Blog #9

#1
There is a tree next to the library that has small pin like needles that remind me of a Christmas tree. The shape of the tree is very peculiar because in many ways, it reminds me of a spider. Hanging from the leaves are golden cones that remind me of honeycomb. Surrounding the cones, there are about a dozen bees circling the tree. You’ve taught us to appreciate nature writing as a system. This tree has many forms of systems. The tree has a moist bark, and is directly in the sunlight. In the shade of this tree is a small tree/weed that is apparently dying. This smaller plant is weak, due to its lack of resources. The larger tree is absorbing all the sunlight, nutrients, and moisture in the air. They provide a balancing effect between the combs and the bees: among the natural word. The golden cones hanging from the trees also act as a host for the bees which are circling. Although it is not apparent whether the cones are meant to be there as a beneficiary or if they are a source of weakness, the bees are circling it as if it is honeycomb. Bees have a natural attraction to the color yellow. Whether they are serving any ecological resource, they provide a memorizing relationship between the bees and the combs. They also provide a balancing effect between the combs and the bees: among the natural word. I think my reflection would deal with a balancing of natural resources in comparison to what we have to share in our own natural lives.

#2
In comparison to the first tree which had a series of balances to nature, the second tree I saw had no balance and was nearly completely rotted. Despite being rotted, there is moss growing on the ground and the leaves were not dried out at all. Although the bark is extremely hard, and easily breakable, there still is moisture in the leaves. It is directly in the sunlight during noon time, and possibly for most of the afternoon. For a reflection, I would like to do a compare contrast position comparing the limited resources and the rotting of the tree. There are so many parallels I use that comparison for in the natural/non-natural world.

#3
I'd probably try to do something with those bees. Finding out about their fascination with yellow, and if there’s a hormonal reason they are so attracted to the yellow cones on the first tree.

Ideas for Nature Essay

While I was out observing at Kean University, I found two trees that interested me.

One of the trees was on the side of the library, it reminded me of a spider shaped christmas tree. The leaves felt like pine, without the smell. They were rough like a cactus would feel like. Along the brances were golden pieces of what looked like honeycomb. There were a few bee's swarming around the golden pieces. The park was exceptionally smooth, almost like it was full of nutrients. There was a side plant which was wilting underneath the large tree. The small plant was in the shade, as if it recieved little to no sunlight.

Further down on campus, down by the reflection garden I found a extremely large tree with the entire middle rotted. Along the ground, there was moss which was growing among leaves which had fallen. The branches that still hung from the tree were breaking off with apparent signs of rotting. The bark of the tree was very rough and easily breakable. I'm believing that the tree was dehydrated. Consequently, the leaves were not dried out or easily crumbling. On each of the branches there were spiky little balls hanging from the leaves. Many of these had also fallen onto the floor. Inside the middle of the tree, where it was rotted, there was a wide array of colors. I saw a wide mixture of browns, blacks, yellow-green spots mixed together. Even more apparent, inside the bark of the tree were holes spread through the middle.

Essay on Truth- Blog 7

What is your story about? Are the details you selected true to that focus?

My memoir is about the struggles that my family went through with my sister, and my own personal feelings of abandonment, inferiority, weakness, and disregard that were approached at that time.

Are there any "facts" which you are uncertain of which you have set forward as true?

Most of the details in my memoir I have full and clear memory of because this was an emotional standpoint in my adolescence. The only details I was unsure was the name of the group, and the exact time when my parents would leave.

Have you made changes in setting, time, or sequence which are unacknowledged?

No, all of the settings, times, and sequence are in chronological order over the time period of several years.

Have you fabricated dialog which you cannot remember (without acknowledging that you do not remember exact words)?

One of my first initial scenes when my sister was elsewhere and my parents were sitting watching TV is slightly sketchy. I do remember the name of my sister coming up, as well as her whereabouts but I’m not sure on the exact words.

Have you written your experience - or does your story cast you in terms of a "type" (like Frey)?

I’m not quite sure what this question is asking. At the time this situation occurred, I had no written acknowledgment of it (like a diary, journal, etc) but I remember the situation very well so I do not believe it is cast in terms of a type.

Are there relevant details which you deliberately left out? Why did you leave them out? Anything you are trying to avoid?

No, any details that occurred during the course of my story were not relevant to this memoir.

Can you detect any hedges, evasions, revisions which represent the self as more sophisticated, experienced, thoughtful, etc than the self at the time of the writing?

