Thus, the following further revision of the syllabus will apply:
Yet another syllabus revision, weather related this time:
Yet another syllabus revision, weather related this time:
W/2/2 Dead because of the ice storm
F/2/4 Bring PA#7 to class for in-class editing
Read the two essays in WFS, pp. 194 – 199. Come prepared to discuss them in class, with an emphasis on summarizing their complex arguments.
Week 5
M/2/7
Blog PA#8 (a summary paragraph of one of the essays).
Bring PA#8 to class for in-class editing. Do so carefully and completely. It will become the basis for the next writing assignment.
W/2/9
Blog PA#9 (description see below) and bring it to class. Again, it counts as a blog entry but not as a portfolio paragraph.
F/2/11 Discuss WA#2.
Responding to a single source.
Submit paragraph portfolios.
Last season the Ohio Wesleyan Field Hockey team made it to the conference championship game against the College of Wooster, but in order to get there as a fourth seed in the tournament we first had to beat Wittenberg on their field. On that day, it was relatively cold outside so everyone was bundled up. Many of our friends and family traveled to Wittenberg to cheer us on with signs and banners, but in the heat of the game that all gets drowned out. It was a tough fought game and for all of regulation time, the score remained zero-zero. Overtime in field hockey is sudden death, the first team to score wins, and OWU had never made it to the conference championship. In the huddle before the start of overtime, I just remember there being high energy and everyone pumping each other up and a lot of anxiety. Then when the coaches came over to give us the game plan everyone went silent. When we stepped out onto the field and the whistle blew everything came into focus and instincts took over. A long up field pass was made to our forward and I remember just stopping and standing in the middle of the field, frozen, watching her take it one-on-one with the goalie. I didn’t see, but I heard the distinctive clunk of the ball hitting the back of the cage and I remember my teammate standing next to me grab me in a hug from behind as we ran to meet the rest of our team in celebration.
ReplyDeleteOnce the drum taps started, everyone became dead silent. Row by row, the marching band, with their expressionless faces, made their way onto the field. As soon as I set my left foot on that sacred ground, everything became simplified, and nothing else mattered in the world but that performance. My mind became unusually clear: my only thoughts focused on that moment in time. Proudly wearing my red and blue uniform with my hair all made up in a bun and my bright make-up showing, I followed the band out further on the field, my brilliantly colored flag in hand. I could smell the fresh grass beneath my feet as I marched out. As I approached the audience, closer and closer, the excitement builds inside of me. I heard a couple of students laughing in the distance, but I could feel stillness growing all around me. Finally, I made it to my assigned spot, placed my feet and arms in the opening position, and waited for a second. I heard the steps of the field commander as she climbed the aluminum podium. She shouted the beginning tempo, “One…two…three…four!” All at once, like the rush of a tidal wave, the band began to blast the opening song and I swung my flag out with as much force and energy that I contained in my body. The show had begun.
ReplyDeleteIt was a nice summer day, the sun beaming down on my black jacket and sending my temperature far past the healthy 98.6 degrees. This was my third horseshow, so I was still trying to get accustomed to the swing of things. That day I was riding my favorite horse, whose name was “Bubsey.” I was nervous, but I had been practicing for months for this show. I entered the ring and sat up as straight as I could, with my biggest smile on. We went through the normal motions of a class in a horse show (walk, trot, canter.) At the end, we were all called in to the middle of the ring to be placed. The butterflies in my stomach were inevitable as we stood there anxiously awaiting the judge’s decision. Eighth place was announced first, not me. They did not call my name all the way through second place, at which point I was scared because I had either not placed, or gotten the blue ribbon. When my name was announced, I initially thought I was imagining it. After a few seconds, the judge waved me forward and I realized that I had finally done it; I had finally won the blue ribbon. After receiving my first blue ribbon ever, my horse and I strode proudly out of the arena hearing the last words of the judge, “And congratulations to out blue ribbon winner.”
