Personal Narrative: Parlor Walls

My parents hired painters to paint the walls grey to match the pink and grey theme I had going on in the room. My dad bought me a grey bookcase to match the theme of my room because he knew how much I loved reading. I did not ask for a new bookcase, but he said it was a “moving in” gift. The bookcase was quite larger than my old one, with 5 horizontal shelves to store all my books. My room was on the smaller side, but it made me very cozy. As I lit a Lake Sunset candle in my room, I started to unpack some of my boxes. First came all my movie collections that I put under the tv stand, then all my makeup, then my books. As I started to put the books away, ‘The Berenstain Bears' Moving Day’ fell off the stand and to the ground. As I picked up the book, page 12 was open. The page read, “I hated the process of moving. But after the first day of school, everything was fine. I am happy we moved because I have meet new people and have had made new memories.” My mind started to clear up. My mom used to read this book to me every night before I went to bed. I would never have known that this would relate so much to my life now. I started school yesterday and I have already met so many cool people. Everyone was so welcoming and this girl named Rachel even let me sit at her lunch table. I think I was overreacting over the whole situation because it hasn’t been so bad. I am excited for the

Unlike Jeannette I never moved around a lot in my life so maybe that’s why it so strange to me, but both she and I have some things in common. We both don’t seem to like our distant relatives, both of our mothers like to be hypocrites, saying stand up for what you believe in and then reprimanding us about it, and both of us have been and are tricked by our fathers; in her case standing up to her racist parents and digging a foundation for the Glass Castle that the family only wanted to use as a garbage disposal. Anyway her family has issues with pride just as much as mine does, only in a different way. The Walls were and are the poorest in any poor neighborhood they move to, but they bring their misfortune upon themselves. Honestly they could

On Monday 6/29/2015 Sgt. Alexander and I was dispatched to the Hostess House located at 6741 Highway 70 in reference to 2 subject, Mr. Burnette and Mr. Jacobs that were renting room 251 and had outstanding warrants.

My Glass Castle essay is a flashback to the beginning of my adventures in Honors English. As such, it is the most suitable candidate for revision, as I will be able to observe my hopefully positive progression made over the course of the entire school year.

The Festival return to Greenfield, MA after being in Turner Fall, MA for a couple of years. I had never been in the Art Block, but found one of their stages The Wheelhouse one to be inmate setting like you what you might find in a coffeehouse. I heard Julia Cira sing on that stage and she had a beautiful voice. One that I like much better than Rosie Porter. It's just a good one to have for ballads. Its a strong one. She plays an electric guitar as well as sings. She was accommodate by a man on drum set and another young woman on an electric guitar. That woman played it well. I listen to her sing a couple of songs and she sang beautifully each time. According to her, They were doing full on rock songs and they sound like very nice quality

The most positive part of my shadowing at Exotic Home Designs was the fact that we started pretty much from scratch with an ugly bare house and turned it into something amazing. I never realized that you could take something so bland and dreary and turn it into a masterpiece. The color schemes matched the house exquisitely and made the overall feel amazing. In my shadowing experience, I am glad to report that there were no disappointments. I did find out though that even though I always knew it is a lot of work I didn't expect it would be as much work as it turned out to be. The thing is though nothing that is as beautiful as art gets done without some sort of hard work. If I had to give advice to future seniors about to experience the same

As I am riding in my husbands 2008 chevy cobalt I realize, this is exactly how I envisioned the perfect day. A soft gentle breeze wafting the sweet scent of jasmine over me, the sun radiating against my skin. The sky is clear as cleaned crystal and bubblegum blue. I settle back on the warm leather seat of the car and embrace the feeling. I am totally immersed.

Ultimately, after examining the child's location with an ultrasound, the physician informed Dax, "I have to take her for the C-section." I yowled for 10 mins. I was so dissatisfied. I attempted actually difficult! Yet she appeared magnificently. They placed her on my breast, and also I was so delighted that everyone was safe.

I woke up on a warm sunny Saturday morning and went down stairs and called my friend Joey Gliech and said “Today is the day!”

“Caitlin, it’s good to see you again,” Jessie Wells said to me as I signed into the hospital, it seemed sad that I had been there so much the staff knew my name.

The agency I chose to interview was MyHouse at 300 North Willow in Wasilla, Alaska. Their mission is to provide safe shelter for homeless youth with a goal of connecting kids to a network of caring individuals and agencies able to assist them in becoming self-sufficient. They have a board of directors that meet regularly to discuss issues and where to go next with the agency.

I knew it was a dangerous thing to do, but I had to do something. I am Hannah Jean Grooms the third. The young, 21 year old, preacher's child. The absolute most loved by the community, for the most simple thing ever. I saved a person from a blistering fire, nothing at all right? Then everything changed.

It was that day I almost gave up. We just finished field and we went back inside to clean up. We got assigned things and then when I finished that I was supposed to do, I started to help Daiji. He let me use the razor blade, then, my hands slipped, then the razor blade went into my thumb.

We didn’t always live on Mason Park Way. Before it was Biddeford Pl on the first floor and before that it was the eleventh floor in Belgium and before that I can’t remember. By the time we got to Biddeford Pl, it was the four of us. Me my mom my brother and my dad. Until we had moved to our house on Mason Park Way, I never fully understood what having a family and a home meant to me. The house on Mason Park Way is ours. We don’t have to worry about paying rent or keeping the immaculate white walls clean. It’s ours and we have the liberty to do whatever we want. And it’s big. The large rugs are cozy and our furniture is inviting. And it’s ours.

I’ll admit that every ounce of my mental and physical strength that I have accumulated over my 17 years of existence has been reduced to a test of strength against the unquenchably rebellious walls of my painfully crimson red apartment. These defectively cracked and stained walls serve as a constant reminder of what my existence is truly encompassed by: neglect.