MY FAVOURITE CHILDHOOD ROOM
Our house was over 100 years old, with long narrow windows and a black lacquered front door, made of solid oak. When my dad stripped the lacquer off the door, it still showed the cut marks made by charcoal or a pencil that served as a guide for the original door maker. Our house was a medium brown colored two-story stucco dwelling, nestled between old elm and pine trees that sat atop a hill. In the winter if you stood at the very edge of the street, on your tipee toes, you could see Lake Calhoun at the bottom of the hill. I loved my old house.
My room, located on the second floor, was shaped somewhat like a hotel suite, with a separate sitting area that boasted two windows. On the wall next to the windows was the
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I also had a painting of Minnie Mouse, given to me by my great-aunt as a Christmas present. She had painted Mickey for the boys and Minnie for the girls. Minnie was allowed to grace my bedroom walls because she wore a pretty pink dress and a great big pink bow in her ears.
My room was my haven, my place to play dress-up, dance, daydream, whatever I wanted. Life was perfect in my room, except, it wasn’t pink. Begging my parents to paint or wallpaper my room pink was a task that started and ended just about every day. I felt my room would be perfect if the walls were a soft pastel, pretty shade of pink, not unlike the tutus I always saw and the dance shops. Every day, I had to imagine my room was pink, with the windows trimmed in white. I can still see it now, as I saw it in my mind’s eye at six, my beautiful room, not with walls of drab white, but a soft, soothing, sweet pink, like cotton candy at the state fair.
During the summer of my eighth year, my mother, one day called me into the house. Running inside, I asked her what she needed. Go to your room, was all she said.
Horrified at the thought of being in trouble, I stammered that I hadn’t done anything
In Chapters Four and Five of A Room of One 's Own,, the focus on Women & Fiction shifts to a consideration of women writers, both actual writers and ultimately one of the author 's own creation.
I’ve spent my whole life living in that house ever since i moved from Georgia. We were the first people to ever live in that house, I even remember seeing them build the stairs in the house. I remember coloring the walls with every shade of the rainbow most the time it was either markers or crayons, but that’s what they make house paint for right? My room is one of my favorite
My old house was a huge part of my childhood. I lived there for 10 years. All of my childhood memories were made at.
The essay I decided to fix was the very first essay, Favorite Room. The reason I decided to fix the Favorite Room essay was because of all the rules I broke. When I wrote the paper, I had several mistakes which involved words ending in ing. The problem with sentences which end in ing is the sentence becomes a sentence fragment. In the first draft I did for the essay most of my sentences were sentence fragments because of the ing problem. The reason the sentences were all sentences fragments was because all of the sentences I had with an ing word, those sentences started with an ing word. The sentence would have a predicate and a verb in the sentence which creates the fragment. An example of the old essay sentence would be, “standing in the
The theme of freedom writers is learning to accept yourself and others for who they are.
Layers of paint all but removed any texture the wall once had, and she focused on the color. Mint green--no--sea foam green. Why were public restrooms always painted sea foam green? Crazy, random thoughts entered her mind and she welcomed them. Hadn’t she read somewhere that light green and pink hues were supposed to be calming? Psychologically, the tones were used in prisons to calm inmates...and schools. The Pepto-Bismol pink walls of the laboratory in the small Catholic school she attended as a child. But here, in this refurbished old courthouse, the combination of the color and stench of sterile disinfectant permeating the air was
Lucy Honeychurch is a dynamic protagonist in A Room with a View and her voyage to Italy drastically changes her perspective about conforming to society. Lucy is from the English middle class, and her family sends her to Italy with her cousin Charlotte for a cultured experience to become more sophisticated and educated. This vacation is irregular; Lucy develops a romantic relationship with George, and she challenges her past judgements of English society. This vacation signifies the beginning of Lucy’s growth as an individual. The title A Room with a View states the progression of Lucy Honeychurch’s accidental journey of introspection and her desire to find independence and escape from English social norms.
Sometimes it can be easier to let others make decisions. People find comfort in letting others decide deadlines or goals. People can find direction in others’ choices for them that they could never have possibly come up for themselves. That having been said, life also requires ownership. A person’s life is full of options and can mean so much more if personal decisions are made within. It certainly is difficult, but the struggle often makes the result all that much sweeter. Such is the case in E.M. Forster’s novel A Room with a View. Throughout the story Lucy is stuck within the rigid, cookie-cutter class system. She finds herself surrounded by people who mindlessly go with expected actions and must walk in step behind all the adults in
The wallpaper is beginning to take on the role of controlling her life. As the days proceed on and she continues to sit in this isolated room, she begins to notice objects incorporated throughout the patterns. Every day the shapes become significantly clearer to her until one moment it appears to be a figure trapped within the walls (734). This aversion to the color completely shifts at this point toward hallucination. The wallpaper now has complete control of the narrator’s mind and sanity.
Words cannot be used to describe how sad of a color beige is. Beige is the color of your malicious teacher’s wrinkled khaki pants, or the color of spoiled goods you could find at the dump. Beige was also the color of my brand new bedroom walls. The disgusting brown shade permeated my thoughts entirely, and I saw myself in it. My emotions had been painted a sad shade of beige by my parents recent divorce. I missed my purple walls that, when the right lighting from the sun hit them, epitomized crocus flowers dancing in a gentle breeze. The exciting, beautiful decorations that had once been on display for all to see were now hidden within the confines of beige boxes. I was encapsulated in a beige dungeon. In an attempt to distract myself from
In October 1929, at the close of the Feminist Movement, Virginia Woolf published her famous writing, A Room of One’s Own. This feministic extended essay, based on a series of lectures Woolf presented at Newnham College and Girton College, channels Woolf’s thoughts and insights about women and fiction through the character of Mary Benton, who serves as the narrator. Through A Room of One’s Own, Woolf addresses three major points: having money and a room of one’s own (creative freedom), gender roles, and the search for truth. These three themes exist in other short stories such as “The Office” by Alice Munro and “I Stand Here Ironing” by Tillie Olsen, where they reveal themselves in varying degrees.
I’m sitting in my room that I have now, taking some time, and imagining what my magical bedroom would be like. My magical, imaginary bedroom would be out of this world, extraordinary. Something many people probably dream about, but know they would not, or could not have. It would be a dream come true if I could actually have a bedroom like this. I also wished my family and I could live in an extremely big house. With many rooms, such as, a big kitchen, a two car garage, 3 bathrooms, and 4 bedrooms, one for guests.
The place where I feel the most comfortable, and show my personality, is my bedroom. This is the place where I can really be myself and do what I want; it’s the place I come home to, and wake up every day. My room makes me feel comfortable because it is my own space. My house is always crazy, with my dog barking, and my siblings running around making noise, my room is the only place in the house where I can come and relax without caring about everything else, the only place that I can go to clear my mind.
My house is quite large. It has three bedrooms, two bathrooms, a kitchen, two living rooms, a dining room, a special games room and a big front and back garden.
I lugged my bags up to my room and collapsed onto the bed. It was on the second floor of the house and the window looked out over the backyard that was shadowed by the surrounding forest. The floor was covered in light grey carpet and the wall painted a plain off white. A dark, wooden bed took up most of the room, pale fairy lights haphazardly thrown along the headboard. Two matching bedside tables sat on either side of the bed and an empty desk sat opposite it.