Desicions Without Grandpa

In my early years, I hadn't given much thought to the depth of this city, only knowing bits and pieces of the puzzle that I was trying to put together in my head. However, as the years went by, I grew accustomed to the city, its people, and its ways. This city influenced and shaped my persona into the individual I am today. This city taught me a great deal of what

The blazing light was shining in my face and a slight breeze blew through the arched windows. I spotted an open chest in the attic, whilst spring cleaning. The outside rim of the box was covered in dust and cobbled webs; the hinge was rusty, making a creak noise against the ghost-quiet room. Rummaging my hand around the chest there was a scratchy-substance digging against my fingers. As the sun faded from my sight I lifted up the mysterious object. It was an old rustic book; I flipped through the delicate pages, every touch made a crinkling

Many of the people living in the village have come from a variety of lives before moving into the community. Some old, some new, and often have been alone most of their life.

All was dark, all was silent. Never would he see his sister or brother again. His poor old mother, without a husband, now without her eldest son. Each day his heartbroken mother would sit at home, in her old wooden rocking chair, waiting for him to come home from a hard day on the farm. But he never came!

The bunkhouse was nearly empty, the men in the dining hall. The sun was just rising above the horizon, peeking through the dusty windows. If a blind man walked into the rectangular building, he would have never known a man named George was sitting on a bunk near the blackened stove, gazing at the floor, his eyes full of morose. The mattress next to him and the shelves hanging above it were empty, as if no one had sat on the bed or placed their belongings on the makeshift apple box shelves in a long while.

Wyle was a carefree young boy, and as he frequently visited parks and other such play areas, the founding of new friendships and the development of his social skills, quickly followed. Wyle grew accustomed to striking up conversations with complete strangers, quickly making new friends. All the while, his mother and father working hard to keep their finances

When I make my way to the end of the driveway and out of the cornfields, I become enclosed by yellow, tin sided buildings filled with cattle and machinery. Some people may consider them just buildings to keep the cattle from running away, or to keep the machinery dry. I look at them and see the building blocks of my life and think of all of the memories that have been created, and the stories that can be told. As I look around the yard one building stands out the most, the shop. The shop is a 50x52 foot structure with 14 foot yellow tin side walls and two massive overhead doors in the front. In between the doors is a filthy window with stringy white cobwebs draping from the corners, which should probably be cleaned sometime soon. Above the window hangs an old wooden sign in which my Grandpa had engraved “Zapzalka Farms”, along with a miniature green tractor painted in the corner. When I walk in the door, I take a deep breath and smell the sweet smell of grease and oil along with the blaring noise of dad using the hand

However, some people were content in their small town life, but others were rushing to be a part of big city growth. In the beginning of this massive growth, Wiebe describes the influx as uneducated, jobless, homeless, lonely people. Community leaders, described as an “unwieldy council, mirroring a fragmented and confused city” (13). At this

Little Witley is a village far enough from Worcester to be in the middle of nowhere. Surrounded by fields full of sheep, cows, and other unknown animals it’s a rather unwelcoming village. There are not many young people in this village, mostly just old people who never come out of their houses. I think it's because if they step out of the house they won't have enough energy to get back in and will probably need a nap. The youngest is 50 and the oldest is unknown. I never see anyone in they village. My brother and I went on a bike ride down all the little lanes and we saw an old man cutting the grass. We waved like normal people would do but he just looked at us like he had never seen a human before. It was creepy. My

At this point in the conversation, he started to go on a bit of a tangent, but he still had very interesting information to share. For example, my grandpa said that they made their own toys and were always making and doing stuff outside. Also, they didn’t have TV until about 1960 (which is when he joined the Navy). However, they did have the radio, to which he remembers that they all had their favorite radio program, and “everyone would huddle around it and we’d listen to our program.”

Plunging into the old , radiator-heated, turn-of-the-century house, I first noticed the smell. It was a mixture of herbs, homemade soup simmering on the stove, old dusty furniture, and moth balls in drawers of outgrown clothes. The sunlight beamed in on the kitchen table, which bore a bowl of perfectly ripened grapes and peaches. Against the far wall, a white sink, now slightly yellowed with age, reposed sedately between a new, white refrigerator whirring steadily in its corner, and an equally gleaming washing machine. On the left wall and above the stove, hung my aunt’s collection of potholders, lovingly made and presented to her by well-meaning nieces. Opposite the stove was an open mahogany door, varnished so that it was like glass

A bulky, vigorous elderly man, who had voyaged an incredible journey was prepared to combat the rest of his life with bliss. He appeared to be callow with small thin patches of hair connected to the sides of his glassy, bald head. He had only a single viable kidney sustaining his life, the other having been appropriated from him at the age of forty, but, nevertheless, he still managed to stimulate a lively charismatic presence around himself. Though his occupation remained only as an accountant, he still managed to regard the positive aspects of life. He would watch the adversities only as a spectator, and would attentively escape them with the people whom he loved. The land around him contained an hyperactive aura that compelled him to thrive from the energy surrounding him. I never understood how he could take pleasure in fervently listening to the repugnant chatter and bickering of the townsfolk that could be heard from my bedroom window. I never understood how the bittersweet melodies of the pecan colored nightingale that perched upon his chalky windowsill at dawn served as a source of amusement to him. I had always indulged in deep admiration for my grandfather, for he was a strong man that had guided me through the most difficult points in my life. Yet I did not have the ability to guide him through his.

Imagine coming home on a bitterly cold iciness’s nighttime to a cozily warm house, and after you have got made yourself a steaming cup of cocoa, and have settled into your favorite recliner chair, you retake a seat and relax in the front of a lovely fire. The conventional-fashion mantelpiece is extraordinary with an antique o.K.Mantel and rich brown brickwork. Your eyes settle on the hearth this is aglow with golden flames, burning logs, and smoldering purple coals.

The walls were heavy, made of thick, rotting wood and thin drywall. The drywall was thin and sodden, dank from being exposed to elements for so long. The putrid wood showed its face at random intervals, shyly appearing to the perceptive viewer. On top of the walls sat peeling plaster, curling up liked they were sour and crisp. The off white color of the walls matched what you could see of the dirty floors, which were covered in debris. This debris

The house was atop a small old hill. Surrounding the house was a once neatly kept metal fence, now all rusted and covered in overgrown foliage. An old worn gravel pathway lead straight to the door. Weather had taken its toll on the house. The bricks were worn and faded from their original color of red. The door was barely hanging onto its hinges, and the windows were cracked and broken.