tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3816566881909044052024-02-07T09:25:39.493-05:00Curious George's Art and Writing ContestsThis is the place to find the guidelines, entry form, and come spring, the winners of our annual art and writing contest!Three Little Monkeyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02658363686357290806noreply@blogger.comBlogger35125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-381656688190904405.post-12662266082548911092011-06-10T11:43:00.000-04:002011-06-10T11:43:19.768-04:00Collecting artwork<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Due to our imminent closure, we recommend all art contest winners who would like their art returned to come pick them up this Friday the 10th or Saturday the 11th. Saturday will be the store's last day. If you are unable to make it into Harvard Square by then, leave a comment here or on our Facebook page, and we will try to arrange the exchange. Our situation is quite uncertain and we cannot guarantee anything past this weekend, so please try to come by!</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Thank you again for bravely entering your work! Our annual art and writing contest has lived a healthy, long twenty one years and we have treasured every year's amazing submissions. </div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Stay curious, friends.</div>Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01835990222847153544noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-381656688190904405.post-73987680130440905942011-05-20T17:59:00.010-04:002011-05-21T16:21:37.949-04:00Writing contest: 11 to 13 category<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">"Clock"</span><br />Hear the tick, tick tock<br />Of the ever present<br />Clock<br />And the whir whir tone<br />Of a job well done<br />Oh the worry, worry, hurry<br />Of an almost passed day<br />That will never ever stay<br /><br />The clock ticks on<br />'till the day is gone<br />Hear the tock tock tock<br />And the loud and threatening knock<br />Of a clock taking stock<br />Of the day going by<br /><br />Hear the clock enunciate<br />You are late you are late<br />And you can't concentrate<br />See the date see the date<br />And the time will not rebate<br />Now to wait now to wait<br />And you can't resperate<br />No escape no escape<br /><br />The clock ticks ton<br />'till the day is gone<br />Hear the tock tock<br />And the loud and threatening knock<br />Of a clock taking stock<br />Of the day going by<br /><br />Hear the snick snick snock<br />That lying little clock<br />Tells you just what to do<br />Causing quite the coo<br />And the ding ding creak<br />Of a clock about to break<br />Then the boom boom boom<br />The clock foretells your doom<br /></div><br /><br />First place: "Clock" - Alexandra Domeshek<br /><br />I hold the ancient scroll of truth,<br />And in my satchel lacquer, and silk,<br />Mirrors, and chrysanthemums,<br />Gunpowder which everyone desires,<br />Bamboo durable and strong.<br />Every object ready for trade,<br /><br />Soon I will reach Chang'an for trade.<br />When I reach Chang'an I will know the truth,<br />My journey will make me strong,<br />And the jewel of my trip will be silk.<br />Where I am going I'll fulfill my desires.<br />When I arrive the grassy lands will be covered with chrysanthemums.<br /><br />There is the acrid smell of chrysanthemums.<br />I long for the chance to trade,<br />And I am beginning to doubt the fulfilling of my desires.<br />Will I find the truth?<br />Will my path be smooth as silk?<br />If not I must be strong.<br /><br />Tired as I am it's hard to feel strong.<br />I need the healing power of the chrysanthemums,<br />I dream the comfort of silk,<br />And the ease to come after the trade.<br />I grow old as I wait for the truth<br />Of the outcome; will it match my desires?<br /><br />Finally I reach my destination. Your desires?<br />May I offer you mirrors, bamboo that is strong?<br />I can sell you truth,<br />Better than the medicine in the chrysanthemums.<br />What do you have to trade?<br />I must return with something more than silk.<br /><br />I have traded most of my silk.<br />I may not yet have met most of my desires,<br />But it was good enough this trade.<br />This jade, this sword will keep me strong,<br />For tea I have kept aside chrysanthemums.<br />A small bit for the journey back in truth.<br /><br />I kept a bit of truth and silk.<br />I pass the mountains filled with chrysanthemums, leaving behind some desires<br />I feel tired but strong, and this trade has been long.<br /><br /><br />Second place: "Silk Road" - Jordan Lee<br /><br />"<span style="font-weight: bold;">Porky Poem"</span><br />People say, "you are what you eat,"<br />Let me tell you a story about me and some meat.<br />It was late spring, practically summer,<br />When the tragedy happened, oh what a bummer!<br />I was hogging the bacon, all to myself,<br />When it suddenly squealed and leapt off the shelf.<br />We both screamed in unison, I lunged for my fork<br />And that's when I realized, it was me and the pork.<br />I tried to stop it, but it ran away fast,<br />Strip after strip, it stepped on the gas.<br />I looked at the bacon as it ran away<br />And my face let on a look of dismay.<br />My bacon had left, it was all gone,<br />And now it is time for me to move on.<br />To find a new food, crispy and sweet,<br />And so ends the tragedy of the meat.