A feast was held during Mrs. Seacord's class for their Beowulf project. Here are some interesting pictures.
Monday, November 30, 2009
When Literature Comes Alive Pictures
A feast was held during Mrs. Seacord's class for their Beowulf project. Here are some interesting pictures.
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Nick Wigger's Memorable Middle School Memory
It was the 8th grade and I was in a lot of pain. I am an avid snowboarder and with it comes injuries. In the 8th grade I got the worst injury I have ever had.
It was nighttime at Nubs Nob ski resort and my friends and I were in the terrain park. I am a pretty good snowboarder but that night I felt a little off my game.
I had fallen hard a couple times that night, but nothing bad enough to stop me. Then, the moment came. I was doing a spine transfer when it happened. Right before the lip of the jump I caught my edge. I knew right away it was going to end badly.
I flew through the air and landed square on my butt. Instant pain ran through me. I laid on the hill for at least a half an hour. When I finally got up I could barely walk. I sat in the main lodge for another hour waiting for my mom.
As soon as my mom picked me up I told her what happened. Shortly after getting home I decided that I had to go to the hospital. The worse decision of my life!
After getting into the E.R., I was taken back to a room. The doctor proceeded to talk while he was getting ready. At the last moment he told me what was about to happen. That was the first time I experienced a rectal exam, and the only time.
When I tell you this it is not a joke and it is not funny. I literally cried and was in ten times as much pain. Supposedly he was making sure my tail bone was still in one piece. And what really made me mad was I got X-Rays right after all of that.
I was given some pain killers for the night and that was it. I had to go to school with my fractured tail bone and I could barley walk without it hurting, let alone sit down for long periods of time. I carried a pillow with me for two weeks, but my tail bone hurt for at least a half a year.
I remember that because it was the worst injury and one of the worst pains I have felt.
It was nighttime at Nubs Nob ski resort and my friends and I were in the terrain park. I am a pretty good snowboarder but that night I felt a little off my game.
I had fallen hard a couple times that night, but nothing bad enough to stop me. Then, the moment came. I was doing a spine transfer when it happened. Right before the lip of the jump I caught my edge. I knew right away it was going to end badly.
I flew through the air and landed square on my butt. Instant pain ran through me. I laid on the hill for at least a half an hour. When I finally got up I could barely walk. I sat in the main lodge for another hour waiting for my mom.
As soon as my mom picked me up I told her what happened. Shortly after getting home I decided that I had to go to the hospital. The worse decision of my life!
After getting into the E.R., I was taken back to a room. The doctor proceeded to talk while he was getting ready. At the last moment he told me what was about to happen. That was the first time I experienced a rectal exam, and the only time.
When I tell you this it is not a joke and it is not funny. I literally cried and was in ten times as much pain. Supposedly he was making sure my tail bone was still in one piece. And what really made me mad was I got X-Rays right after all of that.
I was given some pain killers for the night and that was it. I had to go to school with my fractured tail bone and I could barley walk without it hurting, let alone sit down for long periods of time. I carried a pillow with me for two weeks, but my tail bone hurt for at least a half a year.
I remember that because it was the worst injury and one of the worst pains I have felt.
Friday, October 9, 2009
Kylah's Middle School Memory
I had never played a musical instrument before. I had never read notes before. I didn’t know the first thing about being in a band.
Yet there I was, standing in the band room. The hot lights beat down on my forehead, but not nearly as hard as the director, Jeff Bennett’s questionable glare.
Well of course he was questionable. I hadn’t started band in fifth grade with all of my classmates. I decided to start a year later, which led me to spending my summer with Bennett.
At the end of the school year, I was told to choose an instrument. I had a strange draw to the saxophone, and chose it immediately.
I opened the case and stared at the instrument. The gold and silvers glimmered in the light. To me, it seemed as though it was severed in three pieces. I sat there, trying to figure out how to put it together. The phone rang. It was the director.
