Describe an airplane ride to your Great-Great-Grandparents.
I'm going to admit this right off, this may be a tough one. OK, so if my grandparents were born in 1909-1910. Then assuming my first Great's were around 20 when they were born and their parents were 20 when they were born, that means my G-G-Grandparents were born sometime between 1860 & 1870 give or take a few years. Wow! That means they were born just after the Civil War.
Okay, so here goes.
Grandma, Grandpa you better sit down. I have something to tell you and I know you are going to have a hard time believing me, but I swear everything I am about to tell you is the truth.
Some people back east have developed a new method of travel. Instead of hitching up the horses, loading everything into your wagon, and traveling for days unending to get out west, you could actually be there in as little as 5 hours. I know that sounds like a fairy tale, but give me a little time to finish explaining it to you. And no Grandma it doesn't involve magic, witches or the devil, so just settle down and let me finish tell you about this new method of travel.
It involves flying. You know the old saying "as the crow flies" and how that means that the distance between 2 places would be shortest if you took a more direct or straight route instead traveling roads that wind around farms and between hills? You would be able to get to the other location faster that way, right? Well that is exactly what this new method of travel would be like. Instead of a wagon, you would fly in a vehicle called an Airplane. It's shape is similar to a birds; with 2 wings, a body, tail and 2 legs. The airplane is hollow and it has seats inside for people to sit on. The "legs" have wheels on the bottom instead feet. The wings are stationary and do not flap like a birds. It has 2 engines similar to the engines on a steam locomotive. It uses the energy from the engines to fly into the sky. And because it can move much faster than your fastest horse, it can travel longer distances in a shorter amount of time.
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Gotta go for now, but I'll come back to finish this one soon.
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
Monday, January 26, 2009
Topic #1
Ok, it's time to stop procrastinating and get with it already!
IC Journal Topic: Write about where you lived as a child. By describing the decorations in the home - paintings, photographs, furnishings - give a sense of what it was like to live there.
We lived in a duplex for the first 5 years of my life. Although I can't be sure, I've always had the impression that the house itself was Grey. As you walked up on to the porch, ours was the door on the left. The door on the right led to Aunt Nine's apartment. As a child, I always wondered why she was named after a number. I learned later on, that her name was really Nina (Nine-ah), but I just couldn't pronounce it correctly.
Once through the front and screen doors, you entered directly in to the living room. The couch was against the wall to the right of the door. It was backed up to the front window. I remember leaning against the back of the couch and watching children playing on the playground across the street at the school. To the left of the door was a set of glass paned double doors, which led to another room. Although I know my Grandmother lived with us for a time and this room was her bedroom, I don't really have a memory of this. Just beyond the double doors was the TV on its stand with a lounge chair setting opposite it. And just past the TV was the louvered bathroom door and the door that led to the dining room and kitchen beyond.
As you entered the dining room there was a set of windows on the left and the door to the basement was to your immediate right. I don't remember ever going through that door and down into the basement. When the door was opened, it was always so dark down there. To my young mind seem to suck the light out of the dining room when the door was opened, so I steered clear of it. As you walked past the windows, the table was on the right. Just past the table was the entry into the kitchen. There was a long counter on the right which ended at the back door. The stove was to the left of the doorway and the sink was on the wall opposite the long counter. The refridgerator was on the wall next to the back door.
When you opened the back door, you had to step down several steps. But these steps did not lead out to the back yard. They led into a dark utility-like shed, where my Dad kept his tools, lawn mower, and my Mom's big white chest freezer. (She still has that thing too!) Directly across and in front of the steps was the door that led to the back yard.
The back yard was really big. It was boxed in on two sides with hedges; the right and back. To the left were several tall leafy trees. A swing set stood amoung them that I my brother and I played on. I remember once, that my brother pushed my so high on the double-seated swing that the swing set tipped over and almost hit my dog Snow. He was an all white beagal, hence the name. Hey I was 4, it seemed appropriate and I'm sure I had help picking it. Obviously this was not the first time Ray tipped over the swing, because that night after my bath, I remember standing against the back doorframe and watching my Dad tear it down. I was so sad. I wasn't allowed to cross the street to the school's playground unless my Mom or my brother was with me. Since he was 3 years older than me he was in school all day. I didn't know what I would do.
The paneling on the walls in the house was dark and the trim was light. The only items I specifically remember hanging on the walls were family photos and this huge carpet-like wallhanging that my dad brought back from Vietnam. It was trimmed in black and depicted a majestic Ram perched on the edge of a mountain. It's head and curled horns proudly raised as to say "what are you looking at? This is MY mountain." My dad treasured that hanging. He even had a Ram's skin/pelt tucked away in a suitcase in the upstairs closet. The hanging was hung on the wall at the base of the staircase just above the end of the couch.
