Birthday Pie

Author's Note- A while ago in class, we did a journal entry, and the this was the prompt.

Power Outage at home, in the night, and your family is all around you.  Summer, during a thunderstorm around 9 pm central time.  With no cake.  Sharing a pie.

I had decided to write about my birthday pie, which is an actual birthday tradition for our family.  Last night, I found this, fixed it up and added a few things to it, and it is now a new  blog post.  Comments are appreciated, as always. 

"Oh, no!" cried my mom.  "The pie!"

"Pie?" I asked, looking around.  There was no pie in sight.  "What pie?"

"The pie I made for you're birthday tomorrow!  Since the power is out, that means the fridge won't be cold, and the pie will go bad.  By tomorrow, we won't be able to eat it!" she exclaimed.

This was a serious dilemma.  No birthday pie?  Birthday pie is a tradition in our family, and without it, the fun would be taken out of the party.

"What ever shall we do?"  asked my little sister Lauren, rather dramatically.

"Well, how about we have the pie early?"  proposed my mother.  "We'll pretend it's your birthday right now, and we'll get out the pie before it goes bad, and we'll eat it!"

My family pondered this.   Having birthday pie when it wasn't your birthday is something we never do.  It would ruin the tradition.  And then there would be no pie for the party!  But otherwise it would get all rotten, and there would be no pie!  It's completely and totally against all family traditions, but….

"It's not a bad idea," said Dad.

"If we don't eat it now, we won't have any pie at all," my mom added.

"Well…"  I hesitated.

"I don't see a problem with it," shrugged Lauren.

I sighed.  "Okay, I guess." My mom brought out the coconut cream pie, and we all dug in.  And it turned out to be the best coconut cream pie in the entire universe, even if it was a day early.

Colorful Feelings

Author's Note- This is a creative piece I did inspired by one of my favorite books that Peyton happens to be reading right now called "A Mango-Shaped Space".  Idecided to take emotions and other things that don't really have a color and make it colorful, imagine it through the eyes of someone with synesthesia.  Comments and feedback are appreciated, as always.

  

Colorful Feelings

The sickly, pasty yellow of hunger, tinted with light brown and famine.

The urgent, frantic, bright red of panic, streaked with vibrant yellows and charcoal blacks, causing senses to go into overstimulation, what to do, what to do?

The bubbly, eccentric yellows and oranges of laughter, creased with happy, soft red lines for smiles and fun.

The deep, dark red of anger, streaked with cold, hard black, seeping into your vision, blinding you from reason with it's opaque density and darkness.

The endless and ominous blue sky of perseverance, with tufts of white fluff with hints of grey shadows.

Rich reds and purples of passion, with hues of pale blues, filled with emotion.  A kiss under the moonlight, a goal achieved, a love for anything, for anybody.

The dull grey-blue, subtle, nothing exciting, really.  Boredom.  The color I see in math class and nonsensical movies.

Chaos, a catastrophic jumble of neon, exuberant colors in a frenzy, each trying to be the biggest, the most noticeable, pushing each other out of the way for the spotlight like the childhood game King of the Hill, or two divas fighting over center stage.

The blindingly bright and deep blue of confidence, with shades of green and belief in yourself.

The pure white of faith, drizzled with the soft, comforting light brown of trust and spotted with the greens and blues of confidence.

The new, spring green of hope, like a freshly planted flower, just popping its head out of the ground.

And love, a  rainbow of colors, balancing each other out, because love is filled with bright happy colors, dull sad tones, sharp, stinging, painful  tints, grey-blue sorrows and regrets, deep, emotional purples and fluttery pinks. 

Cheating

Author's Note- This is a Stream of Consciousness entry that I did a while ago, and I just found it tonight and decided to expand on it and post it to my blog.  I did it based off a picture on the back wall of Mr. Johnson's room, of a little kid doing a math problem in his head while the kid sitting next to him is looking at his answers.  I thought it would be fun imagining what the kid felt like, finding out his best friend was cheating off his slate.