Bennett had wanted to meet with me, so I closed the case, and head off to the middle school.
Bennett was known as an insanely crazy director. I’d heard stories about him snapping metal batons and throwing trumpets across the room more than once. He was amazing at his job, but intimidating and demanding at the same time.
I knew that the second I stepped foot into that band room, there would be no turning back from this musical journey. It felt as though I was walking to my death.
I entered. Bennett was sitting at his desk, drinking a Diet Coke. He had been waiting.
“You must be Kylah,” he said. “I’m Jeff Bennett. Let’s get started.”
He watched me struggle to put my instrument together for 30 painful seconds until he snatched it from my hands and did it himself.
The instrument, now assembled properly, was placed back in my hands. He told me to blow.
I blew. No sound was heard. I blew again. Still, nothing but air came from the saxophone. The third time I blew as hard as I possibly could, which came out as a quiet squeak.
“Better,” said Bennett, “but you have a lot of work to do to catch up with the rest of the band.”
Every week I would walk to the middle school band room, and an hour later I would walk back with a little more knowledge on my newly found instrument. I learned new notes, musical terms, and how to get the right noise out of the saxophone.
Even as I improved, the fear and panic of Bennett never lessened. As I got better, his expectations increased. Every time I entered the band room I took a deep breath, and prepared for what would follow.
As the days went on, the first day of school approached. That suspenseful day was of little importance for my friends and classmates, but for me, it was like a test.
It was the day I would find out how much I really had learned over the summer. I would find out how far I had to go until I reached the standard. That same high standard of excellence that sat next to Bennett’s awards on the top shelf.
I arrived at the band room, and it begun.
We had to test for our chairs. First chair was the best, that same standard of excellence. As the number of the chair increased, the playing ability decreased. It was time to play.
The flutes went first. One by one, he weeded them out until there was one at the top, and the rest followed. The clarinets were next. Then the trumpets. And then, the saxophones. I played last in our section.
“Johnston, first chair.” I couldn’t believe those words had come out of my director’s mouth. Yet they had.
Two months before, I had never played an instrument. I had never read notes, and I hadn’t known the first thing about being in a band. Now, I did
Yet there I was, standing in the band room. The hot lights beat down on my forehead, but not nearly as hard as the director, Jeff Bennett’s questionable glare.
Well of course he was questionable. I hadn’t started band in fifth grade with all of my classmates. I decided to start a year later, which led me to spending my summer with Bennett.
At the end of the school year, I was told to choose an instrument. I had a strange draw to the saxophone, and chose it immediately.
I opened the case and stared at the instrument. The gold and silvers glimmered in the light. To me, it seemed as though it was severed in three pieces. I sat there, trying to figure out how to put it together. The phone rang. It was the director.
Bennett had wanted to meet with me, so I closed the case, and head off to the middle school.
Bennett was known as an insanely crazy director. I’d heard stories about him snapping metal batons and throwing trumpets across the room more than once. He was amazing at his job, but intimidating and demanding at the same time.
I knew that the second I stepped foot into that band room, there would be no turning back from this musical journey. It felt as though I was walking to my death.
I entered. Bennett was sitting at his desk, drinking a Diet Coke. He had been waiting.
“You must be Kylah,” he said. “I’m Jeff Bennett. Let’s get started.”
He watched me struggle to put my instrument together for 30 painful seconds until he snatched it from my hands and did it himself.
The instrument, now assembled properly, was placed back in my hands. He told me to blow.
I blew. No sound was heard. I blew again. Still, nothing but air came from the saxophone. The third time I blew as hard as I possibly could, which came out as a quiet squeak.
“Better,” said Bennett, “but you have a lot of work to do to catch up with the rest of the band.”
Every week I would walk to the middle school band room, and an hour later I would walk back with a little more knowledge on my newly found instrument. I learned new notes, musical terms, and how to get the right noise out of the saxophone.
