Wednesday, September 28, 2011

Tuesday, September 24th

Dear Juniors,

If you missed class, we completed the following:
1. We reviewed "The Landlady" and then each student completed their quiz covering the short story. If you missed class on Tuesday, please plan to attend a Flex session this week, in order to complete your quiz.
2. We then reviewed the five paragraph essay structure. Your next assignment involves writing a two body paragraph paper. In order for this to occur, I assisted the students in "triangling" the two body paragraphs that they will write. The THESIS for the assignment is the following:
Irony plays a significant role in "The Landlady," "The Dinner Party" and "The Open Window," as it assists in the audience in understanding the characters in greater detail.
3. We then proceeded to complete the triangle format for the five paragraph essay structure, omitting the introductory and concluding paragraphs. I gave each student a strong example from a previous student to assist them with writing the two paragraphs. IF YOU MISSED CLASS, you will need to obtain the triangles from another student in class.

1. Remember that your AW #6 entitled "Your iPod could power up your Paints" is due on Thursday.
2. Your two body paragraphs is due on Monday, October 3rd. Please type the paragraphs and include the appropriate colors for each section of the body paragraph structure (topic sentence, concrete detail and commentary).

Please let me know if I can be of any assistance.


Sunday, September 25, 2011

Friday, September 23rd

Dear Juniors,
If you missed class, we completed the following:
1. Everyone submitted their "Ironic" song with the aspects that they had altered to make ironic. We reviewed and discussed their examples.
2. We then reviewed the re-take quiz that each student took last class period.  I am so proud of you, as everyone improved!
3. JOURNAL #5 occurred next entitled "Inja, the dog." If you missed class, you will need to come visit with me during  a flex session, as the journal entry involves watching a short film.  The questions I asked included the following: Identify dramatic and situational irony within the film. In addition, how do you think it ended based upon previous events?
4. We then started to read "The Land Lady" by Roald Dahl. We did not complete the short story in class, so please read it for homework. I have included a copy of it for you below. HINT: Identify aspects of verbal, dramatic and situational irony as you read the  story.

1. Please read "The Landlandy" and plan on a reading quiz!
2. Remember that your Article of the Week #6 is due on Thursday.

THE LANDLADY by Roald Dahl

Billy Weaver had traveled down from London on the slow afternoon train, with a change at Reading on the way, and by the time he got to Bath, it was about nine o’clock in the evening, and the moon was coming up out of a clear starry sky over the houses opposite the station entrance. But the air was deadly cold and the wind was like a flat blade of ice on his cheeks.  “Excuse me,” he said, “but is there a fairly cheap hotel not too far away from here?”
“Try The Bell and Dragon,” the porter answered, pointing down the road. “They might take you in. It’s about a quarter of a mile along on the other side.”

Billy thanked him and picked up his suitcase and set out to walk the quarter-mile to The Bell and Dragon. He had never been to Bath before. He didn’t know anyone who lived there. But Mr. Greenslade at the head office in London had told him it was a splendid town. “Find your own lodgings,” he had said, “and then go along and report to the branch manager as soon as you’ve got yourself settled.”
Billy was seventeen years old. He was wearing a new navy-blue overcoat, a new brown trilby hat, and a new brown suit, and he was feeling fine. He walked briskly down the street. He was trying to do everything briskly these days. Briskness, he had decided, was the one common characteristic of all successful businessmen. The big shots up at the head office were absolutely fantastically brisk all the time. They were amazing.