58, 59, 60, 61….61!  That's it.  A large grin spreads across my face as I double check my answers, and find them all right in my head.  As I wrote down the answer with my white chalk, I thought, Hey,  I'm actually starting to get the hang of this arithmetic's thing!  I turned to tell my best friend Jimmy about how excited I was, and saw him staring intently but sneakily at my slate.  I looked down at it to see if there was a bug or a glob of snot or something equally fascinating, but all I saw were my answers.  Why would he be staring at my answers?  Wait…..he's cheating off my slate!  Oh, that little stink-nosed, dog breathed booger face!  I blushed, looking around, ashamed.  My mommy told me to never, ever say those words.  They were naughty.  But it doesn't matter, because I'm gonna get him, and I'm gonna get him good.  I raised my hand as high as it could go, and started to shout, in a sort of whiny voice, "Mrs. Honey!  Mrs. Honey!  Oh, oh, Mrs. Honey call on me!  Pretty, pretty please with chocolate syrup and sprinkles and brownie crumbles and a cherry on top?"  Mrs. Honey, who looked about fifty, with her wrinkled, frowning face and bun pulled back so tightly I wondered if she could even blink, sighed impatiently and frowned even more.

"Yes, Jeffery?"

"Jimmy was cheating off my slate!"

"Oh, really."

"Yes!"  I whined.

"And your proof is…"

"Well, I don't have any proof, but…"

"Then how could I possibly know if you were telling the truth?"

"But-but, I saw him…"

"How do I know you're not lying?"

"But-but…"

"No buts.  Now get back to work."

I harrumphed, angry that my friend never got in trouble.  I looked over and Jimmy and stuck out my tongue, but he just smugly smirked at me.  It just wasn't fair.  But what could I, a scrawny little first grader, do about this catastrophic predicament?  (My mommy taught me those big words.  She told me that they mean bad situation, but I still can't say predicament very well yet.  There are so many letters and sounds that it's hard to get it straight, so I only use it inside my head, because what's the point of sounding smart when you just mess up the words?)  Anyways.  If I keep trying to get Mrs. Honey to realize that I'm not lying, she might give me a time-out, and I'd have to wear the dunce hat.  I don’t like the dunce hat.  It makes me feel silly, and everyone laughs at me.  If I let my emotions get the better of me, and I start crying, Johnny and Erik will never let me live it down, even though I don't tease Erik about the time he peed his pants, 'cause that would make me a bully, and I don't wanna be a bully.  Plus the entire class will laugh at me, just like if I wear the dunce hat, and Mrs. Honey will tell me to suck it up and they'll laugh even harder, and Charlotte might think I'm a wimp!  I can't let her think that, no matter what.  If I just sit here and take the blow, I'll lose my manly dignity, which is not going to happen, either.  I have to do something.  But what?

Suddenly, an idea popped right into my brain.  I got it!  If he's just gonna keep cheating on me, then I'll write down the wrong answer, and when Mrs. Honey calls on him, he'll get it wrong!  As Mrs. Honey wrote the next problem on the board, a creepy smile spread across my face.  I couldn't help it.  I wanted to see Jimmy get made fun of in front of the entire class!

Okay, 47 + 9.  I can do this.  I did the math in my head.  47 + 9 = 56.  I double-checked, triple checked, even quadruple checked the answer in my head.  Once I was sure that 56 was the right answer, I wrote down 152 on my slate.  The answer was so far off that nobody would be able to stop laughing until lunchtime!  I snuck a peek at Jimmy.  He was, as I had planned, staring intently at my slate.  I didn't let on that I saw him this time, though.  I just watched with great satisfaction (another big word mommy taught me) and he copied down 152 onto his slate and shot his hand up in the air.  "Mrs. Honey, Mrs. Honey, call on me, I know this one!"

Mrs. Honey looked over at him with a dead, bored expression on her face.  "Enlighten us, Jimmy.  What is the answer?"

Jimmy looked at me with that same mocking smirk on his face.  Well this time, the joke is on him! "One hundred and fifty-two!"  he proclaimed proudly. 

