healing hayley

While I like to pretend that I am a full grown adult mature beyond my years with wisdom coming out of my nose, in reality I am not. I am merely a small girl with a big imagination who has terrible puns that never seem to stop and a whole lot of smiles.


In the midst of college-application-senior-year-drowining-in-homework-hell I have to constantly remind myself to breathe, and enjoy myself, because for all I know I could die in a car crash tomorrow. And while that may be a morbid thought, it is a true thought, and one that reminds me to be thankful for what I have and to do my best to make the most out of any given situation.


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My dear friend Hayley whom I have known since 1st grade took the splendid candids, and I thought I might as well share them with the world wide internet because I am a naive teenage girl and am too vain for my own good. And while the light is low and the noise is loud, she is quite the photographer, especially when it comes to capturing the moment rather than the subject.

David Copperfield - a review

My AP Literature class just finished reading David Copperfield and it was fantastic! My only complaint is that the sheer weight of the book was a tad cumbersome when lugging it around, but perhaps that was just part of the David Copperfield experience. Nonetheless I highly recommend it. Above you will see part one of the timeline I created of all the different plots as the story progresses. The numbers at the bottom are the chapter numbers and the colors correspond to the different plots. Please note the following literary critique/review does contain some spoilers. 

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If you were to bite into a cookie that was unpleasantly bitter, your face would most likely contort itself into an expression of disgust, and you would not finish the cookie. Similarly, if David Copperfield did not have the humor that it does, it wouldn't have been nearly as successful. Without humor, David Copperfield is a depressing story about a poor orphan boy and how terrible his life is. Thankfully, while this may be the bare bones of David Copperfield, Dickens' interwoven humor allows this book to become much more. 

Charles Dickens David Copperfield is a 1000 piece puzzle thats full image is slowly revealed chapter by chapter as the plot lines develop. His strategic use of diction doles out only a small piece of the puzzle and leaves the reader begging for more throughout the entire novel.  The intricate manner in which Dickens pieces together the world of David Copperfield quenches a thirst that is both satisfying and addicting.

From the very beginning of the novel, Dickens' over the top characterizations forms a highly amusing picture. In the opening chapter, "I Am Born," the image of Aunt Betsy shamelessly stuffing dental cotton into her ears does well to lighten the otherwise boring scene David's birth. This along with Aunt Betsy's reaction to finding out that "it's a boy" sets the state for the next 600 or so pages that have already grasped the reader's curiosity. 

Dicken's larger than life descriptions glues the readers eyes to the page and forces them to understand what Dickens wanted them to understand, as well as empathizing some of the absurdities within David Copperfield to things within their own life. Whether it is Miss Mudstones purse closing with a "bite" or Uriah's "sliminess," the reader is able to find solace in a buffet of characters that acknowledges and puts a voice to the readers politically incorrect thoughts that are so often thought, but never said. 

The use of humor throughout a book that lacks puns capitalizes on our humility and our ability to laugh at our own mistakes. While it may seem absurd to rent out your spare bedroom to an 8 year old, Dickens uses the Micawbers relationship with David as a way to highlight the absurdities of child labor laws that were highly relevant at the time and places the reader in a situation where they are able to see the blatantly backwards societal norms that still exist today. Although it may seem obvious that Agnes is in love with David and that he shouldn't marry Dora, David is oblivious to this just as so many others are within todays society. #friendzone. This odd feeling of deja vu gives the reader no other option but to laugh, either nervously because it seems familiar to them, or pointedly at humanity and how naive the world is.

It is in this way that Dickens makes the reader feel perfectly sanely insane by pointing out the vastness of the absurdities around them, leaving the reader with a bitter-sweet taste instead of a bitter one, and allowing them to finish the cookie.

margot

Star Fish by Andrew Wyeth

Your subconscious directs you as you turn right, walk through the hallway and climb the second set of stairs on your right. You turn left and then right again. You’re not sure where your feet are taking you until you realize that the piece you're longing for is no longer where it should be. You look around you with worry. Surely they wouldn't have put it in storage, you think to yourself.  The security guard eyes your brisk walk as you anxiously move through the second floor gallery looking for the painting.  Filled with dread, you’ve almost given up hope when you see it across the hall, tucked in a corner. 

How rude of them to neglect you, you think to yourself. Just because someone was painted by a fancy name doesn't mean that they're any better, or that you should have to be hidden to make room for them.

Situating yourself in front of the piece, you relax as the sounds of people fade away making room for the the gentle lull of the ocean that pulls your eyes close.

I wipe the sleep away from my eyes as the room slowly comes into focus. The midmorning sun is streaming though the window—blinding me—as I sit up in bed. As the last drops of my dreams drain I am left within realities reach, and find myself enveloped by the elegance of our world. As I look around the room, the details that are painted throughout our lives captivate me—telling a story without ever saying a word. The whites of the walls whisper their true colors to me; letting me in on a secret that only those willing to open their eyes can hear. The sunlight rushes through the window, revealing its true depth, and its darkness within; shedding light on the shadows of its past, and its hope for the future. The two starfish which rest on the window pane, speak of a sentimental summer’s afternoon. Even the smudges on the window talk; telling the tale of the ocean’s dance whose fingers caress the seaside cabin, leaving their mark in salt.

