Like hidden clues to a puzzle, endlessly searched for by the greatest detectives of all time; like an X-marks-the-spot hidden deep beneath the burning white sand of a tropical beach; like the ever-present hint in the stare of a coquette, continuously overlooked by the ignorance of a man; in every story there is a message, or a theme, if you will. These small, yet meaningful secrets behind the reality of a good story are so often unseen by readers all around the world, yet they are solely the reason for which reading itself is so valuable. The novella The Old Man and the Sea is no exception to this truth. There are many themes in the famously unique plot, endless concepts to be learned from its pages. Lessons such as the value of youth, enjoying the ride, not the destination, and man’s connections and relationships with nature all lay deep within the 127 pages of the book, unearthed only by those with a great appreciation for literature.
The first of many themes in The Old Man and the Sea is the value of youth, something that Santiago, the old man in this story, holds close to himself. It’s very important to keep the child in oneself alive, even as we grow older and lose its benefits. Not even the evil of senescence, something that, at times in the story, Santiago may possess, can free the grip that our minds will always have on our youth, and in fact, growing older often leads us back to it, back to the days of simplicity and the ability to view the world in a happier, more peaceful way. This shows greatly in a conversation between the boy and the old man, where the boy asks the old man if he is "strong enough now for a truly big fish" (14), and the old man says, "'I think so'" (14). He believes in himself as a withered old man, that he is up for the challenges he has still yet to face in life despite his advanced age. A lot can be learned from him. Notice should be taken.
Another lesson that is taught by this beautiful novella is that in many situations, and sometimes in life as a whole, it is not about what you strive to achieve, it is about the journey that gets you there. Santiago realized this years before the story takes place and now lives out its meaning each and every day. He tends to observe the weather, like "the white cumulus built like friendly piles of ice cream" (61), appreciating its help as he attempts to catch fish. Then, he comes home each evening, fishless and tired, with a sense of satisfaction and happiness despite his failure to catch anything. This is because he has a great time doing what he does, and knows that it is not always about what you catch while fishing, its about having fun as you try to catch it. One who cannot understand this will achieve what they want in life and look back to find out that they wasted half of their lives trying to acquire it, left people stepped on, left countless opportunities missed. On the other hand, someone like Santiago, who fully understands this, and who may never even achieve his goals, will look back to realize that the journey he took to arrive at where he is will be just as wonderful, if not better, than the end result of his travels themselves.
The third and final theme that can be found in The Old Man and the Sea is that it is important to remain in balance with nature as we live our lives. It has become an often-used term that something is “man-made”, and it is a perfect example of how our kind has established itself as different from and better than the rest of the planet and its creatures, a fatal mistake that will be the death of us in the end. As was observed by Santiago, "...they are not as intelligent as we who kill them; altho ugh they are more noble and able" (63). Like Santiago, an old man that we as humans could really learn from, we must know to treat each animal and all nature as our equal, for there will always be stronger, taller, faster, and more beautiful living and non-living things than ourselves . By understanding that we live alongside the other inhabitants of this earth, not above them, we can move forward as a civilized species. However, should we continue, the way we are doing now in society and life, to see all living things as inferior to ourselves, we will never be able to understand them, and ultimately mankind will not survive.
To conclude, there are many themes that can be dug up from literature. Any and every book ever printed has a message, something that authors want to share with the world, something that they feel we all need to know, and through simple analysis, we can learn what the author is trying to say. In this novella, The Old Man and the Sea, Ernest Hemingway is telling the world to hold onto the youth that lies within them, to appreciate not so much their successes, but the journeys that led them there, and to be kind and appreciative to all nature, for they are not so different from us and are, in fact, equal to us in the sense that we all share this beautiful blue planet as our home. This book teaches us all of that, and it would be wise for everyone to read it and hear what its pages so simply state.
