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Impact of toys on child development
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Until today, I remembered my visits to Mrs. Burnage's house fondly. The neighborhood I lived in was small, with only ten houses on the whole street. Each house was placed far apart with everyone having at least three acres of property. Our house was at one end of the road, and Mrs. Burnage's was at the other.
Mrs. Burnage was a sweet lady, probably in her late 50s when my three sisters, Jason Adams (another younger kid in the neighborhood), and I would go visit her. I visited her from ages eight to thirteen. Mrs. Burnage didn't have children of her own; she wasn't able to, according to my mom. So she loved it when we would come over, and we did too. Even though she didn't have any of her own kids, her house was a child's dream. When you walked in, there were two living areas, one to the right, another to the left. The one on the right was normal enough with couches, television, coffee table, a few hunted animals hanging on the wall, etc. The one to the left, which is a step lower (and thus a step taller) than the rest of the house, was a child's paradise.
The main thing I remember about that room was that she had one of those red popcorn machine carts. As soon as we would come over, she'd put in fresh popcorn kernels and butter and have it hot and ready for us just minutes after arrival. She had dolls with elaborate dollhouses all over the room for the girls, and she had trucks, legos, K'nex, an assortment of balls, and even a pinball machine for the boys. We would play there for hours and never tire of it. Mrs. Burnage didn't seem to, either. She loved listening to us play. She'd make cookies and smile broadly when she'd hear us laugh. She always told us that our laughter was the happiest sound.
We loved our time in that play roo...
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...ot popcorn at me, "I told you that I didn't want you coming over ever again! I don't need you anymore! Leave me alone!"
I left quickly, and she followed me outside and stood in the doorstep, watching every one of my retreating steps. As I moved along the road, I could still hear the recorded voices and laughter of my sisters, me, and Jason. My stomach turned as I thought about just how creepy this all was, but then my turning stomach dropped to the ground as I looked back at a wide-eyed, staring Mrs. Burnage and then through the gate at the backyard pool. Standing by the pool was what appeared to be a statue. I was pretty far away by this point, but the figure appeared to be a little boy, immobile, looking through the gate into the woods behind the house. The boy was wearing a familiar red hoodie and blue jeans.
Did I ever mention Mr. Burnage? He was a taxidermist.
The setting of this observation takes place in a suburban home in southern Maryland. The home belongs to the grandmother of the subject. The day is before thanksgiving and there are a lot of family members present. Six people other than Imani are here; her older brother who seemed to be 2 years old, her male cousin who seems to be the same age as her, her grandmother, two aunts, an uncle, and her mother. There are three boys total and four females, including Imani. The home has three floors, with most of the activity taking place in the kitchen and family room. In the family room, there were couches, a tread mill, television, and a set of steps that lead to the kitchen. The kitchen has a table, an island, appliances,
This is Eleanor’s story. Another interesting point to make would be to address Eleanor’s obvious sexual orientation – and maybe the repressed identity is what causes the disturbances in the haunted house.
The house is a representation of what is left after the world is destroyed by nuclear warfare. There are no humans present in the story only traces of them. “The five spots of pain – the man, the woman, the children, the ball – remained. The rest was a thin charcoaled layer” (Bradbury). Bradb...
The Lizzie Borden house is one of the most historic haunted houses in America. The Borden family owned the house. The Borden family was not always rich and famous. The father, Andrew Borden, worked for his money. They lived in a town filled with business and they did not live in a big fancy house like all of the other business owners. The lived in a small average house. The lived in the same neighborhood as the middle class workers. Lizzie did not like that. She wanted to live a rich and fancy life. Her father, Andrew, sent her to England with her aunt to live there and try living the rich life. She hated it.
The house on Peregrine Lane was legend. It had been the focal point of countess legends and superstitions. Its stone turret dominated the end of the street, slicing the house in two identical pieces. The entire house was made of stone and covered in unusual purple ivy. To most of the town it a place to stay well away from, but for the Widow Fowler and her two tenants it was home. Alex and Mark ghosted around the side of the house. Mark walked pointedly towards an oblong rock that would have been non-descript to anyone else. But even as he drew near, a symbol started to burn into the lower left hand corner of the stone. . Casting a quick glance over his shoulder, Mark drew a small pendant and held it over the symbol.
We were now at the bus stop. The sun had replenished and the sky full of glee. There was trail next to the bus stop, she started walking through it. The trees intertwined like arches and the shadows created an ominous feeling. As she walked through the forest, her whole body had a calm aura.
