This haiku was inspired by my yard:
the golden circle
peeps over the dewy grass
a rooster is heard
Sunday, April 28, 2013
Monday, April 15, 2013
Robert Frost
I am posting a bio on Robert Frost. I know, I have not posted in like, weeks, BUT: I'm just busy.... I know I always give that excuse, but what else can I say?
Anyway, Robert Frost, one of my fave poets.
Frost drifted through a string of occupations after leaving school, working as a teacher, cobbler, and editor of the Lawrence Sentinel. His first professional poem, "My Butterfly," was published on November 8, 1894, in the New York newspaper The Independent.
In 1895, Frost married Elinor Miriam White, who became a major inspiration in his poetry until her death in 1938. The couple moved to England in 1912, after their New Hampshire farm failed, and it was abroad that Frost met and was influenced by such contemporary British poets as Edward Thomas, Rupert Brooke, and Robert Graves. While in England, Frost also established a friendship with the poet Ezra Pound, who helped to promote and publish his work.
By the time Frost returned to the United States in 1915, he had published two full-length collections, A Boy's Will and North of Boston, and his reputation was established. By the nineteen-twenties, he was the most celebrated poet in America, and with each new book—including New Hampshire (1923), A Further Range (1936), Steeple Bush (1947), and In the Clearing (1962)—his fame and honors (including four Pulitzer Prizes) increased.
Though his work is principally associated with the life and landscape of New England, and though he was a poet of traditional verse forms and metrics who remained steadfastly aloof from the poetic movements and fashions of his time, Frost is anything but a merely regional or minor poet. The author of searching and often dark meditations on universal themes, he is a quintessentially modern poet in his adherence to language as it is actually spoken, in the psychological complexity of his portraits, and in the degree to which his work is infused with layers of ambiguity and irony.
In a 1970 review of The Poetry of Robert Frost, the poet Daniel Hoffman describes Frost's early work as "the Puritan ethic turned astonishingly lyrical and enabled to say out loud the sources of its own delight in the world," and comments on Frost's career as The American Bard: "He became a national celebrity, our nearly official Poet Laureate, and a great performer in the tradition of that earlier master of the literary vernacular, Mark Twain."
About Frost, President John F. Kennedy said, "He has bequeathed his nation a body of imperishable verse from which Americans will forever gain joy and understanding."
Robert Frost lived and taught for many years in Massachusetts and Vermont, and died in Boston on January 29, 1963.
- See more at: http://www.poets.org/poet.php/prmPID/192#sthash.9FX6mUAw.dpuf
Anyway, Robert Frost, one of my fave poets.
Robert Lee Frost was born in San Francisco, and after his fathers
death in 1885, he moved with his family to Lawrence, Massachusetts,
where he became interested in reading and writing poetry while in high
school. Frost attended Dartmouth College and Harvard University, but
never received a degree. He was a jack of all trades, and had many
different occupations after leaving school, including a teacher, a
cobbler, and an editor of the local newspaper, the "Lawrence Sentinel".
His first published poem was "My Butterfly: An Elegy"
in the New York literary journal "The Independent" in 1894. A year
later he married Elinor Miriam White, with whom he shared valedictorian
honours with at his Massachusetts High School.
In the following years, he operated a farm in Derry, New Hampshire, and taught at Derry's Pinkerton Academy. In 1912, he sold his farm and moved his family to England, where he could devote himself entirely to his writing. His efforts to establish himself in England were immediately successful, and in 1913 he published "A Boy's Will", followed a year later by "North of Boston". It was in England where he met and was influenced by such poets at Rupert Brooke and Robert Graves, and where he established his life-long friendship with Ezra Pound, who helped to promote and publish his work.
Frost returned to the United states in 1915, and by the 1920's, he was the most celebrated poet in North America, and was granted four Pulitzer Prizes. Robert Frost lived and taught for many years in Massachusetts and Vermont, and died on January 29, 1963 in Boston.
And here's my favorite poem by him.......Stopping by the Woods on a Snowy evening. (Very famous poem!)
Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of the easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
In the following years, he operated a farm in Derry, New Hampshire, and taught at Derry's Pinkerton Academy. In 1912, he sold his farm and moved his family to England, where he could devote himself entirely to his writing. His efforts to establish himself in England were immediately successful, and in 1913 he published "A Boy's Will", followed a year later by "North of Boston". It was in England where he met and was influenced by such poets at Rupert Brooke and Robert Graves, and where he established his life-long friendship with Ezra Pound, who helped to promote and publish his work.
Frost returned to the United states in 1915, and by the 1920's, he was the most celebrated poet in North America, and was granted four Pulitzer Prizes. Robert Frost lived and taught for many years in Massachusetts and Vermont, and died on January 29, 1963 in Boston.
And here's my favorite poem by him.......Stopping by the Woods on a Snowy evening. (Very famous poem!)
Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of the easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
 |
|
|
|
Robert Frost
Robert Frost was born in San Francisco on March 26, 1874. He moved to New England at the age of eleven and became interested in reading and writing poetry during his high school years in Lawrence, Massachusetts. He was enrolled at Dartmouth College in 1892, and later at Harvard, though he never earned a formal degree.Frost drifted through a string of occupations after leaving school, working as a teacher, cobbler, and editor of the Lawrence Sentinel. His first professional poem, "My Butterfly," was published on November 8, 1894, in the New York newspaper The Independent.
In 1895, Frost married Elinor Miriam White, who became a major inspiration in his poetry until her death in 1938. The couple moved to England in 1912, after their New Hampshire farm failed, and it was abroad that Frost met and was influenced by such contemporary British poets as Edward Thomas, Rupert Brooke, and Robert Graves. While in England, Frost also established a friendship with the poet Ezra Pound, who helped to promote and publish his work.
By the time Frost returned to the United States in 1915, he had published two full-length collections, A Boy's Will and North of Boston, and his reputation was established. By the nineteen-twenties, he was the most celebrated poet in America, and with each new book—including New Hampshire (1923), A Further Range (1936), Steeple Bush (1947), and In the Clearing (1962)—his fame and honors (including four Pulitzer Prizes) increased.
Though his work is principally associated with the life and landscape of New England, and though he was a poet of traditional verse forms and metrics who remained steadfastly aloof from the poetic movements and fashions of his time, Frost is anything but a merely regional or minor poet. The author of searching and often dark meditations on universal themes, he is a quintessentially modern poet in his adherence to language as it is actually spoken, in the psychological complexity of his portraits, and in the degree to which his work is infused with layers of ambiguity and irony.
In a 1970 review of The Poetry of Robert Frost, the poet Daniel Hoffman describes Frost's early work as "the Puritan ethic turned astonishingly lyrical and enabled to say out loud the sources of its own delight in the world," and comments on Frost's career as The American Bard: "He became a national celebrity, our nearly official Poet Laureate, and a great performer in the tradition of that earlier master of the literary vernacular, Mark Twain."
About Frost, President John F. Kennedy said, "He has bequeathed his nation a body of imperishable verse from which Americans will forever gain joy and understanding."
Robert Frost lived and taught for many years in Massachusetts and Vermont, and died in Boston on January 29, 1963.
- See more at: http://www.poets.org/poet.php/prmPID/192#sthash.9FX6mUAw.dpuf
Robert
Frost was born in San Francisco on March 26, 1874. He moved to New
England at the age of eleven and became interested in reading and
writing poetry during his high school years in Lawrence, Massachusetts.
He was enrolled at Dartmouth College in 1892, and later at Harvard,
though he never earned a formal degree.
Frost drifted through a string of occupations after leaving school, working as a teacher, cobbler, and editor of the Lawrence Sentinel. His first professional poem, "My Butterfly," was published on November 8, 1894, in the New York newspaper The Independent.