Mrs.  Honey's usually monotone voice changed in pitch for the first time in hours as she exclaimed, "Why, Jimmy, that's nearly one hundred off from the correct answer!  I expect more out of you than that.  How on earth did you get such a number?"

Jimmy's face was filled with a confused expression.  "B-but that's what Jeffery wrote!"  Immediately after he realized his mistake, his eyes got wide as dinner plates, his hands flew to his mouth, and his face turned beet red.

"And why, exactly, Mr. Martin, had your eyes traveled over to Jeffery's slate?" she inquired, eyes narrowed and lips pursed.

"I-I," stuttered Jimmy, but he couldn't get past that word.

"Please, go fill the back left corner of my classroom with your presence, then, and do remember your dunce cap.  We will talk about this later."  She turned to Jeffery.  "I suppose you were right about him cheating then.  Do you happen to know the correct answer?"

"Fifty-six!"  I announced, filled with glee.

She smiled at me and winked.  "Correct."  Wow.  That was the first time I've ever seen Mrs. Honey smile!  She has pretty teeth, but not as pretty as Charlotte's.  Charlotte's are much prettier, and anyways, Mrs. Honey is an old lady.  I can't court an old lady, much less my teacher.  Ewwww!

Consumed by Love

*Author's Note- This is a response to the short story A Secret for Two, and also a practice essay for the District Assessment.  I ended up redoing this many times before I went and showed it to  Mr. Johnson, because I wasn't sure about how I felt about my essay, or if it seemed right to me.  Please comment!

What is the first thing that pops into your mind when you hear the word love?  Most people tend to think about romance- husband and wife, boyfriend and girlfriend, secret admirer, that sort of thing.  But love is not all overwhelming attraction towards someone.  The actual definition is 'a strong and positive emotion of regard and affection'.  That means that love could be for an animal, a brother or sister, a friend, an object, a profession or job, an activity…the possibilities are endless.  Just like I love my family, Pierre Duplin loved his horse, Joseph.  He loved that horse so much that it led him to his death.  Love can be all-consuming.

Pierre and Joseph had a bond that was special.  Not only did they work together every morning and strengthen their friendship during long rides throughout the neighborhood delivering milk, but they also shared a secret.  And on that fateful day when Joseph, the horse, passed on, that secret revealed itself in tragic death.  Pierre was blind.  He had been for five years.  As he walked home from the stables that day, a truck barreled down the road.  Pierre, however, just kept walking.  Some may think that it was because he was blind, and he just couldn't see the truck.  I disagree.  This short story states that he had been blind for five years.  If he had not had any sight for five years, he would've grown accustomed to hearing sounds and smelling, tasting and touching, depending on his other senses, to detect that truck.  He knew it was coming.  He probably knew he was going to get hit.  I have two theories as to why he stayed on the road.

Theory number one says that even though he knew somewhere in his mind that the truck was coming, some part of his mind was warning him, that part just wasn't anywhere near a big enough focus.  He was thinking about the tragic and unsuspected death of his best friend.  He was probably wondering how he would move on from this loss, and grieving for his faithful companion for all he was worth.  He didn't have time to pay attention to that little part of his mind telling him, "GET OFF THE STREET!  A SEMI IS HEADED YOUR WAY!"  Maybe he didn't even notice it.

My other theory is that he just didn't care.  He didn't give a darn.  This is very different from suicide, of course.  He wasn't planning to die- he had barely gotten past his mourning enough to focus on what he should do about himself.  He merely thought, 'If my best friend in the entire world has just died, and there is no one else for me, then who cares what happens to me?  Who would care if I went home and just sobbed for eternity?  Who would care if I died right now?'  He certainly didn't care either way.  He was just going through the motions.  If a truck was coming at him, then maybe that's the way the good Lord planned it.  Maybe He planned it so that when one of them leaves the world, the other will follow.  This quote from the text supports this theory.

'“We are two old men,” he said to Jacques. “Let us wear out together. When Joseph is ready to retire – then I, too, will quit.”'

