Emma Dine
Mrs. Culver
Honors English 10
January 7, 2013
Where I'm From Poem
Pieces
I am from the ocean of clothes piled up in my bedroom,
from the squeaky wood floors and royal gold painted walls.
I am from the sturdy wooden clapboard, also the possessed and haunted feel of the space inside.
I am from the Queen Anne's Lace tucked behind my ear while the willow tree dances in the wind.
I am from the wondrous eyes lit up by the fireflies as they glow in the night sky.
I am from the late night campfires and tray dinners in front of the T.V.
From Mom and Dad who are slowly falling apart.
I am from the ripped leather seats at the old Silver Dollar,
and the clouds of smoke going up my tiny nose as I ate my hamburger.
I am from "promises are very important" and Goodnight Moon.
From the promised "You Are My Sunshine,"
to gradually being surrounded by gloom and confusion wherever life takes me.
From the purple dinosaur singing "I love you, you love me, we are one big happy family,"
to never being able to pick up the pieces of a shattered home.
I am from dancing with sparklers on the Fourth of July.
I am from grand ole' Saint Joseph-- the town that will forever remain in my heart.
From Dad's spicy stir fry to Mom's famous broccoli and zucchini scrambled eggs.
From Grandpa Dine's war stories, and the torn old black and white photos he kept in his wallet.
From all the happy times of laughter and joy to those of darkness, screaming, and tears.
They will always be in my mind wherever I go.
Memory is a way of holding onto the things you love, the things you are, and the things you never want to lose.
I added a title, "Pieces," because I think this piece represents who I am, where I come from, and throws all the little pieces of my childhood together to make up who I am today. I tried to cut my lines shorter, and replace some words. I also edited my punctuation, and was proud to insert a "dash" in line 16 of my poem.
Mrs. Culver
Honors English 10
January 7, 2013
Where I'm From Poem
Pieces
I am from the ocean of clothes piled up in my bedroom,
from the squeaky wood floors and royal gold painted walls.
I am from the sturdy wooden clapboard, also the possessed and haunted feel of the space inside.
I am from the Queen Anne's Lace tucked behind my ear while the willow tree dances in the wind.
I am from the wondrous eyes lit up by the fireflies as they glow in the night sky.
I am from the late night campfires and tray dinners in front of the T.V.
From Mom and Dad who are slowly falling apart.
I am from the ripped leather seats at the old Silver Dollar,
and the clouds of smoke going up my tiny nose as I ate my hamburger.
I am from "promises are very important" and Goodnight Moon.
From the promised "You Are My Sunshine,"
to gradually being surrounded by gloom and confusion wherever life takes me.
From the purple dinosaur singing "I love you, you love me, we are one big happy family,"
to never being able to pick up the pieces of a shattered home.
I am from dancing with sparklers on the Fourth of July.
I am from grand ole' Saint Joseph-- the town that will forever remain in my heart.
From Dad's spicy stir fry to Mom's famous broccoli and zucchini scrambled eggs.
From Grandpa Dine's war stories, and the torn old black and white photos he kept in his wallet.
From all the happy times of laughter and joy to those of darkness, screaming, and tears.
They will always be in my mind wherever I go.
Memory is a way of holding onto the things you love, the things you are, and the things you never want to lose.
I added a title, "Pieces," because I think this piece represents who I am, where I come from, and throws all the little pieces of my childhood together to make up who I am today. I tried to cut my lines shorter, and replace some words. I also edited my punctuation, and was proud to insert a "dash" in line 16 of my poem.
Emma Dine
Mrs. Culver
Honors English 10
January 7, 2013
Grapes of Wrath Personal Narrative
I Love You A Bushel And A Peck
I remember it so clearly, like it was yesterday. I was in English class with Mrs. Griessinger. We were in the library and I had just checked out one of my favorite books,
Charmed and Dangerous, when I got a pass from the office. I gathered up my things, took a deep breath, and started to head down to the office.
At this point in his life, my grandpa had been very sick, and was now in a hospital bed that was brought to his house. When I saw my mom standing there, in the middle
of the office, very still with puffy red eyes, I just knew. The first thing that came to my mind was, "he's gone." I didn't say anything, I just let go a deep sigh and fell into my
mother's arms. I didn't shed a single tear. My mom led me to the back room where I saw my sister's head covered by her arms on the table crying her sweet heart out. I
stared at her. It was something about watching her cry that made me realize he was really gone. He's not coming back. I would never see him again.