In 1895, Frost married Elinor Miriam White, who became a major inspiration in his poetry until her death in 1938. The couple moved to England in 1912, after their New Hampshire farm failed, and it was abroad that Frost met and was influenced by such contemporary British poets as Edward Thomas, Rupert Brooke, and Robert Graves. While in England, Frost also established a friendship with the poet Ezra Pound, who helped to promote and publish his work.
By the time Frost returned to the United States in 1915, he had published two full-length collections, A Boy's Will and North of Boston, and his reputation was established. By the nineteen-twenties, he was the most celebrated poet in America, and with each new book—including New Hampshire (1923), A Further Range (1936), Steeple Bush (1947), and In the Clearing (1962)—his fame and honors (including four Pulitzer Prizes) increased.
Though his work is principally associated with the life and landscape of New England, and though he was a poet of traditional verse forms and metrics who remained steadfastly aloof from the poetic movements and fashions of his time, Frost is anything but a merely regional or minor poet. The author of searching and often dark meditations on universal themes, he is a quintessentially modern poet in his adherence to language as it is actually spoken, in the psychological complexity of his portraits, and in the degree to which his work is infused with layers of ambiguity and irony.
In a 1970 review of The Poetry of Robert Frost, the poet Daniel Hoffman describes Frost's early work as "the Puritan ethic turned astonishingly lyrical and enabled to say out loud the sources of its own delight in the world," and comments on Frost's career as The American Bard: "He became a national celebrity, our nearly official Poet Laureate, and a great performer in the tradition of that earlier master of the literary vernacular, Mark Twain."
About Frost, President John F. Kennedy said, "He has bequeathed his nation a body of imperishable verse from which Americans will forever gain joy and understanding."
Robert Frost lived and taught for many years in Massachusetts and Vermont, and died in Boston on January 29, 1963.
- See more at: http://www.poets.org/poet.php/prmPID/192#sthash.9FX6mUAw.dpuf
Frost drifted through a string of occupations after leaving school, working as a teacher, cobbler, and editor of the Lawrence Sentinel. His first professional poem, "My Butterfly," was published on November 8, 1894, in the New York newspaper The Independent.
In 1895, Frost married Elinor Miriam White, who became a major inspiration in his poetry until her death in 1938. The couple moved to England in 1912, after their New Hampshire farm failed, and it was abroad that Frost met and was influenced by such contemporary British poets as Edward Thomas, Rupert Brooke, and Robert Graves. While in England, Frost also established a friendship with the poet Ezra Pound, who helped to promote and publish his work.
By the time Frost returned to the United States in 1915, he had published two full-length collections, A Boy's Will and North of Boston, and his reputation was established. By the nineteen-twenties, he was the most celebrated poet in America, and with each new book—including New Hampshire (1923), A Further Range (1936), Steeple Bush (1947), and In the Clearing (1962)—his fame and honors (including four Pulitzer Prizes) increased.
Though his work is principally associated with the life and landscape of New England, and though he was a poet of traditional verse forms and metrics who remained steadfastly aloof from the poetic movements and fashions of his time, Frost is anything but a merely regional or minor poet. The author of searching and often dark meditations on universal themes, he is a quintessentially modern poet in his adherence to language as it is actually spoken, in the psychological complexity of his portraits, and in the degree to which his work is infused with layers of ambiguity and irony.
In a 1970 review of The Poetry of Robert Frost, the poet Daniel Hoffman describes Frost's early work as "the Puritan ethic turned astonishingly lyrical and enabled to say out loud the sources of its own delight in the world," and comments on Frost's career as The American Bard: "He became a national celebrity, our nearly official Poet Laureate, and a great performer in the tradition of that earlier master of the literary vernacular, Mark Twain."
About Frost, President John F. Kennedy said, "He has bequeathed his nation a body of imperishable verse from which Americans will forever gain joy and understanding."
Robert Frost lived and taught for many years in Massachusetts and Vermont, and died in Boston on January 29, 1963.
