Cranola Diary Entry

It was extraordinary how the author was able to intertwine multiple different stories into one book. She included President Garfield’s assassination, Roscoe Conkling exploiting the spoils system in American government, Joseph Lister’s journey with attempting a sterile environment while operating, and Alexander Graham Bell making a metal detector to try and find the bullet stuck inside the president.

Leonard Mead sighed loudly again, since that was the answer the voice gave to most of his questions. Today though, something was different, he heard another voice, much more human.

Ann Marie Low’s diary opens in 1927 when she is a teenager living with her family on a stock farm in southeastern North Dakota. Low’s diary tells the story of her family's struggle to maintain a way of life, keeping their farm, and educate their children. She discusses her family and friends, descendants of homesteaders, through the next ten years, a time when entire communities lost their homes to mortgages and to government recovery programs. Low’s faces economic hardship, unfortunate family circumstances, and the restrictions that society had placed on women. Low's diary is about life in during the Dust Bowl, and Great Depression.

The boy tensed as the words hit his ears. He was going to war. He was going to be on the frontlines of an actual battle, with guns and everything.

This summer was an interesting one not being at Finch’s landing with you. It was a change going from life at the landing to Maycomb, but the change, I hope, was worth it. I hope I have done my job this summer of providing care for Atticus’ children while he is busy with the case. Maybe she and Jem will actually grow up to become proper adults now, unfortunately they are still a long way away from that.

“It started again.” Berlin’s voice was small and weak. For a second the only sound that could be heard was the creaking of the fire. Berlin looked up at her. He could feel his eyes start to water. Berlin’s cheeks burned. He knew he it was pointless to cry at ten years old. This was the time when he was supposed to be brave, not scared. But he couldn’t help

the bravery. She was very proud of herself, but scared to death. The fear was saddled with an

“L-Leorio…” he hissed, and his voice low and choppy and filled with so much need he barely recognized it as his own.

“Welcome back USA, today we have some special guests. The President’s Council. First up Michael Vendici, your sentence is, DEATH.” I pull out the gun from my pocket, load it, and shoot the man. One after the other, all of them dead. Maybe I’m going insane, maybe this is all just an elaborate game but to me, I enjoyed it. I’ve never had a rush of adrenaline like this before in my life. The vengeance fueled my blood and went straight to the brain. I began to hear voices in my head telling me what I should and shouldn’t do. In a chuckling voice I began to talk to my audience again. “You see that, do you see what I did. Aren’t you proud. Oh, there is one last thing that I request, I want the president of the United States, Vincent Poe.” At this point robot officers stormed into the the station. Motion sensor guns pointed at my direction. I knew I couldn’t move , but I saw a familiar face run through the doors, destroying all the robots. One man stood out in the crowd of metal rubble, it was Hugo.

Esme gazes up towards her attacker, deep set gray eyes avoid her gaze and mousey hair that falls over his forehead in wisps. Esme kicks her legs with might, but his grip remains unchanged and unmoved. Every breath grows labored and every second seems endless, as the sound of waves grows closer and battle fades away once again.

She never thought of herself as a broken or a weak person, but that is exactly what she was, exactly what they all were. Broken children tossed into the cruel harsh world, into a war they should have never been a part of, yet they had been. Each and everyone of them had done things to survive things they could never undo or unseen. Would the things they've done define who they are, would that be all that is left of them when they are older? Would the things happened on the ground be the only things they think about or would they simply forget all they've done, cast it aside to focus on the overwhelming joy they felt be back on the ground once again? These were the thoughts that she had, more often now that it grew closer to the day they were set to return to the ground.

I found this reading quite interesting, last semester I took a history class and we went into Chinese American history. We didn’t go too in-depth in the class and this reading opened up more experience and what it was like to be a Chinese American in the 19th century. One thing I learned from this reading in the “Ah Quin Diary” was how poorly the Chinese were treated by white people. In one part of the diary Ah Quin mentions how he fell into a hole and his watch got wet and when he went to the boss, the boss laughed at him. Not only that but in another section of the diary he talks about the disturbing conditions of living, Ah Quin briefly mentions how he was unable to sleep because bug would bite and crawl all over him at night. Another thing

He looked down miserably at the ground “Sorry, I wasn’t thinking.” He said softly. Felix He then yelled “Excuse me! Excuse me! I’ve got your story over here,” while waving the pages in the air. I gave Felix the look and he got the message to stop.

The piano suites Diary composed by Rodion Shchedrin who is one of the most well-known contemporary composers and pianists in Russia, Shchedrin combines elements of Russian folklore styles, baroque-inspired polyphony and pantonality techniques. The combination of compositional techniques has created a new musical language, present in his piano compositions, fusing traditional Western compositional techniques. In this seven pieces, Shchedrin who wrote his first major compositions as a twenty year-old student at The Moscow Conservatoire, wrote his musical autobiography to confess as a composer and pianist.

And then he reached out over the length of the table. The boy recoiled, sweat running down the sides of his face. The vampire clamped a hand on the boy’s shoulder and said, “Believe me, I won’t hurt you. I want this opportunity. It’s more important to me than you can realize now. I want you to begin.” And he withdrew his hand and sat collected, waiting.