at home she generally abhors any "touchy-touchy" on my part, as she occasionally calls it. But mine not to wonder why, mine just to walk arm in arm with her to the green door into Cook-Hyde--it is CH there, I think--where I tore myself from my contemplations to ask her what class she was going to. "English," she answered, never showing any frustration that I have her schedule memorized out of school but forget it as soon as I get to school. "Oh, yeah," I responded dazedly as I turn the other way to my Latin class. "Love you, see you later." She smiled and waved as she walked away. I forgot about the exchange seconds later as I hurried into class, but I wonder if my subconscious knowledge of her support keeps me going even more than the conscious knowledge that I'm Editor-in-Chief of The Flyer.
ReplyDeleteAnna I really loved reading this post! You're description at the beginning of leaving emery and walking through campus is definitely something I can relate with. That cold chill of the morning air really does a good job of waking you up immediately. Although I don't have a sibling at the school, I can understand what you're saying about it catching you off guard when someone grabs you. There have been many mornings where a friend squeezes my arm as I walk by them, and it really shocks me at first, but then it turns out to be one of the best aspects of your day.
DeleteMy temper is rather short right now. I have too much homework, and tonight, I'm drowning in it. Usually, I can get it all done without too much stress, but not tonight. Tonight I have eleven pages for history, and I should really start my essay. Tonight I have a paragraph for Physics, due tomorrow. Two math worksheets, equivalent to a test, due tomorrow. I don't understand them. English. And Latin, due Wednesday, which I'll put off and regret. And I have a term paper to start. It is overwhelming right now. I feel like it will never end, this pile of homework. It is going to eat me alive. And for me, when this happens, the only thing I can do is get through it. Push my way through all the important, need-a-good-grade homework so that I can go to bed. I'll be better in the morning. I know I can do this. It's just a lot.
ReplyDeleteThis is great, Haley Jo! I know exactly how you were (are?) feeling, having gone through the same thing most nights for the last two weeks. I love the repetition of "tonight" and of "due tomorrow." It really gives a sense of urgency. The short sentences (and non-sentences) also contribute to this. I also really like how you say that your homework is going to eat you alive, not that you feel like it is (of course, you do assuage the fears of carnivorous homework in the last sentences, which really wrapped up the piece nicely with their believable optimism). The way you bluntly list all your assignments also helps show how overwhelmingly much there was that night (and that it was only Monday couldn't have made it seem any better). Great job!
DeleteMy family members can attest to the fact that I have an array of pet peeves. Depending on how tolerant I am feeling, they can range from mouth breathing, loud drinking, and invasions of personal space, to erratic driving, cold feet, and the sound of peeling bananas. Today, in the wake of many well-crafted meals this weekend, we had a left-over night. I set out to make a sandwich for dinner. I toasted a piece of my favorite "When Pigs Fly" sourdough bread, then blanketed it with spicy guacamole, topped with a few slices of fresh-cut parmesan cheese, and finally added a thin piece of grilled chicken on top. My parents were having boring soup. I asked if I could retreat to my room and read while I ate (even though I was really planning on watching Netflix in the peaceful confines of my room). They said no. I reluctantly sat down with them, whereupon my dad started slurping his boring soup. I looked at him and said, "Really? You're going to eat like that?" He laughed and continued to enjoy his soup. I could feel the hairs on my neck standing at attention as the nauseating slurps rang through my head. I held back the urge to scream as I picked up my dinner and relocated myself to the opposite end of the table. I had some relief from the gross noises, but then they started in on college talk. I rushed through my dinner with the bitter taste of annoyance on my tongue. I writhed in my seat as their unrelenting questions continued. Once I had finished, I made a dramatic escape as I exclaimed, "I can't possibly get into college if you never leave me alone long enough to do my homework!" And so, here I am, doing my homework now that my breathing has slowed and the hairs on my neck have fallen back into their less agitated stance.
ReplyDeleteI love this, Meredith. I think any teenager can really relate the overall idea and that really any person can relate to having the small annoyances like somebody slurping soup. I like how you repeat that the soup was "boring" multiple times, it creates a nice thread through the whole thing. I also like the physical description of how you felt at the end, the hairs on the back of your neck and your breathing. I think you could add what kind of soup it is though, I found myself wondering that through out the whole passage.
DeleteI hate eating folded potato chips. I contribute these feelings to the loud crunching noise that seems to go on and on, but mostly to the overall discomfort in my mouth. The sharp edges poke around the roof of my mouth and into my cheeks making me cringe. I dislike this feeling to the point where I consciously buy certain brands that tend to have more flat chips than curved, folded, or layered chips. While making my way through a bag I instinctively reach for the flat chips, but when I encounter a folded one, usually at the end of a bag, I automatically break it into two flat chips. When I was younger, I remember getting a piece of a chip stuck in my throat, the sensation, the razor like corners of the chip jabbing and scraping its way down my throat, is one I associate with eating folded chips sometimes so I set out to avoid it by all means necessary.
