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Marigold
It was the summer of 1997 that I found a new appreciation for life as I knew it. A seven year old girl moved in with her grandmother 2 and a half hours away from home, and NOTHING made sense about why my mother sent me away. The day I moved in, I remember watching the adults set up my bedroom furniture and thinking to myself….”my life will never be the same”. I watched them arrange things for a little while and then I went outside to the backyard. I picked the area with the most color mixed in with the grass and sat down. I picked through the flowers, one by one, until I stopped….dead in my thoughts, when I saw the marigold.
By Stephanie Michelle5 years ago in Families
Mary's Gold
My name is Luna El oro de María Naiara but I go by Moon. I am a 5th grader at Panagia Parochial School. I really like school. My favorite class is Creative Writing. I love writing stories, especially about my family and the Holidays. I was excited when the teacher gave us an assignment to write about the upcoming Holiday, “Día de los Muertos.” I am sort of named after that Holiday in a weird way. I can best explain it by sharing my writing assignment with you. Here it is.
By Winter Lynn5 years ago in Families
Honor and Succession
It was six-o-clock on a Sunday morning and her phone had already rung at least four times. Sundays were her only free days and the only person she knows that likes to blow up her phone was her mother. But on the fourth ring, instead of silencing the phone, she answered in a muted voice, “What is it?”
By Rosa James5 years ago in Families
Maravilla
1773 - Maracaibo Reina pulled herself onto the stone ledge that lined in the flower beds. Her small, bare foot snagged on her skirt hem a moment, and she yanked it free. Catching her balance, she looked back at the main house of the hacienda. The thick wooden door of the kitchen was closed, so Cook wouldn’t be watching. She could hear a horse in the courtyard, but she was alone within the pale walls of the garden. Reina bit her lip and crouched down, reaching her hand toward an orange and red flower. It felt soft beneath her fingers, and she paused. “Tía Emelia says I’m not supposed to pick the flowers.”
By Morgan J. Muir5 years ago in Families
Waves of Gold
Everyone needs their space from time to time. Whether it be for creating a musical masterpiece, a genius invention to make life easier, the next fabulous fashion trend or simply to get lost in our thoughts, we ALL need it. A place to feel safe. A place to breath freely.
By Samirra Elsaieh5 years ago in Families
Mirror Portrait
It is so interesting how a painting comes to life. I started by giving my son something to look at while I did some of my in home chores. I thought, well I have some blues and white, I can make something real quick rather than using an acrylic canvas painting that I usually take the time to make. I bought the board for a puzzle and I am all for utilizing resources for everything that they can be good for. Make the most of it, save the planet some extra sacrifice and , well , save money! So A little blue blob here and a long blue blob there, splash of white with a blip of pink and vwala, a colorful blob. Then, I turned the painting from horizontal to standing tall and sure enough, as I stepped away, heard some giggles and laughter, I looked over to see what was so giggle-worthy. My son was looking at "me" and so was I. My hair looked just like that and without even meaning to I made sure that I gave my son all of my attention in a blob-around way. Since It was just me at the house, I covered him on all sides. Fully protected and fully watched over, eyes , ears and portrait. I kind of like it.
By Vocal-lady-ist Ms. Kerri5 years ago in Families
From my point of view
A month ago, I received a letter in the mail. It was from Clark State Community College, and it was informing me that I was eligible to be the student speaker for the graduation commence because of my outstanding GPA. They wanted me to write a rough draft for the graduation speech and if it was good enough, I could be the student speaker. I was excited at first, but more I thought about it and what I wanted to write, I realized I had nothing good to say and if I did, it wouldn’t be enough to write an excellent speech. The paper I would have ended up writing would have been more of a lecture on things Clark State could improve on. So, I figured I would write a speech to the people that help me succeed in life.
By Jessie Altman5 years ago in Families
Happy Holidays
I slammed the yams down on the table as the doorbell rang. I honestly did not sign up for this. No one should ever have to deal with the amount of drama this family produces. But then there I was, setting the table for a dysfunctional family I am married into.
By SJ Augustine5 years ago in Families
The Changing Definition of Minimalism
I was talking to a friend about his impending trip and asked if he was preparing already. He said he was leaving Sunday, so he would probably get ready Saturday night. All he has, a suitcase and a laptop, isn’t much, so there is not much to plan.
By Jason Weiland5 years ago in Families
The Power of Photos and Mirrors
The Power of Photos and Mirrors Growing up I avoided being around people with cameras, getting caught in candid shots, or heaven forbid posing for pictures. I hated pictures, people who took pictures, people that shared pictures, being in picture and most of all my mother getting a hold of any picture of me. When they took school pictures every year it was an absolute nightmare. I couldn’t stay home sick that day because I had to have perfect attendance (yeah it was a thing). I couldn’t avoid having the pictures taken because the teacher, a young or old nun in full wimple and habit, rosary beading clacking as she walked would not allow such disrespect (and besides I could not lose my status as teacher’s pet, another thing). But man, did I hate the whole ritual, the picture taking, the distribution of the hated picture packets, the collection of the payment for the pictures from my parents to be brought into school, etc. But the worst part was the mean spirited critique my mother would do every year. Why didn't I fix my hair nicer? Why am I not smiling? Are you kidding? . When will I go on a diet and lose all that fat? And of course the never ending, you sister always looks so beautiful in pictures, sigh. And then me, humiliated, saying things like, Mom, you don't have to buy these. Sister said if you don’t like them just return them. Only a shrug and a sigh as she mournfully wrote out the check and handed it to me disgusted. Every year - year after year - even when in high school as yearbook editor my pictures actually rocked. As a favorite of the photo club that took the hsots, I actually saw a few that were not half bad. Yet, the story at home was always the same. Over time I realized that my mother’s hang up was that I actually look a lot like her - and she hated herself, and thus the venom towards me and pictures. Cerebrally I came to know that, but emotionally still could not bear cameras and pictures, associating them with feeling ugly, criticism, fat shaming, and embarrassment.
By Rosanna Pittella5 years ago in Families
Kanzashi
I collect hobbies like a little boy collects seashells. Kanzashi is my latest obsession. The careful folding of cloth, fabric origami sewn together into vibrant creations, has captured my soul. Before me lay precise squares of bright cloth, destined, today, to become flowers. I have a plan, an image in my mind of the symmetrical, stunning beauty that I’ll soon hold. The cloth is ready. In one hand is my needle. The other holds the thread.
By Morgan J. Muir5 years ago in Families