There were no shops on this wide street that he was walking along, only a line of tall houses on each side, all of them identical. They had porches and pillars and four or five steps going up to their front doors, and it was obvious that once upon a time they had been very swanky residences. But now, even in the darkness, he could see that the paint was peeling from the woodwork on their doors and windows and that the handsome white facades were cracked and blotchy from neglect.
Suddenly, in a downstairs window that was brilliantly illuminated by a street lamp not six yards away, Billy caught sight of a printed notice propped up against the glass in one of the upper panes. It said BED AND BREAKFAST. There was a vase of yellow chrysanthemums, tall and beautiful, standing just underneath the notice.
He stopped walking. He moved a bit closer. Green curtains (some sort of velvety material) were hanging down on either side of the window. The chrysanthemums looked wonderful beside them. He went right up and peered through the glass into the room, and the first thing he saw was a bright fire burning in the hearth. On the carpet in front of the fire, a pretty little dachshund was curled up asleep with its nose tucked into its belly. The room itself, so far as he could see in the half darkness, was filled with pleasant furniture. There was a baby grand piano and a big sofa and several plump armchairs, and in one corner he spotted a large parrot in a cage. Animals were usually a good sign in a place like this, Billy told himself; and all in all, it looked to him as though it would be a pretty decent house to stay in. Certainly it would be more comfortable than The Bell and Dragon.
On the other hand, a pub would be more congenial than a boardinghouse. There would be beer and darts in the evenings, and lots of people to talk to, and it would probably be a good bit cheaper, too. He had stayed a couple of nights in a pub once before and he had liked it. He had never stayed in any boardinghouses, and, to be perfectly honest, he was a tiny bit frightened of them. The name itself conjured up images of watery cabbage, rapacious landladies, and a powerful smell of kippers in the living room.
After dithering about like this in the cold for two or three minutes, Billy decided that he would walk on and take a look at The Bell and Dragon before making up his mind. He turned to go.

He pressed the bell. Far away in a back room he heard it ringing, and then at once —it must have been at once because he hadn’t even had time to take his finger from the bell button—the door swung open and a woman was standing there.
Normally you ring the bell and you have at least a half-minute’s wait before the door opens. But this dame was like a jack-in-the-box. He pressed the bell—and out she popped! It made him jump.
She was about forty-five or fifty years old, and the moment she saw him, she gave him a warm, welcoming smile.
“ Please come in,” she said pleasantly. She stepped aside, holding the door wide open, and Billy found himself automatically starting forward. The compulsion or, more accurately, the desire to follow after her into that house was extraordinarily strong.
“I saw the notice in the window,” he said, holding himself back.
“Yes, I know.”
“I was wondering about a room.”
“It’s all ready for you, my dear,” she said. She had a round pink face and very gentle blue eyes.
“I was on my way to The Bell and Dragon,” Billy told her. “But the notice in your window just happened to catch my eye.”
“My dear boy,” she said, “why don’t you come in out of the cold?”
“How much do you charge?”
“Five and sixpence a night, including breakfast.”
It was fantastically cheap. It was less than half of what he had been willing to pay.
“If that is too much,” she added, “then perhaps I can reduce it just a tiny bit. Do you desire an egg for breakfast? Eggs are expensive at the moment. It would be sixpence less without the egg.”
“Five and sixpence is fine,” he answered. “I should like very much to stay here.”
“I knew you would. Do come in.”
She seemed terribly nice. She looked exactly like the mother of one’s best school friend welcoming one into the house to stay for the Christmas holidays. Billy took off his hat and stepped over the threshold.
“Just hang it there,” she said, “and let me help you with your coat.”
There were no other hats or coats in the hall. There were no umbrellas, no walking sticks—nothing.
“We have it all to ourselves,” she said, smiling at him over her shoulder as she led the way upstairs. “You see, it isn’t very often I have the pleasure of taking a visitor into my little nest.”
The old girl is slightly dotty, Billy told himself. But at five and sixpence a night, who cares about that? “I should’ve thought you’d be simply swamped with applicants,” he said politely.
“Oh, I am, my dear, I am, of course I am. But the trouble is that I’m inclined to be just a teeny-weeny bit choosy and particular—if you see what I mean.”
“Ah, yes.”
“But I’m always ready. Everything is always ready day and night in this house just on the off chance that an acceptable young gentleman will come along. And it is such a pleasure, my dear, such a very great pleasure when now and again I open the door and I see someone standing there who is just exactly right.” She was halfway up the stairs, and she paused with one hand on the stair rail, turning her head and smiling down at him with pale lips. “Like you,” she added, and her blue eyes traveled slowly all the way down the length of Billy’s body, to his feet, and then up again.
On the second-floor landing she said to him, “This floor is mine.”
They climbed up another flight. “And this one is all yours,” she said. “Here’s your room. I do hope you’ll like it.” She took him into a small but charming front bedroom, switching on the light as she went in.
“The morning sun comes right in the window, Mr. Perkins. It is Mr. Perkins, isn’t it?”
“No,” he said. “It’s Weaver.”
“Mr. Weaver. How nice. I’ve put a water bottle between the sheets to air them out, Mr. Weaver. It’s such a comfort to have a hot-water bottle in a strange bed with clean sheets, don’t you agree? And you may light the gas fire at any time if you feel chilly.”
“Thank you,” Billy said. “Thank you ever so much.” He noticed that the bedspread had been taken off the bed and that the bedclothes had been neatly turned back on one side, all ready for someone to get in.
“I’m so glad you appeared,” she said, looking earnestly into his face. “I was beginning to get worried.”
“That’s all right,” Billy answered brightly. “You mustn’t worry about me.” He put his suitcase on the chair and started to open it.
“And what about supper, my dear? Did you manage to get anything to eat before you came here?”
“I’m not a bit hungry, thank you,” he said. “I think I’ll just go to bed as soon as possible because tomorrow I’ve got to get up rather early and report to the office.”
“Very well, then. I’ll leave you now so that you can unpack. But before you go to bed, would you be kind enough to pop into the sitting room on the ground floor and sign the book? Everyone has to do that because it’s the law of the land, and we don’t want to go breaking any laws at this stage in the proceedings, do we?” She gave him a little wave of the hand and went quickly out of the room and closed the door.
Now, the fact that his landlady appeared to be slightly off her rocker didn’t worry Billy in the least. After all, she not only was harmless—there was no question about that—but she was also quite obviously a kind and generous soul. He guessed that she had probably lost a son in the war, or something like that, and had never gotten over it.
So a few minutes later, after unpacking his suitcase and washing his hands, he trotted downstairs to the ground floor and entered the living room. His landlady wasn’t there, but the fire was glowing in the hearth, and the little dachshund was still sleeping soundly in front of it. The room was wonderfully warm and cozy. I’m a lucky fellow, he thought, rubbing his hands. This is a bit of all right.
He found the guest book lying open on the piano, so he took out his pen and wrote down his name and address. There were only two other entries above his on the page, and as one always does with guest books, he started to read them. One was a Christopher Mulholland from Cardiff. The other was Gregory W. Temple from Bristol.
That’s funny, he thought suddenly. Christopher Mulholland. It rings a bell.
Now where on earth had he heard that rather unusual name before?
Was it a boy at school? No. Was it one of his sister’s numerous young men, perhaps, or a friend of his father’s? No, no, it wasn’t any of those. He glanced down again at the book.
Christopher Mulholland
231 Cathedral Road, Cardiff 

