1. I've noticed a lot of people walk around barefoot. Haven't they noticed how dangerous that is? What if they step on broken glass or get a sickness ? I think they should rethink their decision and realize the danger the are exposing themselves to.
2. Students representing other schools. I think that one cannot be truly happy as a student if you do not take pride in your school and wearing clothing or accesories with a gator or seminole is just betrayel. The only exception would be if you were always a die hard fan of another football team, and even then one should be loyal to their school.
3. The amount of hand sanitizers all around campus. Have they truly made a difference and helped us control the spread of the flu? There are also many people outside the student union willing to give you a free bottle if you listen to them an answer questions regarding how to cough.
4. The water bottle fillers at water fountains in the student union. An article just came out saying it has helped significantly in recycling. People are reusing water bottles. I know this helps our environment but does it truly help our health? Should we reuse water bottles?
Monday, September 28, 2009
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Final Draft
Lorena Lizarralde
September 23, 2009
ENC 1101
Professor Moody
Memoir
We were all fidgeting. It was our last day of kindergarten and we all wanted to start our summer. The clock read 1:55 p.m. Only five minutes remained. I looked around the room and saw all the familiar faces of my friends. Ashley, my neighbor and best friend of all time, had an amazing birthday party planned in late June. Peter, he was so cute, I had admired him from afar all year and was hoping to get a chance to talk to him at Ashley’s party. Then there was Ms. Geiger, our teacher. She was tall for a woman and always walked with a sort of elegance you only see on the runway. She was pulling back strands of her dirty blonde hair that somehow always looked beautiful while sniffling. She was sad we were leaving and was touched by the presents we all had brought her. I was going to miss all of this, the playtime, the naptime, and the special lunchroom for us younger kids. Yet, a whole new life was waiting for me, a life of a big kid, a 1st grader, and a 7 year old. In first grade we would be allowed to enter the big fields outside with the tall monkey bars during recess. Summer was the perfect time to practice my skills at the local parks and it was only 1 minute away. The bell rang just then and I ran out as quickly as I could and jumped on my mom who was always waiting outside. “I have great news honey! Get strapped in the back seat so I can tell you all about it!” my mother said to me. I hopped in, buckled up and waited for her to continue. As I waited, I looked at her face. She was so beautiful. She had creases on the side of her eyes that to me represented experience and wisdom. Her hair was cut short at her shoulders dyed a dark red color. Her red hair was always my favorite; it reminded me of my own Hispanic Little Mermaid Princess. She was smiling from ear to ear, one of her best characteristics. She went on to say, “I bought you a ticket to go see your family in Colombia for the whole summer!” I was shocked. What was this? In one instant, she had gone from The Little Mermaid Princess to the evil Sea witch Ursula herself, a traitor and backstabber. My summer was ruined and all she did was grin. I was to leave the day after tomorrow for three full months to meet this group of strangers I was to call family.
Two days and a short flight later I was getting off the plane in Cali, Colombia and was to greet the people that were to torture me for the next three months. I was getting my last bag when I saw an old woman holding a sign that read my name. I may have only been six at the time but I could at least read my name. I approached her slowly. Her face was worn, as if she had had a hard life; she seemed to have a permanent hunch and was dressed in the tackiest floral print dress I had ever laid my eyes on. She recognized me and lunged at me with her arms wide open. I hugged her back softly thinking to myself this must be grandma. After I escaped her death grip I got my grandfather, my aunt Patricia, my uncle Chacho, my cousin Christian and my cousin Federico introduced to me. They all stared for a while and began to ask how I had been doing. I would only respond good over and over again to be polite, but really did these people believe that this is how I wanted to spend my summer?
To get to the house we all rode in a van that reminded me a lot of the private bus that takes me to school. The first thing I learned here was that I had a loud family! Miami has always been known for having loud people but my family was as loud as the NASA shuttles taking off into space. They all talked over each other and no one listened to what the other was saying. It was all getting to be too much when we finally arrived at the house. It was a bland, beat up white house. I had heard wonders from my mother for so many years and I was standing staring at a house that looked a lot like the portable buildings in the back of my school. There was a garden area out front, but gardens mean bugs and bugs and I have never gotten along. There was a gate to get in the driveway, then a gate over the door and then 5 locks on the door before you were allowed entrance. I felt as if I was going into a top-secret threshold. Contrary to my initial impression, the inside was the completely opposite; it was radiant. The antique record player in the corner, the box TV set and the sparkling chandelier hanging above caught my eyes right away. It all had a royal feel to it. I must have shown the awe on my face because my cousins began to laugh when my jaw dropped to the floor. “Didn’t expect this huh?” my older cousin Federico asked with a grin on his face. He was going to be a tall kid, he was almost his father’s height, or should I say my uncle’s height. When was I ever going to get used to this “family?” Federico had curly black hair like mine, and a slim figure for a 12-year-old boy. Christian was awkward. His figure was chubbier around the waist area and he stuttered a bit too much for me to stand. He was one year older than me, yet acted like the toddlers in preschool. Earlier I had caught him playing with ants, who plays with ants?