Monday, March 30, 2009
Saturday, February 21, 2009
"Cracker: The Best Dog in Vietnam" by Cynthia Kadohata - ORB Project - Name Analysis
Rick Hanski- Short for “Richard,” this name comes from the German elements “hard”, meaning “brave” or “hardy”, and “ric”, meaning “power” or “rule”, together forming the meaning “brave power.” This name meaning definitely suits Rick because he is one of the bravest soldiers in Vietnam, and definitely the bravest soldier in this book. He stands above Cody, Twenty-Twenty, and even the sergeant in my opinion because he has a courage deep inside him that surpasses all the rest. At one point in the story, he even faces certain death with a rifle pointed in his face, and he does not fall. With a little bit of help from his dog, he stands tall and comes out the victor. He is able, in his own unique way, to prove to those who doubted him and didn’t believe in him that he is capable of being strong and courageous.
On the other hand, this meaning isn’t exactly perfect for Rick because in spite the description of power his name gives, Rick has never had any confidence in his abilities, and neither has anyone else. Everyone in his life, even his family at times, has told him that he will never amount to anything and that he could never be someone. He has no power, he never has, and he knew that until he did something about it, he never would. For this reason, he joined the army to prove them wrong, and as a one-in-millions soldier under the command of a sergeant, he does just that.
Willie- William comes from the German name Wilhelm, composed of the elements “wil”, meaning “desire”, and “helm”, meaning “protection.” I’d say this name is very fitting for a kid like Willie because he really does desire protection like his name says. This sort of trait is shown through his affection and love for Cracker. Willie loves Cracker not only because she is his pet, but also because she makes him feel safe and protected, and that’s is the kind of thing that a young boy needs in his life. He needs to feel secure so that he may know no limits as to what he feels he can do. Cracker gave that kind of feeling to Willie.
Until Cracker was forced to leave, Willie, in a way, depended on her to keep him safe. However, after she is gone, he must learn to take care of himself a little bit more. For this reason, by the middle of the book and definitely at the end, Willie gains the ability to be strong on his own, and it is through this acquired strength that he is able to give up Cracker to an owner whom he knows will love Cracker as much and as well as he had, if not better. That is why I also feel that this name is not perfectly suited for Willie. He changes over the course of this story into someone who no longer requires protection.
Cody- This name comes from the Gaelic surname “Mac Óda”, meaning “son of Otto”. After some further research, I discovered that the name “Otto” is derived from the German name “Odo”, which means “wealth” or “fortune”. A final analysis concluded that the name means “son of wealthy king”. I don’t know whether or not this name suits Cody because he isn’t focused on a lot in the book (but he’s one of the only characters with a first name). I suppose he could be wealthy, in a sense, because he leaves the army with his life, and when you’re out there that’s the greatest wealth you can have.
Yet at the same time that this is true, Cody is not the son of a king, or at least I’m pretty sure he’s not because it doesn’t mention him as royalty in any way in this book, which is why the name is also not very fitting. Cody is a normal, middle-class person as far as the book says, and he is in no way a man of power in the book. Like Rick, he too is a lowly soldier under the command of a more powerful sergeant. He has neither a wealthy father nor a powerful one (as far as one can tell), so although he is wealthy in some senses, monetarily, he is not.
On the other hand, this meaning isn’t exactly perfect for Rick because in spite the description of power his name gives, Rick has never had any confidence in his abilities, and neither has anyone else. Everyone in his life, even his family at times, has told him that he will never amount to anything and that he could never be someone. He has no power, he never has, and he knew that until he did something about it, he never would. For this reason, he joined the army to prove them wrong, and as a one-in-millions soldier under the command of a sergeant, he does just that.
Willie- William comes from the German name Wilhelm, composed of the elements “wil”, meaning “desire”, and “helm”, meaning “protection.” I’d say this name is very fitting for a kid like Willie because he really does desire protection like his name says. This sort of trait is shown through his affection and love for Cracker. Willie loves Cracker not only because she is his pet, but also because she makes him feel safe and protected, and that’s is the kind of thing that a young boy needs in his life. He needs to feel secure so that he may know no limits as to what he feels he can do. Cracker gave that kind of feeling to Willie.