ReplyDeleteI thought that I was going to be miserable playing chair volleyball with eleven "elderly" people at Hamlet Retirement Center. There was no doubt in my mind that those two hours would drag on just as slowly as a fat cat being pulled on a leash. But, I was so wrong. I loved that day, and every second of those two hours. The joy that I felt had nothing to do with the game itself, since volleyball was my least favorite sport. No, the joy that filled my heart to the brim was born when I saw the resident's faces throughout the whole game. While we were playing, their eyes were filled with such intense concentration. Hearts and souls were deeply involved in a simple game. All of their strength was being used at maximum capacity. If someone scored a point, everyone would either laugh or smile, and faces would turn soft just from being immersed in the easy-going atmosphere. I hated volleyball, but this moment was obviously the highlight of their day. And, quite frankly, they acted like they were younger than I was. Men and women were clapping two leathery hands together each and every time I hit the ball. They all made an effort to learn my name, and they would use it all the time. "Thatta girl, Grace" or "Good job, Grace!" were their favorite ways to say it. When it was time for me to get my keys and drive home, everyone came up to me and said "thank you". They actually thanked me- the moody girl who hated the fact that she had to play a game of chair volleyball- for playing with them. One woman told me that my presence actually made her day. Little did she know, her presence was one of the ten that would change my outlook on life forever.
ReplyDeleteThe introduction announcing “…and our next performer, Amber Kimberling” sounded over the speaker cueing me to the stage. When walking onto stage, the loud clip-clop of my shoes hitting the solid wood floors echoed in my head, making it the only sound in my ears. While holding my guitar, newly cleaned and shining in the stage lights, I sat down on the cold yet welcoming stool. Looking down at my shoes, which glimmered in those bright, hot lights, it was impossible not to notice the confidence that they exuded. Then switching my gaze up, the stage lights became overwhelmingly bright and hot, blurring the edges of the green chairs in which everyone was sitting. Upon observing all of the awaiting faces, with the exception of a few people, everyone in the audience was staring right at me in hesitant anticipation. Almost in synchronization, my hand for strumming and the eyebrows of the crowd raised as I began to play the first chord of the song.
ReplyDeleteWaiting for the MENding Monologues performance to start on Saturday night, there was commotion among the groups as they anticipated the show. Finally the introduction was announced and the show began to reveal some true stories that were quite relative to a majority of the audience. Specifically, the strength and demeanor of Mr. Dev Galloway to tell his personal story in front of strangers was helpful in realizing that there are other people struggling with the same problems as myself. The emotion in his voice and the expression on his face revealed his pain and suffering, yet his voice did not break. It was his personal, painful memory that he had to relive for the “entertainment” of the crowd sitting before him. His description identified with personal past and present obstacles and was a true eye opener to a new beginning. Within that span of a few minutes, he helped me overcome my stubbornness, where all I wanted to do was express my own appreciation in a letter to send home. A sense of maturity seemed to overcome my thoughts and all I felt was the need to forgive and forget, to start over. Through the rest of the show my thoughts kept going back to that one memory and I knew I needed to ask him a question. After the show, I made my way through the mingling crowd toward this afflicted man to discuss such a touchy subject. Although it is unfortunate, it is comforting to know someone that also has to go through this experience so as I spoke with Mr. Galloway it was like I was finally on the same level with someone while discussing the problem. I was speaking with someone about the predicament not to a person that had no idea what I was going through. After this encounter, I knew relations and problems would fix themselves; if someone else had the strength to get through a relative, but worse situation, I knew I could start to make an effort things right again.
ReplyDeleteAs my eyes were about to finish shutting from might, bugs, and sweat, they gazed a small glimpse of salvation and reached tunnel vision around the next few turns to get to the calm blue water at ease just steps ahead. My role as a human held no significance at that moment. Being able to describe the colors of the scenery around us or knowing the names for the diseases the mosquitoes carried did you no good out there in bat country. All that mattered was that you paddled without complaint and portaged backpacks and canoes without needing to stop. Reaching the end and seeing those boats bobbing excitedly in the water makes you want to dance so badly you can only stand holding it back a little more than you can stand keeping those backpacks on your back all the way to the canoe, and only put it down when someone could place it directly in the canoe. Yet still the unspoken joy felt by 12 sweating mosquito-plastered faces is the best feeling of unity that could never be understood by those naive and uninitiated.
ReplyDeleteI wiggled in my seat in class not paying attention to the teacher but waiting for news. It was only a few hours early when my mom and stepdad and put my brother and I in the car and taken us to our Aunt Jani’s house. The drive seemed much longer in the dark wee hours off the morning. Now several hours later, sitting in school I tried to wait patiently. What will she be like? How will things change? Question clouded my mind. Wondering how this new person would affect my life. “Samantha, please come to the Principal’s office,” said the secretary who slipped in unnoticed. I leaped out of my chair and skipped down the hall. As I heard that my little sister had arrived safely in the world, so many questions filled my mind. Later that day as I held my little sister for the first time and she looked up at me, her eyes sparkling with wonder and unconditional love, I knew that this was the beginning of a lifetime bond. I would always love her and do my best to take care of her, and she would always be there for me.