Gregory W. Temple
27 Sycamore Drive, Bristol 

As a matter of fact, now he came to think of it, he wasn’t at all sure that the second name didn’t have almost as much of a familiar ring about it as the first.
“Gregory Temple?” he said aloud, searching his memory. “Christopher Mulholland? . . .”
“Such charming boys,” a voice behind him answered, and he turned and saw his landlady sailing into the room with a large silver tea tray in her hands. She was holding it well out in front of her, and rather high up, as though the tray were a pair of reins on a frisky horse.
“They sound somehow familiar,” he said.
“They do? How interesting.”
“I’m almost positive I’ve heard those names before somewhere. Isn’t that odd? Maybe it was in the newspapers. They weren’t famous in any way, were they? I mean famous cricketers7 or footballers or something like that?”

“Famous,” she said, setting the tea tray down on the low table in front of the sofa. “Oh no, I don’t think they were famous. But they were incredibly handsome, both of them, I can promise you that. They were tall and young and handsome, my dear, just exactly like you.”
Once more, Billy glanced down at the book. “Look here,” he said, noticing the dates. “This last entry is over two years old.”
“It is?”
“Yes, indeed. And Christopher Mulholland’s is nearly a year before that—more than three years ago.”
“Dear me,” she said, shaking her head and heaving a dainty little sigh. “I would never have thought it. How time does fly away from us all, doesn’t it, Mr. Wilkins?”
“It’s Weaver,” Billy said. “W-e-a-v-e-r.”
“Oh, of course it is!” she cried, sitting down on the sofa. “How silly of me. I do apologize. In one ear and out the other, that’s me, Mr. Weaver.”
“You know something?” Billy said. “Something that’s really quite extraordinary about all this?”
“No, dear, I don’t.”
“Well, you see, both of these names—Mulholland and Temple—I not only seem to remember each one of them separately, so to speak, but somehow or other, in some peculiar way, they both appear to be sort of connected together as well. As though they were both famous for the same sort of thing, if you see what I mean—like . . . well . . . like Dempsey and Tunney, for example, or Churchill and Roosevelt.”

