After reading “The Company of Wolves” a short story by Angela Carter, I must say that I am once again amazed by the depth within her writing. Her ability to speak to and communicate with parts of the reader’s mind, through her writing, is stunning. Though this story is a re-envisioned adaptation of “Little Red Riding Hood” it truly stands alone from the original tale recorded by Charles Perrault in 1697.
Often, in a fairy-tale of this nature, a reader will find the story focused on a single unearthly evil. However, within this tale, many mystical creatures such as witches, ghosts, hobgoblins, and ogres are offered up to the reader by Carter drastically darkening the setting in which this story takes place. Through Carters intricate descriptions the reader is forced to build the black and unsettling scenery that surrounds the main storyline of this tale. This is evident, from the very beginning of the tale, by her descriptions of the “grave-eyed children” and the “acrid milk and rank, maggoty cheese” produced by the goats that are tended by the children.
Another of the many interesting aspects within this tale are Carter’s bleak descriptions of the “wolves” themselves. She makes many references to the solitary existence of the “wolf“, which I find comical, as the “wolf” in this tale does not end up alone . Carter writes of the “wolfsong” and the murderer that it speaks. She also explains that the “wolfsong” carries an “inherent sadness” within it “as if the beasts would love to be less beastly if on they knew how and never cease to mourn their own condition.” Carter is speaking not only of the classical forest dwelling wolves of our world, but of the werewolf as well. For the purposes of this story her focus seems to be placed more specifically on the twisted existence of the Lycanthrope.
Carter takes this myth to a new level by peeling away at the original story to expose many of the hidden sub-textual references in Perrault’s fairy-tale. I was unable to make the sexual innuendo connections that she so easily points out. For instance the meaning of the color red, the age of the girl in correlation to coming-of-age, or that the girl is a virgin. A woman who was not afraid to write about taboo subjects, Carter, really re-creates this story highlighting many interesting points and changing the outcome in more ways than one.
Upon reaching the end of this story, I am left with many thoughts and questions. For one, to me, this story seems to be taken out of context, almost as if it is missing a prelude and an adequate ending. What happened? “Little Red” was scared one moment, and the wolf was scared the next. It ends with them in bed. Being a lycanthrope, does the werewolf turn her? Do they live out existence together? Has this all been part of “Little Red’s” plan? Many questions hidden are created by this amazing tale. After reading this, I now know, that as long as I continue to read works written by Angela Carter, I will never cease to be stunned, shocked, or amazed.
Thursday, April 28, 2011
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
Reading Response: Where Do You Get Your Ideas From?
Ursula K. Le Guin’s piece titled “Where Do You Get You Ideas From” proved to be one of the most inspiring pieces of literature that I have had the pleasure of reading this semester. Her thought provoking analysis of the “truth” behind being a writer really sank into me, as I think that it would for any person that is interested in or aspires to write. She uses many interesting writing skills here that, I am not sure I have truly considered ever using myself and they, make a deep impact on the reader.
Guin’s straight -forward, and upfront approach to scribing her positions and thoughts, on specific aspects of writing, into text is awe inspiring, and the first thing that I noticed when I began to read this essay. Writing in a style like this comes across as if you are talking to, perhaps, your best friend, or someone that you share an intimate relationship with. It’s just straight-forward and perhaps that is why it comes across as genuine.
In this piece she offers a lot of information, and quite a bit of advice along the way. For me, this was amazing. I immediately felt like I desired nothing more that to share in the ancient wisdom of my close friend, and soon after this enlightening knowledge is passed on to me, the oppressive shackles and chains binding my true artistic and creative abilities fall away. Now I am free, now I can write. Am I doing it wrong? Don’t I have to start with an idea? Questions, I may never ask again.
Beginning by first trying to dispel any myths associated with the creative writing process, Guin begins to scrape away that the supposed shell enclosing the mysteries of writing and the creation of stories. Her comparison of a writer’s work to that of a magician, at first to me, was hilarious, however after contemplating it for a little while, I began to realize that writing, much like music, painting or any other art are the closest things to magic on earth that I have ever witnessed. The creative power of the human mind truly is amazing, and we get to see it exposed the most through an artist’s renderings.