We made our way out to the car. It was a sunny October day, but the clouds were starting to roll in. The car ride was silent all the way to his house, but I remember my
mother's red eyes locking with mine in the rearview mirror.
On most days, Grandpa's little yellow house was bright and happy, but that day it seemed dull and dark. The flowers in front of the house used to dance in the breeze,
mesmerizing people with their bright colors. But that day they were drowsy and wilted. The big window in the front used to be open all the time so his wise old eyes could
look out into the world and watch. He loved to watch. But on that day, the blinds were closed and the tan curtains were pulled.
We pulled up to the house, and before the car could even stop, I thrust my door open and stumbled onto the long green grass. I pushed myself off the ground and ran
inside, kicking up dirt with every heavy stride I took. I burst through the doorway, and a crowd of hospice nurses were standing in the kitchen. They all stared at me like I was
a lunatic. I ignored them and sprinted into the dining room, and bracing myself for what was next, I slowly walked into the living room.
His body was just lying there. I'd never seen him so still, so lifeless. His arms were folded over his stomach; and he held a wooden cross in his hands. I approached
him slowly, my bare feet sinking into the carpet like a sponge. As I came closer, tears welled up in my eyes, my mouth was open and I took fast, hard breaths while my heart
pounded harder than ever before. When I saw his chalky, cloudy eyes rolled up into his head, tears started to roll down my cheeks. I scanned his body with my eyes, and
reached out my hand to touch his. Cold as ice. All the warmth, happiness, and life that he brought to the world and the people around him was gone. I screamed and fell to
the ground. My face was wet with tears, and they were flying out of my eyes. I choked on my tears and tried to catch my breath. Snot ran down my nose and onto my lips,
hiccups took my breath away, and my body felt limp. My Uncle Dan kneeled over my curled up body and tried to pick me up, but I jabbed him with my shoulder and shrugged
him off. I wanted to be alone, and now that my grandpa was gone, I felt so alone. For a brief moment, I questioned God. How could He do this to me? How could He betray
me? All the prayers I sent up to Him asking for my grandpa to get better, and He just took him away? I hated Him for snatching my grandpa, my life, away from me.
I remember it so clearly, like it was yesterday. Our English class traveled down to the Upton Media Center to pick out books for that quarters’ reading project. I had just checked out one of my favorites from the Clique series, Charmed and Dangerous, when I got a pass from the office. Oh God, they must have caught me skipping geometry again. All of the possibilities whirred through my head like a scale five tornado. Did I not turn my homework in? Did the lunch supervisor finally tell my dad where all of the lunches really went? I gathered up my supplies in a panic, took a sharp breath preparing myself for the worst, and hurried down towards the front of the school.
At this point in my life, my grandpa had been very sick. All of his thoughts and memories slowly faded away, so he was just an empty, uninhabited shell that layed in a hospital bed that was brought to his house. My mother was standing in the middle of the office. Her body sagged like it bore a two-hundred pound weight, while her loose arms and hands dangled to the sides of her black trench coat like a string puppet. Her frizzed hair, the black mascara smears across her cheeks, and her pursed lips gave it all away. I knew. The first thought that came to my mind was, “he’s gone.” I didn’t say anything, just let out a deep sigh and fell into my mother’s weak arms without shedding a single tear.
While running her trembling hand over my hair, “come on baby,” she said. “Let’s go be with Claire.”
She led me to a back room where I saw my sister anguishly lamenting on the wetness of her tears, inconsolably wracked with the pain of heartache and unanswered prayers. She rocked back and forth while biting her nails like a child during their first thunderstorm. She thrashed her palms down on the wooden table like a strike of lightning with an explosion of thunder. Tears continuously poured out of her eyes as she moaned with sadness and hurt. Her breathing was labored, forcing every ounce of air out and then gulping it all back in. I stood in the doorway and stared at her spasm with a blank expression. It was something about watching her cry and hearing her sweet hear shatter into a million pieces while my mom hovered over her trying to comfort the hysterics, that made me realize he was really gone. He is not coming back. I would never see him again.
We made our way out to the car. It had started out as a sunny October day, but the grey monstrous storm clouds just started to roll in. Silence hung in the air on the car ride to his house. I remember my mom’s deadened eyes locking with mine in the rearview mirror.