Until Cracker was forced to leave, Willie, in a way, depended on her to keep him safe. However, after she is gone, he must learn to take care of himself a little bit more. For this reason, by the middle of the book and definitely at the end, Willie gains the ability to be strong on his own, and it is through this acquired strength that he is able to give up Cracker to an owner whom he knows will love Cracker as much and as well as he had, if not better. That is why I also feel that this name is not perfectly suited for Willie. He changes over the course of this story into someone who no longer requires protection.
Cody- This name comes from the Gaelic surname “Mac Óda”, meaning “son of Otto”. After some further research, I discovered that the name “Otto” is derived from the German name “Odo”, which means “wealth” or “fortune”. A final analysis concluded that the name means “son of wealthy king”. I don’t know whether or not this name suits Cody because he isn’t focused on a lot in the book (but he’s one of the only characters with a first name). I suppose he could be wealthy, in a sense, because he leaves the army with his life, and when you’re out there that’s the greatest wealth you can have.
Yet at the same time that this is true, Cody is not the son of a king, or at least I’m pretty sure he’s not because it doesn’t mention him as royalty in any way in this book, which is why the name is also not very fitting. Cody is a normal, middle-class person as far as the book says, and he is in no way a man of power in the book. Like Rick, he too is a lowly soldier under the command of a more powerful sergeant. He has neither a wealthy father nor a powerful one (as far as one can tell), so although he is wealthy in some senses, monetarily, he is not.
"Cracker: The Best Dog in Vietnam" by Cynthia Kadohata - Book Review
Cracker: The Best Dog in Vietnam by Cynthia Kadohata. Atheneum Books for Young Readers, 2007.
Genre: Historical Fiction
This story stars Firecracker, or “Cracker”, for short, an incredibly intelligent and sly German shepherd, and Rick Hanski, a young man who has never had any confidence in himself throughout his life. When Cracker’s owners’ landlord says the dog has to go, Cracker is signed up to be a war dog and taken away to an army base to be trained. It is there that she and Rick meet. Rick has joined the army to prove to everyone who didn’t believe in him that he can do something great. At first, Cracker thinks herself too good for him to be her master, and she doesn’t care to show it. It takes a lot of discipline, but the two become friends, and by the end of the book, inseparable. They go through some tough times together. At one point, Cracker becomes lost in Vietnam, and Rick feels lost without her, but they are reunited. On more than one occasion, she saves his life. The ending of the story was very satisfying, but I won’t reveal it to any potential readers of the book.
“In December 2005 I read John Grogan's Marley & Me, never putting it down once started. And in February 2007 the same thing happened with Cracker! I applaud the spirits of both dogs and the skill with which the authors have depicted them.”
-Patsy Side, of Teenreads.com
The really unique thing that I found with this book was that it was told through the perspective of Cracker, a dog, which gives the whole story a very playful mood about it. It’s as if a child is telling the story. The narrator’s limited knowledge leads her to believe that when something doesn’t seem right, it is someone else’s fault, or that there are no exceptions to things that always seem routine. In this way the story is given a dash of humor in addition to the drama and emotion of the plot. It was this style of writing that intrigued me when I picked up this book in Barnes & Noble and flipped through it, and it was interesting enough that I purchased it. It takes a good author to do that, and Cynthia Kadohata did it. I’ve never read another book where anything like this has been done. Of course, there probably are more books told through the perspectives of animal protagonists, but this is the first I’ve seen, and it pulled me in like the moon to the tides.