As the paper progresses, Guin illustrates many aspects that she feels she is “working with” as she is composing or creating her masterpiece. One of the aspects that she approaches on this subject is the pattern of the words. What? You mean I am not crazy for not finishing a paper until it sounds right to me? Magical! Who knew? I thought that I was crazy for writing something quickly and then spending an enormous time editing and revising! It would seem I am wrong. She talks much about patterns in writing, something I hadn’t ever really thought about. “Image patterns“, “idea patterns“, “syntax and grammar patterns” all just pieces of a larger puzzle that allow one human to convey a vast amount of knowledge, thoughts, ideas, and emotions, through tiny little characters that we call letters.
I guess that I cannot say I will ever question myself as a writer again, however I don’t believe that I will do it as much anymore. Except ,when I am revising!
Guin’s straight -forward, and upfront approach to scribing her positions and thoughts, on specific aspects of writing, into text is awe inspiring, and the first thing that I noticed when I began to read this essay. Writing in a style like this comes across as if you are talking to, perhaps, your best friend, or someone that you share an intimate relationship with. It’s just straight-forward and perhaps that is why it comes across as genuine.
In this piece she offers a lot of information, and quite a bit of advice along the way. For me, this was amazing. I immediately felt like I desired nothing more that to share in the ancient wisdom of my close friend, and soon after this enlightening knowledge is passed on to me, the oppressive shackles and chains binding my true artistic and creative abilities fall away. Now I am free, now I can write. Am I doing it wrong? Don’t I have to start with an idea? Questions, I may never ask again.
Beginning by first trying to dispel any myths associated with the creative writing process, Guin begins to scrape away that the supposed shell enclosing the mysteries of writing and the creation of stories. Her comparison of a writer’s work to that of a magician, at first to me, was hilarious, however after contemplating it for a little while, I began to realize that writing, much like music, painting or any other art are the closest things to magic on earth that I have ever witnessed. The creative power of the human mind truly is amazing, and we get to see it exposed the most through an artist’s renderings.
As the paper progresses, Guin illustrates many aspects that she feels she is “working with” as she is composing or creating her masterpiece. One of the aspects that she approaches on this subject is the pattern of the words. What? You mean I am not crazy for not finishing a paper until it sounds right to me? Magical! Who knew? I thought that I was crazy for writing something quickly and then spending an enormous time editing and revising! It would seem I am wrong. She talks much about patterns in writing, something I hadn’t ever really thought about. “Image patterns“, “idea patterns“, “syntax and grammar patterns” all just pieces of a larger puzzle that allow one human to convey a vast amount of knowledge, thoughts, ideas, and emotions, through tiny little characters that we call letters.
I guess that I cannot say I will ever question myself as a writer again, however I don’t believe that I will do it as much anymore. Except ,when I am revising!
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Research Plan Post
For our research project my group has chosen to examine the tradition of Alaska Native Storytelling. This is something that as a group we all seemed interested in and that should make it all the more fun. I feel that this topic is extremely important given the decaying state of Alaska Native Languages and, as there is no current page on Wikipedia that defines this topic, I think that the information should be made available to the entire world.
Of course, considering the subject, I have found myself asking many questions.
-Why is Alaska Native Storytelling so important?
-What life lessons or traditions are passed down and taught though these stories?
-What key significant factors are used in the creation and retelling of the stories?
I hope to answer these and many more questions before the conclusion of this project.
As this is to be a combined research project my group decided to split up the research into pieces so that we would be able to effectively research all aspects of our topic. In this situation I have been tasked with exploring the connections between life lessons in the stories, the origins of the stories, and whether or not the stories can be traced to a specific tribe. These questions I think are extremely important if we are to get a full understanding of Alaska Native Storytelling.
When it comes to actually creating our page, I think we will all work together on general planning and layout. Then as Tyler and I are more comfortable with computer use, the two of us will be working to get the information entered and posted to Wikipedia.
At this time I have completed a lot of research on this subject online and by locating “classic” texts related to Native Storytelling. Shockingly I was able to find much more than my fair share in a relatively short amount of time. As per our request, Lance Twitchell has agreed to meet with us next week and will provide information on our topic as well as answer questions for us. This should allow us to really achieve a deeper understanding of our topic as well as make it more thorough.