So, yes, he most likely did feel the vibrations in the cobblestone road, he did hear the rumbles and roars of the huge truck, but he either didn't notice or didn't care.  Simple as that.  He was too upset for Joseph, his horse, his friend, the one he loved.  He was consumed in his own love for Joseph.

The Secret Leaders

Author's Note- This is a response to the mandatory response for my Language Arts class about Animal Farm, how the pigs have changed since the book started, and what Orwell is saying about those who became leaders of the Russian Revolution.  I would appreciate feedback very much for this one.  Thanks!

When old Major, a highly regarded farm pig, gathered the farm animals one night to talk about a dream he had, a dream about a revolution, all animals were filled with hope, and ready to do anything to free themselves from a place where they are poked, prodded, branded, worked to exhaustion, and practically starved.  During the time, all that was in any animal's head was hatred for the humans, and longing for escape.  After the revolution, most animals stayed in that mind set, just not wanting Mr. Jones, the farm owner, to come back.  Some didn't.  Some wanted more.  Some wanted power.

Snowball, Napoleon, and Squealer, three of remaining pigs since the death of Old Major, decide that it's time to make some rules.  The pigs come up with the Seven Commandments, that every animal must follow and worship.  The most important, of course, is the seventh.  All animals are equal. 

As the Revolution continues, the pigs begin to take more and more control over the farm without the other animals even realizing it, becoming leaders almost secretly, and claiming they are only doing what they believe is best for every farm animal.  It is Napoleon, however, that lets the power take control of him.  He thirsts for control, so much so that he'll do anything for it.  Even accuse, lie about, and exile Snowball, leaving him in total power.  To remain in control, of course, he has to make some changes.  He adds enforcements in the form of vicious dogs, to protect him from any harm, and makes even more changes to the already switched around and messed up commandments.  He begins killing anyone who speaks against him, and starts going mad with power.  He started out as a pig trying to help his farm establish into a better community, and ends up misusing and lying to the naïve animals just to satisfy his urges for control. 

Napoleon very much resembles Stalin in this way, because Stalin was a ruthless leader that used the military to control the people, much as Napoleon used the dogs to control the animals.  Lenin kept trying to get Trotsky on his side, warning against the leadership of Stalin and urging the Soviet system to become more open and democratic.  Snowball was doing the same in Animal Farm, was he not?  This leads me to the conclusion that Snowball represents Lenin.  During this entire animal revolution, Squealer and Napoleon kept getting closer and closer, just as Stalin and Trotsky were doing in Russia.  Trotsky represents Squealer because of this.

Orwell wrote this piece of literature for many reasons, but one of the main reasons is to show us how ridiculous and ludicrous the situation was, and how we need to actually think about things we're told instead of just believing them.  What I mean by that is thinking about the lies the animals were told- if the pigs don't get more food than us, Mr. Jones will surely return!- how?  If the pigs aren't fed better than everyone else, for some reason, Mr. Jones will decide to come back and take over again?  All animals are equal, but some are more equal than others- what?  That's like saying, 1+3=4 more than 2+2=4!  They were even naïve enough to not realize it when Napoleon started taking control right under their noses before it was too late!  If the animals had any common sense, and actually questioned things that the pigs said instead of believing their every word, maybe they wouldn't have gotten into this mess!

Leadership and Self-Redemption

Author's Note- This is my final essay to my independent reading book, Alas, Babylon.  I tried to work on making my introduction and conclusion a bit more solid.  I'd like some advice and comments on those, so please comment.  Thanks for the help!

What would you do if all of a sudden, bombs started falling from the sky and obliterating your surrounding cities?  Even though you and your family somehow survived this terrible incident, all methods of transportation and communication are suddenly and without warning, eliminated.  All sources of food, clean water, electricity, medical care, and other vital necessities are wiped out, leaving it up to you to find your way out of this situation for you and your family.  Going outside for long periods of time could mean death by radiation, and the leader of your city has already gotten lethally ill from toxins.  Many of the important
people in your town's society have gone bad since the nuclear attack from all the pressures of maintaining the town, turning to alcohol, drugs, and even suicide for comfort and numbing or ending their pain.  That leaves you, as someone who has dabbled in politics a bit, to take control and restore order.

