I will never forget that cold December day, December 20th to be exact. My parents decided to move because of their new jobs, I remember thinking big deal. Christmas is about being with friends and family, muttering to myself, not this year. Were my parents punishing me for a crime that I did not commit? The worst part about living on Droopy-Willow Drive was that there were no kids in my neighborhood. This could not be happening to me; I was surrounded by old people. I knew that I would be bored for the rest of my life and I was only eleven and still had a lot of years ahead of me.
Christmas came and Mom thought it would be a nice idea to bake cookies for our new neighbors. I gave her this look of astonishment and told her that she was trying to kill them. Old people cannot have sugar they are diabetic, they will die! Then I thought that if the old people died then maybe some kids would move in, I told her lets do it. Then my mother said, Good point, so we made sugar-free cookies. They were so cute we made snowmen and stars. The cookies were creamy cream they really did not taste sugar free and the big hint that they were not was the fact that they were full of sprinkles like Christmas rain of green and red.
My job was to pass out the tins. Each time I knocked the door, an old couple invited me in. What was the whole squeezing my checks and telling me I was cute? When I would leave each house, I would open a tin of cookies wrapped in a big red bow and take a big whiff-to get the old people smell out. The cookies smelled like ginger spice coming right out of the oven. The last tin of cookies went to the last on the house on the corner. As I stood in front of the house, the word whimsical came to mind. The house had wood siding, the color was unknown. I believe the original color was a light brown but somehow or another there were patches of greens and blues all over with chips of paint knocked off.
The Term Paper on Up From Slavery Big House
Up from slavery Chapter I 45 Sl 2 Slavery A slave among slaves. Chapter I. I WAS born a slave on a plantation in Franklin County, Virginia. I am not quite sure of the exact place or exact date of my birth, but at any rate I suspect I must have been born somewhere and at some time. As nearly as I have been able to learn, I was born near a cross-roads post-office called Hale's Ford, and the year was ...
The shutters were all neat except two windows, but that was okay it gave the house character. The house seemed pretty old; there was a white picket fence with vines grown all around. The sight that really caught my attention was the gigantic droopy willow tree that seemed to cover the house like a big protective cover. That tree was the only willow on the block. I walked right up to the door. I could not wait to see who lived here.
When I rang the door bell, an older man answered. He must have been in his sixties. He was sort of medium height; his hair was ashy gray the color you get after burning wood in the fire place, his eyes were as blue as the sky on a bright April afternoon, his voice was soft and inviting and his hand shake was gentle, the kind of gentle that gives you a sense of comfort. He told me his name was Mr. Linden and invited me in to share his cookies. He was the only one to offer and I was not going to refuse cookies and ice cold milk.
I thought the outside was cool, the inside was even better. The house was dimly lit with books and pictures of a little girl and pictures of a woman all over the place. As soon as a saw the kid I got really excited. There were big books, small books, skinny books, fat books, and books of different color everywhere in the house. As he led me into his living room, his house reminded me of a big messy library that contained millions of books. When we got to the living room, there were two huge plush yellow chairs with a lamp smack dab in the middle of the two chairs. There were shelves all over the walls; Mr.
Linden must have put them up himself because they were all crooked with books sliding off. He told me to have a seat, as I did my excitement rose I was feeling Christmas morning all over again. I have to say that I am not and ordinary kid. I love to read. When he returned we sat, ate cookies, and began to talk mainly on the topic of books. After what seemed only like five minutes, it was time for me to go home we had been talking for over two hours and I knew my parents would start to worry.
The Essay on Jurassic Park Book Island Read
Theme Of Jurassic Park JURASSIC PARK Crichton, Michael Publisher: Ballantine Books City Where Published: New York Date of latest copy: 1990 Edition: First Ballantine Books Edition: December 1991. 399 Pages, Paperback I. A Brief Summary of the Plot. A billionaire has created a technique to clone dinosaurs. From the left behind DNA that his crack team of scientists and experts extract he is able to ...
Before I left I asked Mr. Linden if I could visit again, he made my day when he said Anytime. Visits to Mr. Lindens home became habitual. After homework every afternoon I would visit. I would have the most fun discussing a book after reading a new book. Usually we would agree on what the book meant. I enjoyed speaking to Mr.
Linden; he treated me as an equal not just some dumb kid. A year passed and I had read a large amount of books form fantasy to non-fiction in his home. One day in our discussion of a book I asked him about his family. He told me that his dear wife had died giving birth to his daughter Gabrielle and that Gabrielle died in an accident. On the way home from the library, she got hit by a car and passed away. I then realized that all the pictures on the walls were his daughter and his wife.
He then told me that the reason for the large amount of books in his home was a memory to his daughter. Mr. Linden said, Every time I would miss Gabrielle I would get a book and read because reading was her favorite hobby. As I finished a book, I would walk around the house and pick another novel to read. While I walked pass the cozy fireplace I noticed a book under a picture of Gabrielle. The title was Zanzabar and Aberdeen the Secrets of the Dropping Willow.
When I choose that book to read next, Mr. Linden told me that he was forewarning that something would happen to me in this sort of eerie little voice. Telling me this only made me want to read it more. It was like giving a dog a bone but not allowing the dog to eat it. That night was the coldest night of the year. I told my mother and father goodnight and I hopped into my bed. I turned on the lamp that was placed on my night stand.
The lamp gave off a golden glow as if the lamp was a star in the sky. Before I began to read, I made sure that I was a comfortable in my bed and all snuggled in my blanket. As I stared at the book the title made me curious. I could not wait any longer, but I had Mr. Lindens eerie little voice warning me about this book in the back of my head. As I read the book the book came to life.
The Essay on Three Kinds of Books to Read
I’m an avid reader and I have found the most interesting books fall within three categories. The categories are fiction, nonfiction, and poetry. I have read books in all of these categories and although I’m not an expert, I will explain the differences of these categories. Nonfiction is probably my favorite category, because while reading these books the reader is reliving something ...
The book took place on my street and what happened to be very similar to Mr. Lindens home. The dropping willow in the book had a secret door that lead to a different time zone- a different place on Earth like no other. The sky was green the trees were pink and there was a beautiful stone fountain with a statue of a kid and an old man. The fountain was a fountain of youth. I became part of the book, I became Zanzabar. I feel asleep well reading but the story played on in my dreams.
The next day I continued to read until I finished. I went straight to Mr. Lindens. When he opened the door, he smiled and all I could do was smile back. I told Mr. Linden that the book was amazing and that I could not stop reading.
The book became a part of me. Mr. Lindens face lit up like a Christmas tree and bright as the sun. He asked me if I noticed who the author was. I said, no, but I quickly grabbed the book to check. I could not believe my eyes, clear as day the authors- not author- was Luis Linden and Gabrielle Linden.
Mr. Linden said that I was the only other person that has ever read this book. As a tradition he and Gabrielle wrote at least one page every Friday night right before bedtime. He told me that this book was his favorite. Then out of the blue he asked me if I would like to start a new book with him. I knew from that moment on that we would have a very special friendship..