“How amusing,” she said. “But come over here now, dear, and sit down beside me on the sofa and I’ll give you a nice cup of tea and a ginger biscuit before you go to bed.”

“You really shouldn’t bother,” Billy said. “I didn’t mean you to do anything like that.” He stood by the piano, watching her as she fussed about with the cups and saucers. He noticed that she had small, white, quickly moving hands and red fingernails.
“I’m almost positive it was in the newspapers I saw them,” Billy said. “I’ll think of it in a second. I’m sure I will.”
There is nothing more tantalizing than a thing like this that lingers just outside the borders of one’s memory. He hated to give up.
“Now wait a minute,” he said. “Wait just a minute. Mulholland . . . Christopher Mulholland . . . wasn’t that the name of the Eton schoolboy who was on a walking tour through the West Country, and then all of a sudden . . .”
“Milk?” she said. “And sugar?”
“Yes, please. And then all of a sudden . . .”
“Eton schoolboy?” she said. “Oh no, my dear, that can’t possibly be right, because my Mr. Mulholland was certainly not an Eton schoolboy when he came to me. He was a Cambridge undergraduate. Come over here now and sit next to me and warm yourself in front of this lovely fire. Come on. Your tea’s all ready for you.” She patted the empty place beside her on the sofa, and she sat there smiling at Billy and waiting for him to come over.

He crossed the room slowly and sat down on the edge of the sofa. She placed his teacup on the table in front of him.
There we are,” she said. “How nice and cozy this is, isn’t it?”
Billy started sipping his tea. She did the same. For half a minute or so, neither of them spoke. But Billy knew that she was looking at him. Her body was half turned toward him, and he could feel her eyes resting on his face, watching him over the rim of her teacup. Now and again, he caught a whiff of a peculiar smell that seemed to emanate directly from her person. It was not in the least unpleasant, and it reminded him—well, he wasn’t quite sure what it reminded him of. Pickled walnuts? New leather? Or was it the corridors of a hospital? 
At length, she said, “Mr. Mulholland was a great one for his tea. Never in my life have I seen anyone drink as much tea as dear, sweet Mr. Mulholland.”
“I suppose he left fairly recently,” Billy said. He was still puzzling his head about the two names. He was positive now that he had seen them in the newspapers—in the headlines.
“Left?” she said, arching her brows. “But my dear boy, he never left. He’s still here. Mr. Temple is also here. They’re on the fourth floor, both of them together.”
Billy set his cup down slowly on the table and stared at his landlady. She smiled back at him, and then she put out one of her white hands and patted him comfortingly on the knee. “How old are you, my dear?” she asked.
“Seventeen!” she cried. “Oh, it’s the perfect age! Mr. Mulholland was also seventeen. But I think he was a trifle shorter than you are; in fact I’m sure he was, and his teeth weren’t quite so white. You have the most beautiful teeth, Mr. Weaver, did you know that?”
“They’re not as good as they look,” Billy said. “They’ve got simply masses of fillings in them at the back.”
“Mr. Temple, of course, was a little older,” she said, ignoring his remark. “He was actually twenty-eight. And yet I never would have guessed it if he hadn’t told me, never in my whole life. There wasn’t a blemish on his body.”
“A what?” Billy said.
“His skin was just like a baby’s.”
There was a pause. Billy picked up his teacup and took another sip of his tea; then he set it down again gently in its saucer. He waited for her to say something else, but she seemed to have lapsed into another of her silences. He sat there staring straight ahead of him into the far corner of the room, biting his lower lip.
“That parrot,” he said at last. “You know something? It had me completely fooled when I first saw it through the window. I could have sworn it was alive.”
“Alas, no longer.”
“It’s most terribly clever the way it’s been done,” he said. “It doesn’t look in the least bit dead. Who did it?”
“I did.”
You did?”
“Of course,” she said. “And have you met my little Basil as well?” She nodded toward the dachshund curled up so comfortably in front of the fire. Billy looked at it. And suddenly, he realized that this animal had all the time been just as silent and motionless as the parrot. He put out a hand and touched it gently on the top of its back. The back was hard and cold, and when he pushed the hair to one side with his fingers, he could see the skin underneath, grayish black and dry and perfectly preserved.
“Good gracious me,” he said. “How absolutely fascinating.” He turned away from the dog and stared with deep admiration at the little woman beside him on the sofa. “It must be most awfully difficult to do a thing like that.”
“Not in the least,” she said. “I stuff all my little pets myself when they pass away. Will you have another cup of tea?”
“No, thank you,” Billy said. The tea tasted faintly of bitter almonds, and he didn’t much care for it.
“You did sign the book, didn’t you?”
“Oh, yes.”
“That’s good. Because later on, if I happen to forget what you were called, then I could always come down here and look it up. I still do that almost every day with Mr. Mulholland and Mr. . . . Mr. . . .”
“Temple,” Billy said, “Gregory Temple. Excuse my asking, but haven’t there been any other guests here except them in the last two or three years?”
Holding her teacup high in one hand, inclining her head slightly to the left, she looked up at him out of the corners of her eyes and gave him another gentle little smile.
“No, my dear,” she said. “Only you.”