ReplyDeleteMonarch butterflies seem to linger in my mind, it brings me right back to my childhood. I spent most of my time growing up at my lake house in Canada with my older sister Kaitlyn. We are two years apart and practically share the same interest. We used to walk down to the local gas station and share an ice cream. We made this walk almost everyday, and the one day everything changed. The colours were magnificent, literally blinded me. Kaitlyn and I came across a monarch butterfly that had an injured leg. We brought it back to our cabin and nurtured it till it passed. This day always reminds me, that even the smallest things in life matter. Kaitlyn opened my eyes to the world, that there are larger things in life then material objects. Even being so young, and she unknowingly taught me this. I always compare what’s important in my life back to this time. Sometimes when you slow down time, it can open up a whole other world of understanding.
ReplyDeleteOur hearts were all beating heavily as we stood in line like we were back in first grade again. The doors to the gym were shut. The stiff collars of our red and black uniforms were buttoned and hooked and our instruments resting in our hands. The doors opened from the inside and our director looked back at us all with a nervous smile and a thumbs up and turned to walk in. At this point we weren't individuals we were a single entity, we had to be to get a one at a state competition. We quietly shuffled in to our places as the judges sat at the front of the room muttering comments into their recorders and scratching notes. Family members and strangers sat on bleachers on both sides of the stage watching. The shuffling of sheet music and the judges ominous whispers were the only noises. Our director got up on his podium and looked at us to see if we were all ready, he grinned at us and nodded. Together we took a deep breath. The first note sounded like a giant symphony in the gym. After that everything just flowed, we knew what we were doing and we were excited, the room was full of our music. The last note sounded and slowly disappeared. We had earned ourselves a one at state. The first one in the history of our school's band.
ReplyDeleteI had the ball at my feet; I took a glance up to see where the goalkeeper was. Too late, he was rushing toward me. I could see the beads of sweat glistening on his forehead, the grimace on his face as he hunted to take the ball from me. I had to act fast…faked to the left and pushed the ball to the right, centimeters from the goalkeeper’s outstretched hand. Now the only thing in my way was the goal and sure victory. I’m about to shoot the ball when suddenly… (smack) a teammate had slapped my face to wake me up. As I massaged my numb cheek I sat up and looked outside, we had arrived. There were 43 of us. The two top teams representing Great Falls Soccer Club back home in Virginia. Dressed in our blue and black team warm ups so we were easily recognized from everyone else, we slowly got of the charter bus and into the beautiful sunny day. Small groups of boys started to form chattering and joking amongst themselves. Soon our coach called for quiet and introduced us to our tour guide. A tall, muscular man with short brown hair smiled at us and introduced himself in a distinct English accent "Good Morning lads, welcome to Old Trafford, home of Manchester United Football Club." The two hour tour had begun and all the previous chatter disappeared, our anxious ears perked up in anticipation to what the tour guide was saying not wanting to miss any minute detail or interesting fact. As we were lead through the red and black themed corridors I was walking beside my coach, a former youth player there at Manchester United. He looked at me with a grin knowing that this was my favorite soccer team and asked "So Chung, what do you think?" I grinned back and asked why he ever left. Laughing off the question we continued to go through the tour, visiting the locker rooms, dining facilities, and training facilities. Suddenly we walked through two iron fenced doors into a tunnel that seemed to be a dead end. As the questioning expressions flew from face to face and the inquisitive glances were exchanged the tour guide hit a button behind a panel on the wall. Suddenly I realized where we were as light poured into the tunnel as a wall slowly rose up; I was in the tunnel where the players walked onto the field. Awe and excitement drew me closer toward the light. As my vision adjusted to the bright lights I started to make out the thousands of stadium seats, the pristine perfectly grass trimmed field, and the blue sky in the massive open ceiling. I was memorized; I pictured thousands of rowdy fans chanting fight songs anticipating the grueling 90 minute battle on the field. This time, my coach put his hands on my shoulder and asked the exact same question “So Chung, what do you think?” Instead of a witty remark I knew exactly how I felt “Coach…this is my dream.”