We pulled up to the house. Before the car could stop, I thrust my door open in a wild panic and stumbled onto the long green grass. I pushed myself off the ground and ran inside, kicking up dirt with every heavy stride.
I busted through the entrance and sprinted into the dining area. As the door stood towering above me, I let out a shaky breath, closing my weary eyes. Anxiety filled my mind and body. Mindlessly, I stepped across the barrier to the fate that awaited on the other side. In that one moment, everything seemed to go in slow motion. Many people turned around and gazed at me, their blurred bodies creating waves through my vision. Bracing myself for what was next, I peered through a break in the crowd.
His body was just lying there. So still, so lifeless. His bony arms were forcefully folded over his stomach with his hands clenching a wooded cross. I approached him slowly, the spongy carpet absorbing my bare feet. Tears welled up in my eyes as I approached the bedside, burning them like nude skin against a hot blacktop. My mouth widened as I took fast, deep breaths while my heart pounded like the steady beat of Indian percussion. I scanned his body and slowly reached my hand out to touch his. When I saw his chalky eyes rolled up into his head, there was no more being strong. I couldn’t hold it in any longer.
I screamed and slapped the ground. I clenched my scalp with blue and white knuckles, shaking my head in denial while repetitively mouthing “no” with drenched lips. My breath was ripped from my lungs as I tried to gasp the thick air. I felt crowded in my skin and sweat. Cold chills plagued my body. My stomach felt as though it was tied in knots and a series of shudders wracked my body. Sadness flowed through my veins and dulled my mind. It was like poison to my spirit, killing off all other emotions until it was the only one that remained.
My Uncle Dan kneeled over my curled body and dug his hands under my armpits, trying to scoop my floppy body off of the floor. Arms tangled in his, I slammed my fists on his chest and shrieked, “get off of me. Leave me alone.” I shrugged him off, leaving him to cower over me while I wept.
For a brief moment, I questioned God. How could he do this to me? How could He betray me? How could it be so easy to rip him away? I hated Him for snatching my grandpa, my life, away from me.
During the funeral that weekend, it came to me while I was staring at the rays of colored light piercing through the stained glass window of the Catholic Church. Draining out all of the biblical passages that came from the man standing at the front of the room, I concentrated on thoughts of my own. My grandfather had fulfilled his mission. God was simply telling me that I had learned everything I needed to know from him. We have no right to be angry because everything that happens in our lives, the good and the bad, have reasons. Even if he is gone we can still remember him through everyday thoughts and actions. It is just the fact of accepting the reality that he is no longer physically here. All the warmth and happiness that he brought to the world and the people around him will never be gone, it will continue on and get even greater as time passes. He will always be in my heart and with my wherever I go. I will make you proud, Grandpa. When I recognized this, all of the sadness and darkness of my emotions was overcome by joy and happiness. When the service was concluded, I stared at the picture of my smiling grandfather one last time then turned and walked away, and never looked back.
In this piece, I changed up some words to try to make it more descriptive, and tried to make the reader feel like they were in the same room with me. This was a very emotional piece for me to write about, but found it felt really good to get it out of my system! I looked back to my mini lessons for help with semi colon and colon issues.
Mrs. Culver
Honors English 10
January 7, 2013
Grapes of Wrath Personal Narrative
I Love You A Bushel And A Peck
I remember it so clearly, like it was yesterday. I was in English class with Mrs. Griessinger. We were in the library and I had just checked out one of my favorite books,
Charmed and Dangerous, when I got a pass from the office. I gathered up my things, took a deep breath, and started to head down to the office.
At this point in his life, my grandpa had been very sick, and was now in a hospital bed that was brought to his house. When I saw my mom standing there, in the middle
of the office, very still with puffy red eyes, I just knew. The first thing that came to my mind was, "he's gone." I didn't say anything, I just let go a deep sigh and fell into my
mother's arms. I didn't shed a single tear. My mom led me to the back room where I saw my sister's head covered by her arms on the table crying her sweet heart out. I
stared at her. It was something about watching her cry that made me realize he was really gone. He's not coming back. I would never see him again.
We made our way out to the car. It was a sunny October day, but the clouds were starting to roll in. The car ride was silent all the way to his house, but I remember my
mother's red eyes locking with mine in the rearview mirror.