Even as I improved, the fear and panic of Bennett never lessened. As I got better, his expectations increased. Every time I entered the band room I took a deep breath, and prepared for what would follow.
As the days went on, the first day of school approached. That suspenseful day was of little importance for my friends and classmates, but for me, it was like a test.
It was the day I would find out how much I really had learned over the summer. I would find out how far I had to go until I reached the standard. That same high standard of excellence that sat next to Bennett’s awards on the top shelf.
I arrived at the band room, and it begun.
We had to test for our chairs. First chair was the best, that same standard of excellence. As the number of the chair increased, the playing ability decreased. It was time to play.
The flutes went first. One by one, he weeded them out until there was one at the top, and the rest followed. The clarinets were next. Then the trumpets. And then, the saxophones. I played last in our section.
“Johnston, first chair.” I couldn’t believe those words had come out of my director’s mouth. Yet they had.
Two months before, I had never played an instrument. I had never read notes, and I hadn’t known the first thing about being in a band. Now, I did
The Windy City by Shelby Flemming
The day had come. My bags were packed, and I was in the car waiting to leave. It was the summer of my eighth grade year and I was off to the windy city, otherwise known as Chicago. Little did I know, I would take a lot more out of these 5 weeks than I had imagined.
Throughout my childhood, I always focused on something, giving it my all until I was burnt-out from it. I was an avid gymnast, figure skater and then dancer. I had only started dance a year before, but my pure devotion to the art helped me catch up quickly. When I had auditioned for Ballet Chicago, I was the only dancer without pointe shoes. I had not been dancing long enough for my muscles to handle all of the weight that would be put on my ankles when standing on my tippy-toes, but my amount of experience did not stop me from giving It my all at this audition.
I was in high spirits the day I checked the mail to find that trusty envelope. I had been accepted! I was put on pointe shoes only weeks before I left for this summer intensive, but I knew my persistence would guide me through, and it did.
My strong focus on various activities such as this had given me a narrow mind. Thinking beyond my next class or performance did not happen often, but this all changed when I left my home that day.
The dorms I stayed in were smack dab in the middle of Chicago, a block away from Michigan Avenue. Other than a resident advisor living on my floor, I was alone in this big city. Dance class was everyday from nine to six, so we did not have much free time. Going from the small, guarded town of Harbor Springs to Chicago was a bit of a wake up call.
Homeless men and women would follow me down the street to class begging me for money. Garbage littered the concrete jungle. Nights were always alive, and not a star could be seen at with all of the light pollution. This was a sight that I had never seen before, and it hit me. The world is not all about me. My world is not all about dance, figure skating, or whatever sport I am involved in at the time. My world is about everything and everyone around me and what I do indirectly effects it all as a whole. That is, if I want it to. Before these five weeks, I was completely dependant on my parents, but I would never be again.
A week was the longest time I had ever been away from my family. I had not had to make new friends since second grade. I had also never had to devote myself and almost all of my time to one thing this way, dancing almost everyday of the week all day long. This entire experience made me realize how insignificant these things were to me. I did not want to spend 9 hours a day working my butt off. If I would have kept it up, I would not be able to walk by the age of thirty. I simply was not devoted enough to keep up with dance.
The city made me realize more about myself than anything before. My possibilities felt endless, and being stuck in that studio all day killed me. I wanted to get out. I wanted to experience the sights, sounds and smells, no matter how polluted the air was. I wanted to see different people, to hear their stories, and most of all, I wanted more. I realized that the world is all around me. The world is at my fingertips. That is, if I want it to be. There are so many other sights and sounds to experience, so many other cultures to see.
Since these five weeks, I realized more than the fact that dance was not for me. I was humbled and inspired. I was ecstatic and homesick. I was ready to look forward to things other than myself, things bigger than a dance performance or skating competition. I was ready for the world, and I knew it was ready for me.