ReplyDeleteThe Men’s soccer coach at Chagrin Falls High School holds nearly every record in Ohio high school soccer history. My beloved 75-year-old coach started the program 40 years ago, but in his time in charge had never beaten Walsh Jesuit High School, a powerhouse private school from Akron, Ohio. On Saturday, September 27, 2009 the 1st in the state Walsh Jesuit Warriors ventured across town to take on 2nd ranked Chagrin Falls. On this perfect night, the stadium was filled with thousands of friends and family in hopes of seeing the coach, in his last game, beat the Warriors. The game was intense, tied at two, and as the crowd rose to there feet with only a few seconds left to play, my best friend Bobby crossed a perfect ball into the box that I headed into the back of the net. We had finally done it. My teammates and classmates stormed onto the field and smothered me on the ground. A few seconds later, I emerged from the pile and raced towards my coach. I gave him a huge hug and as the tears of joy flowed from our eyes, I told him that I could never play for such an amazing man again.
ReplyDeleteThe white beauty is here and she comes with her frigid misery. Her heart, cold and unforgiving .Her icy crudity freezes my sunshine and captures my warmth. You see she comes to torture all with her frostbites, shivers and bestows unto man, a wrath that makes me quiver. Next comes the Stabbing and peeling my skin with scalpels of ice, paralyzing me with of her terror. Yet I pray : Goddess of winter , please have mercy , Relieve our heart and minds of your splinters .Please deliver me from the frosty fire that burns my soul and freezes my blood turning it to stone. But ungrateful she thinks I am and answers my prayer in a blizzard in a potent rage. As a result, she sends an avalanche which tumbles softly from the heavens and now I am buried alive in place the devil himself fears. They battle for my soul but he despises her fury and surrenders to her victory. Captured, I lay crystallize , fortified by my icy sarcophagus and immediately my tears become more precious than diamonds and my heart is now worth more than the famous “Hope diamond”. Finally, my black skin becomes blue, for now I am lifeless and numb.
ReplyDeleteThe moment had come. Everything I had cared about stood in the balance. I was so convinced that I knew what I wanted, and even though I knew I was reaching for the impossible, I fought for it anyway. My life had revolved around this lofty goal for months, and in a matter of minutes it would all be over. The idea of what I was about to do was almost too much for me. Thoughts were circling in my head; I wondered if I could go through with it, but with my courage and faith I pursued the impossible. It was time. My name was called, and I played as best I could. With that satisfaction, the weight of the world was lifted from my shoulders.
ReplyDeleteI could see my breath as I stood outside, bundled up underneath layers of under armor, a uniform, and my warm-up suit. The lights shone brightly, illuminating my teammates on the field. My legs felt sore from running and my lungs burned from the cold while the butterflies in my stomach just wanted the game to be over. But at the same time I wanted it to be longer; we were down 2-1. My field hockey team was one game away from winning the field hockey State championship if we could beat this one team. The fans, all of our parents and busloads of friends from school, were cheering for us. The noise of the girls on the field talking to each other could not compare to the roars in the stands cheering on the underdogs at the moment. I focused on the field, watching my team in green attempt to get the ball to the other side of the field. With almost no time left all eyes were drawn to the ball as it rolled past the goalies huge foot pads and just slightly over the white line marking the goal. The whistle blew and all the cold air was forgotten as we all piled together in celebration. A few minutes later the long- awaited whistle blew signaling the end of the game and new butterflies formed in my stomach looking toward the championship final.
ReplyDeleteAfter waiting on the boat for what felt like hours, it was my turn to go to the stern of the boat. I carefully walked across the deck while the boat rode across the semi-choppy ocean waters, and got back to the hooked parachute. With the assistance of one of the crew members onboard, I began to get strapped into the harness. After he tightened the straps and made sure that all karabiners were locked into place, he signaled to his buddy that I was clear for takeoff. The other crew member (seated by a control panel) flipped a switch that turned on a motor, and that motor began to slowly feed cable out over the water; I was leaving the boat. Slowly, I began to ascend into the air, looking around at how the world below me was starting to shrink, and I slowly began to realize at the altitude that I was being raised to. Once I felt the cable jerk once I reached 400 feet, I looked around at the light blue foreground of the world, and then down at the ground and water below. Like Pink Floyd’s song “Learning to Fly”, I was no longer that “tongue-tied”, “earthbound misfit”; I was finally soaring across the sky, and I soon realized that “there’s no sensation, to compare with this; suspended animation, a state of bliss.” I gazed at the waves that appeared to be so small, and the boat that appeared to be a little white smudge amidst the vast deep blue of the Atlantic. I was in utter awe at how the people on the beach appeared to be a multitude of moving dots across the sand. One thing that really struck me was how everything was so quiet, except for the wind that rushed by; I felt alone. Seeing the world from this perspective was certainly something that I would always remember for the rest of my life, and it all seemed so unreal.
