2nd Quarter ORB Review

The Glass Castle by Jeanette Walls. Scribner New York 2005. Genre: Memoir

The glass castle is a heartwarming memoir that tells the story of the life of a dysfunctional family, and the importance of love and respect. The Walls are not an average family. They are a nomadic family that moves from place to place throughout the western U.S., in search for gold to fund the family’s dream of building a glass castle. Jeanette’s mother and father were definitely different than most parents. The main things that they taught to their children were to live life to the fullest, and have no fears. The pursuit of these things resulted in the dysfunctional childhood of their children, and their fast transformation into adults. When time got to tough, money was getting to tight, and their parents were getting to crazy, the Walls children had to venture out into the real world, and work for their own survival without the protection of their parents, but they brought the values that they learned from their parents with them to wherever life and the world took them.
“Some people are born storytellers. Some lives are worth telling. The best memoirs happen when these two conditions converge. In The Glass Castle, they have,” reads the book jacket.
The story is told in a way that shows the adolescence that Jeanette had when she was a child growing up the way she did, and how she was naïve in certain situations that she faced in her adventures with her family. As the story progresses, Jeanette starts to show the maturity she had, and that deeper understanding of the circumstances that she was facing in her survival with her irresponsible parents.
The writing style of this book reminded me of the writing style that Harper Lee used in her book To Kill a Mockingbird because she also made maturity and understanding a big part of the her book and her writing style. She really shows the intellectual growth that the children go through throughout the book, and their deeper understanding of important social issues (especially Jem), and that resembles the writing style of Jeanette Walls in this book.
"A lot of our neighbors on North Third Street were weird. A clan of Gypsies lived down the block in a big, falling-apart house with plywood nailed over the porch to create more indoor space" (page 102) This is when Jeanette is still young, and this quote shows how the author shows her age in the way she writes.
I really enjoyed this book. I thought every detail in it was important to the story, and the story had a huge amount of life. When I began reading it I could not stop turning the pages, because every memory that Jeanette put in her book was more exciting than the last. I also had a personal connection to the book, because it made me appreciate my childhood, and the guidance my parents have provided for me, and everything they do that isn’t always in their best interest, they do it because they care about me. These are some of the things that the Walls children never had growing up, and that was what made the story so powerful.

My Phone Is Not Just Beachy-Keene

In the days of a failing economy, and the demand for perfection and wealth, what really is valuable? Do we value our highly priced sports cars, overly priced hair products, or just the little things that are meaningful to us. Do we value the memorable moments that we go through, and we will remember throughout our lifetime? Do we value expensive things just because we spend huge amounts of money on them and would not just throw away money for anything. As I think about what I value, I realize that value does not mean “price” it means the things that I hold tight to my heart, and will never forget.

Finally, today – the best day of the year- my family will be leaving for our annual Cape Cod vacation. As I stumble into the bathroom to brush my teeth and wash my face, excitement is building inside of me, like a volcano ready to burst, when I think about all of the mini golf, ice cream, and beach days that I will be encountering when I get down to the Cape. I run downstairs to ask my mom when we will be leaving, hoping that she tells me soon. She doesn’t let me down, saying that once I get all my luggage in the car, we will be on our way. So I run back up the stairs and grab all my bags, throw them down the stairs, and quickly run to fetch them. When I walk out to the car, I can feel the warm sun kiss my skin, knowing that tomorrow I will be spending my whole day laying under this same sun, but I will be relaxing on the warm sand surrounded by the sounds of gentle the ocean. As I stuff all of my luggage in the backseat of my dad's truck (I tend to overpack), and slam the door, I begin my way back to my house, and bug my parents until they finally hop into the tightly packed car. YES! We are on our way to the Cape.
The drive to the Cape is an easy two-and-a-half hours, which is not too bad because my best friend Colleen is sitting beside me, constantly talking or making me laugh. Colleen comes with me on my family vacation every year, and every year is better than the previous. We are always on our bikes through the bike trails along the beach, at the marketplace indulging with ice cream and candy, or at the beach having a blast in the crisp, cool ocean water. The is never a dull moment in Cape Cod, and you never have to worry about what you look like, wear, or do, because everyone is just there for a fun time.
At last, we pull into my aunt’s driveway, just yards from the beach (we stay with her for the week), and Colleen and I are absolutely thrilled. We hop out of my dad’s Chevy truck, bring our bags inside and greet my Auntie. Once we are settled in, Colleen and I walk down the stairs of my aunt’s deck, and we run to our bikes. We hop on, and begin to peddle furiously towards the ocean. We arrive in less than thirty seconds, drop our bikes, and walk towards the dune deck, where we look out to see the beautiful horizon. By now, it is sunset, and the warm glowing colors of oranges, purples, reds and pinks suck me into their beauty, and I am now wishing I could live this moment every day of my life.