<br /><br /><br />Third place: "Porky Poem" - John Vernaglia<br /><br /><br />"<span style="font-weight: bold;">The Book of Animal Transformations"</span><br /><br />J.P. sat in the garden on a lawn chair, gazing at the sky. He was exploding with boredom, but his parents made him stay where they could see him, because he was an adventurous boy, likely to run off to find excitement. The only thing around here of interest was the jungle, but his parents had specifically banned him from going into it, because they thought he could hurt himself there. At that point, his parents came into the yard and came to talk with him. "J.P., we have been thinking of letting you go into the jungle today, because you have started to look bored lately..." began his mom, but before she could finish, J.P. ran off like a rocket, hardly believing what he had just heard. Little did he know that the jungle would have a lot more surprises for him than he realized...<br /><br />As J.P. walked through the jungle, he jumped and ran around because he felt so happy. When he finally calmed down, he looked around and gasped. Under a bush, he saw something glowing. Realizing that whatever could have gotten under that bush might have been dangerous, J.P. picked it up. He could hardly believe his eyes. Incredibly, against all the odds, he only held a Book in his hands.<br /><br />J.P. stared at the Book. Could his imagination have started to run wild, or could the Book be fairly emanating power? He held the Book up and opened it. Inside, J.P. found a startling array of pictures and words. He scanned the first paragraph. The paragraph read: "For those who do not know the art of transformation, this will be your guide to the dark corners of the world, where all animals lurk and hide." He read the first few pages. A single article caught his eye: "The iguana has been found to be by far the easiest transformation and the best for beginners." He sat down and started to read the spell on the page, leaving the small print unnoticed...<br /><br />J.P. stood up. He planted his claws on the ground and thought that this would definitely be described as the weirdest Book he had ever seen. Wait...since when did he have claws?! The Book must have done it. J.P. dashed around for a while until he realized that his new lizard senses had just started to kick in. Now he knew how hyper lizards usually felt. J.P. felt like he could run forever! After a while, J.P. finally managed to calm down. Then he started to <span style="font-style: italic;">look</span> for the Book. When he found it within two minutes, J.P. sighed in relief. Now he could turn back into a boy if he needed to. He put the Book in a safe place, then set out to explore. J.P. felt thrilled! He, J.P., would be known as the first human to discover the glories of transformation! Then, he wondered how his parents would react when their son came home as a little iguana. The other problem was that he didn't know how to get home. He had gotten himself lost, no two ways about it. I <span style="font-style: italic;">will</span> enjoy this time anyway while the transformation lasts, J.P. thought, defying that tiny hint in his brain, and crawled away through the undergrowth. Things had just kept going perfectly, and he started noticing a lot of things he would not have as a boy. He found a tree that acted as a disco ball (it dappled the rays of the sun on the ground), and that he could get lots of extra heat from taking a sunbath! Suddenly, a snake loomed up in front of him. J.P. felt terrified. He tried to run, but he was rooted to the spot! The snake started to sway back and forth...back and forth...back and forth...<br /><br />J.P. sat up, dazed. He looked around just in time to see a large owl making off with the snake. J.P. shuddered. That had gotten way too close for comfort. He had to turn back. J.P. recited the counterspell and waited. Nothing happened. He tried again. Nothing. He could not figure out what could have happened. He had to find the Book. He scrambled off his rock, and spurred onward by fear, made his way back to where he had put the Book. He lifted and pulled at the pages with all his might, turning them until he found the one about iguanas. Then, J.P. searched for some crazy reason that would explain why he happened to have gotten stuck as a lizard! That just happened to be when he saw the small print. J.P. screamed. The small print read:<br /><br />"Those who do not turn back within an hour of their transformation will get stuck in their transformed state forever, <span style="font-style: italic;">unless</span> they go into The Volcanic Maximus. Little is known about that place, except that it is on the edge of a river. Only the bravest would be advised to go there, because the volcano has been found to be exceedingly dangerous, and can do things that any normal volcano cannot. You would be well advised to not to go there, poor trapped soul, because you would most surely die..."<br /><br />J.P. slammed the Book shut. He shuddered, finally seeing the truth. He had been transformed for about 5 hours already! He had no choice but to go to Volcanic Maximus. He would probably die. That did not matter, because it would be even worse to come home as a small reptile. Suddenly, a huge gust of wind blew him into a river that had been rolling peacefully a moment before. The current pulled him under. J.P. fought for breath, grappling furiously at the Book, because he needed something to keep him afloat. Finally he grabbed the Book, and panting, pulled himself on top of it. Then, utterly exhausted, he went to sleep, on top of Book in the now peaceful river.