- See more at: http://www.poets.org/poet.php/prmPID/192#sthash.9FX6mUAw.dpuf
Robert
Frost was born in San Francisco on March 26, 1874. He moved to New
England at the age of eleven and became interested in reading and
writing poetry during his high school years in Lawrence, Massachusetts.
He was enrolled at Dartmouth College in 1892, and later at Harvard,
though he never earned a formal degree.
Frost drifted through a string of occupations after leaving school, working as a teacher, cobbler, and editor of the Lawrence Sentinel. His first professional poem, "My Butterfly," was published on November 8, 1894, in the New York newspaper The Independent.
In 1895, Frost married Elinor Miriam White, who became a major inspiration in his poetry until her death in 1938. The couple moved to England in 1912, after their New Hampshire farm failed, and it was abroad that Frost met and was influenced by such contemporary British poets as Edward Thomas, Rupert Brooke, and Robert Graves. While in England, Frost also established a friendship with the poet Ezra Pound, who helped to promote and publish his work.
By the time Frost returned to the United States in 1915, he had published two full-length collections, A Boy's Will and North of Boston, and his reputation was established. By the nineteen-twenties, he was the most celebrated poet in America, and with each new book—including New Hampshire (1923), A Further Range (1936), Steeple Bush (1947), and In the Clearing (1962)—his fame and honors (including four Pulitzer Prizes) increased.
Though his work is principally associated with the life and landscape of New England, and though he was a poet of traditional verse forms and metrics who remained steadfastly aloof from the poetic movements and fashions of his time, Frost is anything but a merely regional or minor poet. The author of searching and often dark meditations on universal themes, he is a quintessentially modern poet in his adherence to language as it is actually spoken, in the psychological complexity of his portraits, and in the degree to which his work is infused with layers of ambiguity and irony.
In a 1970 review of The Poetry of Robert Frost, the poet Daniel Hoffman describes Frost's early work as "the Puritan ethic turned astonishingly lyrical and enabled to say out loud the sources of its own delight in the world," and comments on Frost's career as The American Bard: "He became a national celebrity, our nearly official Poet Laureate, and a great performer in the tradition of that earlier master of the literary vernacular, Mark Twain."
About Frost, President John F. Kennedy said, "He has bequeathed his nation a body of imperishable verse from which Americans will forever gain joy and understanding."
Robert Frost lived and taught for many years in Massachusetts and Vermont, and died in Boston on January 29, 1963.
- See more at: http://www.poets.org/poet.php/prmPID/192#sthash.9FX6mUAw.dpuf
Frost drifted through a string of occupations after leaving school, working as a teacher, cobbler, and editor of the Lawrence Sentinel. His first professional poem, "My Butterfly," was published on November 8, 1894, in the New York newspaper The Independent.
In 1895, Frost married Elinor Miriam White, who became a major inspiration in his poetry until her death in 1938. The couple moved to England in 1912, after their New Hampshire farm failed, and it was abroad that Frost met and was influenced by such contemporary British poets as Edward Thomas, Rupert Brooke, and Robert Graves. While in England, Frost also established a friendship with the poet Ezra Pound, who helped to promote and publish his work.
By the time Frost returned to the United States in 1915, he had published two full-length collections, A Boy's Will and North of Boston, and his reputation was established. By the nineteen-twenties, he was the most celebrated poet in America, and with each new book—including New Hampshire (1923), A Further Range (1936), Steeple Bush (1947), and In the Clearing (1962)—his fame and honors (including four Pulitzer Prizes) increased.
Though his work is principally associated with the life and landscape of New England, and though he was a poet of traditional verse forms and metrics who remained steadfastly aloof from the poetic movements and fashions of his time, Frost is anything but a merely regional or minor poet. The author of searching and often dark meditations on universal themes, he is a quintessentially modern poet in his adherence to language as it is actually spoken, in the psychological complexity of his portraits, and in the degree to which his work is infused with layers of ambiguity and irony.