The next couple of days flew by as I settled in. I was sleeping in my grandmother’s room for the first 2 nights until I shyly confessed to my aunt that since my grandmother snores like a dragon, I could not sleep well at night. Thankfully, I was allowed to sleep in Christian’s room for the remainder of my stay. The first week I watched a lot of TV in Spanish, slept and ate. Once I was tired of that I began to play with my cousin Christian. He showed me how he played soccer outside in the driveway area and how the goal was to hit either the gate leading to the street or the garage door on the opposite end. We would play one on one and I would of course always lose. The game quickly became our favorite pastime as we began a tournament to see who would win the most games by the end of the summer. The loud racket we caused with that soccer ball will never leave my memory as I can still to this day hear my Aunt Patricia yelling “Stop hitting the garage door before you break it!” We never broke it but got to hear what would happen if we did numerous times. I later also came to find that the ants he played with were super entertaining in a house with no toys. We would get a couple together and race them or put them on the wall and see if we could follow them. Eventually they would escape in any crook or cranny and leave our sight. I was suddenly exposed to a different form of entertainment and joy with a new set of eyes.
As we visited various family members around town, I was struck by the poverty level that was considered the normal way of life here. It was incomprehensible. Everyday my aunt donated a plate of food to the family that slept on the sidewalk across from her house. If we got lucky the mother would let us play with her daughter while she helped my aunt clean around the house. The immense level of poverty was without a doubt, higher than what I was used to back home. At the time I never realized that it was caused by the Guerilla warfare going on all over Colombia. The Colombian people were scared for their lives at all hours. This explained the process to enter our household and why we never left the house completely alone. My grandfather and grandmother usually volunteered to stay behind and take care of the house while we went out. Many times I would stay just to have a competitive game of Parcheesi with my grandmother. I’ll never forget that she was a cheater; she would move her pieces to her advantage when I would look away, but never did she confess her sins. The game suddenly had become a game of strategy, a game of who was the sneakier person, and that person would always win.
Although the neighborhood looked old, the people seemed worn, and the “fun” activities you would think of doing weren’t available to us, I was having the time of my life by the end of that summer. Christian had become a brother and my Aunt another mother figure I could count on. They made me laugh and experience what it was to have a big loud joyous family for the first time in my life. My mother had always spoken of the importance of knowing and loving everyone in your family and this trip taught me just that. My life had changed permanently; my eyes were opened to another world, another culture. I improved my Spanish, which was a key to many of my successes later on in life, and walked away with a dozen new loving relationships I would never let go of. That September, I entered the first grade with a more mature attitude that far exceeded that of my classmates. Also, I had stories that surpassed any pool party memory my friends could reminisce on. The next summer was already planned in my head, three months with the most eccentric and admiring family a person could ask for.
September 23, 2009
ENC 1101
Professor Moody
Memoir
We were all fidgeting. It was our last day of kindergarten and we all wanted to start our summer. The clock read 1:55 p.m. Only five minutes remained. I looked around the room and saw all the familiar faces of my friends. Ashley, my neighbor and best friend of all time, had an amazing birthday party planned in late June. Peter, he was so cute, I had admired him from afar all year and was hoping to get a chance to talk to him at Ashley’s party. Then there was Ms. Geiger, our teacher. She was tall for a woman and always walked with a sort of elegance you only see on the runway. She was pulling back strands of her dirty blonde hair that somehow always looked beautiful while sniffling. She was sad we were leaving and was touched by the presents we all had brought her. I was going to miss all of this, the playtime, the naptime, and the special lunchroom for us younger kids. Yet, a whole new life was waiting for me, a life of a big kid, a 1st grader, and a 7 year old. In first grade we would be allowed to enter the big fields outside with the tall monkey bars during recess. Summer was the perfect time to practice my skills at the local parks and it was only 1 minute away. The bell rang just then and I ran out as quickly as I could and jumped on my mom who was always waiting outside. “I have great news honey! Get strapped in the back seat so I can tell you all about it!” my mother said to me. I hopped in, buckled up and waited for her to continue. As I waited, I looked at her face. She was so beautiful. She had creases on the side of her eyes that to me represented experience and wisdom. Her hair was cut short at her shoulders dyed a dark red color. Her red hair was always my favorite; it reminded me of my own Hispanic Little Mermaid Princess. She was smiling from ear to ear, one of her best characteristics. She went on to say, “I bought you a ticket to go see your family in Colombia for the whole summer!” I was shocked. What was this? In one instant, she had gone from The Little Mermaid Princess to the evil Sea witch Ursula herself, a traitor and backstabber. My summer was ruined and all she did was grin. I was to leave the day after tomorrow for three full months to meet this group of strangers I was to call family.
Two days and a short flight later I was getting off the plane in Cali, Colombia and was to greet the people that were to torture me for the next three months. I was getting my last bag when I saw an old woman holding a sign that read my name. I may have only been six at the time but I could at least read my name. I approached her slowly. Her face was worn, as if she had had a hard life; she seemed to have a permanent hunch and was dressed in the tackiest floral print dress I had ever laid my eyes on. She recognized me and lunged at me with her arms wide open. I hugged her back softly thinking to myself this must be grandma. After I escaped her death grip I got my grandfather, my aunt Patricia, my uncle Chacho, my cousin Christian and my cousin Federico introduced to me. They all stared for a while and began to ask how I had been doing. I would only respond good over and over again to be polite, but really did these people believe that this is how I wanted to spend my summer?