ReplyDeleteLooking in the distance all I could see was the beautiful country-side of Assisi, Italy, but that wasn’t what was holding my attention. What I was focused on was my friend Andrea. She was abseiling for the first time. The experts had already taught us everything we needed to know and given us the safety tips. We had received our helmets and were standing on the platform on top of the 800-year-old castle. Andrea’s harness had just been attached to the ropes that would hold her as she walked down the wall of the castle. I heard the carabineer click as it locked in place and the instructor tell her to step backwards for a picture at the edge of the platform. For a second, Andrea didn’t move. Here we were standing at the top of the castle wall and she was about to repel down the side, there was just one problem, Andrea was scared of heights. Slowly, she inched her way backwards, closer and closer to the edge. The instructor was talking to her the entire time. Everyone in the group encouraged her as she slowly started walking down the castle wall. She did not make it to the ground quickly, but Andrea did not give up. After the climb, Andrea was shaking and she couldn’t believe that she had actually accomplished it. She had conquered her fear, if only for that day.
ReplyDeleteI’ll never forget the mural painted on the sky as the sun set on the first day of summer. The stars lit up all around and the sky faded from a light purple along the horizon to a deep indigo straight above me. As my best friend and I walked down from the top of the world we could see the faint yellow-orange from the sun along the coastline to our left. As the orange faded in the west, the crescent moon set in the deep purple sky shined brighter and brighter. It takes about eight minutes for sunlight to reach the earth. Those eight minutes, as day turned to night felt both extremely fast and utterly slow all at once. Night seemed to speed up only to catch the slowly fading day and create a collision of soft violets and reds along the skyline. All of a sudden we were at the bottom of the hill driving away into the summer night.
ReplyDeleteThe frigid feel of winter was upon my home of rural Logan County, Ohio. To many folks there that means only one thing to do, wait for the “ice to be right.” One of the favorite pass times of the people of Logan County is fishing at nearby Indian Lake, no matter what the season. After the hot bite in the fall, people cannot wait to for the ice to come and be sturdy enough for the brave souls to venture out in search of nature’s bounty. I remember it like it was yesterday, after years waiting I was finally old enough to go ice fishing with my father. We set off before the sun was up and were there before it was up. My father cautiously ensured that the ice was safe to tread on and then we began our day. That day, my father took it upon himself to impart the many skills he had learned over his years the same way his father had helped to teach him years ago. Till this day I can still hear him telling me, “if you wanna’ fish there you gotta drill your own hole.” I can still feel my feeble young arms struggling to turn the auger over and over as the ice shavings piled around my feet as my father encouraged me. I can still feel the sense of pride of my father as I pulled out of the icy depths the first fish of anyone around that morning. My father and I do not have an emotional relationship, to say the least we don’t talk about are feeling very much. We may never talk about it he may never know it, but I will never forget that day. Not only did it set in motion the process of me finding one of my personal passions, but more importantly it was one of those father-son bonding memories words cannot do justice for. That day was about more than catching fish or learning a new hobby, it was about wisdom and knowledge of a father and the love and eagerness of a son.
ReplyDeleteEverything appears to be dead in the desert. The vegetation is dry and somewhat spiny. Thorns grow from seemingly pacifist plants. The ground itself is a solid slab of dust, with not even a drop of moisture to quench it. It seemed as though we had been hiking for ages. My father pushed us up further into the mountains behind my home in Arizona. “Just a little further” he would shout and I would roll my eyes. My lungs felt as though they had become maybe half the size they were before and my legs had become those of a baby giraffe, unsteady and unsure. Then the ground changed. Instead of the brown and red rock we had been walking on, we were stepping onto white stone. The quartz glittered in the sun from the evening and I looked up for the first time to see where my father had been taking me. Quartz Point was beautiful. We reached the top and sat down on the biggest piece of white rock I had ever seen. I looked out over my home and could see everything. My breathing slowed to its normal pace and my legs became to solidify as I gazed into the beautiful Arizona sunset as it moved over the horizon. I have never seen something so beautiful, so dead.