Mesmerized by the simplistic beauty that surrounds me, time seems to stop. There is no pressing matter to deal with, no situation to settle, and no obligatory obligation. A sense of tranquility washes over me and I feel as if I am frozen in this moment—unable and unwilling to leave its serenity and place the weight of the world back on my shoulders. 

I have no concept of time as I stare out the window and watch the waves playing in the sunshine. Perhaps I have been here for only a few minutes, or maybe an hour or two, or perhaps even a few years—allowing the dust to settle and my body to grow old, as my mind stays young, refusing to acknowledge the things we like to call ‘responsibilities’ and instead relishing in the freedom of fulfillment.

After a short while, or perhaps a long while, a figure comes into my view. While I don’t recognize them, I am overwhelmed with the feeling of familiarity. Enchanted, I watch them as they take out a pair of binoculars, and gaze out across the sea. Except for the wind stroking their hair and pulling their shirt, they are perfectly still. The figure fascinates me, and I observe them as a mother might watch over her sleeping child, enthralled by the possibilities of their dreams. Time passes, and when they lower their binoculars to polish the lenses, my trance is finally broken and I blush, as if caught doing something I know I shouldn't be. By now the ocean has become enflamed by the sun, and as I continue to watch my new friend watch the ocean, I cant help but feel as if I am being watched as well. 

Engrossed in its brushstrokes, you feel a pang of sadness when it’s time to leave. You enjoy the company of your new friend, and even though your legs have fallen asleep from sitting on the floor, and your back is aching from not having enough support, you wish that you could stay—lost in a hidden world where only those who live with their eyes open can know. Sighing, you stand up and steady yourself on the banister, taking one last look at Star Fish by Andrew Wyeth before you acknowledge reality once more.

at long last

Another year goes by as time seems to slip through my fingers. A month or so into my senior year of high school, and I have only just now found time to post these pictures from my summer adventures. College, AP classes, and literally piles of homework await me on a folding-table-turned-desk in the sunroom that I've commandeered and turned into an office. I enjoy being busy, it makes me feel like I'm taking advantage of the opportunities I am presented with; but sometimes I wish I could just rest, and not have to worry about anything. 

My safe heaven pictured in these photographs is a small private island off the coast of Connecticut called Fishers Island. Fishers is a place where I have spent many a summer running around like a hooligan with my cousins, and falling asleep to the sounds of laughter and merriment, that drift though the open window with the midnight ocean breeze. It is a real life fairy tale, and it is the place where I am most content. 

Lady Lucy

Lucy,

As I sit here with Angel on my lap, and her drool all over my shirt, I can’t help but think you should be here, too. You have played such an instrumental part in shaping me into the person I am today. What pains me most is my inability to repay that debt. You were a friend when no one else would be, and a listener when no one else cared. You were more than just a cat, and you will always hold a special place in my heart.

I still remember the day that we adopted you from the pound. While you may have been physically small, your personality was anything but. You immediately came up to us, and made sure we heard you when you said hello. To the displeasure of my mother, throughout the entire car ride home your voice was heard above the layer of excited little girl squeals–beginning your career as a vocalist from the plastic beige cat carrier.

As time passed and our measurements in the door frame became higher and higher, our bond became stronger and stronger. While you have always been an outside cat, and I have always been allergic to cats, that never slowed me down from spending as much time with you as I possibly could. We would have tea together, play in the dirt together, pick up diseases in the sandbox together, and so much more than I can ever recount. I spent my second allowance on a tie-dyed leash for you, so that we could go for walks together. While you hated the leash with a burning passion, and refused to walk more than two feet on it with me, you tolerated my efforts and were patient with me. Every year on my birthday I would make a wish, and every year, I would make the same one. I would wish to not be allergic to cats, so that you could sleep with me at the foot of my bed and snuggle with me if I woke up in the middle of the night afraid of the monsters in my closet.

While my wish never came true in a literal sense, you have always been there to comfort me from the figurative monsters in my life. Through a divorce, a move, and bullies, you have always stayed by my side and remained loyal. We have laughed together and we have cried together. We have even gone for walks together—despite the lack of a leash. We have sunbathed together, and played in the snow together. We have celebrated birthdays and holidays, and we have mourned the loss of lost cats. We have been through so much together, and it has taken your death for me to realize how much time has passed and how much I have taken you for granted. I thought you would always be there, pestering me until I'd give you a few pellets of turtle food when I fed the turtles in the morning, and leaning into my hand when I scratched you behind your ears. You were just a part of life, just as food or shelter is a necessity of living. I never realized what I had until you were gone.

Thank you for being my rock, and for keeping me grounded. You inspire me. While my face was splotchy and red from both allergies and crying, when I laid on the grass next to you and watched you take in the world you loved so much for the last time, you were calm. You were in pain, and you could barely walk; but despite everything, you sat up as tall as you could, and enjoyed the moment. I watched you as you lifted your nose to take in the smell of home, the feel of the breeze on your face and soak in the setting sun one last time. While I know in my bones that you knew what was to come, you were content with the life that you had lived, and you were happy.

I stayed with you until the end, doing what I could to make sure you weren’t scared. You drifted off peacefully, and while it hurt to see the light leave your eyes, I knew that you would no longer be in pain, and after all that you had given me, stopping your pain was the least I could do.

I want you to know that you are loved, and that you shouldn’t be scared, because you will always have a place in my heart, and I will always be there to keep the monsters away. Thank you for everything. I love you.

Carly