To get to the house we all rode in a van that reminded me a lot of the private bus that takes me to school. The first thing I learned here was that I had a loud family! Miami has always been known for having loud people but my family was as loud as the NASA shuttles taking off into space. They all talked over each other and no one listened to what the other was saying. It was all getting to be too much when we finally arrived at the house. It was a bland, beat up white house. I had heard wonders from my mother for so many years and I was standing staring at a house that looked a lot like the portable buildings in the back of my school. There was a garden area out front, but gardens mean bugs and bugs and I have never gotten along. There was a gate to get in the driveway, then a gate over the door and then 5 locks on the door before you were allowed entrance. I felt as if I was going into a top-secret threshold. Contrary to my initial impression, the inside was the completely opposite; it was radiant. The antique record player in the corner, the box TV set and the sparkling chandelier hanging above caught my eyes right away. It all had a royal feel to it. I must have shown the awe on my face because my cousins began to laugh when my jaw dropped to the floor. “Didn’t expect this huh?” my older cousin Federico asked with a grin on his face. He was going to be a tall kid, he was almost his father’s height, or should I say my uncle’s height. When was I ever going to get used to this “family?” Federico had curly black hair like mine, and a slim figure for a 12-year-old boy. Christian was awkward. His figure was chubbier around the waist area and he stuttered a bit too much for me to stand. He was one year older than me, yet acted like the toddlers in preschool. Earlier I had caught him playing with ants, who plays with ants?
The next couple of days flew by as I settled in. I was sleeping in my grandmother’s room for the first 2 nights until I shyly confessed to my aunt that since my grandmother snores like a dragon, I could not sleep well at night. Thankfully, I was allowed to sleep in Christian’s room for the remainder of my stay. The first week I watched a lot of TV in Spanish, slept and ate. Once I was tired of that I began to play with my cousin Christian. He showed me how he played soccer outside in the driveway area and how the goal was to hit either the gate leading to the street or the garage door on the opposite end. We would play one on one and I would of course always lose. The game quickly became our favorite pastime as we began a tournament to see who would win the most games by the end of the summer. The loud racket we caused with that soccer ball will never leave my memory as I can still to this day hear my Aunt Patricia yelling “Stop hitting the garage door before you break it!” We never broke it but got to hear what would happen if we did numerous times. I later also came to find that the ants he played with were super entertaining in a house with no toys. We would get a couple together and race them or put them on the wall and see if we could follow them. Eventually they would escape in any crook or cranny and leave our sight. I was suddenly exposed to a different form of entertainment and joy with a new set of eyes.
As we visited various family members around town, I was struck by the poverty level that was considered the normal way of life here. It was incomprehensible. Everyday my aunt donated a plate of food to the family that slept on the sidewalk across from her house. If we got lucky the mother would let us play with her daughter while she helped my aunt clean around the house. The immense level of poverty was without a doubt, higher than what I was used to back home. At the time I never realized that it was caused by the Guerilla warfare going on all over Colombia. The Colombian people were scared for their lives at all hours. This explained the process to enter our household and why we never left the house completely alone. My grandfather and grandmother usually volunteered to stay behind and take care of the house while we went out. Many times I would stay just to have a competitive game of Parcheesi with my grandmother. I’ll never forget that she was a cheater; she would move her pieces to her advantage when I would look away, but never did she confess her sins. The game suddenly had become a game of strategy, a game of who was the sneakier person, and that person would always win.
Although the neighborhood looked old, the people seemed worn, and the “fun” activities you would think of doing weren’t available to us, I was having the time of my life by the end of that summer. Christian had become a brother and my Aunt another mother figure I could count on. They made me laugh and experience what it was to have a big loud joyous family for the first time in my life. My mother had always spoken of the importance of knowing and loving everyone in your family and this trip taught me just that. My life had changed permanently; my eyes were opened to another world, another culture. I improved my Spanish, which was a key to many of my successes later on in life, and walked away with a dozen new loving relationships I would never let go of. That September, I entered the first grade with a more mature attitude that far exceeded that of my classmates. Also, I had stories that surpassed any pool party memory my friends could reminisce on. The next summer was already planned in my head, three months with the most eccentric and admiring family a person could ask for.
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Rough Draft
We were all fidgeting. It was our last day of kindergarten and we all wanted to start our summer. The clock read 1:55 P.M. Only five more minutes. I looked around the room and saw all the familiar faces I was friends with. Ashley, my neighbor and best friend of all time. She had an amazing birthday party planned in late June. Peter, he was so cute, I had admired him from afar all year and was hoping to get a chance to talk to him at Ashley’s party. Then there was Ms.Geiger, our teacher. She was tall for a woman and always walked with a sort of elegance you only see on the runway. She was pulling back strands of her dirty blonde hair that somehow always looked beautiful while sniffling. She was sad we were leaving and was touched by the presents we all had brought her. I was going to miss all of this, the playtime, the nap time, and the special lunchroom for us younger kids. Yet a whole new life was waiting for me, a life of a big kid, a 1st grader, a 7 year old. In first grade we would be allowed to enter the big fields outside with the tall monkey bars during recess. Summer was the perfect time to practice my skills at the local parks and it was only 1 minute away. The bell rang just then and I ran out as quickly as I could and jumped on my mom who was always waiting outside.
“I have great news honey! Get strapped in the back seat so I can tell you all about it!” I hopped in, buckled up and waited for her to continue. As I waited for her to continue I looked at her face. She was so beautiful. She had creases on the side of her eyes that to me represented experience and wisdom. Her hair was cut short at her shoulders dyed a dark red color. Her red hair was always my favorite; it reminded me of my own Hispanic Little Mermaid Princess. She was smiling from ear to ear, one of her best characteristics.
“I bought you a ticket to go see your family in Colombia for the whole summer!”
I was shocked. What was this? She had gone from The Little Mermaid to Ursula herself. A traitor and backstabber. My summer was ruined and all she did was grin. I was to leave the day after tomorrow for three full months to meet this group of strangers I was to call family.