Thursday, September 22, 2011

Wednesday, September 21, 2011

Dear Juniors,

If you missed class, we completed the following:
1. We reviewed the short story entitled "The Open Window" and then took the re-take quiz concerning the story. We will correct it on Friday.
2. Every student submitted their AW #4 regarding  Cloning, and I gave everyone AW #5 entitled "Your Pants might Power Up your I-Pod." This AW is due on Thursday, September 29th.
3. The remaining time was spent explaining your homework assignment regarding the song "Ironic" by Alantis Morisette. I have included a copy of it for you below. Please print it off, as you will need it. THE ASSIGNMENT IS DUE ON FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 23rd!
Your assignment involves underlining all the aspects that Ms. Morisette believes to be ironic, but in actuality ARE NOT! Big Hint: Not one aspect of irony exists within the song. After you have done this, you are to select FIVE of the non-ironic points and actually MAKE THEM IRONIC.

For example: "A man turned ninety-eight. He won the lottery and then died the next day."
This isn't ironic at all, it just happens to be unfortunate.
This  new and updated version is far more ironic.
A ninety-eight year old man has purchased a lottery ticket each day since he turned twenty-one. The asbestos from the lottery tickets have infected his lungs, causing lung cancer. He decides to buy a lottery ticket on the day her turns ninety eight, and luckily he is a winner......$1,000,000, but he dies the next day from the cancer caused by opening the lottery tickets for the past seventy-seven years.  NOW THAT'S IRONIC!


An old man turned ninety-eight
He won the lottery and died the next day
It's a black fly in your Chardonnay
It's a death row pardon two minutes too late
And isn't it ironic... don't you think

It's like rain on your wedding day
It's a free ride when you've already paid
It's the good advice that you just didn't take
Who would've thought... it figures

Mr. Play It Safe was afraid to fly
He packed his suitcase and kissed his kids goodbye
He waited his whole damn life to take that flight
And as the plane crashed down he thought
"Well isn't this nice..."
And isn't it ironic... don't you think

It's like rain on your wedding day
It's a free ride when you've already paid
It's the good advice that you just didn't take
Who would've thought... it figures

Well life has a funny way of sneaking up on you
When you think everything's okay and everything's going right
And life has a funny way of helping you out when
You think everything's gone wrong and everything blows up
In your face

A traffic jam when you're already late
A no-smoking sign on your cigarette break
It's like ten thousand spoons when all you need is a knife
It's meeting the man of my dreams
And then meeting his beautiful wife
And isn't it ironic...don't you think
A little too ironic...and, yeah, I really do think...

It's like rain on your wedding day
It's a free ride when you've already paid
It's the good advice that you just didn't take
Who would've thought... it figures

Life has a funny way of sneaking up on you
Life has a funny, funny way of helping you out
Helping you out


Tuesday, September 20, 2011

Monday, September 19th, 2011

Dear Juniors,

STOP MISS CLASS, cute kids!
What did I miss today in class?

