WeeklyReader READ & WRITE BLOG http://www.weeklyreader.com/readandwriting/ weeklyreader publishing Fri, 19 Mar 2010 18:38:11 GMT newtelligence dasBlog 1.7.5016.2 read@weeklyreader.com read@weeklyreader.com http://www.weeklyreader.com/readandwriting/Trackback,guid,e7a31942-d084-424a-ab17-8926436cbb4b.aspx http://www.weeklyreader.com/readandwriting/pingback.aspx http://www.weeklyreader.com/readandwriting/PermaLink,guid,e7a31942-d084-424a-ab17-8926436cbb4b.aspx http://www.weeklyreader.com/readandwriting/CommentView,guid,e7a31942-d084-424a-ab17-8926436cbb4b.aspx http://www.weeklyreader.com/readandwriting/SyndicationService.asmx/GetEntryCommentsRss?guid=e7a31942-d084-424a-ab17-8926436cbb4b 0 Thanks to all the amateur sleuths who figured out what was happening with this photo. Here's just a small sample of answers to this mystery. Great job!



Sharkville
By Brandon Hemesath Hinckley

It was a bright and sunny day in Sharkville. The town was right by the ocean and the waves were acting really peculiar that day. The waves were getting really high and the town had a tsunami warning to go to higher grounds before it was too late.

Someone started to rob an empty apartment but there was nothing to be stolen there. He got in there fine but there was no one was there.  He started to look for people to rob on the street and couldn’t find anybody. He tried to go back into the apartment again but then again he found no one because of the tsunami warning.

No one knew that someone would still be in Shark Ville. The waves started to get bigger and the waves catapulted big fish and sharks into the town. Fish started to fly everywhere and broke windows and dented cars. While the robber was still trying to find things to steal, a gigantic shark came through the room and scared the living day lights out of the robber. Two clueless ladies that didn’t know about the tsunami warning were walking and saw nothing. How can you miss flying fish and a gigantic shark crashing through the roof of an apartment? Well let’s just say on this fateful day that a shark scared a robber off by falling through the roof.

SHARK ATTACK!
By Holly Easter

So I was minding my own business watching my neighbors fight about what movie to watch. Sue wanted to see Fredzilla while Fin wanted to see Jaws 10. Well, Sue finally got Fin to watch Fredzilla so the fight was over. Then I got bored of watching them watching Fredzilla.

I was heading back to my house when I heard a loud crashing noise. I looked back and Isaw a giant shark coming out of the roof of my neighbors. I feared for my life because I’m too old to die! The only way to protect myself is to call C.S.I New York. But too bad we are in Ohio. I supposed I'd have to get to the bottom of this by myself! I went to ask the neighbors what happened. Then I’ll try to talk to the shark if he doesn’t eat me.

“So Fin please tell me what happened?” I asked.

“Well I was watching Fredzilla when the shark few came through the roof, yelling ‘Don’t hate me cause you ain't me!’And then the shark was snapping his giant teeth at Sue!”

“Thank you, Fin that’s all I needed to know.”I said.

“So Sue can you please tell me what happened?”I asked.

“Yeah, the shark came through the roof. Duhhh!” said Sue.

“Yeah, I kind of saw that,” I said sharply.

Then I walkred toward the shark.

“Umm Mister Shark can you tell me what happened?”

“That mean lady didn’t want to watch my movie Jaws 10!”

High-priced Hijinks
By Elle Yankovich

Ms. Jones wished to buy a townhouse in the middle of town, but the price was barely within reach. Being completely desperate, she hired two boys, Ryan and Phillip. They were high-schoolers by day, but ninjas by night. Since they lived so close to the ocean, Ryan and Phillip came up with a devious plan to help Ms. Jones afford the apartment. They snuck out in the middle of the night, seized a giant shark with their ninja skills, and tossed it onto the neighboring roof of the townhouse Ms. Jones was vying for, creating a giant, unattractive crater.

The Marshall's lived in the townhouse right beside the one Ms. Jones desperately wanted to purchase. They were absolutely devastated at the damage done to their property, and had no idea what could have caused such a thing. Because the boys were ninjas and Ms. Jones was excellent at keeping her mouth shut, the police never found a lead on the case. Ms. Jones received a discount on the townhouse and was able to move in the same week. The Marshall's, however, left the hideous townhouse and headed north to Canada.


Shark Attack
By Ryan Poplawski

The year is 3233 and there is now a country under water that is bigger in size then us, like three times bigger. From what I hear, they don’t like us very much. So they’ve threatened an attack against us. Even though they are bigger, they don’t have the technology like we do.

We were expecting the attack earlier in the day and then there was nothing, so we all went about our buisness. Then all of a sudden a big shark shot out of the water. It flew through the air doing 360s, flipping, then started heading full speed for an apartment. After awhile, it went right through the roof of the apartment but didn't harm anyone. But I was the only one who noticed ...


Secrets Unveiled
By Carolyn Perdue
       Saturday’s are the best for me. It’s the day when I get to relax, read the newspaper, and look for something interesting to happen. That’s really all I wait for, hours and hours to watch the news and look at newspapers and magazines for any mysteries to be solved in Cooper City. But today wasn’t any typical Saturday. I actually found a mystery to be solved. It was the 3 o' clock news that gave me  all the information I needed. The reporter was explained that this morning they found a 7-foot shark that fell from the sky, landing on Vicky’s bakery. This was only a few blocks away from my house. I thought to myself How in the world did a shark magically appeared from the sky, I thought. I smiled, finally a mystery to be solved.

I rushed to get my coat on and get out the door. I went to see Vicky, the bakery owner. She had teary eyes and  didn’t really look like she wanted to talk, but I was going to help her anyways.

“Excuse me Vicky can you please tell me what happened when the shark came through the ceiling?”

She thoughtfor a moment and then replied, “Huh, all I remember was that the shark almost killed me! There was a humongous ruckus that scared me half to death. And then I remember a private jet passing through the sky.”

I mumbled “Do you happen to know what color or a number that was on the jet?”

She answered, “Well I only caught a glimpse of the jet. It had a red stripe on one side of the jet and it was heading south.”

That's all I need, so I said, “Thank you so much, you really helped me out!”

“Anytime Jennie,” she said with a smile.

Well I certainly don’t know anyone with a jet.  I had to go back home it was getting chilly outside and I needed some time to think to myself. Once I arrived, I went to lie down on my hammock. I was enjoying watching the clear blue sky and finding shapes of clouds. After a while, I started to drift away in my sleep.

My eyes were almost closed but opened quickly when I saw a private jet with a red stripe pass by. I frantically got up and saw five numbers reading 62947. I ran to my bike and started peddling as fast as a cheetah running for its prey. The jet was going north this time and when I finally gave up I wrote down everything in my notebook that I just seen. Now it’s time to ask if anyone knows anything about this jet.

If anything the person who owns the jet is likely to be rich, so I asked questions in rich communities. Hours and hours of going  door to door  felt like torture. I was this close to giving up until I found a man going into his house. I stopped him quickly and asked him about the jet.

“I have no time for your nonsense little girl, go play with a friend or something.”

I got a bit angry “This so called little girl has a name, Jennie. And why won't you answer my question?”

The man then yelled, “Get off of my property or I’m calling the cops!” Gosh this guy seemed he was guilty of a crime.

 “Well then, I’m leaving. No need to overreact!” For some odd reason, he seemed the one to blame.

I got a good-night sleep that night and the next day I was off to the police station. I told them everything about Vicky, the jet, and when that strange man yelled at me. They seemed pretty curious so they said they would check it out. Luckily, I copied the man's address into my notebook. With nothing more to do,  I went back home plopped on the couch, and turned on my favorite channel: the news. That same night the strange man was arrested. Apparently, investigators went inside his private jet and found all the proof they needed.

The strange man said he and his friend were taking the shark to Miami Beach due to the fact that the shark was getting sick from cold weather. They got into a fight about what they were doing because it was illegal. So the man opened the jet and pushed the shark tank out the door.

This was another case closed by Jennie Tompkins. The man and his friend man will be serving five years in jail.

Shark Attack
By Michaela Pezza

    It was 5:00 on a Saturday morning and not a soul was in sight, save two moving figures quietly sneaking in and out of the parallel-parked cars along Main Street. I watched them inquisitively as they slipped past my complex. Another figure appeared, cloaked and hooded, and, if I wasn’t mistaken, with a bump protruding from his left hip.

The three men moved with haste towards the corner of the nearest intersection. After five minutes, nothing had happened, so I turned around to go back to bed. Then above me I heard a BANG! A bloodcurdling scream echoed throughout the building. I darted back to the window, only to find an empty street. I ran upstairs.

I followed the sound of the screaming as it grew louder and louder until I was standing in front of room number 615: my friend Bart’s room. Silence. I turned the knob and entered. There before me was Bart, wide-eyed and shocked and face-to-face with the biggest plastic shark I’ve ever seen. I did a double take, and finally realized it was the symbol of the town’s theme park, Ocean Crest. How did this happen? Someone must have cut the pole holding the shark down, like that man with the something hidden beneath his coat, or the two companions in crime. The next morning I woke up and headed to the kitchen. I stopped dead in my tracks, for there before me on my counter lay a shiny ax.