Two days and a short flight later I was getting off the plane in Cali, Colombia and was to greet the people that were to torture me for the next three months. I was getting my last bag when I saw an old woman holding a sign that read my name. I may have only been six at the time but I could at least read my name. I approached her slowly. Her face was worn, as if she had had a hard life; she seemed to have a permanent hunch and was dressed in the tackiest floral print dress I had ever laid my eyes on. She recognized me and lunged at me with her arms wide open. I hugged her back softly thinking to myself this must be grandma. After I escaped her death grip I got my grandfather, my aunt Patricia, my uncle Chacho, my cousin Christian and my cousin Federico introduced to me. They all just stared for awhile and began to ask how I had been doing. I would only respond good over and over again to be polite, but really did these people believe that this is how I wanted to spend my summer?
To get to the house we all rode in a van that reminded me a lot of the private bus that takes me to school. I had a loud family was the first thing I learned in Colombia. Miami has always been known for having loud people but my family was as loud as the NASA shuttles taking off into space. They all talked over each other and no one listened to what the other was saying. It was all getting to be too much when we finally arrived at the house. It was a bland, beat up white house. I had heard wonders from my mother for so many years and I was standing staring at a house that looked a lot like the portables in the back of my school. There was a garden area out front, gardens always meant bugs and bugs and I never got along. There was a gate to get in the driveway, then a gate over the door and then 5 locks on the door before you were allowed entrance. I felt as if I was going into a top secret threshold. The inside was the complete opposite, it was radiant. The antiques caught my eyes right away; the record player in the corner, the box TV set and the sparkling chandelier hanging above. It all had a royal feel to it. I must have shown the awe on my face for my cousins began to laugh when my jaw dropped to the floor.
“Didn’t expect this huh?” my older cousin Federico asked with a grin on his face. He was going to be a tall kid, he was almost his father’s height, or should I say my uncle’s height. When was I ever going to get used to this “family?” Federico had curly black hair like me and a slim figure for a boy of 12. Christian was kind of dorky; he was chubbier around the waist area and stuttered a bit too much for me to stand. He was one year older than me, earlier on the van ride here I had seen him playing with an ant, it truly made me question what was wrong with him.
The next couple of days flew by as I settled in. I was sleeping in my grandmother’s room for the first 2 nights until I shyly confessed to my aunt that my grandmother’s dragon like snores did not let me sleep at night and was gladly allowed to sleep in Christian’s room for the remainder of my stay. The first week I watched a lot of TV in Spanish, slept and ate. Once I was tired of that I began to play with my cousin Christian. He showed me how he played soccer outside in the driveway area and how the goal was to hit either the gate leading to the street or the garage door on the opposite end. We would play one on one and I would of course always lose. The game quickly became our favorite past time as we began a tournament to see who would win the most games by the end of the summer. I later also came to find that the ants he played with were super entertaining in a house with no toys. We would get a couple together and race them or put them on the wall and see if we could follow them. Eventually they would escape in any crook or cranny and leave our sight.
The poverty level struck me as incomprehensible. Everyday my aunt donated a plate of food to the family that slept on the sidewalk across our house. If we got lucky the mother would let us play with her daughter while she helped my aunt clean around the house. The poverty level was definitely higher than what I was used to back home and at the time I never realized that it was caused by the Guerilla warfare going on all over Colombia.
Although the neighborhood looked old, the people seemed worn, and the “fun” activities I would love to do were too expensive for my family to afford, I was having the time of my life by the end of that summer. Christian and I became extremely close and my aunt became a second mother to me. Everyone was always so happy to accommodate the little American girl. My Spanish skills sharpened while I was there and began when the day came for me to leave I bawled like a baby in my aunt’s arms. My mother had definitely given me a superior summer than I had ever thought possible. My life had changed permanently; my eyes were opened to another world, another culture. I learned the value of family and the substantial things that awaited me outside of Miami. That September I entered the first grade with stories that surpassed any pool party my friends had attended. I was already anxious for the next summer to come and rush back to Colombia to continue getting to know my family.
“I have great news honey! Get strapped in the back seat so I can tell you all about it!” I hopped in, buckled up and waited for her to continue. As I waited for her to continue I looked at her face. She was so beautiful. She had creases on the side of her eyes that to me represented experience and wisdom. Her hair was cut short at her shoulders dyed a dark red color. Her red hair was always my favorite; it reminded me of my own Hispanic Little Mermaid Princess. She was smiling from ear to ear, one of her best characteristics.
“I bought you a ticket to go see your family in Colombia for the whole summer!”
I was shocked. What was this? She had gone from The Little Mermaid to Ursula herself. A traitor and backstabber. My summer was ruined and all she did was grin. I was to leave the day after tomorrow for three full months to meet this group of strangers I was to call family.
Two days and a short flight later I was getting off the plane in Cali, Colombia and was to greet the people that were to torture me for the next three months. I was getting my last bag when I saw an old woman holding a sign that read my name. I may have only been six at the time but I could at least read my name. I approached her slowly. Her face was worn, as if she had had a hard life; she seemed to have a permanent hunch and was dressed in the tackiest floral print dress I had ever laid my eyes on. She recognized me and lunged at me with her arms wide open. I hugged her back softly thinking to myself this must be grandma. After I escaped her death grip I got my grandfather, my aunt Patricia, my uncle Chacho, my cousin Christian and my cousin Federico introduced to me. They all just stared for awhile and began to ask how I had been doing. I would only respond good over and over again to be polite, but really did these people believe that this is how I wanted to spend my summer?
