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Personal narratives sociology
Emotional intelligence introduction
Personal narratives sociology
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It was a dark stormy night John and I were talking about improvements that could be made on the house. We were very poor we had the most ramshackled house in our town. John thought that we should work on adding on to the house but that would get rid of my Marigolds. Just thinking of that takes me back to the day I planted those beautiful plants. It was a warm sunny day that day. Oh I remember that day like it was yesterday. The Marigolds were the only beautiful thing in the whole entire town and they belonged to me. That day was probably one of the very few happy days of my life. It all began when a package arrived on my doorstep no address where it came from nothing. It kind of surprised me that someone was this generous in this small disgusting town. In the package seeds and a note appeared. The note read “ A little something to spice up that tasteless town of yours” and the seeds were Marigolds. Also on the note instructed proper care and instructions on how to care and plant the seeds. …show more content…
So I argued that we expand so I could save the beautiful plants. Rather I said we should work on making the house look better itself and not so ram shackled. John agreed so in the morning we’d work on starting the long gruesome process but it would all be worth it in the end. As John fell asleep on the porch I went and grabbed him a blanket and covered him with it. I can see how he fell asleep this wasn’t one of those ferocious rains rather a calm one. The sound rather calmed me than worried me. As I was preparing for bed I heard whispers. I dismissed them assuming it was the wind. But i heard them again so I woke up John asking him to listen carefully. John asked if I smelled that Which I did it was this awful earthy smell. That could only mean one thing my Marigolds I shouted to
The night was tempestuous and my emotions were subtle, like the flame upon a torch. They blew out at the same time that my sense of tranquility dispersed, as if the winds had simply come and gone. The shrill scream of a young girl ricocheted off the walls and for a few brief seconds, it was the only sound that I could hear. It was then that the waves of turmoil commenced to crash upon me. It seemed as though every last one of my senses were succumbed to disperse from my reach completely. As everything blurred, I could just barely make out the slam of a door from somewhere alongside me and soon, the only thing that was left in its place was an ominous silence.
The Marigolds is written by Eugenia Collier that was raised in Baltimore Maryland. She became a college professor and began writing. She was working for the department of public welfare. I believe that it was a good day on September where there was dirt roads and grassless yards. Whenever the memory flashes across her mind a strange nostalgia comes and reminds her when the picture had faded.
As I exited my house the bright sun shot rays of sunshine into my eyes making me squint and admire the view. After a hard day of work in the heat I see a old lady sitting in a horse carriage waiting, as I approach my home she says “Hi there, I’ve just had my home built recently and was wondering if you could help me move somethings into my house?”. Sure I replied, the lady showed me where her belongings were stored and one by one I carried in her light furniture and containers.
Everyone goes through different experiences in life, just as everyone has different types of intelligences and skills. In total there are nine types of intelligences but there is only 2 listed using 3 paragraphs. These examples come from “Flowers for Algernon” or “Dakota Fullest Earns Nation’s Highest Folk Honor”. Some ways in which people demonstrate their knowledge and skill is through Howard Gardner’s Logical/ Mathematical , Bodily/ Kinesthetic , and Intrapersonal intelligences.
My father, the noble Banquo and I were riding through the Burnam woods on our weekly expedition to the central market, where we pick up food. We had made the journey countless times prior to this, each time it was the same, uneventful ride. But not this time. This time felt different to all the others. The trip lacked the peaceful ambiance which usually accompanied it. This was no reason for concern so we continued riding. After a brief period of time, when we were approximately midway through the woods, I heard something. It was the rustling of leaves, and what sounded voices. This was abnormal for the woods, for the reason that no one ever came in this deep, it’s barren, pointless. I told my father what I had heard, but he was dismissive
As I was sitting in my house getting a drink of water, I heard someone crying outside. As I went to look to see what was going on I saw a girl sitting in my flower patch with all the perfectly yellow blooms torn out of the ground. With every marigold that she tore out it was like a being stabbed in the heart for me. I knew that I would never plant them again since no one appreciated them except for me. I loved marigolds ever since my mother had first gotten them from a store. The color and the fresh scent had always seem to put me in a better mood than before. I just wanted everyone else to have that same feeling when I had planted them so they could be as happy as I was at that very moment when I had first laid my hands on them. When I watched Lizabeth rip the marigolds from the ground I didn’t know why I didn’t show any emotion at that moment, I was in shock. I guess all I wanted to do was add some color to this town and have it beautiful in the midst of ugliness and sterility. When I saw my flowers laying lifeless on the ground, I didn’t know what to do after that point, I was in shock, a deep sadness had seemed
“At this time in my life I lived in a very old town house, where I often heard unexplainable noises in the attic. One night, when I was about 11, my parents went out to a party, leaving me all alone. The night was stormy, with crashes of lightening and thunder outside. Having nothing to do, I fell asleep after eating too much ice cream. All of a sudden, my alarm clock goes off in the middle of the night, reading 3 o’clock. I’m wondering why ...