When Sharks Attack http://www.weeklyreader.com/readandwriting/PermaLink,guid,e7a31942-d084-424a-ab17-8926436cbb4b.aspx http://www.weeklyreader.com/readandwriting/When+Sharks+Attack.aspx Fri, 19 Mar 2010 18:38:11 GMT <font face="Arial"><b>Thanks to all the amateur sleuths who figured out what was happening with this photo. Here's just a small sample of answers to this mystery. Great job! <img src="http://www.weeklyreader.com/readandwriting/content/binary/shark.png" border="0"> <br> <br> <br> <br> Sharkville<br> By Brandon Hemesath Hinckley<br> <br> </b>It was a bright and sunny day in Sharkville. The town was right by the ocean and the waves were acting really peculiar that day. The waves were getting really high and the town had a tsunami warning to go to higher grounds before it was too late. <br> <br> Someone started to rob an empty apartment but there was nothing to be stolen there. He got in there fine but there was no one was there.&nbsp; He started to look for people to rob on the street and couldn’t find anybody. He tried to go back into the apartment again but then again he found no one because of the tsunami warning. <br> <br> No one knew that someone would still be in Shark Ville. The waves started to get bigger and the waves catapulted big fish and sharks into the town. Fish started to fly everywhere and broke windows and dented cars. While the robber was still trying to find things to steal, a gigantic shark came through the room and scared the living day lights out of the robber. Two clueless ladies that didn’t know about the tsunami warning were walking and saw nothing. How can you miss flying fish and a gigantic shark crashing through the roof of an apartment? Well let’s just say on this fateful day that a shark scared a robber off by falling through the roof.<b> <br> <br> SHARK ATTACK!<br> By Holly Easter</b> <br> <br> So I was minding my own business watching my neighbors fight about what movie to watch. Sue wanted to see Fredzilla while Fin wanted to see Jaws 10. Well, Sue finally got Fin to watch Fredzilla so the fight was over. Then I got bored of watching them watching Fredzilla.<br> <br> I was heading back to my house when I heard a loud crashing noise. I looked back and Isaw a giant shark coming out of the roof of my neighbors. I feared for my life because I’m too old to die! The only way to protect myself is to call C.S.I New York. But too bad we are in Ohio. I supposed I'd have to get to the bottom of this by myself! I went to ask the neighbors what happened. Then I’ll try to talk to the shark if he doesn’t eat me.<br> <br> “So Fin please tell me what happened?” I asked.<br> <br> “Well I was watching Fredzilla when the shark few came through the roof, yelling ‘Don’t hate me cause you ain't me!’And then the shark was snapping his giant teeth at Sue!”<br> <br> “Thank you, Fin that’s all I needed to know.”I said.<br> <br> “So Sue can you please tell me what happened?”I asked.<br> <br> “Yeah, the shark came through the roof. Duhhh!” said Sue.<br> <br> “Yeah, I kind of saw that,” I said sharply.<br> <br> Then I walkred toward the shark. <br> <br> “Umm Mister Shark can you tell me what happened?” <br> <br> “That mean lady didn’t want to watch my movie Jaws 10!”<br> <br> <b>High-priced Hijinks<br> By Elle Yankovich</b> <br> <br> Ms. Jones wished to buy a townhouse in the middle of town, but the price was barely within reach. Being completely desperate, she hired two boys, Ryan and Phillip. They were high-schoolers by day, but ninjas by night. Since they lived so close to the ocean, Ryan and Phillip came up with a devious plan to help Ms. Jones afford the apartment. They snuck out in the middle of the night, seized a giant shark with their ninja skills, and tossed it onto the neighboring roof of the townhouse Ms. Jones was vying for, creating a giant, unattractive crater. <br> <br> The Marshall's lived in the townhouse right beside the one Ms. Jones desperately wanted to purchase. They were absolutely devastated at the damage done to their property, and had no idea what could have caused such a thing. Because the boys were ninjas and Ms. Jones was excellent at keeping her mouth shut, the police never found a lead on the case. Ms. Jones received a discount on the townhouse and was able to move in the same week. The Marshall's, however, left the hideous townhouse and headed north to Canada.<br> <br> <b> <br> Shark Attack <br> By Ryan Poplawski </b> <br> <br> The year is 3233 and there is now a country under water that is bigger in size then us, like three times bigger. From what I hear, they don’t like us very much. So they’ve threatened an attack against us. Even though they are bigger, they don’t have the technology like we do. <br> <br> We were expecting the attack earlier in the day and then there was nothing, so we all went about our buisness. Then all of a sudden a big shark shot out of the water. It flew through the air doing 360s, flipping, then started heading full speed for an apartment. After awhile, it went right through the roof of the apartment but didn't harm anyone. But I was the only one who noticed ...<br> <br> <br> <b>Secrets Unveiled<br> By Carolyn Perdue </b> <br> &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Saturday’s are the best for me. It’s the day when I get to relax, read the newspaper, and look for something interesting to happen. That’s really all I wait for, hours and hours to watch the news and look at newspapers and magazines for any mysteries to be solved in Cooper City. But today wasn’t any typical Saturday. I actually found a mystery to be solved. It was the 3 o' clock news that gave me&nbsp; all the information I needed. The reporter was explained that this morning they found a 7-foot shark that fell from the sky, landing on Vicky’s bakery. This was only a few blocks away from my house. I thought to myself <i>How in the world did a shark magically appeared from the sky, </i>I thought. I smiled, <i>finally a mystery to be solved</i>.<br> <br> I rushed to get my coat on and get out the door. I went to see Vicky, the bakery owner. She had teary eyes and&nbsp; didn’t really look like she wanted to talk, but I was going to help her anyways. <br> <br> “Excuse me Vicky can you please tell me what happened when the shark came through the ceiling?” <br> <br> She thoughtfor a moment and then replied, “Huh, all I remember was that the shark almost killed me! There was a humongous ruckus that scared me half to death. And then I remember a private jet passing through the sky.” <br> <br> I mumbled “Do you happen to know what color or a number that was on the jet?” <br> <br> She answered, “Well I only caught a glimpse of the jet. It had a red stripe on one side of the jet and it was heading south.” <br> <br> That's all I need, so I said, “Thank you so much, you really helped me out!” <br> <br> “Anytime Jennie,” she said with a smile. <br> <br> Well I certainly don’t know anyone with a jet.&nbsp; I had to go back home it was getting chilly outside and I needed some time to think to myself. Once I arrived, I went to lie down on my hammock. I was enjoying watching the clear blue sky and finding shapes of clouds. After a while, I started to drift away in my sleep. <br> <br> My eyes were almost closed but opened quickly when I saw a private jet with a red stripe pass by. I frantically got up and saw five numbers reading 62947. I ran to my bike and started peddling as fast as a cheetah running for its prey. The jet was going north this time and when I finally gave up I wrote down everything in my notebook that I just seen. Now it’s time to ask if anyone knows anything about this jet.<br> <br> If anything the person who owns the jet is likely to be rich, so I asked questions in rich communities. Hours and hours of going&nbsp; door to door&nbsp; felt like torture. I was this close to giving up until I found a man going into his house. I stopped him quickly and asked him about the jet. <br> <br> “I have no time for your nonsense little girl, go play with a friend or something.” <br> <br> I got a bit angry “This so called little girl has a name, Jennie. And why won't you answer my question?” <br> <br> The man then yelled, “Get off of my property or I’m calling the cops!” <i>Gosh this guy seemed he was guilty of a crime.<br> <br> </i>&nbsp;“Well then, I’m leaving. No need to overreact!” For some odd reason, he seemed the one to blame. <br> <br> I got a good-night sleep that night and the next day I was off to the police station. I told them everything about Vicky, the jet, and when that strange man yelled at me. They seemed pretty curious so they said they would check it out. Luckily, I copied the man's address into my notebook. With nothing more to do,&nbsp; I went back home plopped on the couch, and turned on my favorite channel: the news. That same night the strange man was arrested. Apparently, investigators went inside his private jet and found all the proof they needed. <br> <br> The strange man said he and his friend were taking the shark to Miami Beach due to the fact that the shark was getting sick from cold weather. They got into a fight about what they were doing because it was illegal. So the man opened the jet and pushed the shark tank out the door. <br> <br> This was another case closed by Jennie Tompkins. The man and his friend man will be serving five years in jail. <br> <br> <b>Shark Attack<br> By Michaela Pezza</b> <br> <br> &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; It was 5:00 on a Saturday morning and not a soul was in sight, save two moving figures quietly sneaking in and out of the parallel-parked cars along Main Street. I watched them inquisitively as they slipped past my complex. Another figure appeared, cloaked and hooded, and, if I wasn’t mistaken, with a bump protruding from his left hip. <br> <br> The three men moved with haste towards the corner of the nearest intersection. After five minutes, nothing had happened, so I turned around to go back to bed. Then above me I heard a BANG! A bloodcurdling scream echoed throughout the building. I darted back to the window, only to find an empty street. I ran upstairs. <br> <br> I followed the sound of the screaming as it grew louder and louder until I was standing in front of room number 615: my friend Bart’s room. Silence. I turned the knob and entered. There before me was Bart, wide-eyed and shocked and face-to-face with the biggest plastic shark I’ve ever seen. I did a double take, and finally realized it was the symbol of the town’s theme park, Ocean Crest. How did this happen? Someone must have cut the pole holding the shark down, like that man with the something hidden beneath his coat, or the two companions in crime. The next morning I woke up and headed to the kitchen. I stopped dead in my tracks, for there before me on my counter lay a shiny ax. <br> <br> <br> <br> </font> <br> <br> <img width="0" height="0" src="http://www.weeklyreader.com/readandwriting/aggbug.ashx?id=e7a31942-d084-424a-ab17-8926436cbb4b"> http://www.weeklyreader.com/readandwriting/CommentView,guid,e7a31942-d084-424a-ab17-8926436cbb4b.aspx StudentWriting http://www.weeklyreader.com/readandwriting/Trackback,guid,4be5d074-7a55-4d9a-a1ef-54f96200e24b.aspx http://www.weeklyreader.com/readandwriting/pingback.aspx http://www.weeklyreader.com/readandwriting/PermaLink,guid,4be5d074-7a55-4d9a-a1ef-54f96200e24b.aspx http://www.weeklyreader.com/readandwriting/CommentView,guid,4be5d074-7a55-4d9a-a1ef-54f96200e24b.aspx http://www.weeklyreader.com/readandwriting/SyndicationService.asmx/GetEntryCommentsRss?guid=4be5d074-7a55-4d9a-a1ef-54f96200e24b 3 In the epistolary issue of READ we asked you what you thought about the story, Nothing But The Truth. Here are just a few of the ways you responded. Spoiler alert: you all seem to agree!

Dear Miss Narwin,
I think the faculty overreacted because a student should be able to sing the "The Star-Spangle Banner", because they are still showing respect for the school and the nation. I think it was a little mean when Philip Malloy was kicked out of class and suspended from school for two days. When i read this story a dim memory came to mind. It was mid October when i was kicked out of class for lip singing a song that my teacher was playing. She overreacted just like Miss Narwin did. I also think Philip shouldn't have been suspended because its not like he was robbing a bank or killing the president. My main point is that all of this is wrong. He was just being patriotic and probably never meant it to go that far.

Yours Truly,
Ashley Sisk


Dear Miss Narwin,
Well, after this immature decision that you have made, it's pretty obvious your not going to get the teacher of the year award any time soon! I completely disagree with your decision to suspend a loyal student because he was too patriotic. You can tell that 'assistant principal' that he has just captured the world's attention and gave the United States a pretty bad name! Do you really have to be reminded about how there are American soldiers all over the world risking their lives for our freedom and to be able to sing our National Anthem?! If I was the teacher in that situation I would've gave him an award! I am sure every American citizen backs me up on this one, Miss Narwin!

With Sincere Disagreement,
Brandon Depies


Dear Ms.Narwin,
     I would like to confer with you over the subject of your homeroom student Phillip Malloy's suspension.
I highly disagree with your actions. I beilieve that for you to have written up young Mr.Malloy was heinous. I mean in my current state of mind I see it as the young man was only showing respect or patriotism for his country.
     I could understand your annoyance with him if he had belted out the national anthem. But on the contrary, he did the opposite. He kept his singing to himself.
I think that the proper thing for you to do is to withdraw the suspension of Phillip Malloy.
   If this continues to be a problem,call up his parents. For now, as long as he keeps his singing to himself it should be accepted.
 
Sincerely,
Natasha H.