Throughout my childhood, I always focused on something, giving it my all until I was burnt-out from it. I was an avid gymnast, figure skater and then dancer. I had only started dance a year before, but my pure devotion to the art helped me catch up quickly. When I had auditioned for Ballet Chicago, I was the only dancer without pointe shoes. I had not been dancing long enough for my muscles to handle all of the weight that would be put on my ankles when standing on my tippy-toes, but my amount of experience did not stop me from giving It my all at this audition.
I was in high spirits the day I checked the mail to find that trusty envelope. I had been accepted! I was put on pointe shoes only weeks before I left for this summer intensive, but I knew my persistence would guide me through, and it did.
My strong focus on various activities such as this had given me a narrow mind. Thinking beyond my next class or performance did not happen often, but this all changed when I left my home that day.
The dorms I stayed in were smack dab in the middle of Chicago, a block away from Michigan Avenue. Other than a resident advisor living on my floor, I was alone in this big city. Dance class was everyday from nine to six, so we did not have much free time. Going from the small, guarded town of Harbor Springs to Chicago was a bit of a wake up call.
Homeless men and women would follow me down the street to class begging me for money. Garbage littered the concrete jungle. Nights were always alive, and not a star could be seen at with all of the light pollution. This was a sight that I had never seen before, and it hit me. The world is not all about me. My world is not all about dance, figure skating, or whatever sport I am involved in at the time. My world is about everything and everyone around me and what I do indirectly effects it all as a whole. That is, if I want it to. Before these five weeks, I was completely dependant on my parents, but I would never be again.
A week was the longest time I had ever been away from my family. I had not had to make new friends since second grade. I had also never had to devote myself and almost all of my time to one thing this way, dancing almost everyday of the week all day long. This entire experience made me realize how insignificant these things were to me. I did not want to spend 9 hours a day working my butt off. If I would have kept it up, I would not be able to walk by the age of thirty. I simply was not devoted enough to keep up with dance.
The city made me realize more about myself than anything before. My possibilities felt endless, and being stuck in that studio all day killed me. I wanted to get out. I wanted to experience the sights, sounds and smells, no matter how polluted the air was. I wanted to see different people, to hear their stories, and most of all, I wanted more. I realized that the world is all around me. The world is at my fingertips. That is, if I want it to be. There are so many other sights and sounds to experience, so many other cultures to see.
Since these five weeks, I realized more than the fact that dance was not for me. I was humbled and inspired. I was ecstatic and homesick. I was ready to look forward to things other than myself, things bigger than a dance performance or skating competition. I was ready for the world, and I knew it was ready for me.
Alex Fisher's Middle School Memory
6th grade. The time of my life. It was almost summer. My plan was to hang out with all my friends from Concord, “my old school”. Then my mother told he I was going to Harbor Schools the next year. I was torn inside all my friends that I ever made were at Concord and I was going to leave.
Harbor Springs Schools? Most people think it’s a preppy school. Well it is. It was 7th grade and everyone looked at me if I were a social outcast. All the jocks were pricks and were just asking for it. I remember the multiple times I ate lunch all by myself, all the times the teacher asked if I was in class and no one even knew who I was. They say, “silence is Golden”, well it is, but gold rusts.
It wasn’t until 8th grade that I made friends at this new hellhole. Even then, I only hung out with them at school. I remember going back to Concord to hang out with my old friends. I remember telling them that Harbor is the worst school. Everyone is preppy and if you don’t fit in then you wont survive. They all wanted me to come back. I wanted to go back.
I used to nag to my mom for hours upon hours. It never worked. I had to suffer this Harbor Springs life.
I remember in 7th grade not going on a field trip. I hung out with the 8th graders. They were the first kids that were nice to me. But it was only for two days, and then things went back to normal. I remember in eighth grade not going on the class trip. I had to stay in the office all day “ to not get any unexcused absences”. The long quiet days of homework I had to do, the nagging voice of the office lady talking to parents, it made me want to cut my ears off just so they wouldn’t hurt anymore.