On most days, Grandpa's little yellow house was bright and happy, but that day it seemed dull and dark. The flowers in front of the house used to dance in the breeze,
mesmerizing people with their bright colors. But that day they were drowsy and wilted. The big window in the front used to be open all the time so his wise old eyes could
look out into the world and watch. He loved to watch. But on that day, the blinds were closed and the tan curtains were pulled.
We pulled up to the house, and before the car could even stop, I thrust my door open and stumbled onto the long green grass. I pushed myself off the ground and ran
inside, kicking up dirt with every heavy stride I took. I burst through the doorway, and a crowd of hospice nurses were standing in the kitchen. They all stared at me like I was
a lunatic. I ignored them and sprinted into the dining room, and bracing myself for what was next, I slowly walked into the living room.
His body was just lying there. I'd never seen him so still, so lifeless. His arms were folded over his stomach; and he held a wooden cross in his hands. I approached
him slowly, my bare feet sinking into the carpet like a sponge. As I came closer, tears welled up in my eyes, my mouth was open and I took fast, hard breaths while my heart
pounded harder than ever before. When I saw his chalky, cloudy eyes rolled up into his head, tears started to roll down my cheeks. I scanned his body with my eyes, and
reached out my hand to touch his. Cold as ice. All the warmth, happiness, and life that he brought to the world and the people around him was gone. I screamed and fell to
the ground. My face was wet with tears, and they were flying out of my eyes. I choked on my tears and tried to catch my breath. Snot ran down my nose and onto my lips,
hiccups took my breath away, and my body felt limp. My Uncle Dan kneeled over my curled up body and tried to pick me up, but I jabbed him with my shoulder and shrugged
him off. I wanted to be alone, and now that my grandpa was gone, I felt so alone. For a brief moment, I questioned God. How could He do this to me? How could He betray
me? All the prayers I sent up to Him asking for my grandpa to get better, and He just took him away? I hated Him for snatching my grandpa, my life, away from me.
I remember it so clearly, like it was yesterday. Our English class traveled down to the Upton Media Center to pick out books for that quarters’ reading project. I had just checked out one of my favorites from the Clique series, Charmed and Dangerous, when I got a pass from the office. Oh God, they must have caught me skipping geometry again. All of the possibilities whirred through my head like a scale five tornado. Did I not turn my homework in? Did the lunch supervisor finally tell my dad where all of the lunches really went? I gathered up my supplies in a panic, took a sharp breath preparing myself for the worst, and hurried down towards the front of the school.
At this point in my life, my grandpa had been very sick. All of his thoughts and memories slowly faded away, so he was just an empty, uninhabited shell that layed in a hospital bed that was brought to his house. My mother was standing in the middle of the office. Her body sagged like it bore a two-hundred pound weight, while her loose arms and hands dangled to the sides of her black trench coat like a string puppet. Her frizzed hair, the black mascara smears across her cheeks, and her pursed lips gave it all away. I knew. The first thought that came to my mind was, “he’s gone.” I didn’t say anything, just let out a deep sigh and fell into my mother’s weak arms without shedding a single tear.
While running her trembling hand over my hair, “come on baby,” she said. “Let’s go be with Claire.”
She led me to a back room where I saw my sister anguishly lamenting on the wetness of her tears, inconsolably wracked with the pain of heartache and unanswered prayers. She rocked back and forth while biting her nails like a child during their first thunderstorm. She thrashed her palms down on the wooden table like a strike of lightning with an explosion of thunder. Tears continuously poured out of her eyes as she moaned with sadness and hurt. Her breathing was labored, forcing every ounce of air out and then gulping it all back in. I stood in the doorway and stared at her spasm with a blank expression. It was something about watching her cry and hearing her sweet hear shatter into a million pieces while my mom hovered over her trying to comfort the hysterics, that made me realize he was really gone. He is not coming back. I would never see him again.
We made our way out to the car. It had started out as a sunny October day, but the grey monstrous storm clouds just started to roll in. Silence hung in the air on the car ride to his house. I remember my mom’s deadened eyes locking with mine in the rearview mirror.
We pulled up to the house. Before the car could stop, I thrust my door open in a wild panic and stumbled onto the long green grass. I pushed myself off the ground and ran inside, kicking up dirt with every heavy stride.