Lilly Barels never thought she would be a writer. As a UCLA graduate who double majored in Neuroscience and Dance, her relationship with creative writing ended in High School. However, almost fifteen years later, in the midst of a broken marriage and lost in the fog of un-fulfillment, Barels discovered the creative channel that would transform her from a high school physics teacher to a soon-to-be published writer. After a passionate and healing love affair with poetry, she was accepted into the MFA program at Antioch Los Angeles. In 2012, Barels received her Masters in Creative Writing with a focus in fiction. Barels just finished her second novel, and she is a regular contributor to Huffington Post.
The theme of Everyday Use is not immediately apparent, although Alice Walker begins the story by creating a familiar setting in the comfort of home that lead to the spirit of heritage and its importance in our lives. The protagonist, a single mother of two daughters, sees herself as ."..large...rough... slow-witted" and not fitting into the social strata of her oldest daughter, Dee, who ."..has held life always in the palm of her hand." The story begins with the mother preparing the yard to be ."..more comfortable than most people know....like an extended living room" for Dee's homecoming. This line early in the story also shows the mother placing a high value on comfort.
Jane next lived at Lowood. This institution was anything but a true family unit. However, Jane sought out people to care for and who would care for her in return. Helen Burns and Miss Temple became very close to Jane. In ways like the mother of the typical family served as a moral guide and a nurturer, so too did Helen Burns, and to a certain extent Miss Temple.
There once was a man named Franswah, and he had a wife named Keisha. They both lived in Keithville, Atlanta. They had a little girl named Jasmine, she was twelve years of age and she attended Ghettoville Jr. High School in the seventh grade. Keisha never did like doing anything, so her husband Franswah decided to go out and have an affair with a lady named Shay. Franswah and Shay worked at a law firm together. Shay was his assistant, she always helped him with things and they always went to lunch together. So some nights he never came home or either he came in late. Keisha was never the type of person to just argue, she mainly just questioned him to see what the response would be and she left it alone until the next morning. So one night when he came in he had a funny odor and Keisha asked him what was up with the smell, he told her that he had been working out and got sweaty. Their daughter Jasmine had very high blood pressure, so most of the time she didn’t go to school because of her condition and she stayed ill. Keisha had a younger sister named Ashley, she is the rowdy type that doesn’t care and will tell anybody anything. Keisha was telling her sister about Franswah coming in late, having a odor on him and don’t want to be questioned. So one day when Ashley was over there and he walked in she confronted him and told him if she find out that’s its that he’s cheating on her she was gone handle it. So he got mad and started hollering at Keisha for telling her sister about what was going on in their relationship. Then that’s when Ashley came back and told him that she can tell her anything she want to tell her because that’s her sister. So few minutes later the phone rings and its was Shay. Keisha answers the phone and it was another lady’s voice, and she asked to speak to Franswah. So she asked her who is calling and she told her that it was Franswah’s baby mother. Everyone is in shock, so Ashley gets on the phone and started getting rowdy. Ashley was asking her different questions like how old is the baby, where she live, and where did Franswah and her meet.
There are about twenty lots in our neighborhood; all consist of close to three and a half acres. Most of the lots have houses now, all of them are big and well kept; a perfect place to raise an upper-middle class family. Just outside of Richmond, the Boscobel neighborhood gives individuals a constant taste of the southern country air, a place to grow a garden, to sit out on the porch at night and look at the stars.… The neighbors are kind as they greet one another in passing. Families come together for picnics and cook-outs and mothers go on walks together with their dogs while the kids are in school. The kids of the neighborhood love to play by the creek in the back yard. They build forts and huts, find pretend food and crayfish in the creek, and play hide-and-seek in the woods beyond the creek. It is the peaceful, everyday life in the Boscobel neighborhood.
John Smith has a couple of years left until he retires from his job in London where he has worked for over 25 years. John has loved this job as it has involved him saving lives.
Here is the house it is green and white it has a red door it is very pretty here is the family mother father dick and jane live in the green-and-white house they are very happy see jane she has a red dress she wants to play who will play with jane
It started as a normal Monday morning; Emily crawled out of bed attempting not to wake her mother. She grabbed the tethered clothing that she had worn the day previously and began to dress. Every move she made seemed to echo the floor with creaks from the wood. She walked into the kitchen as if walking on red hot ash to make her mother coffee trying to avoid the usual routine beatings. Emily rushed out the door as she heard rustling coming from her mother’s room. She walked to the bus stop noticing the old, deteriorating houses with trash in the yards.
Their house was old. My grandparents lived in it most of their adult lives. It was white with black trimming, but most of the paint was chipped away. On the back porch was firewood all year long. No matter if it was winter; spring, summer, or fall the wood was always there. Red, yellow, purple flowers grew alongside the house all spring and summer.