Dear Miss Narwin,
 
   How Could You!!! All he was doing was singing the song of our country, " The National Anthem. " Even if the rule prohibits the kids from talking during the morning announcements, he was being very patriotic. Now he got suspended! Just by singing the most Patriotic Song In America! It's all your fault! This was very mean of you! How do you live with the guilt of getting a kid suspended, just because he sang, " The Star-Spangled Banner? "
 
With Strong Emotion,
Ty Gunter
Nothing But The Truth http://www.weeklyreader.com/readandwriting/PermaLink,guid,4be5d074-7a55-4d9a-a1ef-54f96200e24b.aspx http://www.weeklyreader.com/readandwriting/Nothing+But+The+Truth.aspx Thu, 11 Mar 2010 14:30:35 GMT <font color="#ff0000">In the epistolary issue of READ we asked you what you thought about the story, <i>Nothing But The Truth</i>. Here are just a few of the ways you responded.</font> <font color="#ff0000">Spoiler alert: you all seem to agree!</font> <br> <br> Dear Miss Narwin,<br> I think the faculty overreacted because a student should be able to sing the "The Star-Spangle Banner", because they are still showing respect for the school and the nation. I think it was a little mean when Philip Malloy was kicked out of class and suspended from school for two days. When i read this story a dim memory came to mind. It was mid October when i was kicked out of class for lip singing a song that my teacher was playing. She overreacted just like Miss Narwin did. I also think Philip shouldn't have been suspended because its not like he was robbing a bank or killing the president. My main point is that all of this is wrong. He was just being patriotic and probably never meant it to go that far.<br> <br> Yours Truly,<br> Ashley Sisk<br> <br> <br> Dear Miss Narwin,<br> Well, after this immature decision that you have made, it's pretty obvious your not going to get the teacher of the year award any time soon! I completely disagree with your decision to suspend a loyal student because he was too patriotic. You can tell that 'assistant principal' that he has just captured the world's attention and gave the United States a pretty bad name! Do you really have to be reminded about how there are American soldiers all over the world risking their lives for our freedom and to be able to sing our National Anthem?! If I was the teacher in that situation I would've gave him an award! I am sure every American citizen backs me up on this one, Miss Narwin!<br> <br> With Sincere Disagreement,<br> Brandon Depies<br> <br> <br> Dear Ms.Narwin,<br> &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; I would like to confer with you over the subject of your homeroom student Phillip Malloy's suspension.<br> I highly disagree with your actions. I beilieve that for you to have written up young Mr.Malloy was heinous. I mean in my current state of mind I see it as the young man was only showing respect or patriotism for his country.<br> &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; I could understand your annoyance with him if he had belted out the national anthem. But on the contrary, he did the opposite. He&nbsp;kept his singing to himself.<br> I think that the proper thing for you to do is to withdraw the suspension of Phillip Malloy.<br> &nbsp;&nbsp; If this continues to be a problem,call up his parents. For now, as long as he keeps his singing to himself it should be accepted.<br> &nbsp;<br> Sincerely,<br> Natasha H.<br> <br> <br> Dear Miss Narwin,<br> &nbsp;<br> &nbsp;&nbsp; How Could You!!! All he was doing was singing the song of our country, " The National Anthem. " Even if the rule prohibits the kids from talking during the morning announcements, he was being very patriotic. Now he got suspended! Just by singing the most Patriotic Song In America! It's all your fault! This was very mean of you! How do you live with the guilt of getting a kid suspended, just because he sang, " The Star-Spangled Banner? "<br> &nbsp;<br> With Strong Emotion,<br> Ty Gunter<br> <img width="0" height="0" src="http://www.weeklyreader.com/readandwriting/aggbug.ashx?id=4be5d074-7a55-4d9a-a1ef-54f96200e24b"> http://www.weeklyreader.com/readandwriting/CommentView,guid,4be5d074-7a55-4d9a-a1ef-54f96200e24b.aspx http://www.weeklyreader.com/readandwriting/Trackback,guid,9f4137a6-eedc-4ea6-a71e-c3f0a43b904c.aspx http://www.weeklyreader.com/readandwriting/pingback.aspx http://www.weeklyreader.com/readandwriting/PermaLink,guid,9f4137a6-eedc-4ea6-a71e-c3f0a43b904c.aspx http://www.weeklyreader.com/readandwriting/CommentView,guid,9f4137a6-eedc-4ea6-a71e-c3f0a43b904c.aspx http://www.weeklyreader.com/readandwriting/SyndicationService.asmx/GetEntryCommentsRss?guid=9f4137a6-eedc-4ea6-a71e-c3f0a43b904c 1

Calling all nonfiction writers! Here's your chance to win $500 and a trip to Washington, D.C.

Enter the Weekly Reader Student Publishing Contest. The nonfiction writing contest is open to students in grades 3-12. You can enter an individual piece or a group publication, such as a school newspaper. (Note: Individual writing entries need not have been published.) Entries must have been written during 2009. Find an entry form and more information by clicking here.

Entries are due March 19. Good luck!



Weekly Reader Student Publishing Contest! http://www.weeklyreader.com/readandwriting/PermaLink,guid,9f4137a6-eedc-4ea6-a71e-c3f0a43b904c.aspx http://www.weeklyreader.com/readandwriting/Weekly+Reader+Student+Publishing+Contest.aspx Tue, 23 Feb 2010 15:24:21 GMT <p> Calling all nonfiction writers! Here's your chance to win $500 and a trip to Washington, D.C. <br> <br> Enter the Weekly Reader Student Publishing Contest. The nonfiction writing contest is open to students in grades 3-12. You can enter an individual piece or a group publication, such as a school newspaper. (Note: Individual writing entries need not have been published.) Entries must have been written during 2009. Find an entry form and more information by <a href="http://www.aepweb.org/student/index.htm">clicking here</a>. </p> <p> Entries are due March 19. Good luck!<br> <br> <br> <br> <img height=200 src="http://www.weeklyreader.com/readandwriting/content/binary/WR%20logo.jpg" border=0> </p> <img width="0" height="0" src="http://www.weeklyreader.com/readandwriting/aggbug.ashx?id=9f4137a6-eedc-4ea6-a71e-c3f0a43b904c"> http://www.weeklyreader.com/readandwriting/CommentView,guid,9f4137a6-eedc-4ea6-a71e-c3f0a43b904c.aspx GetPublished http://www.weeklyreader.com/readandwriting/Trackback,guid,aa63824a-7a59-421d-b4e8-f25300cb3724.aspx http://www.weeklyreader.com/readandwriting/pingback.aspx http://www.weeklyreader.com/readandwriting/PermaLink,guid,aa63824a-7a59-421d-b4e8-f25300cb3724.aspx http://www.weeklyreader.com/readandwriting/CommentView,guid,aa63824a-7a59-421d-b4e8-f25300cb3724.aspx http://www.weeklyreader.com/readandwriting/SyndicationService.asmx/GetEntryCommentsRss?guid=aa63824a-7a59-421d-b4e8-f25300cb3724 1

by Jaime McAuliffe

When asked what is it that I would stand up for, I would say to have my freedom of speech. Usually people would say, friends, animals, gender, and race. If I were told that something I said or believed was wrong or that I was a "different" for thinking that, it would make me want to stand up to this even more. I love that I am proud to say what it is that I have to say. I mean what I say and will not lie. I tend to take this for granted that I have the freedom to say what I choose, not thinking about the consequences. My freedom to say what I choose means a lot towards my country, friends and family, and my personality.

For my country, I feel that when I use this, part of the 1st Amendment, I am doing my job as a United States citizen and using this to express who I am. I am cautious of my state laws, Illinois. If there is someone who wishes to challenge me to not knowing what I am talking about, I do not get worried. I am confident about all I believe, and if I feel strongly about it, I could talk forever.

Besides my country, I also use the freedom of speech towards my friends and family. They mean the world to me; if I were to lie to them about who I am and what I believed in, they would be disappointed, and may possibly lose my trust forever. I would use this freedom to get them out of trouble. If friends or family members are trying to influence me into something that I do not consider something I believe, I speak my words and say my side of every story. When I was younger I had trouble being a tattletale, and when someone did the littlest thing to me I would run and scream for the teacher. Mrs. Thurman, a kindergarten teacher once told me to, “Use your words”. I picture her saying this. Now that I am older, I understand, I take this into consideration. I will say what I have to, in a mature manor.

Also, my personality has an effect on why I stand up for the freedom of speech. I am known as “individually unique”. I do not care what people think of me, or what I wear. I have a different way of expressing who I am. I like making sure that I am heard. I am not shy and do not hold things back. Being this way makes me confident, and I feel as if I can succeed something new everyday.

Standing up for freedom of speech, makes myself feel more sure and confident about what I believe. I will not throw a fit if you go against me; I find it as a way to learn new things, but also a way to be heard. We all can do it—try it!

STAND http://www.weeklyreader.com/readandwriting/PermaLink,guid,aa63824a-7a59-421d-b4e8-f25300cb3724.aspx http://www.weeklyreader.com/readandwriting/STAND.aspx Thu, 11 Feb 2010 14:04:10 GMT <span lang=EN> <p dir=ltr align=left> <em>by Jaime McAuliffe</em> </p> <p dir=ltr align=left> When asked what is it that I would stand up for, I would say to have my freedom of speech. Usually people would say, friends, animals, gender, and race. If I were told that something I said or believed was wrong or that I was a "different" for thinking that, it would make me want to stand up to this even more. I love that I am proud to say what it is that I have to say. I mean what I say and will not lie. I tend to take this for granted that I have the freedom to say what I choose, not thinking about the consequences. My freedom to say what I choose means a lot towards my country, friends and family, and my personality. </p> <p dir=ltr align=left> For my country, I feel that when I use this, part of the 1<sup>st</sup> Amendment, I am doing my job as a United States citizen and using this to express who I am. I am cautious of my state laws, Illinois. If there is someone who wishes to challenge me to not knowing what I am talking about, I do not get worried. I am confident about all I believe, and if I feel strongly about it, I could talk forever. </p> <p dir=ltr align=left> Besides my country, I also use the freedom of speech towards my friends and family. They mean the world to me; if I were to lie to them about who I am and what I believed in, they would be disappointed, and may possibly lose my trust forever. I would use this freedom to get them out of trouble. If friends or family members are trying to influence me into something that I do not consider something I believe, I speak my words and say my side of every story. When I was younger I had trouble being a tattletale, and when someone did the littlest thing to me I would run and scream for the teacher. Mrs. Thurman, a kindergarten teacher once told me to, “Use your words”. I picture her saying this. Now that I am older, I understand, I take this into consideration. I will say what I have to, in a mature manor. </p> <p dir=ltr align=left> Also, my personality has an effect on why I stand up for the freedom of speech. I am known as “individually unique”. I do not care what people think of me, or what I wear. I have a different way of expressing who I am. I like making sure that I am heard. I am not shy and do not hold things back. Being this way makes me confident, and I feel as if I can succeed something new everyday. </p> <p dir=ltr align=left> Standing up for freedom of speech, makes myself feel more sure and confident about what I believe. I will not throw a fit if you go against me; I find it as a way to learn new things, but also a way to be heard. We all can do it—try it! </p> </span><img width="0" height="0" src="http://www.weeklyreader.com/readandwriting/aggbug.ashx?id=aa63824a-7a59-421d-b4e8-f25300cb3724"> http://www.weeklyreader.com/readandwriting/CommentView,guid,aa63824a-7a59-421d-b4e8-f25300cb3724.aspx NonFiction http://www.weeklyreader.com/readandwriting/Trackback,guid,4edd5ea7-b67f-47af-9f69-5b3fff34ebb4.aspx http://www.weeklyreader.com/readandwriting/pingback.aspx http://www.weeklyreader.com/readandwriting/PermaLink,guid,4edd5ea7-b67f-47af-9f69-5b3fff34ebb4.aspx http://www.weeklyreader.com/readandwriting/CommentView,guid,4edd5ea7-b67f-47af-9f69-5b3fff34ebb4.aspx http://www.weeklyreader.com/readandwriting/SyndicationService.asmx/GetEntryCommentsRss?guid=4edd5ea7-b67f-47af-9f69-5b3fff34ebb4 4
Who was J.D. Salinger? Not many people really knew. He wrote a book called Catcher In The Rye. It was huge. It's also considered one of those books that "may not be appropriate for school." Have you read it? What do you think? Click the comments section below to share your thoughts on the book, and the author.