I busted through the entrance and sprinted into the dining area. As the door stood towering above me, I let out a shaky breath, closing my weary eyes. Anxiety filled my mind and body. Mindlessly, I stepped across the barrier to the fate that awaited on the other side. In that one moment, everything seemed to go in slow motion. Many people turned around and gazed at me, their blurred bodies creating waves through my vision. Bracing myself for what was next, I peered through a break in the crowd.
His body was just lying there. So still, so lifeless. His bony arms were forcefully folded over his stomach with his hands clenching a wooded cross. I approached him slowly, the spongy carpet absorbing my bare feet. Tears welled up in my eyes as I approached the bedside, burning them like nude skin against a hot blacktop. My mouth widened as I took fast, deep breaths while my heart pounded like the steady beat of Indian percussion. I scanned his body and slowly reached my hand out to touch his. When I saw his chalky eyes rolled up into his head, there was no more being strong. I couldn’t hold it in any longer.
I screamed and slapped the ground. I clenched my scalp with blue and white knuckles, shaking my head in denial while repetitively mouthing “no” with drenched lips. My breath was ripped from my lungs as I tried to gasp the thick air. I felt crowded in my skin and sweat. Cold chills plagued my body. My stomach felt as though it was tied in knots and a series of shudders wracked my body. Sadness flowed through my veins and dulled my mind. It was like poison to my spirit, killing off all other emotions until it was the only one that remained.
My Uncle Dan kneeled over my curled body and dug his hands under my armpits, trying to scoop my floppy body off of the floor. Arms tangled in his, I slammed my fists on his chest and shrieked, “get off of me. Leave me alone.” I shrugged him off, leaving him to cower over me while I wept.
For a brief moment, I questioned God. How could he do this to me? How could He betray me? How could it be so easy to rip him away? I hated Him for snatching my grandpa, my life, away from me.
During the funeral that weekend, it came to me while I was staring at the rays of colored light piercing through the stained glass window of the Catholic Church. Draining out all of the biblical passages that came from the man standing at the front of the room, I concentrated on thoughts of my own. My grandfather had fulfilled his mission. God was simply telling me that I had learned everything I needed to know from him. We have no right to be angry because everything that happens in our lives, the good and the bad, have reasons. Even if he is gone we can still remember him through everyday thoughts and actions. It is just the fact of accepting the reality that he is no longer physically here. All the warmth and happiness that he brought to the world and the people around him will never be gone, it will continue on and get even greater as time passes. He will always be in my heart and with my wherever I go. I will make you proud, Grandpa. When I recognized this, all of the sadness and darkness of my emotions was overcome by joy and happiness. When the service was concluded, I stared at the picture of my smiling grandfather one last time then turned and walked away, and never looked back.
In this piece, I changed up some words to try to make it more descriptive, and tried to make the reader feel like they were in the same room with me. This was a very emotional piece for me to write about, but found it felt really good to get it out of my system! I looked back to my mini lessons for help with semi colon and colon issues.
Emma Dine
Mrs. Culver
Honors English 10
1/7/13
Grapes of Wrath Literary Analysis
Way Out West
Loss comes in many different forms: the death of a loved one, losing a home, or even a job. Any of these examples can cause you to not only lose yourself, but also your
identity. In the Grapes of Wrath, the Joads experience all of these unfortunate mishaps. How do they stay so strong throughout all of the obstacles life throws at them? I
believe that in John Steinbeck's Grapes of Wrath, in order to overcome misfortune and distress there needs to be a strong family connection, an establishment of
friendships, and the ability to set goals.
The unexpected death of Grampa Joad brings the family closer and pushes them to persevere. Losing him is heartbreaking to the close relatives, but the remaining
Joads join together to of course grieve and share personal feelings, but to also celebrate the opportunity to start a new beginning on a "clean slate" in honor of Grampa. He
is a very honorable character even though he comes off as stubborn, defiant, and proud in the novel. It is apparent that he doesn't want to leave his home, and he will do
anything to stay. I think that after he died, the Joads tried to follow more in his footsteps to become more like the character he was and try to adapt his style of personality.
The death provides them with the strength and chance to unite and move on. When one door closes, another door opens; but we so often look so long and so regretfully at
the closed door, that we do not see the ones which open for us.
On their way to California, the Joads meet many other families that are in the same predicament as they are. Everybody is looking for food, work, and a place to stay.