“Grrrr! For I am the all-powerful Cracker! Cracker spotted a bird carcass lying in the alley. She picked it up between the tips of her front teeth and flipped it into the air, growling as it sailed above her. When it plopped down, she pushed at it with her paw, She growled more, then leaned the side of her head on the asphalt, staring right into its face. It might have been dead for a week, but who cared? She would kill it again. That’s how powerful she was. She hopped to her feet to attack it—and spotted a mouse! Alive! This was for real! She took off.” (Page 1).
This story was very interesting for me to read because not only did it teach me both about the controvertible methods of war dogs and how they were treated back in Vietnam, but also about how love, friendship, and bonding can overcome anything, including the horrors of war. I myself have never known the joy of having a dog as a friend. My family had a Dalmatian, which they gave up when we moved to our new house. I was two, and it’s as if we never even had her, because I have no memory of her whatsoever. For this reason, I enjoyed reading this book and imagining the powerful bond between Rick and Cracker, and how impressive it must have been to see the two of them fighting side-by-side in a war where all hope seems lost. It was an awesome book, and I would recommend it to anyone who loves animals, war, history, or happy endings. The story compiles all four in a magnificent way that made me want to read it again and again. Two thumbs up!
Genre: Historical Fiction
This story stars Firecracker, or “Cracker”, for short, an incredibly intelligent and sly German shepherd, and Rick Hanski, a young man who has never had any confidence in himself throughout his life. When Cracker’s owners’ landlord says the dog has to go, Cracker is signed up to be a war dog and taken away to an army base to be trained. It is there that she and Rick meet. Rick has joined the army to prove to everyone who didn’t believe in him that he can do something great. At first, Cracker thinks herself too good for him to be her master, and she doesn’t care to show it. It takes a lot of discipline, but the two become friends, and by the end of the book, inseparable. They go through some tough times together. At one point, Cracker becomes lost in Vietnam, and Rick feels lost without her, but they are reunited. On more than one occasion, she saves his life. The ending of the story was very satisfying, but I won’t reveal it to any potential readers of the book.
“In December 2005 I read John Grogan's Marley & Me, never putting it down once started. And in February 2007 the same thing happened with Cracker! I applaud the spirits of both dogs and the skill with which the authors have depicted them.”
-Patsy Side, of Teenreads.com
The really unique thing that I found with this book was that it was told through the perspective of Cracker, a dog, which gives the whole story a very playful mood about it. It’s as if a child is telling the story. The narrator’s limited knowledge leads her to believe that when something doesn’t seem right, it is someone else’s fault, or that there are no exceptions to things that always seem routine. In this way the story is given a dash of humor in addition to the drama and emotion of the plot. It was this style of writing that intrigued me when I picked up this book in Barnes & Noble and flipped through it, and it was interesting enough that I purchased it. It takes a good author to do that, and Cynthia Kadohata did it. I’ve never read another book where anything like this has been done. Of course, there probably are more books told through the perspectives of animal protagonists, but this is the first I’ve seen, and it pulled me in like the moon to the tides.
“Grrrr! For I am the all-powerful Cracker! Cracker spotted a bird carcass lying in the alley. She picked it up between the tips of her front teeth and flipped it into the air, growling as it sailed above her. When it plopped down, she pushed at it with her paw, She growled more, then leaned the side of her head on the asphalt, staring right into its face. It might have been dead for a week, but who cared? She would kill it again. That’s how powerful she was. She hopped to her feet to attack it—and spotted a mouse! Alive! This was for real! She took off.” (Page 1).
This story was very interesting for me to read because not only did it teach me both about the controvertible methods of war dogs and how they were treated back in Vietnam, but also about how love, friendship, and bonding can overcome anything, including the horrors of war. I myself have never known the joy of having a dog as a friend. My family had a Dalmatian, which they gave up when we moved to our new house. I was two, and it’s as if we never even had her, because I have no memory of her whatsoever. For this reason, I enjoyed reading this book and imagining the powerful bond between Rick and Cracker, and how impressive it must have been to see the two of them fighting side-by-side in a war where all hope seems lost. It was an awesome book, and I would recommend it to anyone who loves animals, war, history, or happy endings. The story compiles all four in a magnificent way that made me want to read it again and again. Two thumbs up!