R.I.P. J.D. http://www.weeklyreader.com/readandwriting/PermaLink,guid,4edd5ea7-b67f-47af-9f69-5b3fff34ebb4.aspx http://www.weeklyreader.com/readandwriting/RIP+JD.aspx Thu, 28 Jan 2010 20:46:00 GMT <div align="left">Who was J.D. Salinger? Not many people really knew. He wrote a book called <i>Catcher In The Rye</i>. It was huge. It's also considered one of those books that "may not be appropriate for school." Have you read it? What do you think? Click the comments section below to share your thoughts on the book, and the author.<br> <br> <br> <br> <br> </div> <img src="http://www.weeklyreader.com/readandwriting/content/binary/salinger.jpg" border="0"><img width="0" height="0" src="http://www.weeklyreader.com/readandwriting/aggbug.ashx?id=4edd5ea7-b67f-47af-9f69-5b3fff34ebb4"> http://www.weeklyreader.com/readandwriting/CommentView,guid,4edd5ea7-b67f-47af-9f69-5b3fff34ebb4.aspx http://www.weeklyreader.com/readandwriting/Trackback,guid,dedaece9-ad50-4f05-810f-6b7396f532f0.aspx http://www.weeklyreader.com/readandwriting/pingback.aspx http://www.weeklyreader.com/readandwriting/PermaLink,guid,dedaece9-ad50-4f05-810f-6b7396f532f0.aspx http://www.weeklyreader.com/readandwriting/CommentView,guid,dedaece9-ad50-4f05-810f-6b7396f532f0.aspx http://www.weeklyreader.com/readandwriting/SyndicationService.asmx/GetEntryCommentsRss?guid=dedaece9-ad50-4f05-810f-6b7396f532f0 0 Count Olaf from The Series of Unfortunate Events by Lemony Snicket
      - by Cindy Kuang

 Bio: As one of the leaders of the Schism, "the fire-starting side" of the Volunteer Fire Department, Count Olaf possesses an open obsession with fire and...raspberries. His loss of his parents, true love, and a fortune that he never earned puts him in line with the Wicked Witch of the West, turning to crime and folly for comfort as one might turn to drugs and alcohol. Olaf's most distinguishing features are his unibrow and tattoo, but most of the time that is sufficient to fool everyone except the Baudelaires.

Evil Factor: Let's face it, from achieving notoriety through numerous acts of arson and murder, Count Olaf is a pretty dangerous criminal. Pretty dangerous is an understatement. But, in the end (no pun intended), he temporarily saves the life of true love Kit Snicket, which takes a few points off his evil score, but still earns an 8 out of 10 on the scale.

Interests: The Baudelaire fortune, disguises.

Hobbies: Acting, scheming to steal the Baudelaire fortune.

Famous Catchphrase: All that I ask is that you do every little thing that pops into my head, while I enjoy the enormous fortune your parents left behind.

Pet Peeve: Don't correct him, even if he's wrong.

Worst Birthday Gift: A copy of the book Admitting to Being Wrong.



Send us your villain bios. Click Submit Your Writing on the right to do just that!
Villain Bio http://www.weeklyreader.com/readandwriting/PermaLink,guid,dedaece9-ad50-4f05-810f-6b7396f532f0.aspx http://www.weeklyreader.com/readandwriting/Villain+Bio.aspx Thu, 28 Jan 2010 14:31:48 GMT <b>Count Olaf from The Series of Unfortunate Events by Lemony Snicket</b> <br> <i>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; - by Cindy Kuang<br> <br> </i><font color="#800080">Bio:</font> As one of the leaders of the Schism, "the fire-starting side" of the Volunteer Fire Department, Count Olaf possesses an open obsession with fire and...raspberries. His loss of his parents, true love, and a fortune that he never earned puts him in line with the Wicked Witch of the West, turning to crime and folly for comfort as one might turn to drugs and alcohol. Olaf's most distinguishing features are his unibrow and tattoo, but most of the time that is sufficient to fool everyone except the Baudelaires.<br> <br> <font color="#800080">Evil Factor:</font> Let's face it, from achieving notoriety through numerous acts of arson and murder, Count Olaf is a pretty dangerous criminal. Pretty dangerous is an understatement. But, in the end (no pun intended), he temporarily saves the life of true love Kit Snicket, which takes a few points off his evil score, but still earns an 8 out of 10 on the scale.<br> <font color="#800080"> <br> Interests:</font> The Baudelaire fortune, disguises.<br> <font color="#800080"> <br> Hobbies: </font>Acting, scheming to steal the Baudelaire fortune.<br> <br> <font color="#800080">Famous Catchphrase: </font>All that I ask is that you do every little thing that pops into my head, while I enjoy the enormous fortune your parents left behind.<br> <font color="#800080"> <br> Pet Peeve:</font> Don't correct him, even if he's wrong.<br> <font color="#800080"> <br> Worst Birthday Gift: </font>A copy of the book Admitting to Being Wrong.<br> <br> <img src="content/binary/count%20olaf.jpg" border="0"> <br> <br> Send us your villain bios. Click Submit Your Writing on the right to do just that!<br> <img width="0" height="0" src="http://www.weeklyreader.com/readandwriting/aggbug.ashx?id=dedaece9-ad50-4f05-810f-6b7396f532f0"> http://www.weeklyreader.com/readandwriting/CommentView,guid,dedaece9-ad50-4f05-810f-6b7396f532f0.aspx Fiction http://www.weeklyreader.com/readandwriting/Trackback,guid,6e2e5004-2f04-445e-be2d-17a8ac08e9d9.aspx http://www.weeklyreader.com/readandwriting/pingback.aspx http://www.weeklyreader.com/readandwriting/PermaLink,guid,6e2e5004-2f04-445e-be2d-17a8ac08e9d9.aspx http://www.weeklyreader.com/readandwriting/CommentView,guid,6e2e5004-2f04-445e-be2d-17a8ac08e9d9.aspx http://www.weeklyreader.com/readandwriting/SyndicationService.asmx/GetEntryCommentsRss?guid=6e2e5004-2f04-445e-be2d-17a8ac08e9d9 4 By Alex Gabriel
 
 
I am from
The love of a family
Guiding, supporting
The hand that helps
 
I am from
The city blocks
The running cars
The crowded streets
 
I am from
My friends that laugh
My teachers who trust me
My parents who love me
 
I am from
A faraway land
With the rolling hills
And the green grass grows
 
I am from
A from a faraway land
Where people speak with a different language
A place where the history is rich
 
But I’m not lost, I am found
I am from
A land rich in history
The green grass and rolling hills
The city streets I AM FROM http://www.weeklyreader.com/readandwriting/PermaLink,guid,6e2e5004-2f04-445e-be2d-17a8ac08e9d9.aspx http://www.weeklyreader.com/readandwriting/I+AM+FROM.aspx Fri, 15 Jan 2010 19:59:06 GMT <i>By Alex Gabriel</i> <br> &nbsp;<br> &nbsp;<br> I am from <br> The love of a family<br> Guiding, supporting<br> The hand that helps <br> &nbsp;<br> I am from<br> The city blocks<br> The running cars <br> The crowded streets<br> &nbsp;<br> I am from <br> My friends that laugh <br> My teachers who trust me <br> My parents who love me<br> &nbsp;<br> I am from<br> A faraway land<br> With the rolling hills<br> And the green grass grows<br> &nbsp;<br> I am from <br> A from a faraway land<br> Where people speak with a different language <br> A place where the history is rich<br> &nbsp;<br> But I’m not lost, I am found<br> I am from<br> A land rich in history <br> The green grass and rolling hills<br> The city streets<img width="0" height="0" src="http://www.weeklyreader.com/readandwriting/aggbug.ashx?id=6e2e5004-2f04-445e-be2d-17a8ac08e9d9"> http://www.weeklyreader.com/readandwriting/CommentView,guid,6e2e5004-2f04-445e-be2d-17a8ac08e9d9.aspx Poetry http://www.weeklyreader.com/readandwriting/Trackback,guid,da9bbb61-f268-4ac2-b7ab-a5feb3435eaa.aspx http://www.weeklyreader.com/readandwriting/pingback.aspx http://www.weeklyreader.com/readandwriting/PermaLink,guid,da9bbb61-f268-4ac2-b7ab-a5feb3435eaa.aspx http://www.weeklyreader.com/readandwriting/CommentView,guid,da9bbb61-f268-4ac2-b7ab-a5feb3435eaa.aspx http://www.weeklyreader.com/readandwriting/SyndicationService.asmx/GetEntryCommentsRss?guid=da9bbb61-f268-4ac2-b7ab-a5feb3435eaa 1 by Sarai Minott

I am from
the land of wood
wind
and water

I am from
busy kitchens filled with steaming pots
filling the whole house
with marvelous smells

I am from dusty road paths
traversed by worn, tough, tired bare feet
where the dirt gets in between your toes

I am from overcrowded schools
and when I get to America,
I am able to go to college at
age 15, since I have covered all the work and more

I am from bright, sunny beaches
and clear, serene water
I am also from dark, cold beaches
and rough, turbulent water
that yells “I will dash you against the rocks
and watch your bones shatter into pieces.”

I am from Rastafarians
even though most of my family
does not practice it.

I am from a hard grandmother
who doesn’t say it often
but I know she loves me

I am from a weak grandfather
who, when younger was one of the
strongest and hardest pushing men you could ever meet

I am from Ivy League graduates
Cornell and Harvard
who expect me to do the same


I am from a warm, soft
comforting mother
with the voice of an angel
and the love that surpasses all.

I am from everywhere
India, Ireland, England, Trinidad
but most of all

I am from Jamaica.