Bonding with people like the Wainwrights and the Wilsons made life a lot easier for the Joads. Ivy and Sairy Wilson help attend to the death of Grampa, and accompany the
Joads on the road. It was good to see that they had somebody else to confide in and find some other people who were somewhat in the same situation. Even when the
Joads got to California and shared shelter with the Wainwrights, they still had the warming presence of another family. In the camps and around the fires, it was also
comforting to hear similar stories of bad luck from people who had come from all over. In reality, those people aren't that different from the Joads. In everyone's life, at some
time, our inner fire goes out. It is then burst into flame by an encounter with another human being. We should all be thankful for those people who rekindle the inner spirit.
Another thing that concerned the Joads was fulfilling the hopes of Grama and Grampa. They started the journey with them, and them finished without both of them. This
significant loss drove them to be better people and make their deceased loved ones proud. Making goals to start working again, and to make a future in California were just
tiny steps for the Joads in preparing for their futures. It's one thing to say you're going to do something, but it's another to actually do it.
The Joads have definitely proven that even during the loss of a loved one, sorrow can help people come together. Grampa and Grama's death, the struggle to find work,
and all of the challenges the Joads faced only made the family stronger and more united. You gain strength, courage, and confidence by every experience in which you really
stop to look fear in the face. We are able to say to ourselves "I have lived through this horror. I can take the next thing that comes along." We must do the things we think we
cannot.
I changed my title from "GOW Literary Analysis" to the current title. I fixed some punctuation errors, as well as tried to steer away from second person. I also added better words to make the paper flow, and threw some words out to try to vary my sentence beginnings.
Emma Dine
Mrs. Culver
Honors English 10
1/8/13
Ode Poem
What's Cookin' Good Lookin'?
You are the reason why our stomachs bulge,
and our pant buttons snap.
How can we say no?
Even though we are told to stay away,
your irresistible polished look lures us in for more.
Your sprinkled sesame bun is covered with
deep cracks and crevasses.
It has all the right curves in all the right places,
and invites me to come wrap my fingers around
the delectable sandwich.
You're smothered with thick mayo and ketchup,
just the way I like it.
The two sauces stick to the roof of my mouth,
causing me to run my tongue over it to scrape the gooey substance off.
Your ocean of ruffled lettuce lies just under the bright red tomatoes.
Its thick skin gets stuck in my teeth,
while the juicy innards slide down my throat.
Hills of brownish-red, crispy, fatty bacon come next.
They squish when I chomp down on the undercooked slices.
My eyes roll up into my head when I smell that greasy, savory aroma.
Stuck onto the patties are layers of golden cheese.
I crave the creamy slices melting in my mouth.
Then the patties,
oh yes, the patties.
Two chunks of dark brown peppered meat
thrown on top of one another.
My teeth sink into the pink center
and I rip out a piece of the grilled square.
As I chew,
brown juice spills out the sides of my wet, greasy mouth.
All together, it is a work of art, a masterpiece.
I know I should hate you, double pounder,
but it's impossible not to love you.
For this piece, I basically just followed the guidelines on the rubric and fixed whatever I got graded down for. I fixed the MLA heading, and corrected my title. I also tried to shorten my sentences a little to go along with "ode format." I proofread and carefully edited to make sure there were no punctuation errors. I'm really proud of this ode, and feel like it's very descriptive and it captures the reader's attention.
Mrs. Culver
Honors English 10
1/8/13
Ode Poem
What's Cookin' Good Lookin'?
You are the reason why our stomachs bulge,
and our pant buttons snap.
How can we say no?
Even though we are told to stay away,
your irresistible polished look lures us in for more.
Your sprinkled sesame bun is covered with
deep cracks and crevasses.
It has all the right curves in all the right places,
and invites me to come wrap my fingers around
the delectable sandwich.
You're smothered with thick mayo and ketchup,
just the way I like it.
The two sauces stick to the roof of my mouth,
causing me to run my tongue over it to scrape the gooey substance off.
Your ocean of ruffled lettuce lies just under the bright red tomatoes.
Its thick skin gets stuck in my teeth,
while the juicy innards slide down my throat.
Hills of brownish-red, crispy, fatty bacon come next.
They squish when I chomp down on the undercooked slices.
My eyes roll up into my head when I smell that greasy, savory aroma.
Stuck onto the patties are layers of golden cheese.
I crave the creamy slices melting in my mouth.
Then the patties,
oh yes, the patties.
Two chunks of dark brown peppered meat
thrown on top of one another.
My teeth sink into the pink center
and I rip out a piece of the grilled square.