For my time-line I will be sticking to our project guidelines and completing every piece as quickly as possible for, I believe that, by the time our research is complete we will have a vast amount of data to combine, organize, and publish. As it just so happens, my working schedule has been rearranged and, I will be able to devote a considerable amount of time to the successful completion of this project. Also at my side I have a great group of people that will be assisting with nearly every step! Thanks Guys!!!
Of course, considering the subject, I have found myself asking many questions.
-Why is Alaska Native Storytelling so important?
-What life lessons or traditions are passed down and taught though these stories?
-What key significant factors are used in the creation and retelling of the stories?
I hope to answer these and many more questions before the conclusion of this project.
As this is to be a combined research project my group decided to split up the research into pieces so that we would be able to effectively research all aspects of our topic. In this situation I have been tasked with exploring the connections between life lessons in the stories, the origins of the stories, and whether or not the stories can be traced to a specific tribe. These questions I think are extremely important if we are to get a full understanding of Alaska Native Storytelling.
When it comes to actually creating our page, I think we will all work together on general planning and layout. Then as Tyler and I are more comfortable with computer use, the two of us will be working to get the information entered and posted to Wikipedia.
At this time I have completed a lot of research on this subject online and by locating “classic” texts related to Native Storytelling. Shockingly I was able to find much more than my fair share in a relatively short amount of time. As per our request, Lance Twitchell has agreed to meet with us next week and will provide information on our topic as well as answer questions for us. This should allow us to really achieve a deeper understanding of our topic as well as make it more thorough.
For my time-line I will be sticking to our project guidelines and completing every piece as quickly as possible for, I believe that, by the time our research is complete we will have a vast amount of data to combine, organize, and publish. As it just so happens, my working schedule has been rearranged and, I will be able to devote a considerable amount of time to the successful completion of this project. Also at my side I have a great group of people that will be assisting with nearly every step! Thanks Guys!!!
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
Reading Response: Politics and the English Language
“Politics and the English Language” written by George Orwell posed an enlightening and interesting read for me this week. This text, it would seem, has been written to educate the apparent ignorant masses that Orwell found himself surrounded by in his day and age on the so-called “correct use” of English and touches on many subjects in written and spoken English language.
While much of the information contained in this piece does somewhat educate the reader on the proper use of certain functions in the English language and how to apply them correctly, it is almost all completely one sided. Sadly, Orwell comes across as arrogant and above the rest of society as he makes his argument that English is “in a bad way” and used incorrectly.
His description of things like “dying metaphors, pretentious diction, and meaningless words” leads the reader down a self righteous path of “what it is” and “how it should be”. His use of passages taken form other authors written text does incorporate a feeling that some writing is not what it should be, however instead of guiding the reader and explaining the indifference Orwell seems to seek placing blame and demonstrating that minds of his caliber don’t exist or they wouldn’t write like this.
While this piece is written to supposedly address the use of English in Politics, it really comes across as him trying to dictate how language should be used by everyone, in every situation, and in every writing style. Could you imagine trying to creatively write something without these so called “Meaningless Words” used to describe a scene, setting, or object? Or to not be able to use “Pretentious Diction” to elaborate to your reader?
His argument of the “Not un-” formation of writing I felt was sound but any then it sounds so ridiculous to think that anyone would write like that anyway. The example used by Orwell “A not unblack dog was chasing a not unsmall rabbit across a not ungreen field” is hilarious (and scary), however hardly used in the common language of today. Perhaps this came about because Orwell chose to write about it?
After reading this, I did find myself questioning my use of language and metaphor in my everyday life. However, I am not a politician, I don’t write political documents, debates or laws so I don’t feel that I should allow the words of George Orwell to affect my skill advancement in my “generally” creative writing style…
Sorry Orwell!
While much of the information contained in this piece does somewhat educate the reader on the proper use of certain functions in the English language and how to apply them correctly, it is almost all completely one sided. Sadly, Orwell comes across as arrogant and above the rest of society as he makes his argument that English is “in a bad way” and used incorrectly.
His description of things like “dying metaphors, pretentious diction, and meaningless words” leads the reader down a self righteous path of “what it is” and “how it should be”. His use of passages taken form other authors written text does incorporate a feeling that some writing is not what it should be, however instead of guiding the reader and explaining the indifference Orwell seems to seek placing blame and demonstrating that minds of his caliber don’t exist or they wouldn’t write like this.