I AM FROM http://www.weeklyreader.com/readandwriting/PermaLink,guid,da9bbb61-f268-4ac2-b7ab-a5feb3435eaa.aspx http://www.weeklyreader.com/readandwriting/I+AM+FROM.aspx Fri, 15 Jan 2010 19:56:59 GMT <i>by Sarai Minott</i> <br> <br> I am from<br> the land of wood<br> wind<br> and water<br> <br> I am from<br> busy kitchens filled with steaming pots<br> filling the whole house<br> with marvelous smells<br> <br> I am from dusty road paths<br> traversed by worn, tough, tired bare feet<br> where the dirt gets in between your toes<br> <br> I am from overcrowded schools<br> and when I get to America, <br> I am able to go to college at <br> age 15, since I have covered all the work and more<br> <br> I am from bright, sunny beaches<br> and clear, serene water<br> I am also from dark, cold beaches<br> and rough, turbulent water<br> that yells “I will dash you against the rocks<br> and watch your bones shatter into pieces.”<br> <br> I am from Rastafarians<br> even though most of my family<br> does not practice it.<br> <br> I am from a hard grandmother<br> who doesn’t say it often<br> but I know she loves me<br> <br> I am from a weak grandfather<br> who, when younger was one of the<br> strongest and hardest pushing men you could ever meet<br> <br> I am from Ivy League graduates<br> Cornell and Harvard<br> who expect me to do the same<br> <br> <br> I am from a warm, soft<br> comforting mother<br> with the voice of an angel<br> and the love that surpasses all.<br> <br> I am from everywhere <br> India, Ireland, England, Trinidad<br> but most of all<br> <br> I am from Jamaica.<br> <br> <img width="0" height="0" src="http://www.weeklyreader.com/readandwriting/aggbug.ashx?id=da9bbb61-f268-4ac2-b7ab-a5feb3435eaa"> http://www.weeklyreader.com/readandwriting/CommentView,guid,da9bbb61-f268-4ac2-b7ab-a5feb3435eaa.aspx Poetry http://www.weeklyreader.com/readandwriting/Trackback,guid,af557b91-33c6-44d9-8353-0e08ee4833ad.aspx http://www.weeklyreader.com/readandwriting/pingback.aspx http://www.weeklyreader.com/readandwriting/PermaLink,guid,af557b91-33c6-44d9-8353-0e08ee4833ad.aspx http://www.weeklyreader.com/readandwriting/CommentView,guid,af557b91-33c6-44d9-8353-0e08ee4833ad.aspx http://www.weeklyreader.com/readandwriting/SyndicationService.asmx/GetEntryCommentsRss?guid=af557b91-33c6-44d9-8353-0e08ee4833ad 4 by Sophie Polovoy

I am from the laughter of my mother
Tough and funny
Always knows how to make me laugh

I am from the intelligence of my dad
Hard working and brave
Never lets me down

I am from driving and flying
Bethany Beach and Florida and New York
Virginia sometimes too
Bethany has always been the favorite

I am from the Ellis Island Ferry
A boat for the immigrants
Great grandparents from Russia, who sailed the seas to come to New York,
Leaving their own families behind, to start a new family in America

I am from lawyers and business people
People who work hard to get what they want, when they want it
Who helped me become the person I am today
Student, poet, and friend

I am from work hard in school
And always do your best
Don't let people drag you into fights
Don't talk about people behind their backs
Pay attention in class
And don't let our family reputation go down

I am from a family of business people
Cell phones constantly ringing
Papers flying all around the house, with numbers I have never seen before
Sometimes working on weekends
Always makes time to spend with me

I am from dance studios
Ballet bars with mirrors in the front of the room
All different types of dance
Music playing from classical to rap
Pop to ones with beats easy to hear
And sometimes even R&B

I am from
Russia
Red, white and blue
But now my home is in America
Red, white and blue
And always will be
I AM FROM http://www.weeklyreader.com/readandwriting/PermaLink,guid,af557b91-33c6-44d9-8353-0e08ee4833ad.aspx http://www.weeklyreader.com/readandwriting/I+AM+FROM.aspx Fri, 15 Jan 2010 19:50:42 GMT <i>by Sophie Polovoy</i> <br> <br> I am from the laughter of my mother<br> Tough and funny<br> Always knows how to make me laugh<br> <br> I am from the intelligence of my dad<br> Hard working and brave<br> Never lets me down<br> <br> I am from driving and flying<br> Bethany Beach and Florida and New York<br> Virginia sometimes too<br> Bethany has always been the favorite<br> <br> I am from the Ellis Island Ferry<br> A boat for the immigrants<br> Great grandparents from Russia, who sailed the seas to come to New York,<br> Leaving their own families behind, to start a new family in America<br> <br> I am from lawyers and business people<br> People who work hard to get what they want, when they want it<br> Who helped me become the person I am today<br> Student, poet, and friend<br> <br> I am from work hard in school<br> And always do your best<br> Don't let people drag you into fights<br> Don't talk about people behind their backs<br> Pay attention in class<br> And don't let our family reputation go down<br> <br> I am from a family of business people<br> Cell phones constantly ringing<br> Papers flying all around the house, with numbers I have never seen before<br> Sometimes working on weekends<br> Always makes time to spend with me<br> <br> I am from dance studios<br> Ballet bars with mirrors in the front of the room<br> All different types of dance<br> Music playing from classical to rap<br> Pop to ones with beats easy to hear<br> And sometimes even R&amp;B<br> <br> I am from<br> Russia<br> Red, white and blue<br> But now my home is in America<br> Red, white and blue<br> And always will be<br> <img width="0" height="0" src="http://www.weeklyreader.com/readandwriting/aggbug.ashx?id=af557b91-33c6-44d9-8353-0e08ee4833ad"> http://www.weeklyreader.com/readandwriting/CommentView,guid,af557b91-33c6-44d9-8353-0e08ee4833ad.aspx Poetry http://www.weeklyreader.com/readandwriting/Trackback,guid,2e47b89c-7fd5-4c96-bdc0-994c6eedc46a.aspx http://www.weeklyreader.com/readandwriting/pingback.aspx http://www.weeklyreader.com/readandwriting/PermaLink,guid,2e47b89c-7fd5-4c96-bdc0-994c6eedc46a.aspx http://www.weeklyreader.com/readandwriting/CommentView,guid,2e47b89c-7fd5-4c96-bdc0-994c6eedc46a.aspx http://www.weeklyreader.com/readandwriting/SyndicationService.asmx/GetEntryCommentsRss?guid=2e47b89c-7fd5-4c96-bdc0-994c6eedc46a 1 by Isabel Davis

I am from the comfort of my mother
Hard working and kind
Always true

I am from the laugh of my father
Writer and reader
Playing fun and cooking too

I am from flying and driving
Florida and Rehoboth
Far away from Utah
Always a new place and never boring!

I am from seekers of opportunity
Always follow true beliefs
My ancestors have set sail
And have come to what they value

I am from funny and serious
Writer and drawer always creative
Peter, Donald, Sally
Architect and inventor also Social worker

I am from always having fun
And never tell a lie
Fight stronger and stronger every time
Study hard
And always use your name proud

I am from joking and having a good time
Always laughing and bonding with fun
Sometimes board games and watching tv.
Watching house shows never bring us down

I am from watching house shows
House hunters then comes house virgins
Always have it to talk about
Always fun and never boring

I am from red white and blue
Always so proud
And standing true
I AM FROM http://www.weeklyreader.com/readandwriting/PermaLink,guid,2e47b89c-7fd5-4c96-bdc0-994c6eedc46a.aspx http://www.weeklyreader.com/readandwriting/I+AM+FROM.aspx Fri, 15 Jan 2010 16:05:21 GMT <i>by Isabel Davis</i> <br> <br> I am from the comfort of my mother<br> Hard working and kind<br> Always true<br> <br> I am from the laugh of my father<br> Writer and reader<br> Playing fun and cooking too<br> <br> I am from flying and driving<br> Florida and Rehoboth<br> Far away from Utah<br> Always a new place and never boring!<br> <br> I am from seekers of opportunity<br> Always follow true beliefs <br> My ancestors have set sail<br> And have come to what they value<br> <br> I am from funny and serious<br> Writer and drawer always creative<br> Peter, Donald, Sally<br> Architect and inventor also Social worker<br> <br> I am from always having fun<br> And never tell a lie<br> Fight stronger and stronger every time<br> Study hard<br> And always use your name proud<br> <br> I am from joking and having a good time<br> Always laughing and bonding with fun<br> Sometimes board games and watching tv. <br> Watching house shows never bring us down<br> <br> I am from watching house shows<br> House hunters then comes house virgins<br> Always have it to talk about<br> Always fun and never boring<br> <br> I am from red white and blue<br> Always so proud<br> And standing true<br> <img width="0" height="0" src="http://www.weeklyreader.com/readandwriting/aggbug.ashx?id=2e47b89c-7fd5-4c96-bdc0-994c6eedc46a"> http://www.weeklyreader.com/readandwriting/CommentView,guid,2e47b89c-7fd5-4c96-bdc0-994c6eedc46a.aspx Poetry http://www.weeklyreader.com/readandwriting/Trackback,guid,1a4b9684-e391-4695-85cf-3cf8f82e9179.aspx http://www.weeklyreader.com/readandwriting/pingback.aspx http://www.weeklyreader.com/readandwriting/PermaLink,guid,1a4b9684-e391-4695-85cf-3cf8f82e9179.aspx http://www.weeklyreader.com/readandwriting/CommentView,guid,1a4b9684-e391-4695-85cf-3cf8f82e9179.aspx http://www.weeklyreader.com/readandwriting/SyndicationService.asmx/GetEntryCommentsRss?guid=1a4b9684-e391-4695-85cf-3cf8f82e9179 0

Happy Holidays!

On the back page of our GOOD TIDINGS issue, we asked you to send us your gobbledygook holiday greetings. Here are a few of the best we received. Enjoy!

Oh, Noel perennial plant. Oh, Noel perennial plant.
What a perpetually vivid shade of Chartreuse color your limbs.
Oh, Noel perennial plant. Oh, Noel perennial plant.
What a perpetually vivid shade of Chartreuse color your limbs.
- Cindy Kuang

A mental image of a light colored holiday
Exactly similar to the holidays in your childhood
May your 24-hour periods be joyful and contain large amounts of light
- Cameron Lippert