Sunday, February 1, 2009
Short Story - An Angel's Kiss
An Angel’s Kiss
I can scarcely recall the deafening thunder of the grenade that was cast bewteen us that night, its fiery heat, or its reflection in the deep wells of Patrick’s eyes as it cut a wall of burning air between us, rocketing stones, shards of glass, and shrapnel in all directions like bullets. Had I not obtained the fortune to be tripped by a rock, causing me to fall down a steep escarpment only seconds before, I would have faced its cloud of fire dead on. Instead, the Lord chose Patrick to experience that malignant fate. As I shielded my head from a shower of ramparts, I watched through watery eyes and blurred vision as Patrick fell to the ground, his head slamming into a small boulder and his eyes never leaving the bright planet he had only moments ago been observing. When the dust settled enough that I could make out his limp figure amongst the rubble, I lifted myself onto my feet and limped over to wear he lay, my right leg bleeding rather badly.
I collapsed next to him, the stones and rubble clunking about me, and, as anyone would do in such a situation, grabbed hold of him and began repeatedly saying his name, gasping for air. His gaze remained fixed on Venus, the brightest object in the sky that night, for the moon was nowhere to be found, his chest rising and falling rapidly, the bottom half of his body disseminated across the street in numerous pieces. I kept my gaze on his filthy, handsome face, his small nose, and his chapped lips. I almost wanted to laugh, because aside from the hemorrhage that now flowed from his left temple, he looked exactly as he had in our history class only a few weeks before; the same features, the gray eyes, the matted brown hair, except now he looked helpless, paltry, and the deep pallor of his face gave him a ghostly cantenance.
“David,” he whispered in a voice so raspy I could barely make out my own name. “David, I… I want you to tell my momma that I’m sorry I yelled at her before I left. I love her and I didn’t mean what I said to her, 'bout her caring too much.”
Hot, stinging tears that left clean streaks on my dirty cheeks escaped from my eyes, and my breaths were quick gasps as I replied, “I will, Pat, you know I will. Your momma knows you love her, nothin’ll change that, no matter what, ya hear? You’re gonna be all right.”
“All right?” Patrick upbraided, his eyes finally moving to me. “Look at me. I’m done. I’m spending my last few seconds in this life with you. I don’t want you lying to me.”
“I didn't mean now,” I breathed, holding his chest, my hands being stained by his blood. "I meant... soon."
“Cremate me, Dave,” he gasped after a long pause. “Let the fire finish its work.”
I nodded, knowing full well that he was going to be dumped into a ditch with a hundred other corpses.
“Do you think,” he began, his eyes returning to Venus, “Do you think… do you believe in God, Dave?”
“’Course I do,” I answered.
I can scarcely recall the deafening thunder of the grenade that was cast bewteen us that night, its fiery heat, or its reflection in the deep wells of Patrick’s eyes as it cut a wall of burning air between us, rocketing stones, shards of glass, and shrapnel in all directions like bullets. Had I not obtained the fortune to be tripped by a rock, causing me to fall down a steep escarpment only seconds before, I would have faced its cloud of fire dead on. Instead, the Lord chose Patrick to experience that malignant fate. As I shielded my head from a shower of ramparts, I watched through watery eyes and blurred vision as Patrick fell to the ground, his head slamming into a small boulder and his eyes never leaving the bright planet he had only moments ago been observing. When the dust settled enough that I could make out his limp figure amongst the rubble, I lifted myself onto my feet and limped over to wear he lay, my right leg bleeding rather badly.
