Observation Essay About A Perfect House

In 2 Corinthians 5:1, we see the statement made by Paul, “a house not made with hands.” A few interpretations for that would be, “The body you live in now, Paul says, is like a tent. It can and will be folded up and destroyed.We have a permanent house in heaven, though, of which God is the architect and builder.” (Ramsay 34), “Employing the same word for house’ (oikia) that he used to describe the earthly, temporary body that all people are born with, Paul now contrasts with it this new house awaiting all believers after death. Naturally, since it comes from God, this new house has been built in God’s neighborhood where God himself resides, “heaven.” Like God, it will also stand solid and secure forever. Of course such a dwelling could not be built by human construction methods. Only God could possibly build it.” (Baker 202) Phillip Edgcumbe Hughes explains to us, “This expression...must not be misunderstood, for it certainly does not imply that our present “dwelling” is made with hands. There may be a hint of the thought that man, by virtue of his faculty of procreation, has a hand in the miracle of the formation of the earthly body, whereas the new dwelling comes immediately from God. The expression may also be interpreted in part by reference to Paul’s own particular handicraft, namely, tent-making: tents, with the manufacture of which he was so familiar, he naturally thought of as made with hands. This description, however, which is distinctive to the New Testament, must

The Abandoned house stood there, with fog rising to the sky. Lights flickered being the only light in the dark….. The fog dragged a cold breeze, that sent a chill up my spine, this house has been here forever and nothing like this has ever happened before, I gulped and strolled into the cold night fog. As I approached the house, the door slowly opens and a Shadow steps towards me. The weather just dropped like 40 degrees, I don't like this at all.

The next house I observed was in the Bon Ton Historic District of Bozeman and is called Mendenhall Residence. The architect that designed this home was from Grand Rapids, Michigan and was named D.S. Hopkins. However the owner of the house back in 1888 was John Mendenhall. The house is also a Victorian Style home like that first house I observed and includes steep gables, a bay window, two-story porch, and very defined spindlework. The lot size of this house is 9,191 square feet and the house size is 3,110 square feet. This house was also built in 1888 but was renovated in 1985 and now combines a litte more traditional style into the home. This house is two stories and does include not only one but two grand fireplaces, and a detached garage

The war on drugs has maintained an accumulation of prohibitions on illegal drugs and mandatory minimum sentencing strategies for drug offenders. Incarceration rates have also increased due to the increase of laws against illegal drugs. In Eugene Jarecki’s film, The House I Live In, Jarecki states that the penalties for crack users were harsher than penalties for regular cocaine users. This suggests that penalties are more of a double standard theory. The “War on Drugs” is more of a failure that places restrictions and prohibitions on drug offenders and has not necessarily shown a sense of equal stability; thus, leading to faulty sentences, misinterpretations of the real purpose of this initiative, and an overpopulation of prisons.

A group of friends walked up to an old, seemingly abandoned house. They couldn’t see inside because of the dirt and cobwebs on the windows. When they turned the doorknob to see if it was locked, the door creaked open as if it has been closed for years. Me and my friends , Hayden ,Annie ,Kacy , and Rush were walking up old stairs to this abandoned house . As we walk in the house the door shut Annie screamed and I told her to ,’’shut up ,’’ we all didn't think about the door closing on its on except Annie . So we keep walking around to see if there is light willed Annie keeps yapping about the door. As we were walking around to see if there was light , we did not proceed that we were in a abound house so the light will not work because no one lives here so no one could pay the bills . So we looked in Rush's bag to get the flashlights . As we walk around Kacy started to joke around like what if we die , or what if theres ghost ,or what if we get trap here , so that made Annie really scared . kacy loves to try to scarier use but it doesn't work expect Annie .

     The process of building a house is a very complex and difficult task. In the following paragraphs, I will be explaining the many different steps that are required to build a house.

“Wow” My mom said glancing to the side of the road and behind a large grey building. “It seems so barren now.” she said shifting her eyes back onto the road, her hair fluffing up as she shakes her head. “I can’t believe they’re chopping down so many trees.” I heard sadness bubbling up in her voice as the traffic light turned green and my mom drove the car forward. I look back at the empty plot of land, a place that used to be packed with trees, trees that had been there for hundreds of years. I watch the desolate yard of stumps fade off behind us as we continue on home. The thoughts still roam around in my head. How many trees does it take before they stop? One more? Ten more? A hundred more? Or will the only reason to stop be the extinction of them as a whole?