<guid>http://www.weeklyreader.com/readandwriting/PermaLink,guid,1a4b9684-e391-4695-85cf-3cf8f82e9179.aspx</guid> <link>http://www.weeklyreader.com/readandwriting/.aspx</link> <pubDate>Thu, 17 Dec 2009 17:17:25 GMT</pubDate> <description><p> <font color=#ff0000>Happy Holidays!</font> </p> <p> <font color=#ff0000>On the back page of our GOOD TIDINGS issue, we asked you to send us your gobbledygook holiday greetings. Here are a few of the best we received. Enjoy!</font> </p> <p> <font color=#008000>Oh, Noel perennial plant. Oh, Noel perennial plant.<br> What a perpetually vivid shade of Chartreuse color your limbs.<br> Oh, Noel perennial plant. Oh, Noel perennial plant.<br> What a perpetually vivid shade of Chartreuse color your limbs.<br> - Cindy Kuang</font> </p> <font face="Tms Rmn"> <p dir=ltr align=left> <font color=#008000><font face=Verdana>A mental image of a light colored holiday<br> Exactly similar to the holidays in your childhood<br> May your 24-hour periods be joyful and contain large amounts of light<br> - Cameron Lippert</font> </font> </p> <p dir=ltr align=left> </font><img height=300 src="http://www.weeklyreader.com/readandwriting/content/binary/snow.jpg" border=0>> <img width="0" height="0" src="http://www.weeklyreader.com/readandwriting/aggbug.ashx?id=1a4b9684-e391-4695-85cf-3cf8f82e9179"></description> <comments>http://www.weeklyreader.com/readandwriting/CommentView,guid,1a4b9684-e391-4695-85cf-3cf8f82e9179.aspx</comments> <category>Fiction</category> </item> <item> <trackback:ping>http://www.weeklyreader.com/readandwriting/Trackback,guid,4f1d9738-5437-49bb-ab0c-450e4af18aa1.aspx</trackback:ping> <pingback:server>http://www.weeklyreader.com/readandwriting/pingback.aspx</pingback:server> <pingback:target>http://www.weeklyreader.com/readandwriting/PermaLink,guid,4f1d9738-5437-49bb-ab0c-450e4af18aa1.aspx</pingback:target> <wfw:comment>http://www.weeklyreader.com/readandwriting/CommentView,guid,4f1d9738-5437-49bb-ab0c-450e4af18aa1.aspx</wfw:comment> <wfw:commentRss>http://www.weeklyreader.com/readandwriting/SyndicationService.asmx/GetEntryCommentsRss?guid=4f1d9738-5437-49bb-ab0c-450e4af18aa1</wfw:commentRss> <slash:comments>3</slash:comments> <body xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> <p> In our holiday issue, we said we would post O. Henry's story, <em>The Gift of the Magi</em> yesterday. We apologize for the lateness. But here it is. Hope you enjoy! </p> <p> <strong>The Gift of the Magi<br /></strong>by O. Henry </p> <p> One dollar and eighty-seven cents. That was all. And sixty cents of it was in pennies. Pennies saved one and two at a time by bulldozing the grocer and the vegetable man and the butcher until one's cheeks burned with the silent imputation of parsimony that such close dealing implied. Three times Della counted it. One dollar and eighty- seven cents. And the next day would be Christmas. </p> <p> There was clearly nothing to do but flop down on the shabby little couch and howl. So Della did it. Which instigates the moral reflection that life is made up of sobs, sniffles, and smiles, with sniffles predominating. </p> <p> While the mistress of the home is gradually subsiding from the first stage to the second, take a look at the home. A furnished flat at $8 per week. It did not exactly beggar description, but it certainly had that word on the lookout for the mendicancy squad. </p> <p> In the vestibule below was a letter-box into which no letter would go, and an electric button from which no mortal finger could coax a ring. Also appertaining thereunto was a card bearing the name "Mr. James Dillingham Young." </p> <p> The "Dillingham" had been flung to the breeze during a former period of prosperity when its possessor was being paid $30 per week. Now, when the income was shrunk to $20, though, they were thinking seriously of contracting to a modest and unassuming D. But whenever Mr. James Dillingham Young came home and reached his flat above he was called "Jim" and greatly hugged by Mrs. James Dillingham Young, already introduced to you as Della. Which is all very good. </p> <p> Della finished her cry and attended to her cheeks with the powder rag. She stood by the window and looked out dully at a gray cat walking a gray fence in a gray backyard. Tomorrow would be Christmas Day, and she had only $1.87 with which to buy Jim a present. She had been saving every penny she could for months, with this result. Twenty dollars a week doesn't go far. Expenses had been greater than she had calculated. They always are. Only $1.87 to buy a present for Jim. Her Jim. Many a happy hour she had spent planning for something nice for him. Something fine and rare and sterling--something just a little bit near to being worthy of the honor of being owned by Jim. </p> <p> There was a pier-glass between the windows of the room. Perhaps you have seen a pierglass in an $8 flat. A very thin and very agile person may, by observing his reflection in a rapid sequence of longitudinal strips, obtain a fairly accurate conception of his looks. Della, being slender, had mastered the art. </p> <p> Suddenly she whirled from the window and stood before the glass. her eyes were shining brilliantly, but her face had lost its color within twenty seconds. Rapidly she pulled down her hair and let it fall to its full length. </p> <p> Now, there were two possessions of the James Dillingham Youngs in which they both took a mighty pride. One was Jim's gold watch that had been his father's and his grandfather's. The other was Della's hair. Had the queen of Sheba lived in the flat across the airshaft, Della would have let her hair hang out the window some day to dry just to depreciate Her Majesty's jewels and gifts. Had King Solomon been the janitor, with all his treasures piled up in the basement, Jim would have pulled out his watch every time he passed, just to see him pluck at his beard from envy. </p> <p> So now Della's beautiful hair fell about her rippling and shining like a cascade of brown waters. It reached below her knee and made itself almost a garment for her. And then she did it up again nervously and quickly. Once she faltered for a minute and stood still while a tear or two splashed on the worn red carpet. </p> <p> On went her old brown jacket; on went her old brown hat. With a whirl of skirts and with the brilliant sparkle still in her eyes, she fluttered out the door and down the stairs to the street. </p> <p> Where she stopped the sign read: "Mne. Sofronie. Hair Goods of All Kinds." One flight up Della ran, and collected herself, panting. Madame, large, too white, chilly, hardly looked the "Sofronie." </p> <p> "Will you buy my hair?" asked Della. </p> <p> "I buy hair," said Madame. "Take yer hat off and let's have a sight at the looks of it." </p> <p> Down rippled the brown cascade. </p> <p> "Twenty dollars," said Madame, lifting the mass with a practised hand. </p> <p> "Give it to me quick," said Della. </p> <p> Oh, and the next two hours tripped by on rosy wings. Forget the hashed metaphor. She was ransacking the stores for Jim's present. </p> <p> She found it at last. It surely had been made for Jim and no one else. There was no other like it in any of the stores, and she had turned all of them inside out. It was a platinum fob chain simple and chaste in design, properly proclaiming its value by substance alone and not by meretricious ornamentation--as all good things should do. It was even worthy of The Watch. As soon as she saw it she knew that it must be Jim's. It was like him. Quietness and value--the description applied to both. Twenty-one dollars they took from her for it, and she hurried home with the 87 cents. With that chain on his watch Jim might be properly anxious about the time in any company. Grand as the watch was, he sometimes looked at it on the sly on account of the old leather strap that he used in place of a chain. </p> <p> When Della reached home her intoxication gave way a little to prudence and reason. She got out her curling irons and lighted the gas and went to work repairing the ravages made by generosity added to love. Which is always a tremendous task, dear friends--a mammoth task. </p> <p> Within forty minutes her head was covered with tiny, close-lying curls that made her look wonderfully like a truant schoolboy. She looked at her reflection in the mirror long, carefully, and critically. </p> <p> "If Jim doesn't kill me," she said to herself, "before he takes a second look at me, he'll say I look like a Coney Island chorus girl. But what could I do--oh! what could I do with a dollar and eighty- seven cents?" </p> <p> At 7 o'clock the coffee was made and the frying-pan was on the back of the stove hot and ready to cook the chops. </p> <p> Jim was never late. Della doubled the fob chain in her hand and sat on the corner of the table near the door that he always entered. Then she heard his step on the stair away down on the first flight, and she turned white for just a moment. She had a habit for saying little silent prayer about the simplest everyday things, and now she whispered: "Please God, make him think I am still pretty." </p> <p> The door opened and Jim stepped in and closed it. He looked thin and very serious. Poor fellow, he was only twenty-two--and to be burdened with a family! He needed a new overcoat and he was without gloves. </p> <p> Jim stopped inside the door, as immovable as a setter at the scent of quail. His eyes were fixed upon Della, and there was an expression in them that she could not read, and it terrified her. It was not anger, nor surprise, nor disapproval, nor horror, nor any of the sentiments that she had been prepared for. He simply stared at her fixedly with that peculiar expression on his face. </p> <p> Della wriggled off the table and went for him. </p> <p> "Jim, darling," she cried, "don't look at me that way. I had my hair cut off and sold because I couldn't have lived through Christmas without giving you a present. It'll grow out again--you won't mind, will you? I just had to do it. My hair grows awfully fast. Say `Merry Christmas!' Jim, and let's be happy. You don't know what a nice-- what a beautiful, nice gift I've got for you." </p> <p> "You've cut off your hair?" asked Jim, laboriously, as if he had not arrived at that patent fact yet even after the hardest mental labor. </p> <p> "Cut it off and sold it," said Della. "Don't you like me just as well, anyhow? I'm me without my hair, ain't I?" </p> <p> Jim looked about the room curiously. </p> <p> "You say your hair is gone?" he said, with an air almost of idiocy. </p> <p> "You needn't look for it," said Della. "It's sold, I tell you--sold and gone, too. It's Christmas Eve, boy. Be good to me, for it went for you. Maybe the hairs of my head were numbered," she went on with sudden serious sweetness, "but nobody could ever count my love for you. Shall I put the chops on, Jim?" </p> <p> Out of his trance Jim seemed quickly to wake. He enfolded his Della. For ten seconds let us regard with discreet scrutiny some inconsequential object in the other direction. Eight dollars a week or a million a year--what is the difference? A mathematician or a wit would give you the wrong answer. The magi brought valuable gifts, but that was not among them. This dark assertion will be illuminated later on. </p> <p> Jim drew a package from his overcoat pocket and threw it upon the table. </p> <p> "Don't make any mistake, Dell," he said, "about me. I don't think there's anything in the way of a haircut or a shave or a shampoo that could make me like my girl any less. But if you'll unwrap that package you may see why you had me going a while at first." </p> <p> White fingers and nimble tore at the string and paper. And then an ecstatic scream of joy; and then, alas! a quick feminine change to hysterical tears and wails, necessitating the immediate employment of all the comforting powers of the lord of the flat. </p> <p> For there lay The Combs--the set of combs, side and back, that Della had worshipped long in a Broadway window. Beautiful combs, pure tortoise shell, with jewelled rims--just the shade to wear in the beautiful vanished hair. They were expensive combs, she knew, and her heart had simply craved and yearned over them without the least hope of possession. And now, they were hers, but the tresses that should have adorned the coveted adornments were gone. </p> <p> But she hugged them to her bosom, and at length she was able to look up with dim eyes and a smile and say: "My hair grows so fast, Jim!" </p> <p> And them Della leaped up like a little singed cat and cried, "Oh, oh!" </p> <p> Jim had not yet seen his beautiful present. She held it out to him eagerly upon her open palm. The dull precious metal seemed to flash with a reflection of her bright and ardent spirit. </p> <p> "Isn't it a dandy, Jim? I hunted all over town to find it. You'll have to look at the time a hundred times a day now. Give me your watch. I want to see how it looks on it." </p> <p> Instead of obeying, Jim tumbled down on the couch and put his hands under the back of his head and smiled. </p> <p> "Dell," said he, "let's put our Christmas presents away and keep 'em a while. They're too nice to use just at present. I sold the watch to get the money to buy your combs. And now suppose you put the chops on." </p> <p> The magi, as you know, were wise men--wonderfully wise men--who brought gifts to the Babe in the manger. They invented the art of giving Christmas presents. Being wise, their gifts were no doubt wise ones, possibly bearing the