In a 1970 review of The Poetry of Robert Frost, the poet Daniel Hoffman describes Frost's early work as "the Puritan ethic turned astonishingly lyrical and enabled to say out loud the sources of its own delight in the world," and comments on Frost's career as The American Bard: "He became a national celebrity, our nearly official Poet Laureate, and a great performer in the tradition of that earlier master of the literary vernacular, Mark Twain."
About Frost, President John F. Kennedy said, "He has bequeathed his nation a body of imperishable verse from which Americans will forever gain joy and understanding."
Robert Frost lived and taught for many years in Massachusetts and Vermont, and died in Boston on January 29, 1963.
- See more at: http://www.poets.org/poet.php/prmPID/192#sthash.9FX6mUAw.dpuf
Thursday, March 7, 2013
The Gym by Night part 5(Finally!)
Sabrina helped me learn front and back walkovers,
handstands, back handsprings, and even a front flip. (I never did land it!) Rhythmic
gymnasts have to be flexible.
“Never do gymnastics if you don’t have an experienced
gymnast of coach with you, because you can get seriously injured.”
“Ok!”
“Try getting up on the beam,” Sabrina said, “You’ll be
really wobbly at first, but once you get used to it, it’s easy.” I climbed onto
the beam and tried to stand up. “Whoa!” I said, as I lost my balance and nearly
fell off. I looked around the gym. I saw Alex laughing at me. She tapped Ana on
the shoulder and pointed at me. I looked away.
Then I saw it: two girls carrying hoops and ribbons walked through the
gym and into a door that said: “SMALL GYM”. “What’s in there?”, I asked.
“Oh, that’s just where the Rhythmic gymnasts practice.”
“Can I go in there for a sec?”
“Sure.”
I trotted over to the SMALL GYM door and went in. I saw Rhythmic
gymnasts practicing everywhere I looked. A short lady with a tight bun sauntered
over to me.
“What do you want?”
“Ummm….. I-err- I want to learn Rhythmic Gymnastics.”
“Ummm….. I-err- I want to learn Rhythmic Gymnastics.”
“Any prior experience?”
“Yes I can do lots of skills, and my sister Alex is a Level
10 Artistic Gymnast.”
“Is it all right with your Mother?”
“Yes she told me to come here with Alex and meet the
Coach.” The woman remained motionless. I stood, waiting for her to go get the
Coach. I studied her. She had thick salt-and-pepper colored hair, dark brown
eyes, and a firm chin. She was wearing a long black skirt and blazer. Just
then, a girl in a sparkly yellow leo bounded up to us. She looked out of breath
from the energetic training. “Hey,” She said to the lady, “Can you come help me
for a minute?”
“Yes. I’ll be right over.” She turned to me. “I’m Coach
Ksenia. I was all-around Gold medalist at the 1979 Worlds for Russia.”
“You-you-you’re the Coach?” I had been picturing someone
young and energetic, with a colorful Warm-up Suit.
“Yes! Now I have
to go help Nicole.” And with that, she turned on her heel and left. And then I
remembered: This was Wednesday. I looked at the clock above the door. It was almost
9:30. Ana had told me to be there at 9:15. YIKES!
I quickly retreated back to the main gym. Ana was still working in the huge
beam area, so I was safe. I passed the time by strolling around the artistic
gymnastics section.
Suddenly, a hand grabbed my shoulder.
“Caroline Eugenie!” I jumped. It was only Alex, trying to
scare me.
“Alexandria Beatrice! What is it?, I exclaimed.
But my twin had vanished. I decided to try out some of
the skills Sabrina had taught me on the floor mat. To me, the coolest looking
thing was the back handspring. I jumped back, and TA DA! I did it! I tried
several more times, doing better each time. I tried again. I jumped back,
landed on my arms, and CRACK! I found myself sprawled on the mat, holding my
wrist.
“OWWWW…….” Coach Chip came running over with Ana and Alex
close behind.
I heard people chattering excitedly above me.
Coach Chip: “Do any of you know who this is?”
Alex: “She’s my sister and I think she just started
gymnastics.”
Ana: “Kerry, are you all right?”