I collapsed next to him, the stones and rubble clunking about me, and, as anyone would do in such a situation, grabbed hold of him and began repeatedly saying his name, gasping for air. His gaze remained fixed on Venus, the brightest object in the sky that night, for the moon was nowhere to be found, his chest rising and falling rapidly, the bottom half of his body disseminated across the street in numerous pieces. I kept my gaze on his filthy, handsome face, his small nose, and his chapped lips. I almost wanted to laugh, because aside from the hemorrhage that now flowed from his left temple, he looked exactly as he had in our history class only a few weeks before; the same features, the gray eyes, the matted brown hair, except now he looked helpless, paltry, and the deep pallor of his face gave him a ghostly cantenance.
“David,” he whispered in a voice so raspy I could barely make out my own name. “David, I… I want you to tell my momma that I’m sorry I yelled at her before I left. I love her and I didn’t mean what I said to her, 'bout her caring too much.”
Hot, stinging tears that left clean streaks on my dirty cheeks escaped from my eyes, and my breaths were quick gasps as I replied, “I will, Pat, you know I will. Your momma knows you love her, nothin’ll change that, no matter what, ya hear? You’re gonna be all right.”
“All right?” Patrick upbraided, his eyes finally moving to me. “Look at me. I’m done. I’m spending my last few seconds in this life with you. I don’t want you lying to me.”
“I didn't mean now,” I breathed, holding his chest, my hands being stained by his blood. "I meant... soon."
“Cremate me, Dave,” he gasped after a long pause. “Let the fire finish its work.”
I nodded, knowing full well that he was going to be dumped into a ditch with a hundred other corpses.
“Do you think,” he began, his eyes returning to Venus, “Do you think… do you believe in God, Dave?”
“’Course I do,” I answered.
“Do you think he’s gotta place for me in Heaven, all nice and happy?”
“I know he does, Pat, I know it,” I answered, sobbing. “You’ll be whole, and comfortable, and satisfied. And your daddy’ll be there waiting for ya.”
“I… wish I wasn’t going there, Dave,” he cried, his voice getting louder as tears washed his face as well. It was as if they were purifying him, as if he were already crossing into the light of the Lord. His eyes appeared brighter than usual, as if the fire of the grenade was still burning away. “I don’t wanna go yet. I don’t want it to be my time. I never got to see the ocean. I never told a woman I loved her. Oh Dave, if I could do it all again, right now, I’d take back every bad thing I said to my mamma. Oh mamma, don’t cry for me. Don’t weep, don’t mourn. Be happy that I’m with my daddy again. We’ll go fishin’, just like we always did on the weekends when I wasn’t in school. We’ll toss the ball like he always wanted to do, even though I never wanted to. Oh, it was all he wanted, I just didn’t wanna. I’m sorry Daddy, I’m sorry…”
He trailed off, Venus glowing in his pupils, his face shining from a combination of tears and his own blood. His cheeks seemed so much thinner than normal, so gaunt and hollow, and his chest continued to undulate like a swift sea.
Finally, he looked at me again. “Oh, Davey,” he gasped. “Love your momma, respect your daddy, and tell a woman you love her. See the ocean for me, go there with her some day, and think of me.”
I nodded, sobbing harder than ever, my hands shining red from his blood.
He looked back at Venus for a moment, and then he grabbed hold of my chest and pulled me so close to him that I could see each hair that made up his eyebrows. “Listen to the wind… and hear every angel’s whisper… and..." He stared off into space for a moment, and then looked back at me for a final time. "...and stand in the rain… so that I can make each raindrop… an angel’s kiss.” For a moment, it was as if I saw a flash in his pupils, and then his grip loosened from my shirt, he eyes went back to Venus, and he became still.
For a long time, I laid there with him, promising to him and to myself that I would fulfill his wishes, tacitly and honestly. I looked up at Venus just as he had done, trying to remember the little anecdote he’d been telling me just before the flash of the explosive. I couldn’t even begin to recall what it was about.
Thunder rumbled overhead, and black clouds slowly covered the bright planet above me. Raindrops began to pelt my face, cleaning my cheeks completely, and washing my leg so that the blood was gone, revealing a very minute cut just below my knee, and alleviating the pain. I sat there for as long a time as I’ve sat anywhere, the gunfire, explosives, and screams echoing in the distance until they didn’t exist anymore, and I let my body soak in the rain, each drop, I knew, an angel’s kiss.