<br /><br />A loud crash woke up J.P., and he looked to see what all the commotion could have come from. The Book had run into a rock, and now had started to slowly pull away. Up ahead, many more rocks loomed out of the water. J.P. cowered on the Book, awaiting the inevitable...<span style="font-style: italic;">CRASH</span>! The Book struck the rocks and J.P. hurled into the river. He screamed, and his mouth filled with water. Slowly, he came up to the surface, gasping for air and bobbing at a much faster rate than before. The Book floated nearby, and J.P. grabbed on. Then he saw the reason for the faster current. A tremendous waterfall loomed ahead, and the water was cascading down into the unknown with a terrifying roar. J.P. and the Book got flung over the edge, and into the abyss. Wind whistled past his face, and then he struck the water with a crash and sank like a stone. He somehow managed to hold onto the Book, and he floated up to the surface with it. He gasped in relief, but in the next few seconds, he turned as white as a gosh, screamed, and held on for his life as he got thrown over the edge of <span style="font-style: italic;">another </span>waterfall! As he bobbed to the surface again, he felt truly desperate. Up ahead, the river forked. One way led straight to land, which he could see in the distance. One way led to a place that he could not see at all. He wanted to get on nice dry land, where he would be safe. He paddled furiously in that direction, but the river would have none of it. The current threw him onto the other path. J.P. gave out a discontented sigh, knowing that he could do nothing about the current. Then his eyes lit up. Right ahead, there <span style="font-style: italic;">was </span>land! As the Book drifted over, he pulled himself through the shallows and onto the sand, where he collapsed with a sigh of relief.<br /><br />J.P. woke up at noon. The Book lay beside him, and for the moment he had no idea why he lay there. Suddenly his predicament all came back with a jolt. He had to find the volcano, and <span style="font-style: italic;">fast</span>. Now that he had found land, all doubts about finding the volcano disappeared. How much longer would it be until he found it? The volcano could be anywhere in the world. He looked up at the sky to gaze at the clouds. The sight took his breath away, because when he looked up, he also took in the full glory of the biggest volcano he had ever seen. This had to be Volcanis Maximus. What else could this be? J.P. climbed for hours, sliding down sometimes, avoiding falling rocks, and generally making a dangerous climb. He lugged the Book alongside him, doggedly pursing victory. His claws ached, and he was at the end of his limits. A hot gust of wind rippled past J.P. He had finally reached the summit! As he opened the Book and read the counterspell in his head, a column of wind started in the distance. A tornado! The huge twister of wind hit the Book and sent them both hurtling into the depths of the volcano!!<br /><br />A hot breeze ran past J.P. He opened his eyes, to see his iguana claws set deep into a rocky ledge below. He could not be happier that his claws were so sharp! The Book sat on a ledge nearby. He inched his way towards it, every move a risk. Finally he reached the ledge that the Book sat on. He read the counterspell one more time, to make sure he had it. As soon as he finished reading, however, another gust of hot air from the bubbling lava below swept the Book from him. The Book hurtled into the lava, disappearing with a hiss. Suddenly, a crack started splitting across J.P.'s rock. A startling thought occurred to him; if he turned back into a boy, his increased weight might send the entire ledge crashing down, with him on it. J.P. looked around desperately, trying to find something that might save him, and gasped. Right above him, J.P. could see a group of ledges forming a staircase leading up to the top! He gathered up all his courage and leaped from one ledge to another, with only one thought in his mind: keep moving!! Finally, J.P. jumped out of the volcano, and he collapsed on the ground, exhausted but alive. The volcano collapsed too, caving in so it looked like a burning heap. J.P. quickly said the counterspell before anything <span style="font-style: italic;">else </span>happened. He stood up and laughed with glee. He was back! Then he wondered what his parents would think when he came home a day after he left. They would have been devastated. Just then, he noticed a yellowed scrap of paper sticking out of the smoldering heap. The scrap read: "To turn back time after you have finished with your transformation to avert suspicion, just tap a rock three times and say the name of the animal you transformed into. You will immediately return to where you started before you found this Book, although you will keep the memory of your adventure." J.P. whooped in delight. He threw the scrap away, not even bothering to find the rest of the Book. All of a sudden, the rest of the volcano erupted! Lava cascaded down the hill, and it would engulf J.P. any second! He dashed to the closest rock, hurriedly tapped it three times and said "Iguana." Suddenly, J.P. was back in his garden, with his parents walking towards him. This time, he would just stay seated.