While this piece is written to supposedly address the use of English in Politics, it really comes across as him trying to dictate how language should be used by everyone, in every situation, and in every writing style. Could you imagine trying to creatively write something without these so called “Meaningless Words” used to describe a scene, setting, or object? Or to not be able to use “Pretentious Diction” to elaborate to your reader?
His argument of the “Not un-” formation of writing I felt was sound but any then it sounds so ridiculous to think that anyone would write like that anyway. The example used by Orwell “A not unblack dog was chasing a not unsmall rabbit across a not ungreen field” is hilarious (and scary), however hardly used in the common language of today. Perhaps this came about because Orwell chose to write about it?
After reading this, I did find myself questioning my use of language and metaphor in my everyday life. However, I am not a politician, I don’t write political documents, debates or laws so I don’t feel that I should allow the words of George Orwell to affect my skill advancement in my “generally” creative writing style…
Sorry Orwell!
Monday, March 7, 2011
The Cove - Critical Review
The lights go down and a cool, dark stillness creeps through the room on cat‘s paws. The only light passes through an open window shackled and chained into a corner by the walls that hold it. Great attention is being placed upon a television in the center of the room and, almost, all eyes watch in anticipation. Images begin to form on the screen, and suddenly a lighthouse appears to guide me on. My classroom is no more. I have been transported. I am far across the oceans of my world. I am in Japan. I am in Taiji. I am in pain.
The Cove is a documentary based on the whaling industry and the so-called “dolphin slaughter” that is happening in Taiji, Japan. It, in depth, describes the massive amounts of dolphins killed each year by the local Japanese “fishermen”. It also documents a cove located in Taiji where we can witness the tragic method used to capture the dolphins and the sickeningly brutal manner in which the dolphin slaughter takes place.
Hosted by Ric O’Barry this film bombards the viewer with information, however incomplete, at an alarming rate. Like an emotional rollercoaster this documentary keeps the viewer enthralled by providing information that causes a serious of emotional peaks and valleys. This, well thought out, information organization technique proves most effective. However, the films intended purpose is to “bring down” this industry and condemn them for their crime, and therefore is lacking, in many ways, complete information. Without further analysis outside of this film to locate this missing information, there are many questions left in my mind and, inevitably, the mind of most viewers.
As this film as been referred to, and accused of being a, Trojan Horse, for me that can only lie in the content of the subject matter and the manner in which it was presented. Upon viewing this film I felt it slowly eating away at the insides of me, even long after our class was over. I was unable to forget or to see what was happening now that my eyes had been opened to it. Of course there are other prejudices at play here. For instance; the American viewer has, most-likely, grown up in a society where the dolphin is a treasured and nearly sacred animal. This makes the subject matter almost instantly one sided. How could someone hurt our precious friend the dolphin? Why would someone do it? And the most common of human responses who can be punished for this!?
I think that in general the Japanese people had no true idea of what was going on. Did they know that dolphins were slaughtered in Japan? Probably. Did they know the extent or the brutality associated with this? I don’t think so. Human society tends to provide a great ability for “rational ignorance”. Rational ignorance, though usually used in Economics, states that if the cost of educating oneself on a particular subject enough to form an opinion outweighs the benefits of doing so, then rational ignorance happens and humans just don’t pay attention. I sure the Japanese people had some idea of what was happening but without the need to know more, they didn’t. This films does place a grim look on many people in Japan, but Taiji’s residents are not the whole country, and I do not see need to cast any blame without further understanding.
I hope that people will seek out the truth before deciding to cast their vote for or against Japan or the country’s people. This situation, like many others on Earth, needs to be studied properly and a better decision based upon all of the facts can be reached.
The Cove is a documentary based on the whaling industry and the so-called “dolphin slaughter” that is happening in Taiji, Japan. It, in depth, describes the massive amounts of dolphins killed each year by the local Japanese “fishermen”. It also documents a cove located in Taiji where we can witness the tragic method used to capture the dolphins and the sickeningly brutal manner in which the dolphin slaughter takes place.