privilege of exchange in case of duplication. And here I have lamely related to you the uneventful chronicle of two foolish children in a flat who most unwisely sacrificed for each other the greatest treasures of their house. But in a last word to the wise of these days let it be said that of all who give gifts these two were the wisest. O all who give and receive gifts, such as they are wisest. Everywhere they are wisest. They are the magi. </p> <img height="200" src="http://www.weeklyreader.com/readandwriting/content/binary/gift-of-the-magi-o-henry-Pocket-Watch.jpg" border="0" /> <img width="0" height="0" src="http://www.weeklyreader.com/readandwriting/aggbug.ashx?id=4f1d9738-5437-49bb-ab0c-450e4af18aa1" /> </body> <title>The Gift of the Magi http://www.weeklyreader.com/readandwriting/PermaLink,guid,4f1d9738-5437-49bb-ab0c-450e4af18aa1.aspx http://www.weeklyreader.com/readandwriting/The+Gift+Of+The+Magi.aspx Wed, 16 Dec 2009 14:25:11 GMT <p> In our holiday issue, we said we would post O. Henry's story, <em>The Gift of the Magi</em> yesterday. We apologize for the lateness. But here it is. Hope you enjoy! </p> <p> <strong>The Gift of the Magi<br> </strong>by O. Henry </p> <p> One dollar and eighty-seven cents. That was all. And sixty cents of it was in pennies. Pennies saved one and two at a time by bulldozing the grocer and the vegetable man and the butcher until one's cheeks burned with the silent imputation of parsimony that such close dealing implied. Three times Della counted it. One dollar and eighty- seven cents. And the next day would be Christmas. </p> <p> There was clearly nothing to do but flop down on the shabby little couch and howl. So Della did it. Which instigates the moral reflection that life is made up of sobs, sniffles, and smiles, with sniffles predominating. </p> <p> While the mistress of the home is gradually subsiding from the first stage to the second, take a look at the home. A furnished flat at $8 per week. It did not exactly beggar description, but it certainly had that word on the lookout for the mendicancy squad. </p> <p> In the vestibule below was a letter-box into which no letter would go, and an electric button from which no mortal finger could coax a ring. Also appertaining thereunto was a card bearing the name "Mr. James Dillingham Young." </p> <p> The "Dillingham" had been flung to the breeze during a former period of prosperity when its possessor was being paid $30 per week. Now, when the income was shrunk to $20, though, they were thinking seriously of contracting to a modest and unassuming D. But whenever Mr. James Dillingham Young came home and reached his flat above he was called "Jim" and greatly hugged by Mrs. James Dillingham Young, already introduced to you as Della. Which is all very good. </p> <p> Della finished her cry and attended to her cheeks with the powder rag. She stood by the window and looked out dully at a gray cat walking a gray fence in a gray backyard. Tomorrow would be Christmas Day, and she had only $1.87 with which to buy Jim a present. She had been saving every penny she could for months, with this result. Twenty dollars a week doesn't go far. Expenses had been greater than she had calculated. They always are. Only $1.87 to buy a present for Jim. Her Jim. Many a happy hour she had spent planning for something nice for him. Something fine and rare and sterling--something just a little bit near to being worthy of the honor of being owned by Jim. </p> <p> There was a pier-glass between the windows of the room. Perhaps you have seen a pierglass in an $8 flat. A very thin and very agile person may, by observing his reflection in a rapid sequence of longitudinal strips, obtain a fairly accurate conception of his looks. Della, being slender, had mastered the art. </p> <p> Suddenly she whirled from the window and stood before the glass. her eyes were shining brilliantly, but her face had lost its color within twenty seconds. Rapidly she pulled down her hair and let it fall to its full length. </p> <p> Now, there were two possessions of the James Dillingham Youngs in which they both took a mighty pride. One was Jim's gold watch that had been his father's and his grandfather's. The other was Della's hair. Had the queen of Sheba lived in the flat across the airshaft, Della would have let her hair hang out the window some day to dry just to depreciate Her Majesty's jewels and gifts. Had King Solomon been the janitor, with all his treasures piled up in the basement, Jim would have pulled out his watch every time he passed, just to see him pluck at his beard from envy. </p> <p> So now Della's beautiful hair fell about her rippling and shining like a cascade of brown waters. It reached below her knee and made itself almost a garment for her. And then she did it up again nervously and quickly. Once she faltered for a minute and stood still while a tear or two splashed on the worn red carpet. </p> <p> On went her old brown jacket; on went her old brown hat. With a whirl of skirts and with the brilliant sparkle still in her eyes, she fluttered out the door and down the stairs to the street. </p> <p> Where she stopped the sign read: "Mne. Sofronie. Hair Goods of All Kinds." One flight up Della ran, and collected herself, panting. Madame, large, too white, chilly, hardly looked the "Sofronie." </p> <p> "Will you buy my hair?" asked Della. </p> <p> "I buy hair," said Madame. "Take yer hat off and let's have a sight at the looks of it." </p> <p> Down rippled the brown cascade. </p> <p> "Twenty dollars," said Madame, lifting the mass with a practised hand. </p> <p> "Give it to me quick," said Della. </p> <p> Oh, and the next two hours tripped by on rosy wings. Forget the hashed metaphor. She was ransacking the stores for Jim's present. </p> <p> She found it at last. It surely had been made for Jim and no one else. There was no other like it in any of the stores, and she had turned all of them inside out. It was a platinum fob chain simple and chaste in design, properly proclaiming its value by substance alone and not by meretricious ornamentation--as all good things should do. It was even worthy of The Watch. As soon as she saw it she knew that it must be Jim's. It was like him. Quietness and value--the description applied to both. Twenty-one dollars they took from her for it, and she hurried home with the 87 cents. With that chain on his watch Jim might be properly anxious about the time in any company. Grand as the watch was, he sometimes looked at it on the sly on account of the old leather strap that he used in place of a chain. </p> <p> When Della reached home her intoxication gave way a little to prudence and reason. She got out her curling irons and lighted the gas and went to work repairing the ravages made by generosity added to love. Which is always a tremendous task, dear friends--a mammoth task. </p> <p> Within forty minutes her head was covered with tiny, close-lying curls that made her look wonderfully like a truant schoolboy. She looked at her reflection in the mirror long, carefully, and critically. </p> <p> "If Jim doesn't kill me," she said to herself, "before he takes a second look at me, he'll say I look like a Coney Island chorus girl. But what could I do--oh! what could I do with a dollar and eighty- seven cents?" </p> <p> At 7 o'clock the coffee was made and the frying-pan was on the back of the stove hot and ready to cook the chops. </p> <p> Jim was never late. Della doubled the fob chain in her hand and sat on the corner of the table near the door that he always entered. Then she heard his step on the stair away down on the first flight, and she turned white for just a moment. She had a habit for saying little silent prayer about the simplest everyday things, and now she whispered: "Please God, make him think I am still pretty." </p> <p> The door opened and Jim stepped in and closed it. He looked thin and very serious. Poor fellow, he was only twenty-two--and to be burdened with a family! He needed a new overcoat and he was without gloves. </p> <p> Jim stopped inside the door, as immovable as a setter at the scent of quail. His eyes were fixed upon Della, and there was an expression in them that she could not read, and it terrified her. It was not anger, nor surprise, nor disapproval, nor horror, nor any of the sentiments that she had been prepared for. He simply stared at her fixedly with that peculiar expression on his face. </p> <p> Della wriggled off the table and went for him. </p> <p> "Jim, darling," she cried, "don't look at me that way. I had my hair cut off and sold because I couldn't have lived through Christmas without giving you a present. It'll grow out again--you won't mind, will you? I just had to do it. My hair grows awfully fast. Say `Merry Christmas!' Jim, and let's be happy. You don't know what a nice-- what a beautiful, nice gift I've got for you." </p> <p> "You've cut off your hair?" asked Jim, laboriously, as if he had not arrived at that patent fact yet even after the hardest mental labor. </p> <p> "Cut it off and sold it," said Della. "Don't you like me just as well, anyhow? I'm me without my hair, ain't I?" </p> <p> Jim looked about the room curiously. </p> <p> "You say your hair is gone?" he said, with an air almost of idiocy. </p> <p> "You needn't look for it," said Della. "It's sold, I tell you--sold and gone, too. It's Christmas Eve, boy. Be good to me, for it went for you. Maybe the hairs of my head were numbered," she went on with sudden serious sweetness, "but nobody could ever count my love for you. Shall I put the chops on, Jim?" </p> <p> Out of his trance Jim seemed quickly to wake. He enfolded his Della. For ten seconds let us regard with discreet scrutiny some inconsequential object in the other direction. Eight dollars a week or a million a year--what is the difference? A mathematician or a wit would give you the wrong answer. The magi brought valuable gifts, but that was not among them. This dark assertion will be illuminated later on. </p> <p> Jim drew a package from his overcoat pocket and threw it upon the table. </p> <p> "Don't make any mistake, Dell," he said, "about me. I don't think there's anything in the way of a haircut or a shave or a shampoo that could make me like my girl any less. But if you'll unwrap that package you may see why you had me going a while at first." </p> <p> White fingers and nimble tore at the string and paper. And then an ecstatic scream of joy; and then, alas! a quick feminine change to hysterical tears and wails, necessitating the immediate employment of all the comforting powers of the lord of the flat. </p> <p> For there lay The Combs--the set of combs, side and back, that Della had worshipped long in a Broadway window. Beautiful combs, pure tortoise shell, with jewelled rims--just the shade to wear in the beautiful vanished hair. They were expensive combs, she knew, and her heart had simply craved and yearned over them without the least hope of possession. And now, they were hers, but the tresses that should have adorned the coveted adornments were gone. </p> <p> But she hugged them to her bosom, and at length she was able to look up with dim eyes and a smile and say: "My hair grows so fast, Jim!" </p> <p> And them Della leaped up like a little singed cat and cried, "Oh, oh!" </p> <p> Jim had not yet seen his beautiful present. She held it out to him eagerly upon her open palm. The dull precious metal seemed to flash with a reflection of her bright and ardent spirit. </p> <p> "Isn't it a dandy, Jim? I hunted all over town to find it. You'll have to look at the time a hundred times a day now. Give me your watch. I want to see how it looks on it." </p> <p> Instead of obeying, Jim tumbled down on the couch and put his hands under the back of his head and smiled. </p> <p> "Dell," said he, "let's put our Christmas presents away and keep 'em a while. They're too nice to use just at present. I sold the watch to get the money to buy your combs. And now suppose you put the chops on." </p> <p> The magi, as you know, were wise men--wonderfully wise men--who brought gifts to the Babe in the manger. They invented the art of giving Christmas presents. Being wise, their gifts were no doubt wise ones, possibly bearing the privilege of exchange in case of duplication. And here I have lamely related to you the uneventful chronicle of two foolish children in a flat who most unwisely sacrificed for each other the greatest treasures of their house. But in a last word to the wise of these days let it be said that of all who give gifts these two were the wisest. O all who give and receive gifts, such as they are wisest. Everywhere they are wisest. They are the magi. </p> <img height=200 src="http://www.weeklyreader.com/readandwriting/content/binary/gift-of-the-magi-o-henry-Pocket-Watch.jpg" border=0><img width="0" height="0" src="http://www.weeklyreader.com/readandwriting/aggbug.ashx?id=4f1d9738-5437-49bb-ab0c-450e4af18aa1"> http://www.weeklyreader.com/readandwriting/CommentView,guid,4f1d9738-5437-49bb-ab0c-450e4af18aa1.aspx Fiction http://www.weeklyreader.com/readandwriting/Trackback,guid,4b574bbe-9794-4520-aad5-cceb8f2e413b.aspx http://www.weeklyreader.com/readandwriting/pingback.aspx http://www.weeklyreader.com/readandwriting/PermaLink,guid,4b574bbe-9794-4520-aad5-cceb8f2e413b.aspx http://www.weeklyreader.com/readandwriting/CommentView,guid,4b574bbe-9794-4520-aad5-cceb8f2e413b.aspx http://www.weeklyreader.com/readandwriting/SyndicationService.asmx/GetEntryCommentsRss?guid=4b574bbe-9794-4520-aad5-cceb8f2e413b 1