To get to the house we all rode in a van that reminded me a lot of the private bus that takes me to school. I had a loud family was the first thing I learned in Colombia. Miami has always been known for having loud people but my family was as loud as the NASA shuttles taking off into space. They all talked over each other and no one listened to what the other was saying. It was all getting to be too much when we finally arrived at the house. It was a bland, beat up white house. I had heard wonders from my mother for so many years and I was standing staring at a house that looked a lot like the portables in the back of my school. There was a garden area out front, gardens always meant bugs and bugs and I never got along. There was a gate to get in the driveway, then a gate over the door and then 5 locks on the door before you were allowed entrance. I felt as if I was going into a top secret threshold. The inside was the complete opposite, it was radiant. The antiques caught my eyes right away; the record player in the corner, the box TV set and the sparkling chandelier hanging above. It all had a royal feel to it. I must have shown the awe on my face for my cousins began to laugh when my jaw dropped to the floor.
“Didn’t expect this huh?” my older cousin Federico asked with a grin on his face. He was going to be a tall kid, he was almost his father’s height, or should I say my uncle’s height. When was I ever going to get used to this “family?” Federico had curly black hair like me and a slim figure for a boy of 12. Christian was kind of dorky; he was chubbier around the waist area and stuttered a bit too much for me to stand. He was one year older than me, earlier on the van ride here I had seen him playing with an ant, it truly made me question what was wrong with him.
The next couple of days flew by as I settled in. I was sleeping in my grandmother’s room for the first 2 nights until I shyly confessed to my aunt that my grandmother’s dragon like snores did not let me sleep at night and was gladly allowed to sleep in Christian’s room for the remainder of my stay. The first week I watched a lot of TV in Spanish, slept and ate. Once I was tired of that I began to play with my cousin Christian. He showed me how he played soccer outside in the driveway area and how the goal was to hit either the gate leading to the street or the garage door on the opposite end. We would play one on one and I would of course always lose. The game quickly became our favorite past time as we began a tournament to see who would win the most games by the end of the summer. I later also came to find that the ants he played with were super entertaining in a house with no toys. We would get a couple together and race them or put them on the wall and see if we could follow them. Eventually they would escape in any crook or cranny and leave our sight.
The poverty level struck me as incomprehensible. Everyday my aunt donated a plate of food to the family that slept on the sidewalk across our house. If we got lucky the mother would let us play with her daughter while she helped my aunt clean around the house. The poverty level was definitely higher than what I was used to back home and at the time I never realized that it was caused by the Guerilla warfare going on all over Colombia.
Although the neighborhood looked old, the people seemed worn, and the “fun” activities I would love to do were too expensive for my family to afford, I was having the time of my life by the end of that summer. Christian and I became extremely close and my aunt became a second mother to me. Everyone was always so happy to accommodate the little American girl. My Spanish skills sharpened while I was there and began when the day came for me to leave I bawled like a baby in my aunt’s arms. My mother had definitely given me a superior summer than I had ever thought possible. My life had changed permanently; my eyes were opened to another world, another culture. I learned the value of family and the substantial things that awaited me outside of Miami. That September I entered the first grade with stories that surpassed any pool party my friends had attended. I was already anxious for the next summer to come and rush back to Colombia to continue getting to know my family.
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
Memo
To: Professor Moody
From: Lorena Lizarralde
Date: September 15, 2009
RE: Peer Revision and Memoir Plan
Regarding the peer review we did in class I plan to change one of my sentences. I had described my friend as my “front door neighbor" and was told that it would sound better if I just refer to my friend as my "neighbor." My peers seemed very pleased with my descriptions and details. I then asked you to read my introduction and you also helped me with a bit more se of language instead of actually mentioning her age. I also am going to change "two and half hours later" to a "short flight" to better show my audience my point.
Regarding the rest of my paper I have a small outline set up in my mind. Obviously I am going to continue by describing the house and neighborhood and the cultural shocks and things I experienced that really relate to the significance of my memoir. Some of the things I have been brainstorming about it the limit we had of toys and outings and how somehow that never set back our fun times. Another aspect of Colombia that I love is to see how the whole family would sit down together to have dinner religiously. To me that opened my eyes to how serious it is that you spend time with your family. One of the greatest lessons my mom taught me was to always love and forgive your family because they will always be there no matter what. Friends should never come before family. Thus my descriptions will not only show my audience that I learned to appreciate my opportunities back in the land of freedom but that we don’t have to be rich to “high class” to teach others a lesson about life.
My last paragraph will not be so anecdote like because it will be me, the adult I am today, reminiscing on the experience I endured when I was six years old. The only thing I would like to use as closure may be a mentioning of how I got back to school as the first grader with the most interesting stories to tell. All in all I hope that the paper will be descriptive enough to engage my audience and make them feel as if they were there throughout the whole thing. My vocabulary seemed a bit low in my opinion so I might sit and revise the whole thing at the end and try to take that up a notch.
From: Lorena Lizarralde
Date: September 15, 2009
RE: Peer Revision and Memoir Plan
Regarding the peer review we did in class I plan to change one of my sentences. I had described my friend as my “front door neighbor" and was told that it would sound better if I just refer to my friend as my "neighbor." My peers seemed very pleased with my descriptions and details. I then asked you to read my introduction and you also helped me with a bit more se of language instead of actually mentioning her age. I also am going to change "two and half hours later" to a "short flight" to better show my audience my point.