Hosted by Ric O’Barry this film bombards the viewer with information, however incomplete, at an alarming rate. Like an emotional rollercoaster this documentary keeps the viewer enthralled by providing information that causes a serious of emotional peaks and valleys. This, well thought out, information organization technique proves most effective. However, the films intended purpose is to “bring down” this industry and condemn them for their crime, and therefore is lacking, in many ways, complete information. Without further analysis outside of this film to locate this missing information, there are many questions left in my mind and, inevitably, the mind of most viewers.
As this film as been referred to, and accused of being a, Trojan Horse, for me that can only lie in the content of the subject matter and the manner in which it was presented. Upon viewing this film I felt it slowly eating away at the insides of me, even long after our class was over. I was unable to forget or to see what was happening now that my eyes had been opened to it. Of course there are other prejudices at play here. For instance; the American viewer has, most-likely, grown up in a society where the dolphin is a treasured and nearly sacred animal. This makes the subject matter almost instantly one sided. How could someone hurt our precious friend the dolphin? Why would someone do it? And the most common of human responses who can be punished for this!?
I think that in general the Japanese people had no true idea of what was going on. Did they know that dolphins were slaughtered in Japan? Probably. Did they know the extent or the brutality associated with this? I don’t think so. Human society tends to provide a great ability for “rational ignorance”. Rational ignorance, though usually used in Economics, states that if the cost of educating oneself on a particular subject enough to form an opinion outweighs the benefits of doing so, then rational ignorance happens and humans just don’t pay attention. I sure the Japanese people had some idea of what was happening but without the need to know more, they didn’t. This films does place a grim look on many people in Japan, but Taiji’s residents are not the whole country, and I do not see need to cast any blame without further understanding.
I hope that people will seek out the truth before deciding to cast their vote for or against Japan or the country’s people. This situation, like many others on Earth, needs to be studied properly and a better decision based upon all of the facts can be reached.
Thursday, February 24, 2011
Overheard Conversation Post
Tonight around seven pm I find myself sitting in the Starbucks located in the Barnes and Noble bookstore. I have ordered myself a caramel frappuccino and sit down at a nearby table to sip my iced coffee drink and play spy. After sitting for a while a group of students enter and make their way over to a table next to me and begin to remove there laptops and textbooks. Having already pulled out my notebook and my Political Economics book, in an attempt to look like I was paying attention to something else, I grabbed my pen and perked my ears up to listen. It only took a few minutes for the students to talk before the conversation grew and took on a life of it's own. This is what I witnessed.
Five students are sitting around a table. Three of them are males and and they are accompanied by two young and peppy women. They are high-school students or maybe college freshman, I cannot be sure. At first it is fairly quiet, with the kind “Hello” followed by a “How's it going?”, then the conversation gets interesting.
“You know you wanna see the pictures!”, says a boy loudly to a girl close to him.
“No. Seriously, I don't wanna know what you guys do when your alone.” the girl replies.
“You don't wanna see pictures of me a Will on our secluded cabin weekend? It took me forever to get him to go.”
The girls mumbles something, mostly inaudible.
“It was great, no one around and its just me and my roommate! I'm telling ya as soon as we got there we started heating the place up. Poured some of that champagne, and got under the blankets! Oh yeah!”
“He's huge, smelly and he has those weird teeth.” states the girl.
“No seriously, just listen.” says the boy.
Here is what I got from it.
●◌●
A boy and his huge, smelly, vampire roommate, Will, in a effort to escape the chains of their average boring days off escape to a secluded cabin for a more interesting weekend together. Upon arriving the boy professes his love for his smelly, huge, vampire roommate, cracks a bottle of Moet and Chandon, and proceeds to pour glasses for the two of them. Soon they are completely wasted and find themselves under the blankets and “heating the place up”. In order to preserve this precious moment the two of them then proceed to take pictures of themselves together, to show their friends and maybe even a few for themselves.
●◌●
Now, I am sure that this was not what really happened but, I cannot know that just by what I heard. I imagine that the boy just has a roommate that creeps out the girl because he is heavy and smelly and has bad teeth. I am fairly sure that when they arrived at the cabin, it was freezing and they threw wood on the fire, jumped under blankets while they waited for the place to heat up and had some champagne to celebrate the weekend. However, without the proper context I am sure this conversation could be heard or understood in many ways. None of which are right. It would also seems that tone and pronunciation also work together in order to help build the correct context in spoken language. Without the correct context we all sound about one banana short of a bunch!