1. We reviewed the "Short Story Quiz" that each student took last time in relationship to the "Alchemist's Secret." After correcting the quiz, it became evident that the majority of the students did not PREPARE for it. So, I gave everyone the option of re-taking the quiz on Wednesday, using the short story entitled "The Open Window" by Saki as the catalyst for their questions. I have included a copy of the short story for you below. HINT: As you read the short story, you should identify examples of the three types of irony, examples of indirect and direct characters, and the four different types of characters. READ THE STORY, my young friends.

1. STUDY for your re-take concerning short stories. PLEASE READ the information above in #1
2. Article of the Week #4, regarding cloning, is due on Wednesday, September 19th.

The Open Window

"My aunt will be down presently, Mr. Nuttel," said a very self-possessed young lady of fifteen; "in the meantime you must try and put up with me."

Framton Nuttel endeavoured to say the correct something which should duly flatter the niece of the moment without unduly discounting the aunt that was to come. Privately he doubted more than ever whether these formal visits on a succession of total strangers would do much towards helping the nerve cure which he was supposed to be undergoing.

"I know how it will be," his sister had said when he was preparing to migrate to this rural retreat; "you will bury yourself down there and not speak to a living soul, and your nerves will be worse than ever from moping. I shall just give you letters of introduction to all the people I know there. Some of them, as far as I can remember, were quite nice."

Framton wondered whether Mrs. Sappleton, the lady to whom he was presenting one of the letters of introduction came into the nice division.

"Do you know many of the people round here?" asked the niece, when she judged that they had had sufficient silent communion.

"Hardly a soul," said Framton. "My sister was staying here, at the rectory, you know, some four years ago, and she gave me letters of introduction to some of the people here."

He made the last statement in a tone of distinct regret.

"Then you know practically nothing about my aunt?" pursued the self-possessed young lady.

"Only her name and address," admitted the caller. He was wondering whether Mrs. Sappleton was in the married or widowed state. An undefinable something about the room seemed to suggest masculine habitation.

"Her great tragedy happened just three years ago," said the child; "that would be since your sister's time."

"Her tragedy?" asked Framton; somehow in this restful country spot tragedies seemed out of place.

"You may wonder why we keep that window wide open on an October afternoon," said the niece, indicating a large French window that opened on to a lawn.

"It is quite warm for the time of the year," said Framton; "but has that window got anything to do with the tragedy?"

"Out through that window, three years ago to a day, her husband and her two young brothers went off for their day's shooting. They never came back. In crossing the moor to their favourite snipe-shooting ground they were all three engulfed in a treacherous piece of bog. It had been that dreadful wet summer, you know, and places that were safe in other years gave way suddenly without warning. Their bodies were never recovered. That was the dreadful part of it." Here the child's voice lost its self-possessed note and became falteringly human. "Poor aunt always thinks that they will come back someday, they and the little brown spaniel that was lost with them, and walk in at that window just as they used to do. That is why the window is kept open every evening till it is quite dusk. Poor dear aunt, she has often told me how they went out, her husband with his white waterproof coat over his arm, and Ronnie, her youngest brother, singing 'Bertie, why do you bound?' as he always did to tease her, because she said it got on her nerves. Do you know, sometimes on still, quiet evenings like this, I almost get a creepy feeling that they will all walk in through that window - "

She broke off with a little shudder. It was a relief to Framton when the aunt bustled into the room with a whirl of apologies for being late in making her appearance.

"I hope Vera has been amusing you?" she said.

"She has been very interesting," said Framton.

"I hope you don't mind the open window," said Mrs. Sappleton briskly; "my husband and brothers will be home directly from shooting, and they always come in this way. They've been out for snipe in the marshes today, so they'll make a fine mess over my poor carpets. So like you menfolk, isn't it?"

She rattled on cheerfully about the shooting and the scarcity of birds, and the prospects for duck in the winter. To Framton it was all purely horrible. He made a desperate but only partially successful effort to turn the talk on to a less ghastly topic, he was conscious that his hostess was giving him only a fragment of her attention, and her eyes were constantly straying past him to the open window and the lawn beyond. It was certainly an unfortunate coincidence that he should have paid his visit on this tragic anniversary.