Not at this current time. When I was writing, I tried to put myself in the place that I was in during this occurrence. I’m sure that there will be revisions once I step back and look at this essay from a more updated perspective, but I haven’t done that yet.

What is suggested by what you selected to represent, and what you chose to leave out? Have you selected details to make your story more dramatic, more persuasive, or more "profound" than it merits? Does it need to be balanced by the addition of other selections in order to make it "true"?

While writing this story, I tried to suggest the roles of a family and how parents’ decisions make a big impact on their children’s’ adolescence. I would not consider this a dramatic or persuasive essay, but it is far from profound. It’s a work in progress.

Does the tone of your essay reveal anything about your relationship to your material? Why do you think you chose the tone you take in your essay (humorous, ironic, serious, self-righteous, respectful, lyrical . . . .)

Absolutely. That is what I was going for. I want my essay to reveal the abandonment, inferiority, weakness, and disregard that controlled my adolescence in many ways. I want my story to reveal that decisions made when we were children are going to have a presence in our adult lives.

Have you demonized or idealized any of the people in your story? If so, what was your motive? Why do you think you wrote to that particular need?

After re-reading the story, I realized that I have demonized my sister. Although everything in this essay is true, I have let out the fact that she has severely changed in the years after all of this.

If there are some pieces of the truth that you intend to hold back, can you tell this story "truthfully" despite those missing pieces? What might you need to add to make sure you do not misrepresent what your story is about?

As I mentioned previously, I have not left out any relevant information into this essay. I can say that this story is told very truthfully despite outside information.

Truth- Frey- Blog 6.5

The association with truth in a non-fiction novel is fleeting. This is because we are so often we are often blind to our histories. We explore the history and story of our lives as a personal experience and often non judgmental. Also, often times the best of stories is surrounded by a conflict. We try to block out the negative elements in our life. We have difficulty establishing a solid argument without divulging too much personal information. In the case of Frey, a Million Little Pieces can be translated into jumbles of a life segmented for entertainment. I’m sure there are parts of his book which are completely false, but in a sense it gives gratification to his life. Every writers wants to feel gratification for what they have written, even when it is unjustified.

Ever since Oprah started discussing Frey’s novel it has gone sky high in publicity. Frey plays many roles that are on opposite ends of the spectrum. He’s a victim, a criminal, a martyr, a humanitarian, and a member of the underworld. Every writer attempts to justify their lives in their writing, but Frey does it in an unusual way. Where as a writer would normally try to accommodate to the readers life, he attempts to draw the reader into his lifestyle.

Revised Memoir- 6.1

I’ve lived in the same house for my entire life. Through my 23 years of life, my house has been filled with joy, anger, aggression, sorrow, and every emotion in between. As we have grown up together, my sister and I are very different people. There have been times my mother has said that she would never know we are sisters. My mother reminds me of the small differences, like how my sister was constantly crying as an infant and how I almost never did. Growing up, we were treated vastly different. My sister was first at walking, talking, reading, writing and unfortunately finding trouble and following it.

When I was 10 years old my family was going through a difficult time. My grandfather had just recently passed away and my father was still an emotional wreck. He had not been working for the last several months, and my mother was paying most of our bills. My sister had just turned 13, and had begun to develop a less than appropriate temperament. She was constantly referred to as a rebel child. My parents had little assets to accommodate what was going on in their lives, much less to help my sister Jennifer.
My parents would be sitting at the dinning room table paying some bills. Jennifer would come down the stairs, “I’m going out. Bye” Before my parents could get two words out of their mouth, she was gone. Later that night, “John, did Jennifer say where she was going” my mother would ask. He would reply “No idea” as they both sat mindlessly in front of the television.
Originally I used to blame my sister for abusing my parent’s tolerance. After several months of my sister constantly breaking the rules my parents decided to try something new. My godparents had referred them to an organization called “Tough Love.” Every Tuesday night they would go to these “tough love” meetings. The goal was to control my sister through the advice of the people in the organization.
Often times I would imagine my parents at these meetings. I could see them sitting in a circle say, “Our names are John and Maryanne and we can’t control our daughter.”
Our routine would become so predictable.
Walking home from school at 3:30 in the afternoon, I would walk through the door and call my grandmother to tell her I was home. Every Tuesday my mother would walk in the door at 5 pm. “Hello? Jessica?” she would call when she entered the door knowing I’d be home. “What do you want for dinner?” I didn’t really have many options. I would usually have some sort of pasta. While I was finishing homework, my father would enter. At 5:45 we would have a brief dinner. “Jessica, how was your day?” My father would ask. “It was okay.” My social life never had much interaction. This was probably the only reason my parents had no issues with my adolescence.
For years, they would just refer to this place as “the group.” While I was growing up, my parents tried to ignore the seriousness of this situation with my sister. More amazingly, while my parents were at these meetings my sister was elsewhere. She often didn’t make it home before I fell asleep. I’m not sure whether they didn’t know she was out, or just didn’t know how to react to her.
My mother would kiss my forehead right before they left. “Don’t stay up too late Jess.” I would nod, and say goodnight. Later that night I would be watching Full house. I could imagine that being the perfect family. Nothing like mine. None of the kids would ever be left alone all night every Tuesday.