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Observation Essay
Jacob Willey
Instructor: VanLaningham
English 111-F06
5 Feb 2011
A Walk Through my Past
Sunlight falls effortlessly, cascading down through the clouds, casting shattered light to the earth below. Radiant spots of light travel slowly across the ground, scorching life in their wake, an effect created by the clouds drifting about the heavens. In brief glimpses we can view the sky, and its deep blue color, visible through small fissures in the ocean of vapor overhead. Off in the distance to the west, the sky and clouds take on a darker purpose and, to us, appear a deep shade of purple. Intermittently, bolts of light can be seen flashing, followed shortly by a deep rumble that rolls though the sky, shaking creation in its path. The storm is slowly rolling away, and soon the sound of thunder is nothing more than a memory, but the moisture left behind is a more than welcome drink for this heated land. Here, we stand on an old dirt road, the passage of time fresh upon it’s face; dips and holes the only traces of travelers past. Rocks shift restlessly under our feet as we travel along the road to the north.
Vast fields of farmland containing crops of beans, grain, and corn span the expanse in all directions. Unlike the grain and beans, which sway causally in the breeze, the corn stands in proud defiance of the wind and reaches up to worship the sun. Only the large green leaves and the silky golden tassels on the top of the stalks acknowledge the wind, flittering slightly as the breeze passes by. The once tilled ground, still a dark chocolate color, looks nurtured and cared for, a sign of the effort put into these fields by the farmers. Various types of flowers dot the sides of the road adding a kaleidoscope of smells and colors to our scene. Birds chirp and sing all around us, and butterflies dance on the breeze in the air.
As we reach the end of this road, we can see that the path north is blocked by fields and the intersecting road here runs east to west. To the west we can see more fields, and farm houses, looking like nothing more then tiny figurines out in the distance. As we turn east and resume our journey, the road slowly narrows and takes on the characteristics of a dirt driveway. Cut directly out of the field, sits a beautiful yard that acts as home to a large, fresh cut, deep green lawn. The strong smell of grass drifts through the air tingling and tantalizing our senses. We can observe a small brown shack sitting in the center of the yard. Silver fencing runs out from the sides of the shack barricading a square section of the yard to the back of it. Within the fence lay two sleeping dogs, tongues hung out in protest of the heat. The driveway continues on just a bit further and we can see that it forks into two paths. One arcs to the north leading up between the fenced area and the side of a large white house, the other leads east past the house and off into the distance. In the driveway sits a couple of cars, and a large dark brown tarp sits on a heap in front of them.
The house stands tall and welcoming before us. Two doors lead inside, one off the driveway on the side of the house, one on the front of the house off a large raised porch. Long thin gardens border the house, full of flowers and an assortment of plants. Brightly colored flowers are displayed in various positions and in a variety of planters around the house and on the porch. Large windows placed in the sides of the house, decorated with curtains, reflect the endless clouds rolling through the sky. Long green hoses, running several sprinklers, extend from a spigot on the side of the house and dart across the yard. The water being cast about to maintain the lawn mists softly through the air, creating a most brilliant rainbow effect when a wild sunbeam bursts out of the cloudy sky.
Entering the house through the side door, we walk into a large open space serving as the dining room. A large wooden table for eight sits in the center, and a kitchen is off to the left. The house smells of home-cooked meals, good times, and family. Three doors and a stairway lead off out of this room. Two of the doors, just there in front of us, lead to a bathroom and a bedroom. The doorway off to the right of this room leads to the living room of the house. The walls of the dining room are covered with cabinets filled with dishes and trinkets. Walking over to the living room door, we can see a entertainment center, very nice for this space in time, a large sofa, and a couple of chairs off in the corners filling up the rest of the room. If we back track just a bit, enough just to reach the base of the stairs we saw earlier, we can trot up the stairs and find three more bedrooms. All of these huge rooms filled with dressers, mirrors, closets, and king size beds. One of these rooms, in particular, equipped with a king size waterbed.