I felt myself being carried out by 2 men. I heard Alex
talking on the phone to my mom (presumably)
Then all went black.
Monday, March 4, 2013
New post finally!!!
So as you know, this blog is all about poetry. Unfortunately, I am a really busy person, so I can't post to often:( Please, stick with me!!
Anyway, I was writing poetry today, and I wrote this one called Music. I just thought I'd share it with you:)
Music
Black and white notes
Dancing across the page
Eighth note and sixteenth notes
played like lightning
A wave of applause as the
pianist comes out.
Then all is silent as the pianist
sits down.
He dusts his hands, and lowers
the bench, then he carefully
places his hands on the keys.
He presses them down and the music begins.
Bye!!!!!
Louisa
Anyway, I was writing poetry today, and I wrote this one called Music. I just thought I'd share it with you:)
Music
Black and white notes
Dancing across the page
Eighth note and sixteenth notes
played like lightning
A wave of applause as the
pianist comes out.
Then all is silent as the pianist
sits down.
He dusts his hands, and lowers
the bench, then he carefully
places his hands on the keys.
He presses them down and the music begins.
Bye!!!!!
Louisa
Wednesday, January 23, 2013
It's been so long...
Hello! It's been soooo long since I've made a poetry post, so I'll just show you my recent poems. All of these are written by me. Did I mention that I love to write poetry?
Texas February Mornings
Cinquain
Winter
Mornings: Texas
Freezing! 30 degrees!
Below zero? No way! Think of...
Iceland!
Math
Senryu
Math, I detest it.
Fractions, Decimals, Square Roots
Plus signs everywhere
The fate of Spring
Limerick
There once was a baby named Spring,
Who wanted to go see the King.
So she sent him a letter,
asking "Please, would he let her?"
But the king said "No, You poor thing!"
Hope you like them!! (I know they aren't great) :(
Louisa
Texas February Mornings
Cinquain
Winter
Mornings: Texas
Freezing! 30 degrees!
Below zero? No way! Think of...
Iceland!
Math
Senryu
Math, I detest it.
Fractions, Decimals, Square Roots
Plus signs everywhere
The fate of Spring
Limerick
There once was a baby named Spring,
Who wanted to go see the King.
So she sent him a letter,
asking "Please, would he let her?"
But the king said "No, You poor thing!"
Hope you like them!! (I know they aren't great) :(
Louisa
Thursday, January 10, 2013
The Gym by night Day 5
That night, Alex took me aside to her new bedroom. We had
only recently been given our own rooms, for our 12th birthday. As I
walked and Alex walked in a backbend position, I thought about tonight. We were
going to meet in front of my house at 10:00 and then we would walk to the gym.
“Kerry!” This was Alex, speaking urgently. She kicked
over, landing perfectly.
“KERRY! EARTH TO KERRY!” I came to with a start.
“What?”
“You can’t go out tonight! You’d get in big trouble if
you were caught. Believe me, I know Coach Chip. Also, you don’t have a key to
the gym.”
“Well-“
“Kerry!”
I sighed. “I guess you’re right, Alex.” She almost always
is.
After dinner, I called Ana. I told what Alex had said.
She totally understood.
“Actually, I just thought of that myself. I was about to
call you. I wasn’t too sure about that plan, anyway,” She said, “So I thought
of a better plan. Every other Wednesday is Mrs. Kingsley’s, the lady who works
in the office, day off. So maybe after Wednesday Workout, we can sneak in there
and look through the office. “
“Great idea. I can come then. What time?”
“Well, Summer Wednesday Workout goes from 7:30 in the
morning to 10:00. You might want to come around 9:15, ‘cause my 8:45 Beam coach
lets me go early a lot.” I heard someone calling Ana’s name in the background.
“Gotta go. See you on Wednesday?
“Right. Bye!”
“Bye!”
***
That night in bed, I was thinking about what sport I
should try to replace ballet. I’d already tried basketball, and decided it
wasn’t for me, being really bad at it. Swimming? No, I’d never been a super
strong swimmer. Softball and soccer were out of the question, I couldn’t really
think of any other types of dance I wanted to do, and definitely NOT handball.