ReplyDeleteThe world was buried in ice that post-apocalyptic day. All across my central-Ohio slice of that world, school was cancelled. The driveway to Perkins Observatory was blocked three dozen times by trees, and my feeble body slipped and slided to the hard ground trying to remove them and get to work. So off to Highbanks Metro Park I went. The sky was a dull gray, the ground barely visible in the semi-darkness. A short walk up the path revealed a scene of ugly desolation: a thousand trees and bushes pulled down by the ice. And then the sun broke through the clouds for an instant, covering the scene in shimmering sunlight. Every downed tree and every destroyed bush was bathed in glory. On one single huckleberry bush was a single branch outlined in sunlit ice. On that branch shone a single, shriveled huckleberry encased in light. The huckleberry bush was surely dead, brought down by the grand meteorological forces far beyond its control, but its seed, complete with all the DNA to make a new huckleberry bush, was still alive. Would the seed survive? Would it thaw in the winter sun and drop to the ground? Would it fulfill its promise and carry on the vision of its mother, the bush now dying on the ground? As the sun bathed it in purest aural light, I knew it would.
ReplyDeleteAs I start my 40 minute drive to Julie Woodrow’s house, I begin to anticipate the joy that I will soon be filled with. The sun is just creeping up over the line of trees and I know it is going to be a beautiful day. I pull up the gravel driveway to a yellow house sitting on top of a hill along a pond. The wild cats greet me with meows and purrs while I get out of the car. The seclusion of the house makes it the most tranquil spot in the world. The old blue barn sits to the left of the house and my friend walks out to say hello. I waste no time and head for the pond. Tumbling into the canoe, I can see the floating dock in the middle of the 15 acre pond. While I am paddling up, the sun begins to blaze in full force. After lying out on the wooden dock for an hour or so, I decide to go for a swim. The cold brisk water shocks my body as I do a cannon ball from the edge. Contrasting the air, the water feels so clean and refreshing it was worth the shock. As the day passes by, the peacefulness of this home increases. Birds are singing, crickets begin to chirp, and the gentle breeze fills my lungs. Night begins to rise and the earth is in a glow from the day before. We lie on the grass and look up into the glorious sky. Millions of stars are shining as bright as the sun and the dome shape of the sky is in clear view. Ending the day is always bittersweet, sad to see it end, but excited for another summer day in paradise.
ReplyDeleteAnd how a single paragraph can morph into the very rough draft of a column:
ReplyDeleteThe world was buried in ice that recent, post-apocalyptic day. All across my central-Ohio slice of that world, school was cancelled.
The driveway to Perkins Observatory was blocked three dozen times by trees, and my feeble body slipped and slided to the hard ground trying to remove them and get to work.
So off to Highbanks Metro Park I went. The sky was a dull gray, the ground barely visible in the semi-darkness. A short walk up the path revealed a scene of ugly desolation: a thousand trees and bushes pulled down by the ice.
And then the sun broke through the clouds for an instant, covering the scene in shimmering sunlight. Every downed tree and every destroyed bush was bathed in glory. On one single huckleberry bush was a single branch outlined in sunlit ice.
On that branch shone a single, shriveled huckleberry encased in light. The huckleberry bush was surely dead, brought down by the grand meteorological forces far beyond its control, but its seed, complete with all the DNA to make a new huckleberry bush, was still alive.
That huckleberry made my thoughts turn to, of all things, the Great Nebula in Orion, and it’s taken me until this very moment to realize why.
Look to the south for the constellation and the three stars of equal brightness that make up the Hunter’s belt. Hanging from the leftmost star in the line is Orion’s sword. On the bottom tip of the sword is a small fuzzy patch easily visible in binoculars. In a telescope, the fuzzy thing explodes into a swirling mass of glowing gas and newborn stars.
M42, as diehard stargazers like to call it, is an emission nebula, a giant cloud of hydrogen gas where stars are born. Clumps of hydrogen, slightly denser than the rest of the cloud, condense to form spinning balls of hydrogen. When those “proto-stars” get big enough and dense enough and hot enough, they begin to explode into the hydrogen bombs that we call stars.
But how do the clumps form in the first place? Why are so many stars formed out of such nearly empty, diaphanous clouds?
The simple chaos of the clouds form a few clumps that will invariably lead to stars. Those stars tend toward the humongous, much larger, brighter, and hydrogen-fuel consuming than our below average sun.
Such a star lives fast, just a few million years, dies young, and leaves a beautiful supernova, an explosion so brilliant that it briefly outshines the entire galaxy of 300 billion stars in which it resides.