As we continue our walk, returning back outside after having paused to look at the house, we can see that there is a giant pole barn tucked away adjacent to the house and, therefore, not visible from the other side. The pole barn mainly composed of metal is large enough to house a crop plane. Through the window in the side we can see that part of this barn has been cornered off by walls and there is a weight room setup. There is also a set of stairs running up one of the sides, next to a mirrored wall, leading up to a second floor. Walking in through the side door of the barn, we can view weights of various sizes scattered about as if used often, and workout machines sitting all around. In the wall of mirrors before us there is a door on the right that leads out into the main area of the barn. Considering that the main area of the barn is irrelevant to this journey, let us continue up the stairs.
Couches rest against two of the four walls, blankets thrown all around, and videogames cartridges are cast throughout the room. A small colored television sits on a stand in the center of the room, and controller cords reach out from the Sega Genesis and Nintendo consoles beneath it. Large speakers sit to the left and the right of the television, and a stereo to control it all sits off to the side. It would appear that some children have spent many lazy summer hours lounging around here and playing video games. As we look around, we can here the sound of engines far off coming closer, so we head back down the stairs and back out through the door to see what we find.
Coming down the dirt road from the east are two children on four-wheelers. Both of these boys have tan skin, a testament to their travels in the sun, and sweat pours off them freely in the overwhelming heat. They whip down the road, racing side by side back to the house, impatient for the dinner to come. Nearly flying past us, they race up to the driveway of the house, park the four-wheelers and throw the large brown tarp back over them. They run inside the brown shack to feed and water the dogs and their pups, and head inside for dinner, later escaping back to the freedom of the pool barn later that night.
The place that I have been describing serves as one of my fondest child-hood memories. As a child I grew up for some time, with my brother and mother in Kokomo, Indiana. My mother worked hard to provide for us, but we lived in low income housing, and in a neighborhood that perhaps wasn’t the best in town. However, in school I was fortunate enough to meet a kid named Jeremy, who quickly became one of my best friends. This place was his home, and the setting of many of my summer days. A place to me that transcends time itself, for not only did I visit there for solace as a child, but I can revisit it in my mind now and still find relief. In many ways it helped to shape who I am today, by letting me escape kind of life that I had been born into, and showing me that whole families did actually exist.
Instructor: VanLaningham
English 111-F06
5 Feb 2011
A Walk Through my Past
Sunlight falls effortlessly, cascading down through the clouds, casting shattered light to the earth below. Radiant spots of light travel slowly across the ground, scorching life in their wake, an effect created by the clouds drifting about the heavens. In brief glimpses we can view the sky, and its deep blue color, visible through small fissures in the ocean of vapor overhead. Off in the distance to the west, the sky and clouds take on a darker purpose and, to us, appear a deep shade of purple. Intermittently, bolts of light can be seen flashing, followed shortly by a deep rumble that rolls though the sky, shaking creation in its path. The storm is slowly rolling away, and soon the sound of thunder is nothing more than a memory, but the moisture left behind is a more than welcome drink for this heated land. Here, we stand on an old dirt road, the passage of time fresh upon it’s face; dips and holes the only traces of travelers past. Rocks shift restlessly under our feet as we travel along the road to the north.
Vast fields of farmland containing crops of beans, grain, and corn span the expanse in all directions. Unlike the grain and beans, which sway causally in the breeze, the corn stands in proud defiance of the wind and reaches up to worship the sun. Only the large green leaves and the silky golden tassels on the top of the stalks acknowledge the wind, flittering slightly as the breeze passes by. The once tilled ground, still a dark chocolate color, looks nurtured and cared for, a sign of the effort put into these fields by the farmers. Various types of flowers dot the sides of the road adding a kaleidoscope of smells and colors to our scene. Birds chirp and sing all around us, and butterflies dance on the breeze in the air.