The house that I’ve grew up in is very unique, my parents built it by hand, no help from anyone besides some family and friends. My dad and his ex wife started building it before they got divorced, and there was only 2 floors because then it was only a home for a family of 4. When my mom and dad got married they had to build more onto it because the family of 4 turned into a family of 6. Plus both of my parents would help anyone that needed it, and so they became foster parents. All my siblings and their children call where I live “The Farm” because our house sits on around 450 acres land, that have anywhere from horse and cows grazing in it at almost all times to baling hay during the summer months. There is always something going on at The Farm.

In the living room, the cuckoo clock said, "Ticktock, seven-thirty o'clock, time to get up, time to get up, seven-thirty o'clock!" As if the cuckoo clock is afraid, nobody, in the house would wake up. The living room is like a perfect, black and white, cover. I had always been afraid to sit, in the living room, in case I wrinkle the fabric or stain it. The couch is cream but inlaid with a fine green silk, and leaves embroidered so delicately that they might have landed there in spring and just sunk in, but I know they took hundreds of hours to sew. The black curtains are linen, the kind of black that is untouched by hands and devoid of dust. A cursory look to the right shows me the almost hidden cords that are used to open and close them. In the living room, there is no television, no dining table, only the chairs arranged around the bespoke fireplace which leaps with a gas flame. The photographs are black and white, not casual family pictures, but arranged to look like such by a professional, anyone of them wouldn't look out of place. The floor is a high polished wood, dark and free of either dust or clutter. I always felt like this was my home. "I belong here."

“Wow” My mom said, glancing to the side of the road and behind a large grey building. “It seems so barren now.” she said, shifting her eyes back onto the road, her hair fluffing up as she shakes her head. “I can’t believe they’re chopping down so many trees.” sadness bubbled up in her voice as the traffic light turned green and my mom drove the car forward. Looking back, I see the the empty plot of land, a place that used to be packed with trees, trees that had been there for hundreds of years. My head turns back forward, the desolate yard of stumps fading off behind us as we continue on home. The thoughts still roam around in my head. How many trees does it take before they stop? One more? Ten more? A hundred more? Or will the only reason to stop be the extinction of them as a whole?

The nipping cold hits my face as I stroll through the woods looking for the cabin that I grew up in. When I trudge through the crunchy snow it makes a sound like it is October with the crisp fallen leaves underneath my feet. Up ahead I soon spot the cabin made out of walnut wood. It looks so magnificent sitting up on top of the hill with the sun beaming its glistening rays from behind on each side. As I enter through the wooden gate surrounding the house I recall all the memories of Christmases before that were made in this house. I remember the good smells and sounds from years past and hope that they come back this year.

It was a fresh afternoon when I accompanied my best friend to visit my grandparents in countryside – Ben Tre, where is well-known as a tranquil place. Those days, I live with my beloved cousin; she was a girl of tender-hearted, tolerant and lenient aspects. At her will, she ushered me and my friend to observe how developed our countryside is.

Sandra Cisneros composes an engaging memoir in A House of My Own that is imperative to the coming-of-age of young adults today. Her memoir not only contains compilations of her childhood, family, and writing, but also includes her unabashed journeys and internal battles faced in order to proclaim an identity for herself as a strong, independent Chicana woman. The title of the novel alone is an example of a peregrination Cisneros undergoes in order to discover what the meaning of a home means exclusively to her soul-searching adventure while also aiding her outlook on life itself.

Home, the place one spends more time in their life and share special moments with family. Where one expects to live permanently carefree, feel protected under the roof of their house. One day I want to have a home that makes me feel well and where I can be safe and happy. The purpose of this essay is to discuss and fine structural decisions I made about designing my dream house.

The window on the eastern side of my house in my brother’s room is the most expensive window in the house, coming in at over 125,000 dollars. It could have been a normal window, if my family were normal. However, because of that window the entire household had to get rabies shots. I should consider lucky we did not die a horrible and disgraceful death foaming at the mouth, but after that experience I am certain that my family deserves to be featured on a freak medical reality show like Untold Stories of the ER.