Sunday, October 5, 2008
Riding and Flying Over Mountains
In retrospect, what is “value?” How can you put a price on something? Is there even really a way to know how much something is worth? And to further push the subject, is everything worth the same to everybody? For example, to a mother shopping in the grocery store, a bottle of water in on of the refrigerators means paying $1.00. However, to a man who has been jogging for over a mile and who mouth is pasty with thirst, the bottle means hydration, a rush of cool liquid down his hot throat, the feeling of relief as his muscles relax and his breath slows, and a surge of energy soaks through his body. And when you think about it, water is the most abundant substance on our planet, making it virtually worthless. Yet, without water, life on Earth and life anywhere in the universe (as far as we know) cannot exist, so water is virtually priceless. Those are four very different values of just a simple bottle of water, which shows just how complex a concept worth can be to evaluate when given considerable thought.
I open my eyes slowly, which is no easy task because of the harsh weight of my eyelids. They encase my eyes in warm, welcoming darkness, and their weight feels like a slap to the face, saying, “You are not getting up yet.” Unfortunately, in my mind, I am forced to reply, “Oh yes, I am,” and I more-then-reluctantly throw the sheets and blankets off of me, exposing my lethargic body to the algid air hovering above me like a predator. Immediately, my muscles tense at the change in temperature, and I mutter in my head, “Getting up will make you warmer,” so, after a moment, I slump to my feet.
Suddenly, I feel dizzy: as slow as I have gotten up, my brain must adjust to the vertical position that I have forced myself into. I wobble for a moment, but after a moment my head clears, and I wrench open my crusty eyes. The room appears to be dark, but I allow my eyes to adjust, and I realize… that the room really is dark. Even the sun has not awakened yet. I think to myself, looking at the clock (5:45 a.m.), “There ought to be a law.” Outside, snow has piled up on the windowsill, plunging my room into even further darkness. My freezing feet wiggle, longing for slippers.
Just then, my mother, not seeming any happier to be awake then I feel, pokes her head in and says, “Too much snow; no school.” My priceless moment has reached its climax, and inside my joy is expressed with cheers and shouts and confetti, but externally, I merely yawn and return to bed with a nod. The unbearable weight of my body leaves my feet as I lay back on my mattress and the body heat that I just left there hugs me. My groggy eyes find my covers and my nearly dead brain tells my hands to perform one final act before sleep returns, and that is to pull the covers over my body. My hands obey, and the sheets and blanket are gently thrown over my body once again. My muscles relax, the warmth encases me, and within seconds, the pain of even thinking this early leaves as I fall into the reprise of my slumber. This wonderful scene I have depicted happens on any snow day during the winter, and it is one of the most priceless moments I can think of.
In the warmer months, particularly when there is no school to wake me up so early in the morning, I enjoy afternoon rides on my bike, one of my most prized possessions. Although it may look like an ordinary mountain bike from someone else's view, to me, each feature of it stands out exceptionally. My bike is greener than the pine trees that I soar past while riding it, and it shines incredibly in the sunlight, blinding anyone who looks at it. It’s the perfect height for me, with a seat as black as night, strong enough to support me, yet soft enough so that I am comfortable while I ride (something that cannot be said for a lot of bike seats, as you may know). With it, I can travel anywhere I want to. I ride all up and down town, feeling the breeze on my face, taking in nature left and right.
I open my eyes slowly, which is no easy task because of the harsh weight of my eyelids. They encase my eyes in warm, welcoming darkness, and their weight feels like a slap to the face, saying, “You are not getting up yet.” Unfortunately, in my mind, I am forced to reply, “Oh yes, I am,” and I more-then-reluctantly throw the sheets and blankets off of me, exposing my lethargic body to the algid air hovering above me like a predator. Immediately, my muscles tense at the change in temperature, and I mutter in my head, “Getting up will make you warmer,” so, after a moment, I slump to my feet.