<br /><br />EPILOGUE<br /><br />Max walked through the ancient volcano site, looking at the volcanic rocks. He had come there on a vacation with his parents. Just then, he saw a discarded Book sticking out of the rubble. The velvet cover read: The Book of Animal Transformation.<br /><br /><br />Honorable Mention: "Book of Animal Transformations" - Jacob AbramsMichellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01835990222847153544noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-381656688190904405.post-32688845222983323882011-05-20T17:50:00.011-04:002011-05-21T16:21:32.503-04:00Writing contest: 8 to 10 category<span style="font-weight: bold;">"The Dynasty of the Blue-Eyed Feathers"</span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKqw1hZ15qNJA-xy3f0pL92oN4HmKgj5mzEmOtreVTDKFkw7UIhJEGLTMUq-Oze6UOsnna3WwA_M4b214UzyNRKxraX4_2yWjZefxC_a2724E71dYAU6t-1T6gh8Q2LiaqqAiWPIVir7w/s1600/Writing+8+to+10+HM+Valaskovic+Work+in+Progress+pg+1.jpg"><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span><br /></a>Long, long ago, in a jungle in Nagaland, lived a lazy, vain, mean, king peacock. The peacock ordered everybody around, but never did anything himself. He told all of the animals to bathe him, to give him fine food, and to wait on him like servants. Thus began the dynasty of the blue-eyed feathers.<br /><br />In the jungle, as a subject to the subject, lived the monkey. He was humble and kind. He always helped animals in need, such as old tigers and abandoned baby snakes. As a subject to the king, the monkey had to work very hard. However, he always gave more work and time to the animals that needed help. When the monkey was little, he adored the peacock that strutted around all the time. But when he saw the pain his king was giving to the other animals, he devised a plan to overthrow the king. However, he knew the horrible peacock was clever and conniving. Even so, he was determined to help the other animals and so formulated a plan.<br /><br />The peacock always made the other animals bathe in the cold stream. In the stream, he could have the choicest weeds, and the juiciest fish. He also said that the stream was his, and so no other animal could be in it for more than three seconds. One day in the summer, it was very, very, hot. All the animals were very thirsty and hungry. They longed to dip their feet in the river, just for a few minutes, but the peacock was adamant in his cruel way. And, when he made them bathe him, he told them if they stepped into the stream they would be banished. The monkey saw this, and was heartbroken for he longed to help the other animals. Even so, he knew that if his plan worked, they would never have to worry again.<br /><br />He went up to the peacock in the river and said, "Peacock, your feathers are so beautiful and your is so shiny and strong." The peacock puffed himself up and said, "That's right monkey, I am the most beautiful creature every."<br /><br />"Oh yes, and your voice is so enchanting," Monkey silkily said. "Yes," the king vainly said, "I am the best speaker in India."<br /><br />The monkey then excitedly put his plan into action by saying "I have an idea, Peacock! I'll write you a speech, so all the animals can see your greatness!" The peacock readily agreed. The monkey was going to write a speech, but a speech that would make the entire animals group together and banish the Peacock. And since the Peacock was so used to other people doing things for him, he would read it by habit!<br /><br />On the day of the speech, hundreds of animals were gathered to watch the big occasion. Some were hungry and tired, some were thirsty and hot. However the peacock was stuffed with expensive food and had servants fanning him with ferns. Monkey ran up to him holding the speech. "Remember, Peacock, read loud and clear in your beautiful voice." The peacock nodded. He went over to the pedestal where he was to give the speech and started reading....<br /><br />The speech was full of all the horrible things he did, and said that because he had done so many horrible things, the rest of the animals could banish him from the kingdom! But, out of habit, the Peacock kept on reading in his "fabulous voice." Immediately after the speech, all the animals grabbed the Peacock and threw him out of Nagaland, never to return. All the animals crowned the monkey king, and they all lived happily ever after.<br /><br />The moral of the story is if you work hard and take care of yourself and others, you will go far in life. If not, watch your step!<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2LwgI9iq6F9whjagkfQLLcdBfKJTeLhjaG60XJCujCPb9MV5dG15Ipg8fwmoi_pj0VUJV314iYGta4SCbi-1Wppdpy4dnaWBvr-WsAPg4cMlaPFM5wAQML9k75JnFBucG1J1QO4hKlLg/s1600/Writing+8+to+10+1st+J+Ornstein+Dynasty+pg+1.jpg"><br /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1Wg_lpFdyWjltPUBx7eBkwFZDi2n6r1hVgsWDwYLJfFHrLZDLFIiEBqFUnkvAxE0OVjkxCnXpuRh3LjPqSQ323nKDwToPAred6jC7abPFY7OteDiW-Z82Xo8zgNI6rxL2jHEC1rp0-L0/s1600/Writing+8+to+10+1st+J+Ornstein+Dynasty+pg+2.jpg"><br /></a>First place: "Dynasty of the Blue-Eyed Feathers" - Jeremy Ornstein<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">"Black Willow"</span><br />Once upon a time a man lived in the Amazon rain forest. His job was to chop the trees there. One rainy day he spotted a beautiful Black Willow tree, and he thought he could make a lot of money out of this beautiful rare Black Willow tree. So he decided to chop it. But suddenly a Indian came and said, "If you chop this tree you will die!!!"