That explosion sends shock waves coursing through the nebula. The gas is compressed in many locations, and such compression leads to the clumps that will form thousands of stars.
Out of the death of stars, comes new stellar life. The great nebular mother is seeded with new stars by the violent death of old ones.
Would my single huckleberry seed survive? Would it thaw in the winter sun and drop to the ground? Would it fulfill its promise and carry on the vision of its mother, the bush now dying on the ground? As the sun bathed it in purest aural light, I knew it would.
I could hear my own heart beat, like the beat of the drummer marching into battle. Like the wake of a disaster, my world stood still in front of me. Silence. As if he had control of my future with his answer, he looked into my eyes. As our glares met, his eyes grew with excitement. A man whose face shown brighter than the deserts sun, he agreed, he would be my Big Brother.
ReplyDeleteIt’s in the heat of the moment that memories are almost certainly never forgotten, where instincts kick in and nothing else matters than what is happening at that very moment. This is the moment when your teammate hands you the baton and everything changes. Knowing all eyes are on you as you’re the last person running the last event of the day instincts take over and nothing matters more than catching the person in front of you. Rounding the curve into the straight stretch you’re already breathing hard, more out of anticipation than exhaustion as you coast the back stretch knowing what’s coming next. Going into the final curve exhaustion sets in and the adrenaline pumping in your veins is second behind the taste of winning that’s settling into your throat. You can see the distance between you and the girl in front of you growing smaller, now it’s time to give it all you got. With only 100 meters left this is where determination and sweat finally pay off. As you pass the girl in front of you and move into first place you know all that you need to do now is stay strong and finish as if your life depended on it. Muscles cramping and possessing fatigue that’s almost unbearable you collapse into your teammates waiting for you at the finish line as you try and catch your breath with the taste of victory consuming whatever’s left of your body. This is what it’s like to anchor the 4x4 relay.
ReplyDeleteOnce the drum taps started, everyone became dead silent. Row by row, the marching band made their way onto the field. As soon as I set my left foot on that sacred ground, everything became simplified, and nothing else mattered in the world but that performance. My mind became unusually clear: my only thoughts focused on that moment in time. Proudly wearing my red and blue uniform with my hair all made up in a bun and my bright make-up showing, I followed the band out further on the field. My brilliantly colored flag shone under the bright football lights. The grass beneath my feet smelled fresh and invigorating. As I approached the audience, closer and closer, the excitement built inside of me. Faces from the audience came into focus, showing anticipation. A couple of students laughed in the distance, but nearby, a sense of stillness began to grow. Finally, I made it to my assigned spot, placed my feet and arms in the opening position, and waited for a second. The steps of the field commander clinked loudly as she climbed the aluminum podium. She shouted the beginning tempo, “One…two…three…four!” And all at once, like the rush of a tidal wave, the band began to blast the opening song, and I swung my flag out with as much force and energy that was contained in my body. The show had begun.
ReplyDeleteRevision of PA#9
I should have cried. I should have let those salty, fat globules of water surface, trip across my lower eyelid and fall to the floor. I should have let tears roll across my boyish face. And let them accumulate at my chin. I should have…at least tried. There is an appropriate moment for everything. And this was one for crying. They did it in the movies. They did it in real life. It's how all close relationships ended. I stood there, motionless, staring at her. She was so beautiful. Her hair was sparse; populated with split ends and strewn roughly across her face. But it still graced her countenance. Her grey, still eyes were open, staring at me. Her face was expressionless. I came close to her and held her hand. A strong sense of revulsion sprouted in me. Don’t touch her, I told myself. She is not her usual warm, comforting self. She is not the world of protection she was when she held you in her arms. And yet, I couldn’t resist. I lowered my face and closed her eyes shut. Then I kissed her cheeks. The coldness I felt from her angered me. Rage swelled up like a pyrocumulus in my till now dormant soul. I was going to erupt. I rose, turned myself and looked at my parents. I screamed at them. Why didn’t they tell me she was dead? Because I was a child? Because I couldn’t bear the cancerous death of someone who was suffering for so long? I knew she would die. At least, we could have exchanged a few last words. I screamed and screamed. And then came the crying.
ReplyDeleteFor what it's worth, here is the final version of the column that developed out of my submission for this assignment. It's not done, but it's done. Or as my pappy used to say, "Son, most of the time it doesn't have to be good. it just has to be done."
ReplyDeleteBTW, Blogspot wouldn't accept a post this large, so I had to split the column up into two parts.
