Why all the rules?

I will never cease being surprised by the stories in our literature book. Every time I start I can't help but think of them as required reading but soon I'm rereading them not for clarity but in amazement.

This week my "amazing" story was Girl by Jamaica Kincaid. I was confused at first, not exactly sure what was going on but I soon saw the sarcasm in her words, which said, "Why all the rules?" This story was placed very nicely in our Beford texts, considering we are a bunch of rebellious, authority hating teenagers. Some of the rules enforced on us don't even have a real reason for them, just "because I told you so!" The no-hat rule? Shaving a 5-o-clock shadow? Both of these incidents can be taking to an extreme by students, but we were never given the chance to prove that we wouldn't. So why all the rules?

I also, relate to this story because she's a girl. I feel, even with the changing of times, we are all being groomed to get our "Mrs." title. Our MRS degree. We learn how to take care of our man and our homes. Like the girl in Girl it can feel kind of overwhelming. I don't think it's as bad as it used to be, mainly just a small joke and a silent truth which we all try to ignore.

TiTAnIc

"Who does not love the Titanic?
If they sold passage tomorrow for that same crossing,
who would not buy?

To go down...We all go down, mostly
alone. But with crowds of people, friends, servants,
well fed, with music, with lights! Ah!

And the world, shocked, mourns, as it ought to do
and almost never does. There will be the books and movies
to remind our grandchildren who we were
and how we died, and give them a good cry.

Not so bad, after all. The cold
water is anesthetic and very quick.
The cries on all sides must be a comfort.

We all go: only a few, first-class."

I've never heard of the Titanic deaths as "not so bad" but the guy does have a point in a way. We all die so why not die in style? I can't imagine it being "a comfort" but its got to better than some ways of dying. Now all those people are remembered and how often does the average Joe get that much recognition for their deaths?

To me, its saddest that we worry about dying alone. Our fears can be so great that we fill our houses with pets and live on hope that someone will find us soon after we die so that our pets wont eat us. What kind of society do we live in that we are so close together but so far apart? Used to, grandparents would automatically live with family after they got to be older. Now, they get shoved into nursing homes where they don't know anybody and strangers are getting more personal then family.

David, the poet, calls the Titanic victims "first-class". That would be like the millionaires to have a dying party. "By invitation only!"

Tree Climbing...Blog Post #3

I live surrounded by woods on three sides of my house. When I was a kid, 3rd grade and up, my playground was those woods. I don't think my parents agreed but I couldn't be stopped. I would sneak out of my house in the middle of the day and imagine I was a soldier on a secret mission(yes, I'm a girl) or just read in a tree. One day I stopped hiding out in the woods. I guess I realized it was childish or just stopped enjoying getting dirty like a boy.

Years later, my sister and I were exploring in these same woods. I was taking her to all the places I used to hide out and play. I was telling her how it looked years before and how used to, "I could race through these woods sooo fast!" She was giving me the, "Okay, little sister" look so I stopped and we went exploring further and further into the woods. There was a spot were the rocks were so numerous and placed just right, to look like a graveyard. Then there was a very interesting looking tree which just happened to be perfect for tree climbing.

Leah and I climbed up this tree, laughing and struggling until we finally made it to the perfect sitting position. We sat there for a few minutes just chillaxing and listening to the complete silence and utter loudness of the woods. I jumped out of the tree first, being the younger and more impatient one. I looked back and Leah looked scared. "What's wrong?" I asked because she wasn't getting down but she wasn't talking either. "I'm scared, I don't think I can jump, Sara!" "Leah, It's okay! Look, it's only like four feet. Just grab my hand and jump. You'll be okay." She looked at me. She looked at the ground. She started crying. She grabbed my hand and then she jumped. 

She was still holding on to me as we both stood on the ground. Standing a foot or two higher than me but looking at me with a look so different from the "Okay, little sister" look from before. Then we both started laughing. "Wow, that really was only 4 feet. What was I thinking? Thanks..." "Haha, it's okay." 

We walked back to our house laughing and talking. I couldn't help but wonder if there would ever be a time when I wasn't viewed as the little sister, ever. It was a stupid wish, but I wanted to be older, more mature and on the same level as my sister who is three years older than me. I honestly can't say my wish has changed much over the years. Leah is a lot to look up to.   

Anything: Blog Post # 2

I really liked "The Story of an Hour" because of how many different interpretations there could have been about Louise's, the main character, death and strange feelings.

On one hand, she could have been a very uncaring character who was selfish enough to praise her husbands death so she could be "free".

Or she could have been having a really rough marriage and knew there was no way out so she was content until she realized she didn't have to be content anymore becuase her husband was dead and she was now free.

Or....

As our class discussion on the short story shows, there are so many different ways to interpretate what happened to Louise. We all got a chance to have our own opinions about the story because there was no "right" answer. We all got to decide what really happened.

I love stories like that.