At times, I am still angry about what those years did to my family.
“But why do you guys need to keep going to the group? It’s not helping us.” I would plea with my parents. My father would respond, “That’s why we’re going. We need help. We don’t know how to fix this.” I would sigh, and whisper to myself “just leave us here. Doesn’t make a difference to you.”

During the first year that my parents had been attending “the group” we nearly had a meltdown. My father and sister were having a fight. Although no one can remember the exact reason for the fight, it was not exactly an uncommon occurrence.
“Just Leave Me Alone!” my sister would yell at my father. “This is my life and I can take care of myself.” My father has always been very passive. Trying to reason with my sister was as easy as knocking down a brick wall. She stormed down the stairs with my father directly behind her. He was breathing heavily. “I’m fed up with all of this.” Right as she finished saying that, she was gone. “Jess, Jess, go get my medicine. I can barely breathe.” I was scared. It was the most surreal thing I had ever seen happen to my father. “Here Dad, here’s your pills.” His eyes closed as I gave him the bottle. “DAD, DAD” I was screaming. I grabbed the phone and immediately called 911.
“911 Emergency. How can I help you?” the operator would say. “My dad was having trouble breathing and he’s not answering.” I remember the pace of my heart, which was pounding with fear. “The ambulance is on the way.”

The ambulance came immediately. When it pulled up, my neighbor came next door to see what was wrong. “Theresa, something happened to my dad. He and my sister had a big fight” I said. “Did you call your mother yet?” and I shook my head no. My neighbor had seen my sister and I grow up. She had always been there for us.
“Maryanne, you need to come home. Jennifer and John had a fight and the paramedics are here.” I can only imagine how fast my mother hung up the phone and ran out the door.
When my sister returned, the ambulance was just leaving. She walked through the door as if nothing had happened. “What the hell happened?” She looked right at my father, and deciding to walk upstairs to her room without an answer. I had never seen her with such a guilty face until that day. My mother looked as if she was alone. “Thank you for being so responsible Jess. You did a very important thing today.” She refused to look my sister in the face. I could imagine what my mother’s eyes were saying. “This is our family and you are ripping it apart. You need to change. You need to grow up.” Sitting at the dinner table, my sister was full of shame and regret. Things were very quiet that evening. After that night, I tried to look the other way when my sister and parents were arguing. This family struggle continued for the next few years. I’ll remember all of this. I’ll remember all of these memories.”
My family went through hard times the next few years. When she was 15, my parents did one of the most difficult things they had ever done. My parents were talking to my sister’s Godparents.
“We really don’t know what to do anymore. She never listens to us. We were hoping that she could stay with you for a little bit this summer. We need a break.” Her godparents accepted saying that it would be “no problem.” I could see the pain and regret on my fathers face that things had escaladed to this.

During my freshman year of high school my sister and I shared the same school for the first time. Nearly all of my teachers knew who I was because of her, and needless to say it was not always a good thing. “Is it true she has been kicked out of the house? She has been in so many fights. I heard she was even kicked out of conflict mediation.” In her senior year of high school she began to face the reality that in one more year if she was kicked out, she was an adult. “I guess I’ve been putting you guys through a lot haven’t I? I’m sorry. This is who I am.” Things weren’t perfect. They still aren’t perfect. My parents have learned a lot about accommodation though.
I’ve never fully accepted the decisions my parents and my sister made during those years. In relevance, the decisions they made probably helped our family survive.
They have always been there for me when I need them to be. Because of this experience, they realized that I need my personal space and I also need parents. They realized that if they constantly pressure me for information about my life I will close them out of my life just as she did. Although my sister and I have very little in common, we still come from the same family.