Regarding the rest of my paper I have a small outline set up in my mind. Obviously I am going to continue by describing the house and neighborhood and the cultural shocks and things I experienced that really relate to the significance of my memoir. Some of the things I have been brainstorming about it the limit we had of toys and outings and how somehow that never set back our fun times. Another aspect of Colombia that I love is to see how the whole family would sit down together to have dinner religiously. To me that opened my eyes to how serious it is that you spend time with your family. One of the greatest lessons my mom taught me was to always love and forgive your family because they will always be there no matter what. Friends should never come before family. Thus my descriptions will not only show my audience that I learned to appreciate my opportunities back in the land of freedom but that we don’t have to be rich to “high class” to teach others a lesson about life.
My last paragraph will not be so anecdote like because it will be me, the adult I am today, reminiscing on the experience I endured when I was six years old. The only thing I would like to use as closure may be a mentioning of how I got back to school as the first grader with the most interesting stories to tell. All in all I hope that the paper will be descriptive enough to engage my audience and make them feel as if they were there throughout the whole thing. My vocabulary seemed a bit low in my opinion so I might sit and revise the whole thing at the end and try to take that up a notch.
BRAINSTORMING
I drew a picture of the classroom I was in and looked at a picture of my mother to help myself relate it to something else.
Monday, September 14, 2009
Intro Paragraph to Memoir plus a little of the memoir continued
We were all fidgeting. It was our last day of kindergarten and we all wanted to start our summer. The clock read 1:55 P.M. Only five more minutes. I looked around the room and saw all the familiar faces I was friends with. Ashley, my front door neighbor and best friend of all time. She had an amazing birthday party planned in late June. Peter, he was so cute, I had admired him from afar all year and was hoping to get a chance to talk to him at Ashley’s party. Then there was Ms.Geiger, our teacher. She was tall for a woman and always walked with a sort of elegance you only see on the runway. She was pulling back strands of her dirty blonde hair that somehow always looked beautiful while sniffling. She was sad we were leaving and was touched by the presents we all had brought her. I was going to miss all of this, the playtime, the nap time, and the special lunchroom for us younger kids. Yet a whole new life was waiting for me, a life of a big kid, a 1st grader, a 7 year old. In first grade we would be allowed to enter the big fields outside with the tall monkey bars during recess. Summer was the perfect time to practice my skills at the local parks and it was only 1 minute away. The bell rang just then and I ran out as quickly as I could and jumped on my mom who was always waiting outside.
“I have great news honey! Get strapped in the back seat so I can tell you all about it!” I hopped in, buckled up and waited for her to continue. As I waited for her to continue I looked at her face. She was so beautiful. She was older than most moms with a six year old on their hands, I would say about 46. Her hair was cut short at her shoulders dyed a dark red color. Her red hair was always my favorite; it reminded me of my own Hispanic Little Mermaid Princess. She was smiling from ear to ear, one of her best characteristics.
“I bought you a ticket to go see your family in Colombia for the whole summer!”
I was shocked. What was this? She had gone from The Little Mermaid to Ursula herself. A traitor and backstabber. My summer was ruined and all she did was grin. I was to leave the day after tomorrow for three full months to meet this group of strangers I was to call family.
Two days and two hours and a half later I was getting off the plane in Cali, Colombia and was to greet the people that were to torture me for the next three months. I was getting my last bag when I saw an old woman holding a sign that read my name. I may have only been six at the time but I could at least read my name. I approached her slowly. Her face was worn, as if she had had a hard life; she seemed to have a permanent hunch and was dressed in the tackiest floral print dress I had ever laid my eyes on. She recognized me and lunged at me with her arms wide open. I hugged her back softly thinking to myself this must be grandma. After I escaped her death grip I got my grandfather, my aunt Patricia, my uncle Chacho, my cousin Christian and my cousin Federico introduced to me. They all just stared for awhile and began to ask how I had been doing. I would only respond good over and over again to be polite, but really did these people believe that this is how I wanted to spend my summer?
“I have great news honey! Get strapped in the back seat so I can tell you all about it!” I hopped in, buckled up and waited for her to continue. As I waited for her to continue I looked at her face. She was so beautiful. She was older than most moms with a six year old on their hands, I would say about 46. Her hair was cut short at her shoulders dyed a dark red color. Her red hair was always my favorite; it reminded me of my own Hispanic Little Mermaid Princess. She was smiling from ear to ear, one of her best characteristics.
“I bought you a ticket to go see your family in Colombia for the whole summer!”
I was shocked. What was this? She had gone from The Little Mermaid to Ursula herself. A traitor and backstabber. My summer was ruined and all she did was grin. I was to leave the day after tomorrow for three full months to meet this group of strangers I was to call family.
Two days and two hours and a half later I was getting off the plane in Cali, Colombia and was to greet the people that were to torture me for the next three months. I was getting my last bag when I saw an old woman holding a sign that read my name. I may have only been six at the time but I could at least read my name. I approached her slowly. Her face was worn, as if she had had a hard life; she seemed to have a permanent hunch and was dressed in the tackiest floral print dress I had ever laid my eyes on. She recognized me and lunged at me with her arms wide open. I hugged her back softly thinking to myself this must be grandma. After I escaped her death grip I got my grandfather, my aunt Patricia, my uncle Chacho, my cousin Christian and my cousin Federico introduced to me. They all just stared for awhile and began to ask how I had been doing. I would only respond good over and over again to be polite, but really did these people believe that this is how I wanted to spend my summer?
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
3 potential ideas for memoir answering questions what is it about? and so what?