It was the big summer. My last summer of being a kid. My last summer with no worries. My last summer before high school.
I still didn’t have any good friends in Harbor, so I spent all my time in Petoskey. My old friends are still as chill as they ever were. I used to skateboard and just run around. I thought the fun would never end. Then came high school.
Harbor Springs Schools? Most people think it’s a preppy school. Well it is. It was 7th grade and everyone looked at me if I were a social outcast. All the jocks were pricks and were just asking for it. I remember the multiple times I ate lunch all by myself, all the times the teacher asked if I was in class and no one even knew who I was. They say, “silence is Golden”, well it is, but gold rusts.
It wasn’t until 8th grade that I made friends at this new hellhole. Even then, I only hung out with them at school. I remember going back to Concord to hang out with my old friends. I remember telling them that Harbor is the worst school. Everyone is preppy and if you don’t fit in then you wont survive. They all wanted me to come back. I wanted to go back.
I used to nag to my mom for hours upon hours. It never worked. I had to suffer this Harbor Springs life.
I remember in 7th grade not going on a field trip. I hung out with the 8th graders. They were the first kids that were nice to me. But it was only for two days, and then things went back to normal. I remember in eighth grade not going on the class trip. I had to stay in the office all day “ to not get any unexcused absences”. The long quiet days of homework I had to do, the nagging voice of the office lady talking to parents, it made me want to cut my ears off just so they wouldn’t hurt anymore.
It was the big summer. My last summer of being a kid. My last summer with no worries. My last summer before high school.
I still didn’t have any good friends in Harbor, so I spent all my time in Petoskey. My old friends are still as chill as they ever were. I used to skateboard and just run around. I thought the fun would never end. Then came high school.
Annie's Middle School Memory
I was lucky enough to find a soul mate in the early years of my life.
In middle school, I met a strange girl by the name of Jayde. We got along like two peas in a pod. We were attached at the hip. We were anything that best friends could be and more. We were two halves that had met to make a whole; to make each other better; to learn and grow from one another. Unfortunately our friendship has ended, and I have been left with a whole in my spirit. What counts is the time when we were friends, when we were the happiest.
We were friends when we slept in a tent in my backyard. We would stay up all night playing Mad-Lib. We could go through more than five books. The tent was full of pillows, stuffed animals, and blankets. Our rooms had basically been re-located into that tent. If one left to use the restroom, you would have to know the secret password to get back in. We wrote in each other’s diaries and talked about boys.
We were friends when her family brought me on their yearly boat trip. It was three days out on the water. We swam for hours and played in the sand dunes. Her parents met up with their friends. They drank and we made fun of their intoxicated antics.
At night, we would swim and her father would pretend he saw something in the water. The long seaweed nipped at our feet and scared us back into the boat. After anchoring for the night, the radio was left on and we fell asleep to “California” by The Red Hot Chili Peppers.
The morning after we saw turtles. One kept reappearing by us. We knew this because he had a peculiar red spot on his shell. We called him Grandpa Turtle.
Whenever the boat was going really fast, Jayde and I would sit underneath on the master bed. This was for the maximum enjoyment of the jumps the boat would hit on the waves. Sometimes we would lift off the bed by 2 feet.
We were still friends when we played video games all day long. The game was called Silent Hill 3. It was a scary video game, with monsters, and I was too afraid. Whenever a monster came along, I would make Jayde fight it before playing again.
After finishing a game, we wanted to rent the next one, Silent Hill 4. Unfortunately, Jayde’s father had left for errands, leaving us without a ride. We decided to walk to Family Video. It took us a full hour to walk in 3 feet of snow in the middle of winter. We were marshmallows walking on the sidewalk with all the layers we put on.
We were friends when Jayde, her brother and I, rode our bikes all the way to her mom’s work. It was forty-five minutes through Petoskey. We stopped at the Grain Train to get vegan brownies. Neither of us were vegan, they just tasted really good.