<br /><br />Of course the man didn't listen to this stranger.<br /><br />So later t<span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span></span>hat night he grabbed his ax and threw it at the tree. And then what he saw no person should ever see. MAGGOTS. Millions of Black Maggots!!!<br /><br />Thirteen weeks later he found himself at the hospital with his wife at his side. She was saying "You're alive! You're alive! I never thought I'd ever see you again!"<br /><br />After a couple hours, he felt good enough to walk the mile home with his wife. So he did.<br /><br />Later that evening he talked to his wife about what happened to him.<br /><br />At every word she would yell "How horrid!!!"<br /><br />Later he started to brush his teeth, and then he noticed that his skin was unusually dark he thought it was a trick of the light, so he went to bed.<br /><br />The same thing happened for a couple of weeks, and each night his skin got darker and darker.<br /><br />And one night his skin was pitch black. He wasn't looking where his hand was, and he cut his hand and millions of black maggots started pouring out from the cut!!! Then he knew the Indian was right. He was going to die!<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">7</span> years later<br /><br />Jonathon was hiking in the area. And he saw an Indian with a skeleton filled with black maggots next to him. What a coincidence, my father died that way so the boy said "My father died that way," as he pointed to the skeleton.<br />The Indian looked up at him and stared hard then he said, "Hmmmm, yes I once met a man who looked like you. Actually you look almost identical."<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">"Dad!?"</span></span><br /></div><br /><br /><br />econd place: "Black Willow" - Emmett Lewis-Hoeber<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTIMWJd9TZz3RNtv9lxQA2gDqyTaNhjUV4J6dJ4LRmRI9WFc4gv2omHbMLfz1B2G2laBgiZ3Wlx0kOcWDz6zSHJ9okC5B_5Mzi3h3DwoTPhrj2iZQoDvfuwxkeUMo03Qsca6nCOlMEtPA/s1600/Writing+8+to+10+3rd+Shapiro+9+Lives.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 291px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTIMWJd9TZz3RNtv9lxQA2gDqyTaNhjUV4J6dJ4LRmRI9WFc4gv2omHbMLfz1B2G2laBgiZ3Wlx0kOcWDz6zSHJ9okC5B_5Mzi3h3DwoTPhrj2iZQoDvfuwxkeUMo03Qsca6nCOlMEtPA/s400/Writing+8+to+10+3rd+Shapiro+9+Lives.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5608919793631998114" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Third place: "I Have 9 Lives" - Robert Shapiro<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">"(I'm) A Work in Progress"</span><br /><br />Dear readers if you are reading this you must know that if your name is Dad, Mom, Sister, or Brother, you are not, I repeat not, allowed to read this book, for this is my diary.<br /><br />September 7 - Today was the first day of school. I get the feeling no one is going to like me as a friend. The teacher never called on me, and when we picked sticks for playing tag, I got the shortest.<br /><br />September 9 - Today the teacher called on me at least five times! I found two best friends. I answered the question of 60 divided by 50, which is One Point Two. Third grade is awesome.<br /><br />September 12 - Today for lunch we had pizza, my absolute favorite lunch. I found out that every Wednesday they have pizza for lunch. We also started having homework. This is the day that I dreaded would come.<br /><br />September 18 - Today we got a class pet, a new hamster. We named her. . . ah, well, we did not name her yet. Also today at lunch, Ellen Robbin's mashed potatoes flow off her fork and landed on my face! Andy Fischer started yelling "Food Fight", so I threw my mashed potatoes in Ellen's face. Mrs. Windsor slipped on the mashed potatoes and with a big thud landed on the ground. She sent me, JUST ME, to the principal's office. I said that Ellen threw food too, but Mrs. Windsor didn't listen.<br /><br />September 20 - Today at lunch Andy Fischer once again yelled "Food Fight" at me and Ellen. Ellen said "Knock it off mister." And I said nothing. I was too afraid I would get sent to principal Shortscrabl's office. Then the school bully came right up to me. His name is Eric Tuff. I must say, his name matches his personality...<br /><br />September 23 - Eric came up to me again today. He said to me "what is ninety plus forty?" I said "easy-peezy-lemon-squeezy". He said, "what is it?" And I said "one thirty". Turns out he is in kindergarten. Must have had a growth spurt or something...<br /><br />September 26 - I found out that it's easy to stand up against Eric. His older brother is the school bully. His name is Randy Tuff. His last name only PARTLY matches his personality. He is really soft on someone of the girls (mostly Agatha and Lucy).<br /><br />September 28 - I got suspended from school. And get this, I didn't do anything! I was just selling cupcakes and Randy stole one! Then Mrs. Windsor happened to walk by and Randy <u>threw the</u> cupcake and it landed on her backside. She seemed really mad and embarrassed at the same time. She yelled "Who did this!!" Then Randy said that I did and that's how I got suspended.