Astronomy submission for 2-14-11
Of Blueberries and the Birth of Stars
The world was buried in ice that recent, post-apocalyptic day. All across our central-Ohio slice of that world, school was cancelled, and I was temporarily bereft of students.
The driveway to Perkins Observatory was blocked three dozen times by trees, and my inadequate body slipped and slid to the hard ground trying to remove them and get to my other job.
So down the road to Highbanks Metro Park I slid. The sky was a dull gray, the ground barely visible in the gloom. A short walk up the path revealed a desolate landscape: a twisted mass of trees and bushes pulled down by the ice.
At that moment, the sun broke through the clouds for an instant, covering the scene in shimmering sunlight -- a fairyland encased in death. Every downed tree and every destroyed bush was illuminated in glorious light.
On one single blueberry bush was a single branch outlined in sunlit ice. On that branch shone a single, shriveled blueberry, a tiny, blazing, star lit up by a star we call the sun. The blueberry bush was surely dead, brought down by grand meteorological forces far beyond its control. Its seed, complete with all the DNA to make a new blueberry bush, still lived.
That seed is a kind of miracle, and so is the star that lit it up it and thus brought it to my attention. In our Milky Way galaxy alone, 300 billion self-sustaining explosions manage to avoid blowing themselves apart for billions of years. How in the name of the heavens is that seeming contradiction possible even once?
To find out, look to the south for the constellation Orion, the Hunter, and the three stars of equal brightness that make up the Hunter’s belt. Hanging from the leftmost star in the line is Orion’s sword. On the bottom tip of the sword is a small fuzzy patch easily visible in binoculars. In a telescope, the fuzzy thing explodes into a swirling mass of glowing gas and newborn stars.
ReplyDeleteM42, as diehard stargazers like to call it, is an emission nebula, a giant cloud of hydrogen gas where stars are born. Clumps of hydrogen, slightly denser than the rest of the cloud, condense to form spinning balls of hydrogen. When those “proto-stars” get big enough and dense enough and hot enough, they magically metamorphose into the hydrogen bombs that we call stars.
But how do the clumps form in the first place? Why are so many stars formed out of such nearly empty, diaphanous clouds?
Out of the simple chaos of the clouds form a few clumps that will invariably lead to stars. Those first-generation stars tend toward the humongous -- much larger, brighter, and hydrogen-fuel-consuming than our below-average sun.
Such a star lives fast, just a few million years, dies young, and leaves a beautiful supernova, an explosion so brilliant that it briefly outshines the entire galaxy of 300 billion stars in which it resides.
That explosion sends shock waves coursing through the nebula, compressing the gas in many locations. Such compression leads to the clumps that will form thousands of stars. Each star becomes a perfect balance between the explosion that wants to rip it apart and the enormous gravity that desperately demands that it collapse.
Thus, out of the death of stars, comes new stellar life. The great nebular mother is seeded with new stars by the violent death of old ones.
As those stars form, the nebula slowly dissipates. In a short billion years, she will flutter into invisibility as she expends herself in stellar childbirth.
Would my single blueberry seed miraculously survive? Would it thaw in the winter sun and drop to the ground? Would it fulfill its promise and carry on the vision of its mother, the bush now inevitably dying? As the sun bathed it in purest aural light, I knew against all logic that it would.
Planets
What a depressing month for planet aficionados! Jupiter is getting very low in the southwest just after sunset. Mercury, Mars, Uranus, and Neptune are lost in the sun’s glare.
Still . . .
Brilliant Venus looks gorgeous in the early morning sky. She moves quickly through the rich star fields of Sagittarius, low in the southeast just before dawn.
Saturn rises a bit earlier each morning just before morning twilight. By spring, it will have migrated to the evening sky. If you don’t come to Perkins to take a look at it (rings, no extra charge), shame on you.
The clock reads eighty nine minutes as the ball hangs in the air, for what seems like an eternity. Worried expressions paint the defenders faces as they zero in on the balls landing zone. The ball starts its decent into enemy territory. Goalkeeper yells, defenders jump, and I dive head first. Mere centimeters separate defender and attacker as the ball falls the last couple of inches. The ball chooses its landing place by striking my head and bouncing off towards the goal. The goalkeeper’s gloves fail to block the speeding ball. The ball finally ends it ten second journey by resting in the back of the net. The crowd, like a lit fuse on a stick of dynamite throughout the entire game finally explodes.
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