Memoir Essay- Blog 6

I’ve lived in the same house for my entire life. Through my 23 years of life, my house has been filled with joy, anger, aggression, sorrow, and every emotion in between. As we have grown up together, my sister and I are very different people. There have been times my mother has said that she would never know we are sisters. My mother reminds me of the small differences, like how my sister was constantly crying as an infant and how I almost never did. Growing up, we were treated vastly different. My sister was first at walking, talking, reading, writing and unfortunately finding trouble and following it.

When I was 10 years old my family was going through a difficult time. My grandfather had just recently passed away and my father was still an emotional wreck. He had not been working for the last several months, and my mother was paying most of our bills. My sister had just turned 13, and had begun to develop a less than appropriate temperament. She was constantly referred to as a rebel child. My parents had little assets to accommodate what was going on in their lives, much less to help my sister. Originally I used to blame my sister for abusing my parent’s tolerance. After several months of my sister constantly breaking the rules my parents decided to try something new. My aunt and uncle had referred them to an organization called “Tough Love.” Every Tuesday night they would go to these “tough love” meetings. The goal was to control my sister through the advice of the people in the organization. The routine was very simple. I’ve come home from school at 3:30. My mother would make me something fast for dinner at 5 and by 6 PM they were out. Most times they didn’t come home before I went to sleep. For years, they would just refer to this place as “the group” For several years, my parents chose not to disclose the severity of this situation. More amazingly, while my parents were at these meetings my sister was elsewhere. She often didn’t make it home before I fell asleep. I’m not sure whether they didn’t know she was out, or just didn’t know how to react to her. You would think that if you’re having problems with your kids, the worst thing to do is to leave them alone on a regular basis.
My parents went to this organization for several years; they have stated that nothing they learned there helped with our situation. At times, I am still angry about what those years did to my family.

During the first year that my parents had been attending “the group” we nearly had a meltdown. My father and sister were having a fight. Although no one can remember the exact reason for the fight, it was not exactly an uncommon occurrence. After several minutes of yelling and screaming, my sister ran down the stairs and stormed out the house. My father stormed down the stairs, and when he reached the bottom he sat down breathing heavily. I was sitting in the same room, watching and my dad began complaining of chest pains. He almost lost consciousness. My mother was still working. I was scared. I grabbed the phone and called 911. My mother was still at work so I called her immediately after. She rushed home and came about 10 minutes after the ambulance. (Despite her commute usually being well over 30 minutes.) The ambulance was there within minutes. My neighbor came next door when she saw the ambulance. My neighbor had watched myself and my sister grow up and was worried that something horrible had happened. My sister returned home about 30 minutes later just as the ambulance was leaving. My father was lying inside on the couch, recovering. When my mother saw my sister, she said nothing to her and walked away from her. Things were very quiet that evening. After that night, I tried to look the other way when my sister and parents were arguing. This family struggle continued for the next few years.
My sister finally started to work things out with my parents four years later. Through that time, she had gone through more arguments, fights, groundings, and eventually being kicked out of my house for two months. In her senior year of high school she began to face the reality that in one more year if she was kicked out, she was an adult. When they began to cooperate my parents stop going to “the group.” My parents did learn something about the experience with my sister. They have always been there for me when I need them to be and also realize that I need my own personal space. They realized that if they constantly pressure me for information about my life I will close them out of my life just as she did. My sister and I finally have one thing in common, our family.

Feedback? I'd like to know if I should be putting it in a different style or if I need to put more details in it.

Analysis: Blog Five

Personal essays are the most difficult types of essays to analyze because so much of the content is prevalent in daily life. I’m the type of person who realizes that nothing ever turns out perfect, and that our imperfections are often our greatest achievements. So, in one aspect, I’m satisfied that my work is still a piece in progress. Even though everyone’s essay is technically a piece in progress, some may not recognize it or even acknowledge it. Even since I finished writing my essay, more events have occurred and these events will shape my family for the rest of our lives. My sister found out she is having a girl on Thursday, and in less than a day my parents had decided to turn my old room into a nursery for after the baby is born. They’re ecstatic about being grandparents.

Some of the things I was not satisfied with are the lack of information I put into my essay. Sometimes when I read it I feel like it’s just a detailed history more than a story. In all the books I read outside school, I look at them two ways. Sometimes a story is indepth, interesting, and I feel myself connecting with the character. In this case, after stepping back and re-reading I feel like I’m just sitting there listening but not having any part of the story. Very unusual considering it’s a personal essay, but if this wasn’t about my family/my life I would feel like an outsider in this essay.