Have you ever read the book Marigolds?Well if you haven't the book is by the author Eugenia Collier and the genre of the book is a fiction.Im writing this story to tell people who have and haven't read the story the theme of it and give details about what happened in the story and express why I think it matters to the teens in the world today.
It was a typical day until it happened. It Was a sunny day filled with warmth. The mesquites with their unpleasant stings woke me up. I was full of energy and felt like this morning is the best of all my mornings. That was probably because of how I hadn’t slept the day before and was tired. Opening the big window was first on my list. Getting breakfast was the second step and the most important step of all. Fresh eggs from my brown feathered hens were soft surrounded by goat cheese, and well cooked toast. Ordinarily,The place was mute. Only the sound of the wind shaking the old wood was heard. Living on this big plantation sometimes became boring. The indistinct voices of children playing in the distance are some of the only noises of people I hear. There was a battle going to happen tomorrow and therefore, I was trying to make this day a good one since it might be my last one. The day was going normally so far until someone came to my door. The guy rode horse and was very tired. It seemed as
I jumped out of my bed, rushed to the window and took a very deep breath. The morning air was full of special fragrant. I could not understand that scent; just remember that it was quite special. Now I know that it was a scent of freedom. It seemed like I could see all the molecules that were dancing in the rays of the sun as a little cartoon bulbs: very light and happy.
Amiable- to be friendly and noble. “A sculptor would have interpreted the features in terms of character, but Homer Smith’s mother had once said of him that he was two parts amiable and one part plain devil.”Antagonism- to be angry; hostile.“Homer felt antagonism stir in him, but it was a fine day and he was carrying the day in his spirit.”
I sat in my friend's Oldsmobile with her three year old in the car seat resting in the back, as we traveled down the street towards my former residence behind the city park. My friend, Sarah, now a MOM, was eager to show me the transformation to the front of my old home. She kept saying, that I would never believe it as we approached the house, I could only see bareness. All of the bushes, flowers, and gardens that surrounded the house were removed. The windows appeared naked without curtains or blinds to dress them. Disappointment and disgust ran through my veins as I thought about the care and attention my mother had given to our home only to be stripped of it all by the new occupants. What a bad sale my parents had made!
I have a lot of fond memories looking back on my childhood. My dad’s parents had a house on Granbury Lake; it was a kid’s paradise. I grew up fishing, which is my favorite thing to do, boating, water skiing, 4-wheeling, anything you could do outdoors we did it. My grandparents had a massive garden and rows of fruit trees that lined their properly. We would wake up early in the morning to help Pa Pa woke in the garden. Being from the city, we that this was the coolest thing ever. As a reward for our hard work, Na Na would treat us to a snack of fresh cherry tomatoes from the garden. Although, she would always call them little boy and little girl tomatoes. Night time was my favorite out at the lake because that’s when the fire flies would come out. Every evening around dusk we would get our mason jars, poke holes in the lids, and wait to spot the first lightning bug. We didn’t have to wait long until the whole night sky
Our backs hunched over as we started lifting sustainable sandbags with our drained muscular arms onto a dark wooden shelf. The scorching sun heated up the unswept metal fence behind us. Our feet were burning as we stood on the blistering concrete floor. We were sweating from every inch of our dried out body’s. Looking around the isolated area the smell of freshly cut grass starts to fill up in the atmosphere. The crinkled brown autumn leaves abandoned the thin branches sticking out from the ancient oak tree stood in front of us. A mysterious slim figure approached us from the distance. As the strange shadow got closer to me I could see a velvet red knee high dress blowing in the wind; bright red lipstick on a slim face, it became clear to me that it was Curley’s wife! Her devilish eyes looked deep into our sole as she stroked silky, exotic hair with her perfectly painted, red finger nails. “Hey boys” she called. I looked away with no interest; Lennie followed my lead. Her face went from a cheery smile to a sulky frown and she bashfully strolled
Mamma! Are you crying, mamma? My dear, good, sweet mamma! Darling, I love you! I bless you! The Cherry orchard is sold; it?s gone; its quite true, it?s quite true. But don?t cry, mamma, you?ve still got life before you, you?ve still got your pure and lovely soul. Come with me, darling, and come away from here. We?ll plant a new garden, still lovelier than this. You will see it and understand, and happiness, deep, tranquil happiness will sink down on your soul, like the sun at eventide, and you?ll smile, mamma. Come, darling, come with me!