"The doctors agree in ordering me complete rest, an absence of mental excitement, and avoidance of anything in the nature of violent physical exercise," announced Framton, who laboured under the tolerably widespread delusion that total strangers and chance acquaintances are hungry for the least detail of one's ailments and infirmities, their cause and cure. "On the matter of diet they are not so much in agreement," he continued.

"No?" said Mrs. Sappleton, in a voice which only replaced a yawn at the last moment. Then she suddenly brightened into alert attention - but not to what Framton was saying.

"Here they are at last!" she cried. "Just in time for tea, and don't they look as if they were muddy up to the eyes!"

Framton shivered slightly and turned towards the niece with a look intended to convey sympathetic comprehension. The child was staring out through the open window with a dazed horror in her eyes. In a chill shock of nameless fear Framton swung round in his seat and looked in the same direction.

In the deepening twilight three figures were walking across the lawn towards the window, they all carried guns under their arms, and one of them was additionally burdened with a white coat hung over his shoulders. A tired brown spaniel kept close at their heels. Noiselessly they neared the house, and then a hoarse young voice chanted out of the dusk: "I said, Bertie, why do you bound?"

Framton grabbed wildly at his stick and hat; the hall door, the gravel drive, and the front gate were dimly noted stages in his headlong retreat. A cyclist coming along the road had to run into the hedge to avoid imminent collision.

"Here we are, my dear," said the bearer of the white mackintosh, coming in through the window, "fairly muddy, but most of it's dry. Who was that who bolted out as we came up?"

"A most extraordinary man, a Mr. Nuttel," said Mrs. Sappleton; "could only talk about his illnesses, and dashed off without a word of goodby or apology when you arrived. One would think he had seen a ghost."

"I expect it was the spaniel," said the niece calmly; "he told me he had a horror of dogs. He was once hunted into a cemetery somewhere on the banks of the Ganges by a pack of pariah dogs, and had to spend the night in a newly dug grave with the creatures snarling and grinning and foaming just above him. Enough to make anyone lose their nerve."

Romance at short notice was her speciality.

Wednesday, September 14, 2011

September 15th, 2011

We completed the following today in class:

1. Journal #4 "Afghan Woman Punished"
Tell me how this article made you feel and why you experienced those emotions. List five of your total questions that you consider the strongest. Basically, which of your questions, in your opinion, would cause another individual to think about, or even question, events indicated within the article.

Monday, September 12, 2011

Tuesday, September 13th, 2011

Dear Juniors,

We started our discussion regarding "Short Story" elements today in class (September 13th). In order to obtain this information, please visit with me or a friend. We also reviewed the short story structure by making cookies; it was so much fun! Plan on a quiz covering the introductory information discussed in class today. You will need to familiarize yourself with irony, foreshadowing, the different types of characterization, the different types of characters, the purposes of short stories, the conflicts associated with short stories, and the short story structure. Good Luck!. We then completed another journal entry entitled

Journal #4" : Times of Crisis.
This entry is different than others as it has three questions to it:
1. How do you handle dangerous situations that could cause panic? Do you act or react? Do you consider yourself a calm individual, especially concerning aspects that might cause pandemonium, or would you say that you have a more "stressed" and "anxious" type of character?
2. We then read the short story "The Dinner Party."
3. Then we answered the next question for the Journal #4. According to one character within "The Dinner Party," women have a tendency to over react in times of crisis. Tell me why this belief is ironic, especially regarding events within the story.
4. Our guest then "revealed" herself. We then responded to the third part of the journal entry. If you had known that Rosie was in the room, prior to our discussion, would your reaction to entering the room have been any different? Would there have been a "crisis" with you? Explain.

1. Plan on a quiz covering the characteristics of a short story on Thursday.
2. Remember that Article #3 is due on Thursday.....RED annotations/notations/7-10 for each page, unless I indicated to you otherwise

September 9th, 2011

Dear Juniors,

We had a come to "ATHENA (she's the goddess of wisdom), meeting today in class regarding completing your homework. Guys, if you need help then ask me. NEVER choose to fail! If you haven't completed an assignment, then submit what you have completed.

1. We work on revising our body paragraphs. Miss. Davis reviewed passive and active voice with you. We then identified and corrected the passive verbs along with the dead words in our body paragraphs. Students then did some peer review in relationship to the structure of their paragraphs.