Idea #1
I was 9 years old and I was bored. It was math class, my favorite subject, and yet somehow it was too easy. I had the same sentiment when I sat in my other classes. Why did the teacher have to repeat the lesson over and over again? Didn't everyone already hear it the first time? Then one hot summer Miami afternoon as I was effortlessly finishing my classwork, my teacher pulled me aside and led me to the library without a word. When I arrived I noticed a group of my closest friends from school all huddled, she pointed to them as if to say "Go join your comfort zone." As I approached them they all looked at me with big owl eyes waiting to pounce on me with the question "Why are we here ?" I unfortunately had to disappoint them with the news that I had no clue what was going on either. Then our principle came out and announced for all of us to take a seat quietly. She began explaining that my friends and I had been selected to take a special test to see if we qualified for the Gifted Program. We had all shown excellence in our studies and had been highly recommended by a teacher. That day I took a test that changed my academic life. I passed that test and was officially a Gifted student by the following morning. I took classes above the average level of my class mates in science, mathematics, and social studies. I stayed in the gifted program all through elementary, middle, and high school. I graduated top three percent of my class putting me in the Summa Cum Laude category. The day I was told that I had the ability to excel past what I ever thought possible was the day I realized that I really could become anything I wanted to be. I learned that an A was all I wanted, I learned that excellence is what was expected of me at home, but most importantly I learned it was achievable. I am now attending the University of Central Florida and not Miami Dade Community College. I was able to skip that level and win my scholarship and grants to put me through school. I am a proud double major for hospitality and restaurant management, and know that the push I received in the 3rd grade got me where I am today.
Idea #2
It was the most exciting day for us. It was the day that the bell would ring and let us free for 3 months. 3 months filled with pool parties, birthday parties, days at the beach and sleepovers. I was 6 years old and I was fidgeting in my chair as if I had ants in my pants. The bell finally rung after what felt like a century had past and we jumped for the door. I raced outside and embraced my mom who was always patiently waiting outside for me. She hugged me and told me she had great news for me. Thoughts ran through my mind at the speed of lightening wondering if she had gotten me the new bike I had asked for during spring break and almost every single day after. I buckled my seat belt and waited for her to continue. Then the words came, the terrible, dreadful words. "I bought you a ticket to go see your cousins in Colombia for the whole summer!" She said it with a grin which angered me. We had spoken of this earlier that school year and I specifically said I was not in the least bit interested. I wished to stay home sleeping in and spending time with my friends. I burst into tears of anger. I felt betrayed and wished never to see her face again. She had ruined my summer. I was going to sit in 1st grade the next school year hearing all the wonderful stories of what had happened that summer and how great it was and how I had missed out on it. This was war. My temper of course flared and I began yelling and crying about the betrayal she had just committed. She only sat there with a sad disappointed face asking me why it was so hard for me to accept that family should always come first? Why I couldn't find some interest in going to the place she once called home? I being the selfish naive brat I was at the time ignored all this logic and continued to vent my anger. I was to leave the next day and wouldn't return for a full 3 months. My life as I officially knew it, was over.
Little did I know the wonderful eye opening cultural experience that was waiting for me. I arrived and met my family members. They hugged me as if they had known me my whole life, why did these strangers love me so much if they had just met me? I was treated special, I was the little American girl, or the "gringa" as they called me. I knew my spanish well but struggled every so often to communicate. I was shown the way they lived, in a home much smaller and older looking than the one we had in Miami. My mother called me everyday to see how I was doing. I acted mad for about a week before I couldn't hold in my excitement. My cousin Christian was the closest in age and we spent the summer basically inseparable. We went to the corner stores, we waited for the ice cream guy to come in his little cart, and we helped my aunt cook everyday. I learned the game of Parcheesi and snakes and ladders. I saw how the poor filled the streets in Colombia, and how fortunate I was back home. I enjoyed every second of that summer and went home with better stories than any of my classmates. I had been exposed to another world, a world that taught me to appreciate the opportunities my mother had been able to offer me.
Idea #3
The sweat was dropping down my face as I ran another lap. It was my punishment for not facing my fear. I was training to be the new goalie on my club soccer team and could not for the life of me manage to throw my body off to the sides to block a kick without hesitation. The action may not sound difficult but let me tell you, when your body knows the pain that is coming, it hesitates. So after I ran my lap, which was already my 10th that day, I was put in front of the goal again to attempt facing my fear again. I had my knees bruised from landing on the floor with hesitation and my hands were sweaty inside my gloves, all I could think about was not caring about pain and throwing myself. My coach kicked the ball and I caught it, but not with the correct move, I just happened to catch it by moving fast enough. He dismissed me with a disappointed sigh. We had a game the next morning against our rivals and I was the only goalie. The team was notorious for kicking low corner shots, low corner shots that could only be blocked by throwing yourself to the ground and blocking it with your torso. I barely slept thinking about the shame I would face the next day. My team knew the issue and had prepared to block them off as long as possible but the moment was coming, I could feel it in my veins. My blood was pumping, I was sweating already and I saw the forward from the opposite team coming. She was flying through my defense and positioning herself for the shot. The shot that would let them gain a lead on us. She kicked and I jumped. It hurt terribly, I thought I had broken a rib but I looked down and hugged that soccer ball as if my life depended on it. I had thrown myself in a moment of passion and done my job. I had blocked the shot and made my coach and I proud. The pain was worth it. We ended up winning that day and I had faced my fear. My dirty cut up legs were like a trophy to me. I had cut my knee on a rock pretty badly and the scar I would gain was to remind everyday that although somethings are tough and they hurt they are worth fighting for. Blocking that soccer ball taught me to take a hit and enjoy it all at once.