As I chew,
brown juice spills out the sides of my wet, greasy mouth.
All together, it is a work of art, a masterpiece.
I know I should hate you, double pounder,
but it's impossible not to love you.
For this piece, I basically just followed the guidelines on the rubric and fixed whatever I got graded down for. I fixed the MLA heading, and corrected my title. I also tried to shorten my sentences a little to go along with "ode format." I proofread and carefully edited to make sure there were no punctuation errors. I'm really proud of this ode, and feel like it's very descriptive and it captures the reader's attention.
Emma Dine
Mrs. Culver
Honors English 10
1/9/13
Conceit Poem
Into the Rough
Love is golf.
You tee it up preparing for what you're about to get yourself into.
The ball soars through the air just like a fresh,
newly conceived relationship.
It flies smooth and easy and has the chance to go far,
just like every real relationship should.
There are difficult choices to be made along the way,
and a diverse selection to choose from
just like the variety of clubs.
You claw through the jumbled mess
until you find the right one.
There can be days that are hard.
Days where all you want to do is give up and quit,
and it leaves you begging for that last chance,
that one shot,
that can change everything and renew confidence.
Don't worry if you go into the rough,
as everyone does.
Don't worry if you sink down into the hole,
as anyone can.
Love is golf.
When editing this piece, I fixed some errors/ typos from the original version. I also tried to shorten some of the longish lines to cut the line break sooner. By doing this, I tried to make it a little easier for the readers as well.
Emma Dine
Mrs. Culver
Honors English 10
1/9/13
Crucible Essay
Devil Daycare
I would always wonder why my parents sent us away during the summer. If they loved us, why would they take us there, and just drop us off and ride away? About nine
and seven years old at the time, every weekday during the summer my sister and I were thrown in a car and driven to what, at the time, was the most dreadful place on earth.
The YWCA Daycare. Carpeted steps, dirt filled and puke colored, welcomed us the moment we walked in the door. With every step I took, there was a hollow “thump” that
went along with it. There was also a tan wood railing on the side of the steps. I would drag my fingers along the peeling paint of the railing and look back at the screen door
trapping me in the dingy building, and blocking me from the blissful outside world. At the top of the stairs, we were greeted by the welcoming face of a heavy set, wrinkle-
faced old lady who would sit in a little room all by herself. I always wondered what it was like to be that lady, having to stare through plexiglass all day while looking at the
miserable faces of little children when their parents were dragging them across the floor. Staring me down, the old lady locked eyes with me as I tried to break free of my
mother’s grip.
“Hey there,” shouted a nasally young voice every morning when we walked through the upstairs doorway. Becky, our feared camp leader, stood towering over us in the
doorway. I had always thought she was pretty, but her natural beauty was covered by a heavy spray tan that made her look orange, black eyes that made her look like a
raccoon because of the multiple layers of mascara and liner she used, and a chain of tattooed purple flowers running up the side of one leg. She also had multiple
piercings in her nose and ears, and one little silver ring in her eyebrow. That voice made me cringe. My sister and I both knew that the minute she took our tiny hands away
from our mothers, she’d turn from charming to atrocious. I swear that lady’s manicured nails were claws, and there were little horns hiding under her product-filled hair.
Every morning consisted of the same routine. Check in, and then put your belongings in your assigned cubby. Then it was playtime. We were allowed into three areas of
the room. One was a kitchen playroom, where my sister and I would always go and play restaurant. Becky would always tell us to wash our hands when we came out. At the
time, I didn’t know why, but now I realize it was because hundreds of germy kids had been in there playing with the plastic food with their slimy, booger-covered hands. At
one point, I saw a little boy stick the plastic spatula in his mouth and then down his pants. The next time I made a “hamburger” I made sure to flip it with my hands instead of
using that plastic utensil.
After what I loosely refer to as “playtime”, we’d walk down to the beach. I was so relieved to get out of that horrible place. Becky made us walk in a line like marching
soldiers. On a special occasion, like when her boyfriend called, or if she chipped a nail, she had us come to a complete stop so she could take care of the urgent situation.