Towards the top of the stairs, there was a landing. I spent many a night cuddled up on the landing with my pillow when I was 'supposed' to be in bed, listen to my parents or watching TV with them. When they would climb the stairs on their way to bed, they would find me asleep, pick me up and carry me up the remaining steps back to my own bed. You had to turn to the left get up the remainder of the steps.
The second floor had an open area with two doors at either end of the far wall. The door on the right let to a closet and the one on the left led into a small bedroom that my brother and I shared. My parents bedroom was the open area. The bed was centered between the two doors on the far wall.
My room, because I always considered mine even though I shared it with my brother, had to be the smallest bedroom ever. I really mean that too. For one child, it probably would have been fine, but the it was overcrowded with the both of us in there. We each had a dresser and a twin sized bed and that's all that would fit. Standing in the doorway, if you looked to your left, there stood my dresser and to the right of the door was my brothers dresser. My bed stood right next to my dresser, tucked into the corner. The foot of my bed was right up against the side of the foot of my brothers bed. There was probably less than a foot's distance between the two, because I could step from the end of my bed onto his. There was a window right there at the juncture of our beds. My brother's bed was tucked into two corner. The width or depth of the room was only wide enough to accomodate the length of his bed. Right next to the head of his bed was his dresser. So as you can see it was very crowded.
We moved to another city and another house just before my 5th birthday. Where I had very own bedroom
*****************************
Ok, there is my first attempt at writing. Not sure that it is very good, but there it is.
IC Journal Topic: Write about where you lived as a child. By describing the decorations in the home - paintings, photographs, furnishings - give a sense of what it was like to live there.
We lived in a duplex for the first 5 years of my life. Although I can't be sure, I've always had the impression that the house itself was Grey. As you walked up on to the porch, ours was the door on the left. The door on the right led to Aunt Nine's apartment. As a child, I always wondered why she was named after a number. I learned later on, that her name was really Nina (Nine-ah), but I just couldn't pronounce it correctly.
Once through the front and screen doors, you entered directly in to the living room. The couch was against the wall to the right of the door. It was backed up to the front window. I remember leaning against the back of the couch and watching children playing on the playground across the street at the school. To the left of the door was a set of glass paned double doors, which led to another room. Although I know my Grandmother lived with us for a time and this room was her bedroom, I don't really have a memory of this. Just beyond the double doors was the TV on its stand with a lounge chair setting opposite it. And just past the TV was the louvered bathroom door and the door that led to the dining room and kitchen beyond.
As you entered the dining room there was a set of windows on the left and the door to the basement was to your immediate right. I don't remember ever going through that door and down into the basement. When the door was opened, it was always so dark down there. To my young mind seem to suck the light out of the dining room when the door was opened, so I steered clear of it. As you walked past the windows, the table was on the right. Just past the table was the entry into the kitchen. There was a long counter on the right which ended at the back door. The stove was to the left of the doorway and the sink was on the wall opposite the long counter. The refridgerator was on the wall next to the back door.
When you opened the back door, you had to step down several steps. But these steps did not lead out to the back yard. They led into a dark utility-like shed, where my Dad kept his tools, lawn mower, and my Mom's big white chest freezer. (She still has that thing too!) Directly across and in front of the steps was the door that led to the back yard.
The back yard was really big. It was boxed in on two sides with hedges; the right and back. To the left were several tall leafy trees. A swing set stood amoung them that I my brother and I played on. I remember once, that my brother pushed my so high on the double-seated swing that the swing set tipped over and almost hit my dog Snow. He was an all white beagal, hence the name. Hey I was 4, it seemed appropriate and I'm sure I had help picking it. Obviously this was not the first time Ray tipped over the swing, because that night after my bath, I remember standing against the back doorframe and watching my Dad tear it down. I was so sad. I wasn't allowed to cross the street to the school's playground unless my Mom or my brother was with me. Since he was 3 years older than me he was in school all day. I didn't know what I would do.
The paneling on the walls in the house was dark and the trim was light. The only items I specifically remember hanging on the walls were family photos and this huge carpet-like wallhanging that my dad brought back from Vietnam. It was trimmed in black and depicted a majestic Ram perched on the edge of a mountain. It's head and curled horns proudly raised as to say "what are you looking at? This is MY mountain." My dad treasured that hanging. He even had a Ram's skin/pelt tucked away in a suitcase in the upstairs closet. The hanging was hung on the wall at the base of the staircase just above the end of the couch.
Towards the top of the stairs, there was a landing. I spent many a night cuddled up on the landing with my pillow when I was 'supposed' to be in bed, listen to my parents or watching TV with them. When they would climb the stairs on their way to bed, they would find me asleep, pick me up and carry me up the remaining steps back to my own bed. You had to turn to the left get up the remainder of the steps.