What then? I had a growing idea inside me.
The next morning, I woke up at 5: 00 A.M. I went across
the hallway to the computer, went on YouTube, and searched Rhythmic Gymnastics.
I had heard Ana and Alex talking about it, and it sounded fascinating to me. A
whole bunch of videos of Worlds and Nationals popped up and I clicked on one
that said “Team Russia Hoops and Ribbons 2010 Worlds”. I waited breathlessly
for the ad to finish, and then gasped as I saw 5 teenage girls in super fancy
leotards walk on to the podium, each carrying either a purple ribbon on a stick
or an ivory colored hoop. Some music started, and they started half dancing,
half gymnastics, to the music. I was transfixed from the moment it started to
the last moment of the video. I watched it 3 more times, and each time I sat
spellbound watching them. ‘I could totally rock this’, I thought, and I knew
this was what I wanted to do. After the 5th time, I googled ‘famous
rhythmic gymnasts’. While it was loading, I thought about how I sometimes felt
left out, because my best friend and my twin sister both at the gym every day.
A bunch of articles came up about famous Russian rhythmic gymnasts, all in
Russian. I retyped and added ‘American’. Here were some articles about Mary
Sanders and Julie Zetlin. Hmmm… they were the only American ones who had gone
to the Olympics in a long time. Well, I would change that. I would go in 2016!
I resolved to talk to my mom about it, and go to the gym with Alex as soon as
she got up to go, in more or less 1 hour, and have a conversation with the
teacher. But maybe I should retry Artistic Gymnastics first. I decided to ask
Ana to show me some skills; perhaps some bars jump, or something.
***
That morning at the gym, I asked Ana to show me some
skills. She told me to go to one of the elite gymnasts because they were more
experienced than her and Alex. She
pointed to a teenage girl with dark brown hair and braces. “That’s Sabrina. She
did the Olympic trials in June, but missed by this much.”
“Okay!
“But you need to warm up and stretch, first. That’s
really important, ‘cause if you don’t, you can get seriously injured.
“OF COURSE! I was only in ballet for 10 years!”
I jogged around the gym with her 4 or 5 times, and then
she showed me some basic gymnastics stretches for your wrists, ankles, neck,
feet, and arms.
“Next you have to do muscle-building exercises.” She
grasped a thick rope. “See if you can climb this rope. Race you to the top!!!”
And with that, she jumped onto the rope, and started to shin up it towards the
green bell. I lightly touched the cord and tried to hold myself up on it. I did
it! I started pulling myself upwards just as Ana rang the bell. Oh, well.
Climbing a rope is harder than it looks. You must first hold yourself up with your
legs straddled around it. Then you must
let go with one hand, in order to reach higher. You have to do the same thing
over and over and over and over until you get to the top.
“YAY!” I thought, as I reached the top. Then the thought
struck me: How was I going to get down?
By then, Alex had reached the ground. “What’s taking you
so long?” She called up to me.
“I can’t get down!” My muscles started burning, because I
had been holding myself up with them for so long.
“Just try to take it one step at a time.”
I tried. FAIL! Ana looked desperately up at me. I could
tell she was nervous that her coach would come over.
“Maybe I could just jump. I’m not that high up anymore…”
“I guess. But be careful!”
I took a deep breath, and flew down. I landed perfectly.
A stick! I held up my arms, saluting. TA-DA!
“Great. But now you need to go talk to Sabrina.”
“Okay!”
I approached the teenaged girl in a pink tank leotard.
She was talking to another girl, an Asian girl who looked to be about 14.
“Excuse me, I said, “My friend Ana said you would help me
learn some new skills.”
“Oh! Your name is…”
“Kerry.”
“All right, what kind of stuff do you want to learn?”
Thursday, January 3, 2013
Continued story Day 3
“He raised it so high that many of the people that had
been with him forever quit. I’m surprised you didn’t hear about it, you know
with Alex and everything.”