This is exactly what Randy Bragg's life is like.  It wasn't always like this before.  In fact, before this, Randy was just known as the downfall of his once prominent political family, a drunkard, and sort of a player, after being shot down in his run for town office 5 to 1 because of his belief in African American rights.  His life was drifting off in a pretty aimless direction.  Now, suddenly, everyone is turning to him for help.  Of course, before helping his town, he needs to help his brother's wife and children, as a last wish from his brother before he died in the bombing.  He has, of course, stocked up on food, because his brother Mark had informed Randy on his suspicions of nuclear attack.  But it’s up to him to find fresh water, and learn how to survive without the necessities he's taken advantage of- electricity, medical care, and communication, among others. 

All this, of course, is a major struggle, not just for Randy, but for everybody.  It would all have been so much easier if this war hadn't started in the first place.  There are no winners in a nuclear war.  Just destruction and death.  But, without that war, Randy Bragg would never have truly become who he is now.  He wouldn't have made that vital transition from playboy with a trust fund into hardened leader.  Dr. Gunn wouldn't have gone from a man who has lost his calling to a man with a mission.  Helen and Lib wouldn't have changed from unnoticeable housewives to strong protectors of their family and home.  In one of my dad's favorite book, Fahrenheit 451, the main character says that man is a cousin of the phoenix.  We will die in a fire of our own making but we will also rise again from our own ashes, ready to begin again.  In this nuclear war, they become consumed in their own fire, and in their attempt of survival, they make an effort to rise again from the ashes.

My Sister's Keeper vs. Alas, Babylon

*Authors Note- This was a response to an assignment about comparing my novel to real world situations or situations from other novels.  I'm not sure about how I feel about my introduction and conclusion, so I would really appreciate comments on that.

Have you ever been about to leave for vacation, and looked back at your room right before you left? You think you'll see it after a few days or weeks, or whenever you're supposed to get back, and it will look the exact same way you left it. I bet you never even imagined that it would be the last glimpse of your room you'd ever see.

That was exactly what it was like for Peyton, age 11, and Ben Franklin, age 13, Mark's children. When they were told that they were going to visit their uncle Randy for a while, they thought it was just because the holidays were coming up, or maybe they never even thought why they were going, as they were so excited to be leaving dreary Omaha. They never packed their stuffed animals or their favorite toys, because they thought they'd be able to come home and play with them as soon as they came back. They never knew they were never coming back. This reminds me of a very eye-opening scene in the book My Sister's Keeper. Kate, who has been diagnosed with leukemia, is about to leave for the hospital with her family. She's going to get a very important transplant that could go wrong in so many ways. She knows that it's quite possible she won't leave that hospital alive, but unlike most of us would be when faced with high chance of death, she is unusually calm about it. Her parents don't think she realizes that she could die, and they're okay with that. After all, at the time of this surgery, she was only seven, and they don't want to terrify her. Better to be unaware, they think. But she knows. Right before she leaves, her mom and sister come up to her room to tell her it's time to go, and they find her room cleaner than it has ever been, with the quilt pulled so tightly you could "bounce a dime on its", as the book says. The stuffed animals are in a perfect row, not a fraction of an inch out of line, in order from tallest to shortest and all the coloring pages and chapter books that are usually scattered around the room are gone. Kate is just dusting the last corner of her desk when they enter. Her mother and sister are too shocked to speak. Kate explains why her room is so neat and clean in an eerily calm and innocent voice. "It's in case I don't come back."

After I had read this part, I realized why I loved Kate's character so much; because in certain ways, she's wiser and more acceptant of death than any person I've ever met, child or adult. Knowing that at any moment she could die of blood clotting or infected marrow really made Kate realize that she needed to live like she was really about to die.