Suddenly, I feel dizzy: as slow as I have gotten up, my brain must adjust to the vertical position that I have forced myself into. I wobble for a moment, but after a moment my head clears, and I wrench open my crusty eyes. The room appears to be dark, but I allow my eyes to adjust, and I realize… that the room really is dark. Even the sun has not awakened yet. I think to myself, looking at the clock (5:45 a.m.), “There ought to be a law.” Outside, snow has piled up on the windowsill, plunging my room into even further darkness. My freezing feet wiggle, longing for slippers.
Just then, my mother, not seeming any happier to be awake then I feel, pokes her head in and says, “Too much snow; no school.” My priceless moment has reached its climax, and inside my joy is expressed with cheers and shouts and confetti, but externally, I merely yawn and return to bed with a nod. The unbearable weight of my body leaves my feet as I lay back on my mattress and the body heat that I just left there hugs me. My groggy eyes find my covers and my nearly dead brain tells my hands to perform one final act before sleep returns, and that is to pull the covers over my body. My hands obey, and the sheets and blanket are gently thrown over my body once again. My muscles relax, the warmth encases me, and within seconds, the pain of even thinking this early leaves as I fall into the reprise of my slumber. This wonderful scene I have depicted happens on any snow day during the winter, and it is one of the most priceless moments I can think of.
In the warmer months, particularly when there is no school to wake me up so early in the morning, I enjoy afternoon rides on my bike, one of my most prized possessions. Although it may look like an ordinary mountain bike from someone else's view, to me, each feature of it stands out exceptionally. My bike is greener than the pine trees that I soar past while riding it, and it shines incredibly in the sunlight, blinding anyone who looks at it. It’s the perfect height for me, with a seat as black as night, strong enough to support me, yet soft enough so that I am comfortable while I ride (something that cannot be said for a lot of bike seats, as you may know). With it, I can travel anywhere I want to. I ride all up and down town, feeling the breeze on my face, taking in nature left and right.
I haven’t always had the bike that I own today. I started off owning a smaller bike, turqoise, and with training wheels. I received it on my 6th birthday, and I loved it for years. But when I was finally old enough to ride a two-wheel bike, I sold my little bike and bought a red mountain bike, much bigger than my old one, and I used that one for years. Then, just a few years ago, my dad surprised me with the spectacular green mountain bike, my prized bike that I own today.
In many ways, my priceless moment and my bike are very similar. They both allow me to travel, one physically, and the other, in my mind. With my bike I can ride around town, getting good exercise and seeing the sights, and while sleeping I can dream myself to places both nonexistent and fantastic at the same time. By the end of both a bikeride and being told to go back to bed, I am exhausted and ready to lie down again.
In the same way, my moment and item are very different. With one I can ride up a mountain, and with the other I can soar over a mountain. One I use whenever I’m up and ready for exercise, while the other occurrs when I’m ready to collapse from exhaustion, only to find that I can do so in my welcoming bed. My priceless moment will never occurr on a weekend because there is no school on any weekend, while I don’t tend to have time to ride my bike during the week. With one I am active and moving and full of energy, while in the other I am groggy, sluggish, and unwilling to move.
In conclusion, there really is no way to put a price on something or to efficiently evaluate something’s worth. Everything is worth different amounts to different people. My bike may be worth $100 to someone wanting to buy it at a tag sale in the future, but to me, right now, it’s worth much more than that because it allows me to get around to the places that I want to go. My moment that I described could never have a price put on it because it is the greatest feeling on this Earth to know that you can return to sleep when you want to so badly. Value and worth are such tricky concepts, but when something is very valuable, it is not so much that I intend to guess its price, but more that I will simply try to enjoy the qualities that make it so priceless.
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