“Anastasia! What are you doing? If you want that double twister
ready by Pacific Rim, you need to practice! You hear me? Practice!” A bald man with a stubbly beard and an earring came up
to us, shaking his fist. ”And Visa Championships are coming up, too. You want
to be on the National Team, don’t you?”
”Y..yes. I’m sorry, Coach Chip! I was just trying to talk
to my best friend that I haven’t seen in FIVE YEARS!”
“Well, talk to her later. You need to get to get working.
Alex, what are you doing? You botched that tumbling pass again!” He ran over to
where Alex, my twin sister, was practicing.
Ana saluted and stood tall. “Yes Sir!” We both giggled.
Ana went back to practicing.
I was identical to Alex, and she had been in gymnastics
since she was two years old with me. I quit after the first year because I
wanted to do ballet, which I ended up doing for nine years. I had been forced
to quit last year because I tore a ligament in my arm. Right now I was kind of
bummed, because I was out of my favorite thing to do. I was trying to figure
out what I wanted to do next.
Ana came jogging over. “How did that look?”, she asked.
“Ummm…fine”, I said, feeling guilty for getting lost in
thought and not watching Ana’s routine.
“Oh, no!”, Ana said,.
“What?”
“Here comes Hannah, the coach’s daughter. She’s a lot
like her dad. I haven’t seen her in five years. You’ll recognize her.”
I remembered seeing her at Alex’ gymnastics meets. She
was tall and plump with blonde curls. She was always bragging that, although
she was a year older than us, she was
a level 4. Most 7-year-olds are level 4’s. She sidled up to us now.
“Well, look who’s back. Little Miss Level 2.”
Ana tightened her ponytail.
“Well, actually, while we lived in Romania, I was
advanced up to level 10.”
“Mmm-hmm. I’m sure, Hannah said tartly, as she jumped up
on the bar and fell off, “that if I was
seen with a girl who had to compete for Romania,
I would go to bed without dinner.”
And with that she crisply walked away.
***
That night, I walked home from the gym with Alex and Ana.
“Ana, I said as we walked around a puddle,“If you don’t
tell me something, I’ll call you Stacy.” It was an old joke. Everyone knew that
Ana hated that name.
“NO! What should I tell you?
“Keep telling me about why your dad went missing.”
“OK. So where was I? Oh, yeah. So I said he raised his
tuition. The next thing he did was accept a lot more people, so the gym was
really crowded. But that didn’t matter as much. Anyway, because he raised the
tuition, we couldn’t pay for it any more. So my dad went to California to try
to find work, and for some insane reason, he didn’t want anyone to know why he
left.”
“I can understand that,” Alex said quietly.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“So this was all before we moved, and of course he couldn’t
find any work, and so we moved to Romania because he wanted me to be at a
cheaper gym, and because he heard that there were good jobs there.” Ana paused,
pondering the thought. “We got to Romania and we lived in a really crummy
apartment because they couldn’t pay for my gymnastics otherwise; He never did
find a job there, and when you emailed me that he lowered his tuition, my
parents practically got on the next plane here.”
I laughed. Ana’s parents were very eccentric sometimes, I
imagined it was sometimes embarrassing for Ana.
“The thing is, no one knows why he had to make it more expensive, and everyone at the gym is
practically sick with curiosity. I wish there was some way to find out.”
“Ana, there is! All we have to do is go there at night,
and look through his stuff!” This was I, unflinchingly suggesting this although
I barely knew him.
“Well…I guess it could be a start. But if anybody sees
us, we’re done for.”
“Meet at my front door at 10:00 tonight?”
“Sure. You too, Alex?
“No Way.”
See, Alex is really cautious. She and I are twins, but we
couldn’t be less alike. I like adventure, while she only does what is
absolutely necessary. By then we had gotten to Ana’s new house, and we bid her
goodbye.
“See you tonight?
“I guess. Alex, don’t tell anybody, okay?
“Okay…”
“Bye!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)