I was 9 years old and I was bored. It was math class, my favorite subject, and yet somehow it was too easy. I had the same sentiment when I sat in my other classes. Why did the teacher have to repeat the lesson over and over again? Didn't everyone already hear it the first time? Then one hot summer Miami afternoon as I was effortlessly finishing my classwork, my teacher pulled me aside and led me to the library without a word. When I arrived I noticed a group of my closest friends from school all huddled, she pointed to them as if to say "Go join your comfort zone." As I approached them they all looked at me with big owl eyes waiting to pounce on me with the question "Why are we here ?" I unfortunately had to disappoint them with the news that I had no clue what was going on either. Then our principle came out and announced for all of us to take a seat quietly. She began explaining that my friends and I had been selected to take a special test to see if we qualified for the Gifted Program. We had all shown excellence in our studies and had been highly recommended by a teacher. That day I took a test that changed my academic life. I passed that test and was officially a Gifted student by the following morning. I took classes above the average level of my class mates in science, mathematics, and social studies. I stayed in the gifted program all through elementary, middle, and high school. I graduated top three percent of my class putting me in the Summa Cum Laude category. The day I was told that I had the ability to excel past what I ever thought possible was the day I realized that I really could become anything I wanted to be. I learned that an A was all I wanted, I learned that excellence is what was expected of me at home, but most importantly I learned it was achievable. I am now attending the University of Central Florida and not Miami Dade Community College. I was able to skip that level and win my scholarship and grants to put me through school. I am a proud double major for hospitality and restaurant management, and know that the push I received in the 3rd grade got me where I am today.
Idea #2
It was the most exciting day for us. It was the day that the bell would ring and let us free for 3 months. 3 months filled with pool parties, birthday parties, days at the beach and sleepovers. I was 6 years old and I was fidgeting in my chair as if I had ants in my pants. The bell finally rung after what felt like a century had past and we jumped for the door. I raced outside and embraced my mom who was always patiently waiting outside for me. She hugged me and told me she had great news for me. Thoughts ran through my mind at the speed of lightening wondering if she had gotten me the new bike I had asked for during spring break and almost every single day after. I buckled my seat belt and waited for her to continue. Then the words came, the terrible, dreadful words. "I bought you a ticket to go see your cousins in Colombia for the whole summer!" She said it with a grin which angered me. We had spoken of this earlier that school year and I specifically said I was not in the least bit interested. I wished to stay home sleeping in and spending time with my friends. I burst into tears of anger. I felt betrayed and wished never to see her face again. She had ruined my summer. I was going to sit in 1st grade the next school year hearing all the wonderful stories of what had happened that summer and how great it was and how I had missed out on it. This was war. My temper of course flared and I began yelling and crying about the betrayal she had just committed. She only sat there with a sad disappointed face asking me why it was so hard for me to accept that family should always come first? Why I couldn't find some interest in going to the place she once called home? I being the selfish naive brat I was at the time ignored all this logic and continued to vent my anger. I was to leave the next day and wouldn't return for a full 3 months. My life as I officially knew it, was over.
Little did I know the wonderful eye opening cultural experience that was waiting for me. I arrived and met my family members. They hugged me as if they had known me my whole life, why did these strangers love me so much if they had just met me? I was treated special, I was the little American girl, or the "gringa" as they called me. I knew my spanish well but struggled every so often to communicate. I was shown the way they lived, in a home much smaller and older looking than the one we had in Miami. My mother called me everyday to see how I was doing. I acted mad for about a week before I couldn't hold in my excitement. My cousin Christian was the closest in age and we spent the summer basically inseparable. We went to the corner stores, we waited for the ice cream guy to come in his little cart, and we helped my aunt cook everyday. I learned the game of Parcheesi and snakes and ladders. I saw how the poor filled the streets in Colombia, and how fortunate I was back home. I enjoyed every second of that summer and went home with better stories than any of my classmates. I had been exposed to another world, a world that taught me to appreciate the opportunities my mother had been able to offer me.
Idea #3
The sweat was dropping down my face as I ran another lap. It was my punishment for not facing my fear. I was training to be the new goalie on my club soccer team and could not for the life of me manage to throw my body off to the sides to block a kick without hesitation. The action may not sound difficult but let me tell you, when your body knows the pain that is coming, it hesitates. So after I ran my lap, which was already my 10th that day, I was put in front of the goal again to attempt facing my fear again. I had my knees bruised from landing on the floor with hesitation and my hands were sweaty inside my gloves, all I could think about was not caring about pain and throwing myself. My coach kicked the ball and I caught it, but not with the correct move, I just happened to catch it by moving fast enough. He dismissed me with a disappointed sigh. We had a game the next morning against our rivals and I was the only goalie. The team was notorious for kicking low corner shots, low corner shots that could only be blocked by throwing yourself to the ground and blocking it with your torso. I barely slept thinking about the shame I would face the next day. My team knew the issue and had prepared to block them off as long as possible but the moment was coming, I could feel it in my veins. My blood was pumping, I was sweating already and I saw the forward from the opposite team coming. She was flying through my defense and positioning herself for the shot. The shot that would let them gain a lead on us. She kicked and I jumped. It hurt terribly, I thought I had broken a rib but I looked down and hugged that soccer ball as if my life depended on it. I had thrown myself in a moment of passion and done my job. I had blocked the shot and made my coach and I proud. The pain was worth it. We ended up winning that day and I had faced my fear. My dirty cut up legs were like a trophy to me. I had cut my knee on a rock pretty badly and the scar I would gain was to remind everyday that although somethings are tough and they hurt they are worth fighting for. Blocking that soccer ball taught me to take a hit and enjoy it all at once.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)