I would have liked to make this essay feel more personalized, but I’m not really sure how to do that. I would have liked to have some more technical aspects of an essay, but I realize it was not fitting to this assignment.

Family Freewriting- Blog 3

When I was about 10 years old my family was going through a lot. My sister was a "rebel" child and my parents didn’t know what to do. Every Tuesday night starting when I was 10 they would go to these “tough love” meetings and try to get advice on how to deal with my sister. Every Tuesday night, they would leave me home alone from 5pm on until I went to sleep. My sister was elsewhere, but they never seemed too concerned. They never even explained until years later why they had gone in the first place. I still get angry about it. You would think that if you’re having problems with your kids, the worst thing to do is to leave them alone on a regular basis.
Later that year, I was downstairs watching TV. My father and sister were having a fight and she stormed out of the house. My father started getting chest pains and almost lost consciousness. My mother was still working and I called 911 and then called my mother. The ambulance was there within minutes. When my sister came back from her walk, she saw an ambulance and was almost as scared as me. I remember my neighbor coming next door when she saw the ambulance. Things were very quiet that evening. My sister finally started to straighten out when I was 14, and only then did my parents stop going to those meetings.
My parents are very important to me too. I live at home with my mother and dad, and even though they’ve done some things in the past that I’ll never forgive them for I love them. They give me my space most of the time these days, but whenever I get home they ask me how I’m doing. They don’t completely understand my crazy lifestyle, but they are there for me.

"My Father Always Said"

In Schwartz’s essay, she introduces us to the events that she found on the trip to her families original home in “Rindheim”. In the years past World War II, many Jewish families left Germany and other European countries. Schwartz is a first generation American in her family, and each of her experiences is a precedent in her family.

Segment One: We’re introduced to Schwartz’s family history, and how her family relates to the American style. This teenager who has grown up in America can not seem to grasp her family’s rules, as most teenagers do not. It is interesting that although there are extreme cultural differences between her father and herself she recognizes them as the same person. In the first segment, she states that her father fled with their family because everyone else did it. When Schwartz tries to use her fathers argument against him, it backfires. They are opposites, both culturally and maturely.

Segment Two: This is where we began to depart in the past of Schwartz’s father. Schwartz has grown up in Brooklyn, NY and even in the best areas it has always been a busy fast paced city. Once arriving in Rindheim, Schwartz realizes that her father was raised on a farm. Very shortly after she arrives at the house, she presumes her father to be a “hick.” That draws the cultural barrier straight in the middle. From her father’s adolescence, the word hick was probably never introduced. Upon meeting an old neighbor of her father, and spoke primarily in German. This separates the language barrier.

Segment Three: This is where we are introduced to the religious values that Schwartz’s family had to give up when they immigrated to America. This is before the history of the holocaust became public knowledge, as is evident by Schwartz’s ignorance of Kristallnacht. In many cases, this is where we can identify with Schwartz’s father. His heart, which was fulfilled with the joy of going to temple, is now empty and shattered just like his burned temple. The Jews who returned to Rindheim only return to visit graves of lost ones. I wouldn’t even just say that they had to be loved ones. Every life that was lost, whether they were known or unknown, is shattered like the glass in his temple. This is where Schwartz begins to understand her father.

Segment Four: This is where they visit Schwartz’s fathers’ school. They talk about the differences between Jewish schooling and Christian school. Even though they learned different things, and Christians went to school more than Jews, after class let out they were all just kids. There was no cultural barrier. This is the first parallel Schwartz can identify with her life in Queens. They also discuss how her parents met, but she didn’t seem to have too much of an opinion about it.

Segment Five: This segment is probably the most visual of the entire essay. It discusses Schwartz’s personal experience, not just her families history. She tries to relate her own life, her personality into the life that her father escaped from. This is where Schwartz visits her paternal grandparents grave. She tries to imagine them. What they’re life would have been, but all she could see was their graves with stones on them. She learns that putting stones on a loved ones grave is a tribute to those lost lives. “The dead souls need the weight of remembrance, and then they rise up to God more easily.

Segment Six: Schwartz recognizes that eighty-seven Jews had been deported to concentration camps from Rindheim. This is when Schwartz is introduced to remorse and pain because unlike losing a loved one that you had the chance to know, she never had the chance to meet these people. She has no idea who or what family she had lost during those years, and she may never know. This is where the cultural barrier is non- existent. She could relate to the people whose lives she never knew. She could relate to her father, and how he grew up. I believe that this trip was more for her father than for Schwartz. It was to help him reconnect with his past, and say goodbye to it.