<br /><br />September 30 - I'm still suspended from school. I tried to explain to my mom it was Randy and not me. And I can't even play video games at my own house! But luckily my mom was on a conference call most of the time so I got to sneak a few computer games. That is the good part of being suspended the bad part is not being able to play your favorite video games like Little Big Planet or Super Mario Brothers.<br /><br />October 1 - I am still suspended from school and still complaining to mom, "I didn't throw a cupcake". Why would I do such a thing? I knew I would go to the principle's office. And here I am suspended in my own house. They wouldn't even let me go to school to go to my own sister's birthday party. "Don't you think they should let a sister unite with her older sister?"<br /><br />October 4 - I am only partly suspended. I go to school; I get all my assignments and homework but I stay in the principal's office to do my work. The principal usually asks do I want a little snack? If I say "Yes," which I usually. He says, "two milk shakes and one hamburger, which means two juices and a sandwich. Usually we split the sandwich.<br /><br />October 5 - Yeah! I am fully off suspension and goodness knows its Mrs. Windor's birthday. No wonder she let me come to school. She said it wouldn't be a party without each and every one of us. I don't think she's right; she suspended me for nothing. I wrote in my math book on page 54, Unit 5, in very small handwriting, "Mrs Windsor has trotters." I hope she doesn't see that when she checks my math because it's a very rude thing to say to your teacher especially one as mean as Mrs. Windsor.<br /><br />October 7 - I came up with a few nicknames for Mrs. Windsor. On Tuesday one of them is "Bloody Mary" which is about someone who likes to make wars between children. Mostly children of the Martinez School and teachers of the Martinez School mostly herself. I think she baths in dirty water and doesn't wash her hair. I also think it attracts flies.<br /><br />October 10 - Today it was Lucy's birthday. She brought cupcakes, each of us got one. They were really, really tasty. Andy Fisher who liked the two words "Food Fight" licked the frosting off his cupcake and threw it at Andy Carter. Andy Carter ate the cake off his cupcake and threw the frosting in Any Fisher's face. And I think this is the worst part, I was right in the middle of the two I had cupcake on one side of my head and frosting on the other.<br /><br />October 12 - Today is my birthday!!! My mom insisted that I must go to school on my birthday maybe there will be something special. I don't believe there will be something special but I just go to school anyway. I bring in 25 cupcakes, one for Mrs. Windsor and one for everyone else in my class.<br /><br />October 14 - Today was a regular old school day. Actually not so regular. Randy came up to me and said give me that basketball. And I said "What basketball?" I didn't even have gym today. And then he said, "The basketball you were holding earlier." And I said, "I wasn't holding any basketball, maybe it was Lacy she looks a lot like me." So he went to Lacy and said, "Give me that basketball!" Then Lacy asked "My pretty pink basketball that I was playing with?" And he said, "Yes, give it to me." So Lacy gave it to him and he gave it to Agatha.<br /><br />October 16 - Lacy found out that Randy gave it to Agatha. Lacy told Agatha it was hers and Agatha gave it back to Lacy. Lacy was really happy and she spent all afternoon playing with it.<br /><br />October 18 - Mrs. Windsor said to me that she would be babysitting me while my parents go out of town. I couldn't believe that my parents would do this to me. Didn't they know?<br /><br />October 22 - It wasn't that bad, she let me stay up super late and she let me have dessert. In fact it was really, really fun. And before I went to bed at night I told her the real story of the "Food Fight." And she said she was sorry. And I felt bad that I wrote that in my math book...I erased it.<br /><br />October 24 - Guess what Mrs. Windsor is babysitting again. This is the happiest day of my life. She lets me stay up late and have dessert and we have lots of fun, She said Halloween was just around the corner and we made signs and put them in my front yard. We bought itsy bitsy spider webs and put them on trees so trick treaters would get them in their hair. After that we made some signs that said Happy Halloween Love, the Goblins of Martinez School. We put it next to a flashlight and put the flashlight in the front yard so it would be projected on the side of the house.<br /><br />October 27 - Today I realized if I just tell someone the truth; everything will be all right. I also learned that school is the best place to be!!!<br /><br />TO BE CONTINUED..... . .<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU_yE4aOpsq1ej2bZs9iosDlF07nxxWS_YjrdViYy9C4959IdSVleICS1Qflh9Hl1c4u83Jibz-Pz7Fw00ao5MTxfr4OqSJjeM396SJvj_nm6I1fUcoQoqhm0RHzaAobYQgS_aW9CUBUQ/s1600/Writing+8+to+10+HM+Valaskovic+Work+in+Progress+pg+1.jpg"><br /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGexp8oQj18LxGco_AhtA3zpS-g1iJJEd0q9doDzf6at8LE32o0eYA9rN5K54odfZ1onzY0H-tNw7iaFHL8Sd6nr_BIxybedXIdw9CIE1ebgGgExQYupqhjXANdvgdi65PwnjL3wMBlSk/s1600/Writing+8+to+10+HM+Valaskovic+Work+in+Progress+pg+2.jpg"><br /></a>Honorable Mention: "(I'm) a Work in Progress" - Grace ValaskovicMichellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01835990222847153544noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-381656688190904405.post-73195675247155880342011-05-20T17:45:00.009-04:002011-05-21T16:21:26.172-04:00Writing contest: 5 to 7 category<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNNSvIdOJysJwfANvHPBqAP3roRAp2eP1eTaH7fkmyc0LZQirgP18VN4SbulDGPYajLn_JHLFu0ILQQuq3RYskNLhL-MkVzCBEj5H9tUt6zXfkLrhjkrVsGv74sIH7OLrOqfU3PKFqxzA/s1600/Writing+5+to+7+1st+Jones+Compiss.