In our Dust Bowl issue, we asked you to write an ending to the Daughter of the Dust story. Here is one, very descriptive student written entry.

Daughter of the Dust, Continued
- by Nathania Hofstetter

The wind whipped around the little house, causing loud creaks and a great amount of dust to circulate. For another hour the storm raged on and the little family stayed huddled together. By dinnertime the dust storm had died down enough to move about cautiously, at least as cautiously as possibleconsidering the quantity of dust that had stirred while the dust blizzard was raging.

As Father and Elmerwent to check on, and tend to, the animals, May helped her mother shake out the bed sheets, blankets, and draperies. Then they checked outside for any serious damage. Finding none but a broken area of fence used to mark the western border of their property, broken by the wind, they returned to the house. “When will the storm leave this region?” asked May when they were once again inside.

“I can’tsay. In the meantime, let’s prepare the evening meal,” Essie replied. “Please get the biscuits and pots to heat the coffee and rabbit in May.” They had a simple meal of cold biscuits and leftover rabbit and coffee that was warmed in a pot in the fireplace over a toasty fire. Father lingered at the table for an hour telling stories of kings and queens and battles and dragons. May’s favorite was the story of King Arthur, who did not know his identity till he was eighteen years old. She wanted to be like his wife, the beautiful, courageous, and wise Queen Guinevere.

“We should go to bed early tonight to get some much-needed sleep,” said Mother. So, without questioning the wisdom of that idea, the family cleared the table and went upstairs to get ready for bed.

In the room they shared, May said to Elmer, “I wish the storm would go away.” She was thinking of the days before the storm came. They would play outside and have races. She missed those days. Now it was dangerous to step outside. Even when the storm was not in action, it could suddenly flare up again.

“So do I,” returned Elmer. He too was thinking of previous months where the sun shone and the birds sang. And where everyone would gather for games after school let out.

“And what does all this about the stock market mean exactly?” May wondered out loud. She did not quite understand how the stock market worked.

“I think,” said Elmer, “that when people say the stock market has crashed, that people have lost a lot of money. But I don’t know precisely how the stock market works.”

“Have we lost a lot of money?” asked May. She did not know what her family would without a means of buying food, clothing, or maintaining their home.

“I don’t know,” replied Elmer. “I don’t think we had much to begin with,”and that was the end of the conversation. It was 7:30 pm by the time they had said their prayers and gotten into bed, but Elmer’s mind raced thinking that maybe he would follow a career in economics.

“Goodnight,” they whispered to each other. Elmer fell asleep almost immediately. But May stayed up wondering what would happen to her family regarding the dust storm and the stock market everyone was talking about. Soon, though, she too drifted off into slumber.

The next day May was the first to awaken. As she sat up in bed, she noticed something was different. There was no wind or dust. The birds were chirping and there was no great roaring wind to drown them out. She looked out her window and saw the sun--and heard the pattering of rain on the roof. It was raining though the sun was out. May thought the blend of water and sunshine looked lovely. And the day dawned bright and fair.

Daughter of the Dust http://www.weeklyreader.com/readandwriting/PermaLink,guid,4b574bbe-9794-4520-aad5-cceb8f2e413b.aspx http://www.weeklyreader.com/readandwriting/Daughter+Of+The+Dust.aspx Mon, 14 Dec 2009 14:30:17 GMT <span lang=EN> <p dir=ltr align=left> <font color=#ff0000>In our Dust Bowl issue, we asked you to write an ending to the Daughter of the Dust story. Here is one, very descriptive student written entry.</font> </p> <p dir=ltr align=left> <strong>Daughter of the Dust, Continued</strong> <br> - by Nathania Hofstetter </p> <p dir=ltr align=left> The wind whipped around the little house, causing loud creaks and a great amount of dust to circulate. For another hour the storm raged on and the little family stayed huddled together. By dinnertime the dust storm had died down enough to move about cautiously, at least as cautiously as possible<b> </b>considering the quantity of dust that had stirred while the dust blizzard was raging. </p> <p dir=ltr align=left> As Father and Elmer<b> </b>went to check on, and tend to, the animals, May helped her mother shake out the bed sheets, blankets, and draperies. Then they checked outside for any serious damage. Finding none but a broken area of fence used to mark the western border of their property, broken by the wind, they returned to the house. “When will the storm leave this region?” asked May when they were once again inside. </p> <p dir=ltr align=left> “I can’t<b> </b>say. In the meantime, let’s prepare the evening meal,” Essie replied. “Please get the biscuits and pots to heat the coffee and rabbit in May.” They had a simple meal of cold biscuits and leftover rabbit and coffee that was warmed in a pot in the fireplace over a toasty fire. Father lingered at the table for an hour telling stories of kings and queens and battles and dragons. May’s favorite was the story of King Arthur, who did not know his identity till he was eighteen years old. She wanted to be like his wife, the beautiful, courageous, and wise Queen Guinevere. </p> <p dir=ltr align=left> “We should go to bed early tonight to get some much-needed sleep,” said Mother. So, without questioning the wisdom of that idea, the family cleared the table and went upstairs to get ready for bed. </p> <p dir=ltr align=left> In the room they shared, May said to Elmer, “I wish the storm would go away.” She was thinking of the days before the storm came. They would play outside and have races. She missed those days. Now it was dangerous to step outside. Even when the storm was not in action, it could suddenly flare up again. </p> <b> <p dir=ltr align=left> </b>“So do I,” returned Elmer. He too was thinking of previous months where the sun shone and the birds sang. And where everyone would gather for games after school let out.> <p dir=ltr align=left> “And what does all this about the stock market mean exactly?” May wondered out loud. She did not quite understand how the stock market worked. </p> <p dir=ltr align=left> “I think,” said Elmer, “that when people say the stock market has crashed, that people&nbsp;have lost a lot of money. But I don’t know precisely how the stock market works.” </p> <p dir=ltr align=left> “Have we lost a lot of money?” asked May. She did not know what her family would without a means of buying food, clothing, or maintaining their home. </p> <p dir=ltr align=left> “I don’t know,” replied Elmer. “I don’t think we had much to begin with,”<b> </b>and that was the end of the conversation. It was 7:30 pm by the time they had said their prayers and gotten into bed, but Elmer’s mind raced thinking that maybe he would follow a career in economics. </p> <p dir=ltr align=left> “Goodnight,” they whispered to each other. Elmer fell asleep almost immediately. But May stayed up wondering what would happen to her family regarding the dust storm and the stock market everyone was talking about. Soon<b>,</b> though, she too drifted off into slumber. </p> <p dir=ltr align=left> The next day May was the first to awaken. As she sat up in bed, she noticed something was different. There was no wind or dust. The birds were chirping and there was no great roaring wind to drown them out. She looked out her window and saw the sun--and heard the pattering of rain on the roof. It was raining though the sun was out. May thought the blend of water and sunshine looked lovely. And the day dawned bright and fair. </p> </span><img width="0" height="0" src="http://www.weeklyreader.com/readandwriting/aggbug.ashx?id=4b574bbe-9794-4520-aad5-cceb8f2e413b"> http://www.weeklyreader.com/readandwriting/CommentView,guid,4b574bbe-9794-4520-aad5-cceb8f2e413b.aspx Fiction http://www.weeklyreader.com/readandwriting/Trackback,guid,209182b5-0227-4b3e-8823-9ad960223ef7.aspx http://www.weeklyreader.com/readandwriting/pingback.aspx http://www.weeklyreader.com/readandwriting/PermaLink,guid,209182b5-0227-4b3e-8823-9ad960223ef7.aspx http://www.weeklyreader.com/readandwriting/CommentView,guid,209182b5-0227-4b3e-8823-9ad960223ef7.aspx http://www.weeklyreader.com/readandwriting/SyndicationService.asmx/GetEntryCommentsRss?guid=209182b5-0227-4b3e-8823-9ad960223ef7 6 Now and Then--A Slide Show http://www.weeklyreader.com/readandwriting/PermaLink,guid,209182b5-0227-4b3e-8823-9ad960223ef7.aspx http://www.weeklyreader.com/readandwriting/Now+And+ThenA+Slide+Show.aspx Thu, 03 Dec 2009 21:40:01 GMT <p> In the 1930s, the United States endured devastating drought, dust storms,&nbsp;and poverty. This is known as the Dust Bowl era. Farms were lost. Families had to leave everything behind to look for work--and ultimately food to eat and places to rest their heads. Decades later, families are experiencing a different kind of disaster--one caused by a major financial recession, bank failures, and a housing market crash. This slide show looks at people's lives from the days of the Dust Bowl and the current financial crisis. These images capture people who have lost so much. Somehow, yesterday looks like today and today looks a lot like yesterday. </p> <div><embed src="http://widget-3c.slide.com/widgets/slideticker.swf" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" quality="high" scale="noscale" salign="l" wmode="transparent" flashvars="cy=bb&amp;il=1&amp;channel=3530822107896570684&amp;site=widget-3c.slide.com" style="width:400px;height:320px" name="flashticker" align="middle"></embed> <div style="width:400px;text-align:left;"><a href="http://www.slide.com/pivot?cy=bb&amp;at=un&amp;id=3530822107896570684&amp;map=1" target="_blank"><img src="http://widget-3c.slide.com/p1/3530822107896570684/bb_t000_v000_s0un_f00/images/xslide1.gif" border="0" ismap="ismap" /></a> <a href="http://www.slide.com/pivot?cy=bb&amp;at=un&amp;id=3530822107896570684&amp;map=2" target="_blank"><img src="http://widget-3c.slide.com/p2/3530822107896570684/bb_t000_v000_s0un_f00/images/xslide2.gif" border="0" ismap="ismap" /></a> <a href="http://www.slide.com/pivot?cy=bb&at=un&id=3530822107896570684&map=F" target="_blank"><img src="http://widget-3c.slide.com/p4/3530822107896570684/bb_t000_v000_s0un_f00/images/xslide42.gif" border="0" ismap="ismap" /></a> </div> </div> <img width="0" height="0" src="http://www.weeklyreader.com/readandwriting/aggbug.ashx?id=209182b5-0227-4b3e-8823-9ad960223ef7"> http://www.weeklyreader.com/readandwriting/CommentView,guid,209182b5-0227-4b3e-8823-9ad960223ef7.aspx