We got lost about three times. Taking the back roads wasn’t the smartest of ideas. Eventually we figured out where we were and continued on past Wal-mart.
When we finally arrived, we waited for her mom to get off work by sitting underneath the desks in the reception office. She sat under the desk across from me, and we made faces at each other for fifteen minutes.
When her mom was done, we had to find a way to get all three bikes into the back of the suburban. When we got home, we had to find a way to get all three bikes out of the suburban.
We weren’t friends after the second year of high school. We had grown apart as we aged and no longer got along. To this day I still miss her and there are so many things I want to ask her.
Since my friendship with Jayde I have not been closer with anyone else. I have made other friends but to be honest, I have not laughed harder or been happier than the moments I shared with her. I hope I can find someone like her again, and be able to have a friendship that was just as amazing. Maybe there will be another soul mate for me, somewhere out there.
In middle school, I met a strange girl by the name of Jayde. We got along like two peas in a pod. We were attached at the hip. We were anything that best friends could be and more. We were two halves that had met to make a whole; to make each other better; to learn and grow from one another. Unfortunately our friendship has ended, and I have been left with a whole in my spirit. What counts is the time when we were friends, when we were the happiest.
We were friends when we slept in a tent in my backyard. We would stay up all night playing Mad-Lib. We could go through more than five books. The tent was full of pillows, stuffed animals, and blankets. Our rooms had basically been re-located into that tent. If one left to use the restroom, you would have to know the secret password to get back in. We wrote in each other’s diaries and talked about boys.
We were friends when her family brought me on their yearly boat trip. It was three days out on the water. We swam for hours and played in the sand dunes. Her parents met up with their friends. They drank and we made fun of their intoxicated antics.
At night, we would swim and her father would pretend he saw something in the water. The long seaweed nipped at our feet and scared us back into the boat. After anchoring for the night, the radio was left on and we fell asleep to “California” by The Red Hot Chili Peppers.
The morning after we saw turtles. One kept reappearing by us. We knew this because he had a peculiar red spot on his shell. We called him Grandpa Turtle.
Whenever the boat was going really fast, Jayde and I would sit underneath on the master bed. This was for the maximum enjoyment of the jumps the boat would hit on the waves. Sometimes we would lift off the bed by 2 feet.
We were still friends when we played video games all day long. The game was called Silent Hill 3. It was a scary video game, with monsters, and I was too afraid. Whenever a monster came along, I would make Jayde fight it before playing again.
After finishing a game, we wanted to rent the next one, Silent Hill 4. Unfortunately, Jayde’s father had left for errands, leaving us without a ride. We decided to walk to Family Video. It took us a full hour to walk in 3 feet of snow in the middle of winter. We were marshmallows walking on the sidewalk with all the layers we put on.
We were friends when Jayde, her brother and I, rode our bikes all the way to her mom’s work. It was forty-five minutes through Petoskey. We stopped at the Grain Train to get vegan brownies. Neither of us were vegan, they just tasted really good.
We got lost about three times. Taking the back roads wasn’t the smartest of ideas. Eventually we figured out where we were and continued on past Wal-mart.
When we finally arrived, we waited for her mom to get off work by sitting underneath the desks in the reception office. She sat under the desk across from me, and we made faces at each other for fifteen minutes.
When her mom was done, we had to find a way to get all three bikes into the back of the suburban. When we got home, we had to find a way to get all three bikes out of the suburban.
We weren’t friends after the second year of high school. We had grown apart as we aged and no longer got along. To this day I still miss her and there are so many things I want to ask her.
Since my friendship with Jayde I have not been closer with anyone else. I have made other friends but to be honest, I have not laughed harder or been happier than the moments I shared with her. I hope I can find someone like her again, and be able to have a friendship that was just as amazing. Maybe there will be another soul mate for me, somewhere out there.
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)