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNNSvIdOJysJwfANvHPBqAP3roRAp2eP1eTaH7fkmyc0LZQirgP18VN4SbulDGPYajLn_JHLFu0ILQQuq3RYskNLhL-MkVzCBEj5H9tUt6zXfkLrhjkrVsGv74sIH7OLrOqfU3PKFqxzA/s320/Writing+5+to+7+1st+Jones+Compiss.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5608917716038304674" border="0" /></a><br />First place: "Compiss" - Nalani Jones<br /><br /><br />Once upon a time there was a girl named Super Girl who can fly. Whenever there is a problem - like when scary stuff happens to people - she saves the day and she fights whoever is the bad person. There is a monster who causes trouble for Super Girl's town. The monster is the bad girl of the whole city. She goes into every house scaring the people so she can steal the stuff she wants. The monster steals stuff because she doesn't have a store near her house.<br /><br />One day, the monster was in Super Girl's house and she scared Super Girl's friend. The monster was going to scare Super GIrl too, but Super Girl can fly, so the monster couldn't get her. Then at the end of the fight, Super Girl punched the monster out the window. Then the monster got hurt, but just her legs. She had to go to the hospital. After leaving the hospital, the monster goes to Super Girl's house. The monster went upstairs to Super Girl's garden to steal her flowers. But Super Girl noticed - she thought it was the monster so she went and fought the monster. Then she got the flowers back and watered them and gave them sun to grow.<br /><br />The End<br /><br /><u>About the author</u><br /><br />Macy is five years old. She lives in Boston. Her favorite color is pink. She goes to school in Cambridge in Pre-K and wrote this story as a school assignment. When she grows up she wants to be a clown and fashion modeler and ballerina and news reporter so her dad can see on t.v.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Second place: "Super Girl Who Saves the Day" - Macy Rhie<br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUEWogVBBUa5U8u1MvPIL8DrMJdkWFqVPTHqoWf00ejkXCIma3rcqDTnmxmlg0Ofbb4bb73MrB8nMFaLtoZ_xtJtNX9Qc3hO1L8SoPIuaUvyklwD7Sd6B1ctsvr9ZsGkyRxt9SJ-LRgRA/s1600/Writing+5+to+7++3rd+Walsh+poems+pg+1.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUEWogVBBUa5U8u1MvPIL8DrMJdkWFqVPTHqoWf00ejkXCIma3rcqDTnmxmlg0Ofbb4bb73MrB8nMFaLtoZ_xtJtNX9Qc3hO1L8SoPIuaUvyklwD7Sd6B1ctsvr9ZsGkyRxt9SJ-LRgRA/s320/Writing+5+to+7++3rd+Walsh+poems+pg+1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5608918119537190050" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqwpvPMzjFhUkevIb4_dC_xb_70wfbBVBC49bG8WpzL4qZ7RqgxDL6lrOrn9Xg7Q8bYLcOvYEg0DoQVYo9mgMj1d_TiCz3Ye5cdS7kJ7U1EPb2-9YpbRRYV42lQYAjG72RNjG35mhgi50/s1600/Writing+5+to+7+3rd+Walsh+poems+pg+2.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 233px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqwpvPMzjFhUkevIb4_dC_xb_70wfbBVBC49bG8WpzL4qZ7RqgxDL6lrOrn9Xg7Q8bYLcOvYEg0DoQVYo9mgMj1d_TiCz3Ye5cdS7kJ7U1EPb2-9YpbRRYV42lQYAjG72RNjG35mhgi50/s320/Writing+5+to+7+3rd+Walsh+poems+pg+2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5608918268894125010" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8i_m7a4SzRXSQogHZq30IEaOInt0Eq0RpnTd4ZQV46NCyvQbsdPpDK9WBAjr8lALjn44scbPtiI4yxEYAol5UHcIZXs4CdCIwCCtFA05-1Whxi_GrrPE89WDXKQ8qkpSajEEE9Wxpd7A/s1600/Writing+5+to+7++3rd+Walsh+poems+pg+3.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 243px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8i_m7a4SzRXSQogHZq30IEaOInt0Eq0RpnTd4ZQV46NCyvQbsdPpDK9WBAjr8lALjn44scbPtiI4yxEYAol5UHcIZXs4CdCIwCCtFA05-1Whxi_GrrPE89WDXKQ8qkpSajEEE9Wxpd7A/s320/Writing+5+to+7++3rd+Walsh+poems+pg+3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5608918382207119762" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br />Third place: poems by Calla Walsh<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh44KTluv8Hb8g6UApiXldz4a7jvjoEqAYYzZaIVQTJagKBu7s7SnwXTfgW1wYVo4T1z_GKEpZZeow0KfbT_WMArkkUcIdmyguy9LKTnRWpBny4VDSbUms0cIMvJzijqxFvZQdfcxqX9SE/s1600/Writing+5+to+7+HM+Diamond+Coffee+Cup.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 255px; height: 350px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh44KTluv8Hb8g6UApiXldz4a7jvjoEqAYYzZaIVQTJagKBu7s7SnwXTfgW1wYVo4T1z_GKEpZZeow0KfbT_WMArkkUcIdmyguy9LKTnRWpBny4VDSbUms0cIMvJzijqxFvZQdfcxqX9SE/s400/Writing+5+to+7+HM+Diamond+Coffee+Cup.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5608918784179555538" border="0" /></a><br />Honorable Mention: "Tiny Coffee Cup" - Baylor DiamondMichellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01835990222847153544noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-381656688190904405.post-4601723427432581822011-05-20T17:25:00.007-04:002011-05-24T15:51:04.166-04:00Art Contest: 11 to 13 category<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_WB2ms6JwkSGoUbONP6JJDZUkJUxLjmwxLaM2QYPTXjJkgDVE_Z6613P1C6Hzxh9TLrXSNCbf_l1Y-LuaAPE8-SgvRk3q2NoIjxZjiBGiKipD486K2MsH95XHJBty6zqIuPjReJT2l-E/s1600/Art+11+to+13+1st+N+Ornstein+Duke+Ellington.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5608912605493537890" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_WB2ms6JwkSGoUbONP6JJDZUkJUxLjmwxLaM2QYPTXjJkgDVE_Z6613P1C6Hzxh9TLrXSNCbf_l1Y-LuaAPE8-SgvRk3q2NoIjxZjiBGiKipD486K2MsH95XHJBty6zqIuPjReJT2l-E/s320/Art+11+to+13+1st+N+Ornstein+Duke+Ellington.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 320px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 234px;" /></a><br />