The second floor had an open area with two doors at either end of the far wall. The door on the right let to a closet and the one on the left led into a small bedroom that my brother and I shared. My parents bedroom was the open area. The bed was centered between the two doors on the far wall.
My room, because I always considered mine even though I shared it with my brother, had to be the smallest bedroom ever. I really mean that too. For one child, it probably would have been fine, but the it was overcrowded with the both of us in there. We each had a dresser and a twin sized bed and that's all that would fit. Standing in the doorway, if you looked to your left, there stood my dresser and to the right of the door was my brothers dresser. My bed stood right next to my dresser, tucked into the corner. The foot of my bed was right up against the side of the foot of my brothers bed. There was probably less than a foot's distance between the two, because I could step from the end of my bed onto his. There was a window right there at the juncture of our beds. My brother's bed was tucked into two corner. The width or depth of the room was only wide enough to accomodate the length of his bed. Right next to the head of his bed was his dresser. So as you can see it was very crowded.
We moved to another city and another house just before my 5th birthday. Where I had very own bedroom
*****************************
Ok, there is my first attempt at writing. Not sure that it is very good, but there it is.
Monday, January 19, 2009
To Begin With
I haven't told anyone about this blog, so I doubt anyone I know will be reading it. That was not my aim.
I've always wanted to do a bit of writing, but never had the nerve to try. I'm an avid reader, and I get ideas for books are all the time. I've just never written anything down. After years of hearing bout my ambition to write a book, but knowing nothing had been done about it, my friend bought me a book called "Idea Catcher: An Inspiring Journal for Writers."
This poor unloved journal has been sitting on the bottom shelf of the coffee table collecting dust for several years. Each page has a different topic on which to write about; trying to inspire your creativity. I don't like writing in books and to me it seems more like a book than a journal. And to be honest, I've been a little afraid to try it. I mean what if I suck at writing? If I don't do it, then it is always something I can dream about doing. But if I do it and I suck, then....
Every year a friend of mine, joins the NaNoWriMo in November and every year I think, "Damn I wanted to try doing that." But each year I forget it is coming up and by the time I realize it is November, the month's half over and it is too late to start. I don't know if this would qualify as a 'self-defeating prophecy', but I'm pretty sure it would come close. I don't do it because I'm afraid I'll fail, and therefore fail, because I'll never do it. I should feel safe trying the NaNoWriMo, because one of the rules is that you DON'T HAVE TO LET ANYONE READ YOUR NOVEL. My friend has never let anyone read her's whether she finished or not. So how can you fail if no one else knows about it? It's kind of like the tree falling in the forest question. This thought accurs to me, but I still can't seem to get my fingers moving to write.
So in an attempt to prepare for NaNoWriMo 2009, I've come up with the 'idea' (no pun intended) of starting up a blog to practice my writing. What I figured I would do is pick a topic from the "Idea Catcher" Journal and write about it. I'm not promising to do this everyday, but at least a couple times a week. And I may just throw in an assorted topic or two, you never know.
I've always wanted to do a bit of writing, but never had the nerve to try. I'm an avid reader, and I get ideas for books are all the time. I've just never written anything down. After years of hearing bout my ambition to write a book, but knowing nothing had been done about it, my friend bought me a book called "Idea Catcher: An Inspiring Journal for Writers."
This poor unloved journal has been sitting on the bottom shelf of the coffee table collecting dust for several years. Each page has a different topic on which to write about; trying to inspire your creativity. I don't like writing in books and to me it seems more like a book than a journal. And to be honest, I've been a little afraid to try it. I mean
Every year a friend of mine, joins the NaNoWriMo in November and every year I think, "Damn I wanted to try doing that." But each year I forget it is coming up and by the time I realize it is November, the month's half over and it is too late to start. I don't know if this would qualify as a 'self-defeating prophecy', but I'm pretty sure it would come close. I don't do it because I'm afraid I'll fail, and therefore fail, because I'll never do it. I should feel safe trying the NaNoWriMo, because one of the rules is that you DON'T HAVE TO LET ANYONE READ YOUR NOVEL. My friend has never let anyone read her's whether she finished or not. So how can you fail if no one else knows about it? It's kind of like the tree falling in the forest question. This thought accurs to me, but I still can't seem to get my fingers moving to write.
So in an attempt to prepare for NaNoWriMo 2009, I've come up with the 'idea' (no pun intended) of starting up a blog to practice my writing. What I figured I would do is pick a topic from the "Idea Catcher" Journal and write about it. I'm not promising to do this everyday, but at least a couple times a week. And I may just throw in an assorted topic or two, you never know.
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