Family Story Part 1

This post is the start of a new project in English. We are starting a project in which we tell a family story. My story is based on the time when my house was broken into. I can elaborate a lot on this story and hopefully it will help to increase my appreciation for preserving my family memories.

It was a typical Friday night. We had gone out to dinner as usual because my mom had some work to finish up at school. The food court always sufficed our appetites, I ordered raamen with a side of gyoza. We ate our meals quietly and quickly as it was already six o'clock. Everyone was weary from the long day and were anxious to go home where we could finally relax for the weekend. However, this particular weekend, I had a huge science project, a presentation to be exact, I still needed to complete. My mom was feeling generous enough to delay her relaxation time to stop by Ben Franklin's with me to buy some extra supplies I needed to finish my science poster. Once I had found what I was looking for, we finally proceeded home. The roads were slightly damp that night, and there was a certain weariness to the atmosphere around me. We drove past the upcoming Walmart site, drove past the local library and finally the recreation center. We arrived home at around seven thirty and drove the car up to the worn-down driveway.

I walked up the steps of the dirt-red porch with a sigh of relief. My grandma rummaged in her bag to reveal a bronze set of keys. When she attempted to place the key into the keyhole, she found the door was unlocked. My mother took over and slowly and cautiously turned the knob.

Everything looked normal. My mother walked slowly to her bedroom where she found her jewelry all over the bed. Meanwhile, my grandmother creeped her way to the bathroom and was startled at the sight. The window looked as if it had been forced open: the screen was broken and the panel was nudged off. The curtains swayed ominously as the wind blew through the empty hole like a forbidden ghost. My grandma called my mother so she could see this disturbing sight as well. She fumbled for the phone and called the police.

I was in shock, standing by the door so no one would be able to harm me. If the burglar was still inside, I was prepared to make a run for the deserted streets. My fear was absolute. I could not move for fear of a blade being close to my throat. Only then did I realize the power of my imagination and came out of my spasm to hear sirens and see the familiar blue lights pulling up to my driveway.

They had stolen my mother's three most precious things and also stole the memories behind them. This incident really made me think of how lucky we all were and that nobody was hurt much less in the house at the time of the break-in. It could have been a lot worse.

The Purpose of a Blog

Before it was introduced in English class, I had never heard of a blog before. I don't use AIM or YouTube because I never thought it was of any significance much less being dangerous. Mrs. Watson opened me up to the purposes of a blog and how it can help to improve the quality of my writing. Below is a list of a few of the purposes.

1. A blog can help to share ideas so readers of blogs can learn along with the writers.

2. A blog is sustainable so you know it is always there.

3. The English part of a blog is that I have a wider audience reading my work. This automatically improves the quality in my writing.

4. since technology is so advanced today, a blog changes the way I look at computers: with more knowledge and as a tool to learning.

5. Blogs showcase and save my work so I can see improvement in my writing.

As you can see, blogs have multiple purposes in technology and, more importantly, education.

A Musical Addiction

In English class, we were asked to post an introduction of ourselves, either a typical introduction or a short story. I decided to make mine well, unique. Although it's not your common "Hi, my name is...", it is so prominent in my life that it defines who I am and probably what I will be: Kathryn.

I believe music is magical. The sounds of a violin whispering a sweet melody, and the intensity of a drum as the player strikes its stretched covering. Music is an unparalleled language to all the rest because it is universal, understandable to almost anyone who takes the time to close their eyes and open their ears.

My passion for music has been with me ever since I was born. I guess you could say it's in my blood. My mother used to sing all the songs she could remember to me as a baby to silence my shrieks and wails. Besides being a part-time singer, my mother also plays the flute, an instrument I picked up in the summer of fourth grade. To be honest with you, I wasn't entirely all for learning how to play at the time, I just liked to sit back, relax, and listen to the silver-polished cylinder that sang as much as it gleamed. The more I learned, the more I enjoyed it. Now, after playing for about four years, I practice every day for one hour. If I am unable to practice, I feel the stress of the school day weighing on me like an anchor on a withered leaf. This is the one addiction that has shaped who I am, making me a better person every time I improve. I intend to continue my practice and passion for this peculiar addiction.