It is now six o’clock am, and I awake from my deep sleep to the loud consecutive beeps of my cell phone. Without my cell phone, I would probably be tardy to school more days than I could count. I then grab that evil “sleep-wrecker” device, wipe my eyes, and get ready for a long, tedious day at school. With my phone in hand, I look to see if I have any new messages that I have received from my friends while I was catching up on some beauty sleep. I am not surprised when my inbox says I have three new messages. My soccer practice has been cancelled for today, my essay (that I spent countless hours on) is actually NOT due tomorrow, and my dance studio will be having a potluck dinner tomorrow night. All three of these messages are very important for making sure I am on track with my schedule, thanks to my friends and their obsessive texting. As I run out to my car to wait for my dad who will be driving me to school, I press a few buttons on my phone, and “Party In the USA” begins to fill the car; the tune getting me pumped for a .. not so exciting day at school.
The dismissal bell has rung, and I can finally go home and relax. As I reveal my purple bus pass to my bus driver, I reach for the back pocket of my backpack, and grasp my old scratched up cell phone. Each scratch represents a moment or memory that happened when I had this phone, and the many times I have dropped it when I was to excited or angry to remember that if I break it I will have to pay for a new one. My mom has warned me multiple times of my overuse of my "world connector" device. That is really what my phone is, a world connector device, it keeps me in touch with all of my friends, for just fun social purposed, and for more serious purposes like when they give me news about school or about changes in my constantly changing soccer scheduele. Without my phone, I would be totally out of the loop, confused, and off track – so it is basically my savior.
My phone doesn’t have any “fancy-smancy” touch screen, or have changeable keyboards, but in my eyes, it is like gold. It does what it needs to do for me, and is not so expensive that I am afraid to take it out of my pocket, because, oh my gosh, it will get a scratch. I take it everywhere with me, and I have dropped it countless times without a fuss, so my plain old Verizon flip phone is more valuable to me than anything high-tech and expensive.


Although I constantly have my phone with me, and I only visit the Cape once a year, the relaxation and comfort that that vacation gives me is also given to me by my phone. My phone is like a teddy bear to me, and I am just not complete without it. If I don’t have it, I am an absolute wreck (not to sound obsessed ... but its true), but when I do have it I am comforted, relaxed and in the know with everything going on. I also value my phone and vacations for different reasons, because while my relaxing beach vacation takes me away from the stressful world of homework and gossip, my phone connects me with it. When I am sitting on the warm beach listening to the sound of the waves crash against the shore and dance with the sand, my mind is not really thinking about anything. But on the other hand, when I hear my phone vibrate across my room at two o’clock on a Friday night, with a new text from my friend Amanda telling me that soccer practice is changed to seven the next morning when I am still up watching TV, my mind isn’t exactly in such an tranquil state.
Neither my phone nor my Cape Cod vacations are expensive or elaborate, but two me, they are two of the few things that I really value. My trip to the Cape isn’t any sophisticated trip to Jamaica, but it is a time that I can just relax, have fun, and spend time with the people that I love most in my life. My phone isn’t any hot item either, but just my scratched up flip phone is what I cherish. To me, this is what value means, something that you cherish and hold close to your heart. I really could care less to have the most expensive items, as long as I am getting the best out of everything I have and enjoy life to the fullest, so the little things in my life are what I value and cherish most.

First Quarter Outside Reading Book Review

The Lovely Bones by Alice Sebold, Little, Brown and Company, 2002 Genre: Fiction


The Lovely Bones by Alice Sebold is about a 14-year-old girl named Susie Salmon, who is raped and murdered by her neighbor, George Harvey, while taking a shortcut on her walk home from school. The book is told by Susie, from “her heaven”, where she watches her family and friends suffer from her disappearance and her killer try to cover his tracks. The book takes place in Susie’s hometown, Norristown, Pennsylvania, where her parents struggle to maintain their relationship, her sister becomes a woman, and Mr. Harvey live his life like nothing happened.

“Mesmerizing….Sebold deals with almost unthinkable subjects with humor and intelligence and a kind of mysterious grace,” reads the book jacket. (Monica Wood, San Francisco Chronicle)

The Lovely Bones is a compelling story that is told in the eyes of a 14-year-old who is watching Earth from heaven. She tells us everything she witnesses, and gives her opinions and ideas about people, conflicts, and other crucial events that are happening in her loved ones lives down on Earth, all that are the result of her sudden disappearance. Susie’s friendly, humorous personality makes situations that would normally be disturbing and unreadable suspenseful and fascinating.

The Lovely Bones has quite a similar effect on the reader as A Child Called It by David Pelzer. The authors take on horrifying conflicts, but somehow give them charm, and make them very attention-grabbing. The stories are both told from the eyes of the main characters, so their views, details, and comments on events in the story give the books life.

“When my father’s car pulled into the drive, I was beginning to wonder if this had been what I’d been waiting for, for my family to come home, not to me anymore but to one another with me gone. In the afternoon light my father looked smaller somehow, thinner, but his eyes looked grateful in a way they had not in years” (316)

I really enjoyed this novel by Sebold. I am often not a huge fan of reading, and I only read when I have to for school, but that was not true for this book. I really enjoyed this book. I liked reading it in my spare time, because the author made the plot very suspenseful and exciting, and included vivid details throughout the book. This book gave me a deeper understanding of how tragedies like murders affect whole communities, and break relationships, friendships, and other things that were previously so strong. It made me grateful for everything I have, and that I have not gone through heartbreak like the one in this book. I enjoyed how the author was not timid at all throughout the book, giving amazing details, realistic dialogue, and a very compelling story.