Sometimes she would tell us she was “sick of hearing our squeaky voices”, and make us walk the rest of the way back silently… or else. But of course as there is in every
group, there was that smart-mouth who couldn’t “keep his piehole shut”, so by the time we got back to the dreaded building, our legs were sore from walking what seemed
like two extra miles. Becky’s punishment. Once, when we were on a bathroom pit stop, which we only got once in a blue moon, my sister and I decided to hide in the stalls
so the army could trek on without us. Minds racing, we tried to think of possible ways to escape the horror. The only things holding us back were our precious Calvin and
Hobbes comics, and our chess game we’d left back at the YWCA.
When we got back it was time for lunch, and all at once, our sweaty little bodies raced to the back room where there sat a tiny white refrigerator containing our lunches.
While we were eating, it was reading time, where it was absolutely necessary to read. If Becky caught us with electronics, or in my case, a CD player, she would take it away
and make us go sit in the corner. In fact, I don’t ever think I got my device back.
After that was “free time”, where Becky was watching your every move. It made me feel very restricted, not free.
The best part of the day was when our parents came to pick us up. We would sit on the floor, and every time we heard footsteps coming into the room, we would snap
our heads around hoping to see our parent’s faces. When we left, Becky would shout “see y’all tomorrow,” and take away all happiness by reminding us of the fact that, “oh
yeah, we’re coming back tomorrow.” We’d walk through the hall, past the sad old lady, down the smelly stairwell, and burst out the screen door into the sunshine. We were
free again.
Years later, when the place was torn down, my parents lamented the loss of another historic building. Whenever my sister and I look at the empty lot, we smile and
share a secret glee.
With this piece, I tried to be very discriptive. I fixed some problems with words and punctuation. I tried to make a catchy title that went along with the book. Devil Daycare!!
Emma Dine
Mrs. Culver
Honors English 10
1/10/13
I-Search Topic Paper
Cell Phones and Social Media: Communication in a Changing World
I would like to research the effect of cell phones and social networking and how they have changed us, as a society, socially. It doesn’t matter where you are, or what
environment you’re surrounded by. There is always constant buzzing, Facebook uploads, and Twitter updates. At school, people walk with their heads down, fingers fast at
work typing on their miniature keypads. Instead of being involved in the already very social school environment, they exclude themselves and choose to instead be active in
an online “social” world. Also, there’s always that person who chooses to walk with their headphones in and in many cases it seems that when you plug in, you are also
pulled out of the settings around you. We have now become encompassed in a world where texting has overruled face-to-face conversations and where “likes” and
“followers” determine your social status. Personally, I can’t say that I have never been in one of those situations, and also have the tendency to constantly check my phone.
Even though I have bad habits, obviously along with some other individuals at our school, I was drawn to this topic because I thought it would be interesting to see,
nationwide, how this new technology and social media affects us as a whole. I plan to connect this topic to all types of people around the world. Maybe there will be some
differences between technology usage in the varying age groups. I can’t wait to see what information is waiting there to uncover, and I am looking forward to broadening my
knowledge in this somewhat controversial issue. The world is only getting smarter and smarter day by day, therefore only getting increasingly more technologically
advanced.
This writing was supposed to summarize what we chose to write about for our final research paper. I tried to make it sound interesting by being informative and drawing the reader in.
Emma Dine
Mrs. Culver
Honors English 10
1/10/13
I-Search Plan of Action Paper
Over the weekend, and the in-class research days we were given, I was overwhelmed with how much information was out there on my topic. The databases that the
school provides to us, and random, yet helpful, sites that I found using Google were packed full of prominent information. Out of all, the most helpful are sites explaining teen
habits and addictions that come along with social networking, and today's society and our means of communication. I have also checked out A Century of Innovation, and
Totally Wired: What Teens Are Really Doing Online from our school library, and am still planning to visit our local library for more titles. I have also found multiple ebooks
relevant to my topic. So far, I have about 15 reliable sources overall and that I plan on using, and will hopefully come across more along the way. I plan to incorporate social
networking and teens, cell phone use/addiction, today's growing society and our habits, and communication today. For the requirement of a primary source, I plan to conduct
a simple three question survey. 30 surveys (estimated amount of people per. class) will be handed out to four teachers. I will then collect the surveys at the end of the day,
and compile my results. All four of these teachers have classes mixed with students from all grade levels, so I can get data from varying perspectives. Looking at all of my
resources, I expect my research paper to be full of statistics, and I am very excited to be able to study and look over these results.
.
I found that there wasn't really much to do with this paper. Aside from fixing a few punctuation errors and switching some words in and out, I left this paper pretty much
the same.