A place That once was peaceful
When I was a young child I had many places that seemed holy or peaceful. My family was almost never got along when I was growing up and they still don’t even today. This place that I speak of is no other then my Grandmas house. Growing up I never saw her much but I do remember the first time that I went there. It was one of those places that you new was vary peaceful and holy from the moment that you walked into the home. When we first arrived to Grandmas house it smelled like fresh baked cookies and gave off a vary warm and fuzzy feeling. It was calming to a child of my young age. My Mother had been having trouble with Grandma for a long time. This was the first time I had been to Grandma’s house. I remember
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We have said some awful things about each other. It changed Grandma. The house where we once found peace and felt safe was now filled with sorrow. It was not because and of the kids or the marriage that Grandma has had for many years. It was because of the bitterness of the kids she had and the way they could never find peace with each other. I still go the Grandmas house from time to time. It still smells of good food and the ball game is always on so that she can cheer on her team. The only catch is the feeling of peace is gone. When you enter the house now all you feel is pain. The years of damage from the family and the absence of us has made Grandmas house no longer feel the same. It makes me feel much sorrow because we were once a happy family we would all show up and have those happy warm moments around the holidays and everything would just make you feel warm inside and your mind would be at ease. Now you can see the pain in Grandmas eyes and It hurts me because I know that there is nothing that I can do or say to make things better they seem to just get worse. Grandma has been ill for some time now and the best gift that I think we could give her is to get along. I don’t like to think about the end much. What I do like to think about is the first time I went to Grandmas house and felt at peace and felt
Rebels Without a Cause Not very many people have affected me in the same way as my friend Jake Fernholz. I have never realized the influence he has had on me until someone pointed out that we talk and think the same way. I only met Jake two years ago in track, when a pulled hamstring injury caused Mr. Kellerman to have me practice with the long distance kids. Mr. Kellerman forced me into staying on the long distance team and that is where I started to hit it off with Jake. It took me a long time to be comfortable with Jake, but when I did we quickly found our common interests.
As a person goes through life he or she may wonder “Who am I?” and “What is my purpose?” The objective of this paper is to allow me to reflect and critically analyze who I am as a person. In this paper, I will discuss my social location and identity, my life experiences and my privileges and disadvantages.
In summary, on 09/21/15 at 0418 hours I was patrolling the area of 1600 S. Laramie Ave., at which time I observed a male subject with a youthful appearance walking northbound 16th Street. I made contact with the subject, at which time he identified himself as (Rosas, Alexis DOB 04/21/97). While speaking with Rosas, I detected a strong odor of fresh cannabis emanating from his person. Rosas related he had some cannabis in his sweater pocket. I recovered a silver box containing a green leafy substance from Rosas ' right sweater pocket.
The allusion to heaven while still being alive creates a dreamlike mindset for people. It’s something new and mind-blowing. Something no one has ever seen before. The way nature worked with the buildings also impacted visitors. Larson wrote that, “The shared
I have lived in two distinct communities: the first was the small town of Moraga in the East Bay area of California, the second, and my current residence, is the city of Stockton. The former, Moraga is the epitome of white picket fence suburbia, with friendly neighbors, a high ranking public school system, and a practically non-existent crime rate. Growing up in Moraga, I was able to receive a great education, roam the streets freely with friends, and never had to fear horrors, such as, gang violence, sporadic neighborhood shootings, or drug abuse. Sadly, when I moved to the latter, most of these horrors were apparent weekly, if not daily.
A Week From 1944 It was Monday, May 29th 1944. The brisk winds chilled the air, and I could see my breath as we ran through the mud. My standard issue black boots failed to repel the moisture seeping through to my socks. It had been raining for days, off and on, not too heavily, but a constant soft mist regardless, and it saturated the ground like a gentle flood.
My grandmother, also, received a new home in Tuba City, and she was not keen to residing in a town. She was accustomed to living in the open, and having her pets and livestock. She was brought up in this way of life. Throughout my childhood, my siblings and I would go out her place for the summer to assist in any chores, while we spent time with cousins and relatives. We called this place “sheep camp”.
Homes are incredibly private places, and are made with places to hide one’s life, with each room having different levels of security. The first two room the stranger visits, the kitchen and the dining room, are rooms typically regarded as a rooms made for guests and are typically designed to be big enough to fit lots of people in. So it would make sense that the mother and father are quite alright with hosting a visitor in their kitchen and dining room. The third room they visit is the living room, a slightly more secure room in the home. This is where the family lives.
As a young girl, around the age of 10 I lived in the Perry projects with my mother. Previously to moving there I would visit often to see my great-grandmother. When I would visit my grandmother there were not many other people that were African-American. The Commodore Perry Projects had been actually made for white people.
This year the Thursday I was at Montreat, my grandfather passed away. I did not tell anyone until I told my small group after keynote, but I think people knew something was wrong. I was not as bouncy or happy as I usually was, and Sam kept asking me if I was okay. I told my small group about how my aunt had died last year, my uncle a few weeks ago, and then my grandfather the day before. I could barely get through a sentence without
Day 2 Immigrant. That word gives me a label here. I am crossing the border to the U.S because my parents think it will give us a new beginning and a better life. I think they’re wrong. Our life in El Salvador was fine: We had a nice house and we were healthy.
The passage to the home is up a steep hill, with random shrubs dispersed around the reservation. I get out of the car and from a short distance walking towards the house, stickers are all over my shoelaces. Once I’m inside the home I see my mother and aunt’s old girl scout uniforms in their small room they had in the 1970’s, the original box spring from their bed tumbled around, and reminisces from purses that were my great grandmother’s. All around the floor I also see
I have had tough hope once, I had to move to a different state and start to get used to the new place. Moving was hard and took a long time to move everything to our new house. My new house was hard to get used to because it was different and I wasn 't used to it which made it hard to sleep and I had to leave my friends behind and I would have to find new friends. Making new friends was hard because I would be alone until I found new friends and I would have no one to talk to so I would be very quiet. Usually I would always be talking to a friend and I am only social with friends.
“Your grandma has cancer,” These four words were very difficult to swallow at a young age. Dealing with death so young can be very confusing and difficult to cope with. Not only is losing a family member tragic, but losing a family member who you cared so much about can really take a toll on your life. I know it took a toll on me when I lost my grandmother. It still does till this day.
As I stepped out of my car, I acknowledge that the church was surrounded by trees, which gave it a calming and peaceful sensation, the building was long with a triangular shaped form, with burgundy bricks surroundings and a bit of white in the front entrance and some at the very top and sides with a dark beige roofing to give the church some color, the windows seemed to be a tinted crystal glass that was designed with blues and a beige color. As I made my way into the church their was an entry room where a man and a women and what seemed to be their two children greeted me and handed me a pamphlet that described what was going to take place in that days Sunday school and mass, then I made my way to another pair of doors where I could hear the choir singing, as I opened the doors the inside of the church was a tan wood looking color all around and had matching tan benches with burgundy red bedding to match the carpet, the thing that stood out most to me when I walked in was the large cross that was in the very front that shined very bright as if the sun was hitting it to give the whole church light, when I looked below the cross, the choir was singing and beside it was a women playing a piano with so much passion and in front of them was a the pastors book stand also a matching tan color with his bible. The people were very kind as I sat down next to a friend that attends that church, they welcomed me with open arms and talked a bit about them self’s and the amount of time