I thoroughly enjoyed reading Pie of the Month. It was really interesting how the writer related all of the pies of the month, to the month they were baked in. I know the point was for the pie to correspond with the month, but I actually sat here after reading this and realized that every month is kind of like a pie. (strange as that sounds) The piece was short but to the point. Each paragraph involved a new pie and a new month. She wasn’t ever fixed on one point in time, it really flowed well. The characters in this story were also quite interesting. Mrs. Pulliam and Mrs. Colley were two completely different people, but still they seemed to balance each other out. Mrs. Colley was sociable, friendly, and for the most part positive. Mrs. Pulliam was talented, she kept to herself, and was quite negative about their pie-baking business. One thing I didn’t understand completely (and maybe if I read it again I would understand it), was why Mrs. Pulliam left without telling Mrs. Colley. It seemed like they were best friends and the way everything was packed up in her house made it seem like she wasn’t planning on returning. How could she just leave Mrs. Colley by herself with the business to handle? Mrs. Colley didn’t even bake pies besides the fruit filled ones. I was just confused with that part. The last line of the story was probably my favorite.. “And in this way a small thing might become a big thing, easy as pie.” She basically took the main theme of the story (pie) and concluded it with a cliche that fit perfectly. Easy as pie.
Quite the character. February 21, 2008
George O’Reilly is a man of few words, but a man of kind ones. He celebrates his 70th birthday this year, but secretly he wishes he wouldn’t live until then. He has kept to himself really ever since his wife, Sarah, passed away a few years back. Since then he feels he has nothing to live for. His children live all over the country and each have their own families now. Jenna is in Seattle, Thomas is in Dallas, and George is in New York. They all moved away after high school, each going to colleges in their respective cities. George tries to fly out to see them each year, but as he gets older, its gets more difficult.
George stands at 5 feet 9 inches, but he has a bad back so he slouches a lot. He has always been on the chubby side and his belly sometimes gets in his way of doing things. His silver hair matches his silver rimmed glasses which he wears all the time. He always wears a plaid flannel shirt in the winter and old worn out t-shirts in the summer. The only time he has ever worn a tie was for the few weddings and funerals he had gone to. George has dark brown eyes and an infectious smile, even though he didn’t smile often. George iss a retired landscaper, and it shows in his hands. They are worn out with callouses, forty years of dirt is built up under his fingernails. Nothing can seem to get that out. He had a bad back from bending and lifting so much, which is why he slouched most of the time.
Three months ago, George’s house burnt down. He lost everything inside. Every picture, every memory he had in that house of Sarah was gone. They had lived in that house since they were first married for almost forty five years and now it was gone. The only thing he had left from the house was a wooden spool of thread. The thread was gone but still he kept it. It had been on top of the mantle of the fireplace and he had grabbed it earlier that day to just look at it. It was Sarah’s. It was old and worn out, just like his hands. She liked to sew a lot but when she got arthritis in her hands she couldn’t anymore. This was her final spool of thread that she ever sewed with, that’s why it was on the mantle. George now lives in a new home, but it’s not the same. His memory of her is all that he has along with that little wooden spool.
Almost forgot about “Proofs” February 11, 2008
The most important part of a memoir is detail. Richard Rodriguez really establishes that idea in the first paragraph of his memoir, Proofs. “All the rest happens with words. Your feet are tearing dry grass, your heart is lashed like a mare. You trip, you fall. You are now in the United States of America. You are a boy from a Mexican village. You have come into the country on your knees with your head down. You are a man.” This excerpt was by far my most favorite part of the entire piece. He is so in depth and truly gives the reader a feel for what he is going through. He doesn’t need to blatantly say that he is fleeing his country, he does that through detailed description. I also really liked how he wrote a lot of it in second person, using you for most of the second half of it. “You are sixteen. Your father has sent for you.” I think that really flows with the rest of his writing.
I have a really bad habit of hiting save and not publish!
Workshop and things. February 10, 2008
It’s hard for me to say what my readers wanted to know more about because they didn’t get to read the whole thing…it was 9 pages! I wish they could have read the whole thing because it would have given them a better idea, rather them just knowing the bits and pieces that I had read to them. I realized after reading the parts I did read, that I probably should go through my piece and edit out what isn’t necessary. The one thing they did mention though was that if I had felt any resentment to my siblings or my family after this whole incident. They were wondering if these events and others had caused me to take the whole thing to heart. My piece wasn’t about that at first, but after reading it through I realized that I do have a little bit of resentment towards them. It might be that I’ve never felt appreciated or as good as my brother and sister. The group really helped me discover deeper feelings that I have that I could possibly add into my paper.
Prompt: “Here is a scene…”
I could tell that my family was busy. I could tell that they didn’t want to be bothered right now. It wasn’t a good time for them. But when would it be a good time? It always seems to be inconvenient for them. If only I could stop the clock, just to spend five minutes with them. I sit here and wonder if they even care about what I did or what I do. Did they even notice? Have they ever taken the time out to notice me? Maybe I am just suffering from middle child syndrome, but I really don’t feel noticed. Maybe if I was the highest scoring striker on the soccer team they would notice me. Or maybe if I had a great internship and a degree from Hofstra University they would notice me. Maybe if I was taller, thinner, smarter, funnier, prettier…they would notice me. If only they weren’t so wrapped up in their own lives, maybe they would notice that although I might not be a soccer star or a college grad I am a person who deserves some attention just like everyone else.