ReplyDeleteI haven't written in a while. Not writing as in, school papers and essay and even, this. I mean the kind of writing where I don't think about what I'm going to write next. The seamless stream of consciousness where every word I write with my fingers seem to have meaning yet, I didn't have to think too hard. That's my favorite kind. When you're mind is so blank, almost like a canvas, and you begin with one thought, only one. And usually, that one thought gives off a little something as if to remind you that this is the inspiration you're looking for, it stirs something inside. I'm not sure what it is but, it's a strange feeling that drives me to anything I can write with; a pen and a scrap of paper, a napkin, my hand. That kind of driving spirit, that physically pulls me towards my my notebook, hasn't filled me in a while. Not since the beginning of the summer when all I had was time, and now I can't seem to find the time to sleep, I'm fighting to keep my eyes open as I write this, and this makes me so sad. Not the lack of sleep, I can get over that, but, the fact that my fingers haven't buzzed in months, my stomach hasn't churned with excitement when an idea strikes. I haven't had the seamless stream of consciousness that makes every word and sentence flow into a piece of work. And, I just miss it.
ReplyDeleteI love this piece, both because it's so subtle and so real. I think that it's subtle because if you don't think about it, you miss the juxtaposition of writing a piece in a style you don't enjoy about not writing in a style you don't enjoy. I love that it's so real, and by real I mean descriptive but also true. I love the same type of writing, and so I was sucked in immediately by the description you gave. I knew exactly what you were saying, and that it something to be proud of. I also really thought your first two sentences were a great hook that made me really want to read more. And I enjoy how succinct this piece is. You really knew what you wanted to say, and you were able to convey both your point and your sadness in a few sentences. Well done.
DeleteI can't go to sleep at night unless my room is clean. By "clean" I do not mean spotlessly vacuumed and dusted. I don't even mean absolutely everything put away. I mean that clothes can't be on the floor, papers that aren't 100% necessary cannot be out on my desk and any random things strewn about from the past afternoon and night must be put away. Every night I also unpack my stuffed full, chaotic soccer bag, put dirty clothes in my laundry basket, straighten my cleats, shinguards, goalie gloves and brace and repack it leaving a space for when I put in my t-shirt, shorts and socks the next morning. I place it in the same place every night next to my basketball bag, next to my dresser. My backpack must be packed, zipped and placed in front of my desk. My computer is closed and my phone plugged in beside my bed. I cannot remember a time I did not do all of this before going to bed, no matter how tired I am.
ReplyDeleteMy family is extremely important to me. So ironically, I have been cut off from half my gene-pool for my whole life. I have a donor father who I don’t know, but this man is a yes donor. Which means he agreed to meet me when I turn 18. Turing 18 has many meaning to the average individual, but for me particularly this has always been a day that has seemed a lifetime away. When you turn 18 you become an adult, you graduate from high school, and you will be big and tall, just the way the seniors look to a child. But for me, it also means meeting the man who made my life possible. Seeing a man who I look like, with distinctively non-Longnecker features, and who I act like, even though we have never met. My parents have been warning me as the date draws closer to not get my hopes up. They say he might have a family who does not want me, or he might be dead, or he might be a creep. Despite all that a part of me knows that it will all work out, and in 142 days I will be able to start the process to meet another side of my family.
ReplyDeleteEmmy, this is a great post. I have talked to you about this at school before, so I know that it is a part of your life, but reading it in front of me gave it a new meaning. I have met both of your parents and I know that you have an awesome family, but I can't imagine what it would feel like to have such a strong biological connection to someone whom I have never met. Your post is really concise and I especially liked the end where you talked about the warnings that your parents have been giving you, which they are doing because they don't want you to get hurt. But the fact that you "know it will all work out" makes me feel like it will work out too. It's a really hopeful post and it highlights how different families can be.
DeleteEvery night, without fail for the past 15 years, my brother has eaten his whole meal with his mouth wide open. Up until this past year, I would ask him to please stop doing that, because it made me unable to eat my own meal. Almost every night, I would be asked by my mother to please just leave him alone, he can do that if he really wants to. Tonight when we all sat down for dinner, he took his first bite, and his mouth was wide open. What a surprise. I asked him to please chew with his mouth closed, and my mother said please leave him alone. I suppose that is one thing I will always be able to count on with my family.
ReplyDelete