As we reach the end of this road, we can see that the path north is blocked by fields and the intersecting road here runs east to west. To the west we can see more fields, and farm houses, looking like nothing more then tiny figurines out in the distance. As we turn east and resume our journey, the road slowly narrows and takes on the characteristics of a dirt driveway. Cut directly out of the field, sits a beautiful yard that acts as home to a large, fresh cut, deep green lawn. The strong smell of grass drifts through the air tingling and tantalizing our senses. We can observe a small brown shack sitting in the center of the yard. Silver fencing runs out from the sides of the shack barricading a square section of the yard to the back of it. Within the fence lay two sleeping dogs, tongues hung out in protest of the heat. The driveway continues on just a bit further and we can see that it forks into two paths. One arcs to the north leading up between the fenced area and the side of a large white house, the other leads east past the house and off into the distance. In the driveway sits a couple of cars, and a large dark brown tarp sits on a heap in front of them.
The house stands tall and welcoming before us. Two doors lead inside, one off the driveway on the side of the house, one on the front of the house off a large raised porch. Long thin gardens border the house, full of flowers and an assortment of plants. Brightly colored flowers are displayed in various positions and in a variety of planters around the house and on the porch. Large windows placed in the sides of the house, decorated with curtains, reflect the endless clouds rolling through the sky. Long green hoses, running several sprinklers, extend from a spigot on the side of the house and dart across the yard. The water being cast about to maintain the lawn mists softly through the air, creating a most brilliant rainbow effect when a wild sunbeam bursts out of the cloudy sky.
Entering the house through the side door, we walk into a large open space serving as the dining room. A large wooden table for eight sits in the center, and a kitchen is off to the left. The house smells of home-cooked meals, good times, and family. Three doors and a stairway lead off out of this room. Two of the doors, just there in front of us, lead to a bathroom and a bedroom. The doorway off to the right of this room leads to the living room of the house. The walls of the dining room are covered with cabinets filled with dishes and trinkets. Walking over to the living room door, we can see a entertainment center, very nice for this space in time, a large sofa, and a couple of chairs off in the corners filling up the rest of the room. If we back track just a bit, enough just to reach the base of the stairs we saw earlier, we can trot up the stairs and find three more bedrooms. All of these huge rooms filled with dressers, mirrors, closets, and king size beds. One of these rooms, in particular, equipped with a king size waterbed.
As we continue our walk, returning back outside after having paused to look at the house, we can see that there is a giant pole barn tucked away adjacent to the house and, therefore, not visible from the other side. The pole barn mainly composed of metal is large enough to house a crop plane. Through the window in the side we can see that part of this barn has been cornered off by walls and there is a weight room setup. There is also a set of stairs running up one of the sides, next to a mirrored wall, leading up to a second floor. Walking in through the side door of the barn, we can view weights of various sizes scattered about as if used often, and workout machines sitting all around. In the wall of mirrors before us there is a door on the right that leads out into the main area of the barn. Considering that the main area of the barn is irrelevant to this journey, let us continue up the stairs.
Couches rest against two of the four walls, blankets thrown all around, and videogames cartridges are cast throughout the room. A small colored television sits on a stand in the center of the room, and controller cords reach out from the Sega Genesis and Nintendo consoles beneath it. Large speakers sit to the left and the right of the television, and a stereo to control it all sits off to the side. It would appear that some children have spent many lazy summer hours lounging around here and playing video games. As we look around, we can here the sound of engines far off coming closer, so we head back down the stairs and back out through the door to see what we find.
Coming down the dirt road from the east are two children on four-wheelers. Both of these boys have tan skin, a testament to their travels in the sun, and sweat pours off them freely in the overwhelming heat. They whip down the road, racing side by side back to the house, impatient for the dinner to come. Nearly flying past us, they race up to the driveway of the house, park the four-wheelers and throw the large brown tarp back over them. They run inside the brown shack to feed and water the dogs and their pups, and head inside for dinner, later escaping back to the freedom of the pool barn later that night.
The place that I have been describing serves as one of my fondest child-hood memories. As a child I grew up for some time, with my brother and mother in Kokomo, Indiana. My mother worked hard to provide for us, but we lived in low income housing, and in a neighborhood that perhaps wasn’t the best in town. However, in school I was fortunate enough to meet a kid named Jeremy, who quickly became one of my best friends. This place was his home, and the setting of many of my summer days. A place to me that transcends time itself, for not only did I visit there for solace as a child, but I can revisit it in my mind now and still find relief. In many ways it helped to shape who I am today, by letting me escape kind of life that I had been born into, and showing me that whole families did actually exist.
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