A New Mother, A New Life

A Child Called It - David

Briar Rose-Becca

The setting first takes place at an adoption agency in San Fransisco, but as the story changes, the two characters are at Becca's home in Holyoke Massachusetts.

As I walked down the hall, I could hear my heart pulsing and feel my hands shaking, for that would be the moment that my life changed. I had been at the adoption agency in San Francisco for two weeks and I had been told that I would be going home with my new mother that day. I knew that my life was about to change enormously, and all for the better. As I paced around the corner to the lobby, I saw my new mother, as she saw her new son. The first thing I could do was run to her as she wrapped her arms around me and gave me a warm motherly hug, which I have been longing for years.

“Hi David, my name is Rebecca, it is very nice to meet you,” her voice was so loving; it caught me by surprise, because what she said was real, and she actually did care about me, which was something I was not used to. I knew at this moment that I loved Rebecca, my new mom.

“Thank you, Rebecca… for everything. I do love you very much,” I knew that this was probably too soon to say, but I could not help myself, I had to tell Rebecca what I felt.

“I love you too David, now let’s go home,” my new mother gently took my hand, and led me out the door.


We arrived in Holyoke many hours later, just in time for dinner, and my mom said she had worked really hard on a special dinner for me before she left for California. I could only imagine what this could be, because anything more than one piece of bread was out of the ordinary in my normal food consumption. As I daydreamt in my mom’s car about what she could possibly have in store for me, I was interrupted by her voice.

“Here we are, home sweet home,” she spoke in a very gentle tone.

Right as I walked through the door of my new home, I felt the love and laughter I would encounter while living here. The delicious scent of apple pie filled the air, and the beautifully decorated house swept my off my feet. As we then made our way to the kitchen, my mom told me that she had recently bought this new home, mostly for my homecoming. As we approached the table, I could feel the saliva in my mouth start to crave this feast. My mom put an enormous plate of lasagna in front of me, and I could not believe my eyes; I immediately started to fill my empty stomach. I was embarrassed as I ate my supper ravenously, but it was just habit now, from my previous life. Thankfully, my mom did not seem offended by my manners, but excited that I enjoyed her cooking so much.

“I am very happy that you like my lasagna, were you hungry?” My mom was now very proud of her work.
“Well to be honest, every since Mother starved me for consecutive days, and only gave me a short time limit to eat, it has been habitual for me to shove any food down my throat that I got my hands on,” as I said this, memories of my old life came back to me, and I decided I wanted to share these with my new mother.

“You don’t have to tell me about your past if you don’t want to because I know it must be hard to talk about,” my mom said this with a very caring, sympathetic tone.

“Actually, I like to talk about it, because it reminds me about how lucky I am to be living my new life here with you. Would you like me to tell you more about my childhood?” I said this hoping that she would say yes.

“I would love you to tell me,” I could see tears starting to form in her eyes, from what I had just said.

“Well, in Mother’s eyes, my life was just a game. She would have fun abusing me, to points where I could have died. She would poison me with Clorox and ammonia, try to burn me, lock me in a gas chamber in our bathroom, starve me for as long as ten days, and one time she even accidently stabbed me. My life was basically a living hell, but I knew that I had to remain strong, because I never wanted her to feel satisfaction from my defeat,” by this point, my mom looked upset, so I didn’t want to continue.

“ I am deeply sorry about all that you went through, David. You are my idol for being so strong, and I want you to know that you will never have to go through any pain again,” as my mom spoke I could almost feel the love that she had for me, seep through my skin, and into my heart.

“Thank you, I really appreciate everything that you are doing for me. I do have one question for you though,” my curiosity about my mother was beginning to grow inside of me.

“Yes, anything,” she said, ready to answer anything I had to ask.

“Have you ever gone through anything really special?” I asked.

“ I have never gone through anything like you have, but I have recently solved a family mystery, if that counts,” she seemed to feel sorry for how uneventful her life was.

“That sounds very interesting. What did you solve?” I was very excited for this story.

“Well, my grandmother has recently passed away, and all she left a mysterious box that she never told anyone about. It had photographs and other memorabilia’s that related to a story she told me as a child. The story was called Briar Rose which was similar to Sleeping Beauty, and she was the princess. After traveling to Europe and researching a lot about my “Gemma’s” past, I found that she actually was the princess to her story. She was a holocaust survivor, and the story she told was a “fairy tale” version of what she went through. I know that this is nothing compared to your life, but it’s all I got,” we both chuckled.

“Actually, I thought that story was incredible, you should be very proud of yourself for what you did. I bet that your Gemma and I would have a lot in common with torture and the fight to stay alive,” I said.

“I bet you would David, I bet you would,” at this moment she reached to me, hugged me, and whispered, “Welcome home honey, welcome home.”