1. Each student was asked to review and revise their body paragraph, specifically noting passive verbs, dead words, and the five paragraph structure. THE REVISED PARAGRAPH is due on TUESDAY!

Tuesday, September 6, 2011

Wed., September 7th

If you missed class on Wed., September 7th...Shame on You!

Dear Juniors,

The following image relates to your "Article of the Week #3" that was given to you in class today. If you missed class, please see me in order to obtain a copy.. Your homework regarding this article is due on Thursday, September 15th. Please annotate/notate using ONLY RED/7-10/page! PLEASE collect an article from me if you missed class.

I think you will more greatly appreciate the freedoms you possess as citizens of the United States of America after you read, annotate and notate the article. Please notate the article using only RED. So, your notations need to appear in the form of questions for this article.

2. Journal #2 "Why boys don't like chick books"
Return to your article, cute kids, and identify the BLUE and PURPLE aspects that you annotated. Please include a minimum of three each. So, indicate what points you made an emotional connection and personal connection with, as well. Next, select ONE line from the article that you found insightful. Justify your response.

3. Next we reviewed the 8 sentence structure for strong body paragraphs. We color coded both paragraphs in order to make sure they contained the required parts. We learned that the first example does not have enough COMMENTARY or GREEN.

Paragraph Examples
Due to the pain that one feels during post surgery, scientists and doctors use new medicines to help patients through pain relief. However, many drugs fail to provide sufficient relief due to the weakness of the drugs. For example, Stephen Aaron, a middle-aged man from Salt Lake City, Utah, recently required back surgery. He received morphine to help cope with the pain he felt, however, the pain pushed through the medicine to a point where he found it almost unbearable. The drugs couldn't provide the relief he required, and unfortunately legalized marijuana isn't an option in Utah. Very few people react negatively to marijuana Allergic reaction reports seem to come up very seldom and far in between. These reasons help indicate why medical marijuana should become an option in all states.

#2 (with more commentary/support)

Due to post surgery pain, medical professionals use new medicines to assist patients with pain relief. Unfortunately, many drugs fail to provide sufficient help. For example, Stephen Aaron, a middle-aged man from Salt Lake City, Utah, recently required back surgery. He received morphine to help cope with the strong post surgery discomfort; however, the morphine did not ease his pain. If current pain options cease to alleviate patient pain, then other avenues need consideration. According to one study conducted by the U.S. Society for Neuroscience, “Careful studies show marijuana directly interferes with pain signaling in the nervous system.. This insight may lead to a new class of pain killers. Patients suffering from spinal cord injuries and the ill effects of chemotherapy will find pain relief through the use of marijuana” (Joy, Stanley, and Benson). A second study sponsored by the Healthcare Regularly Agency (HRA) indicated that the 200 individuals used in the study “found the use of marijuana most effective, particularly regarding pain relief and improved sleep” (Armenteno). If Mr. Aaron had taken marijuana for his pain, he would have recovered more quickly and experienced less side effects from the surgery. Unfortunately, the use of medical marijuana creates a barrier in the state of Utah. Thirteen states and the District of Columbia permit the use of medical marijuana (Seimons). If approved throughout the United States, medical marijuana would decrease pain experienced by those recovering from surgery and other illnesses.

2. Students selected the topic for their eight sentence paragraph. If you missed class then please come see me so you can choose your topic. The paragraph is due on Friday.

Friday, September 2, 2011

Friday, September 2nd, 2011

Dear Juniors,

"Well, let me enlighten you, cute kids!"

1. We completed our "plate paragraphs" and submitted them for participation points.
2. We then worked in groups concerning five different topics. Students were asked to discuss the topic and then triangle their ideas using the color coding method. Then, on an individual basis, they were asked to write the body paragraph for the triangle that they had just created with the members in their groups.

1. Article #2 is due on Wednesday. You may use ALL your COLORS /7-10 annotations/notations for each page. Only one annotation and notation are required for the last page.
2. We will have a quiz on WED. where you practice writing a body paragraph by yourself. Each student will select from one of the following topics;
  • Prayer in school
  • Uniforms
  • Taking the ACT
  • Mosque at Ground Zero
  • Year Round School
REVIEW the paragraph structure. You are welcome to create a triangle to record ideas in order to assist you with your paragraph .

Enjoy your weekend!