First place: "Duke Ellington" - Nicholas Ornstein<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkEXS0efaHsRfAClFWcpG2jI2hV77JznG3VQhLFoi2KAKSfl8PAH-Xi4IRoSSaAUYCB0y4eNJ__PzX5VrDOLYuhStyrOhXZzQlru-b95u2fRaGmZS3rKr3bdbFF3mu9N4YiG5tFzGE-U0/s1600/Art+11+to+13+2nd+Holt+Queen+of+Hearts.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5608912708553451554" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkEXS0efaHsRfAClFWcpG2jI2hV77JznG3VQhLFoi2KAKSfl8PAH-Xi4IRoSSaAUYCB0y4eNJ__PzX5VrDOLYuhStyrOhXZzQlru-b95u2fRaGmZS3rKr3bdbFF3mu9N4YiG5tFzGE-U0/s320/Art+11+to+13+2nd+Holt+Queen+of+Hearts.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 320px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 234px;" /></a><br />
Second place: "The Queen of Hearts" - Charlotte Holt<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6xp2BWtQ5mO94MwtjpC3OTumr80jw8OvPvagzBNhnCrxetMGCtxG-xHvq1mK083bQYzqr3P9zIRhkH4s9FjG-CQd-e_sJgPvPAOQvR0dTUVtSGgw3Vl9lmE7zHIYKGEeiFvMimlbHyLk/s1600/Art+11+to+13+3rd+Mark-Na+Same+Stuff+as+Stars.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5608912973353618098" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6xp2BWtQ5mO94MwtjpC3OTumr80jw8OvPvagzBNhnCrxetMGCtxG-xHvq1mK083bQYzqr3P9zIRhkH4s9FjG-CQd-e_sJgPvPAOQvR0dTUVtSGgw3Vl9lmE7zHIYKGEeiFvMimlbHyLk/s320/Art+11+to+13+3rd+Mark-Na+Same+Stuff+as+Stars.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 242px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" /></a><br />
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Third place: "Same Stuff As Stars" - Sophie Mark-Ng<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW_JU9y-bN7riWxu9H8Qvf0P6mm9WPW1pTCbAqMiaE7wFwS-itIg7k3W88Gcc_PHvKM5Ppt0rJDXBJp0BxeW0CLF9XQZTIU7MiUpnoce9HgdCnz8zdWHmmZD2JTl3C9lI1pF_c1y0_tW0/s1600/Art+11+to+13+HM+Sara+Violet+Comes+to+Stay.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5608913155004875282" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW_JU9y-bN7riWxu9H8Qvf0P6mm9WPW1pTCbAqMiaE7wFwS-itIg7k3W88Gcc_PHvKM5Ppt0rJDXBJp0BxeW0CLF9XQZTIU7MiUpnoce9HgdCnz8zdWHmmZD2JTl3C9lI1pF_c1y0_tW0/s320/Art+11+to+13+HM+Sara+Violet+Comes+to+Stay.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 280px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 277px;" /></a><br />
Honorable Mention: "Violet Comes to Stay" - Sara (from Newton)Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01835990222847153544noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-381656688190904405.post-45995291247272016682011-05-20T17:16:00.008-04:002011-05-21T16:21:10.620-04:00Art Contest: 8 to 10 category<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGkuomqhC6F1V7sCtLA29pfrehM_4jtZ69dCpT43-1lS7AlGw66BIW0iyADtBZJTsRRlsgapLmXgG9vyEvzneCgbA8J5JNgiLZZiTwK3p3WIvBKx26rXISykE3OsvkM774Il8gKSaLXgE/s1600/Art+8+to+10+1st+Chung+George%2527s+marvelous+medicine.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 234px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGkuomqhC6F1V7sCtLA29pfrehM_4jtZ69dCpT43-1lS7AlGw66BIW0iyADtBZJTsRRlsgapLmXgG9vyEvzneCgbA8J5JNgiLZZiTwK3p3WIvBKx26rXISykE3OsvkM774Il8gKSaLXgE/s320/Art+8+to+10+1st+Chung+George%2527s+marvelous+medicine.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5608910971694480866" border="0" /></a>First place: "George's Marvelous Medicine" - Nayeon Chung<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgs88NdaaiIhCtDslNkao1ROO9nfxeMctAaB0QKYpB-MRt9ETxrToNDPdetdQB1AkexqGQy0TrtBt9YQOMJ1cQ4p3StaaCuSyOlRtm72qBfJlJDcC55L9dxY2Zn6mUrAcnQsvUGznTOosg/s1600/Art+8+to+10+2nd+B+Graff+DK+Vis+Encycl.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 234px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgs88NdaaiIhCtDslNkao1ROO9nfxeMctAaB0QKYpB-MRt9ETxrToNDPdetdQB1AkexqGQy0TrtBt9YQOMJ1cQ4p3StaaCuSyOlRtm72qBfJlJDcC55L9dxY2Zn6mUrAcnQsvUGznTOosg/s320/Art+8+to+10+2nd+B+Graff+DK+Vis+Encycl.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5608911151182664594" border="0" /></a>Second place: "DK Visual Encyclopedia of Science" - Bennett Graff<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiApTj6hVCtBI43uEVupEiG9jtHVs3lyBevmhKjckQwy-nAnNJZEFwq72IOUMH1QGR48yVnri9k0aqYvm1pgif__6JS1GjZ6aC5o3H3zol-L6upjVcW_z1b-0Gpr3v_ZQJ8q8sHOM3NQbQ/s1600/Art+8+to+10+3rd+Schierer+Princess+and+the+pea.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 234px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiApTj6hVCtBI43uEVupEiG9jtHVs3lyBevmhKjckQwy-nAnNJZEFwq72IOUMH1QGR48yVnri9k0aqYvm1pgif__6JS1GjZ6aC5o3H3zol-L6upjVcW_z1b-0Gpr3v_ZQJ8q8sHOM3NQbQ/s320/Art+8+to+10+3rd+Schierer+Princess+and+the+pea.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5608911801472965634" border="0" /></a>Third place: "The Princess and the Pea" - Cassie Schierer<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWrGIrqNjFOXl8S0XVZOQpb_FYSY1gSfXOQz-B9Utn9agcUdFounuOmoHxp0wdVOJs1OqHZ1poQrx5h5mF9PQTEK6GIIUjpf-SK-K_rqtele2eKESjdCRAtdWHZjL0aOL4X-fANKevtHU/s1600/Art+8+to+10+HM+Sampson+CG+Aquarium+pg+1.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 234px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWrGIrqNjFOXl8S0XVZOQpb_FYSY1gSfXOQz-B9Utn9agcUdFounuOmoHxp0wdVOJs1OqHZ1poQrx5h5mF9PQTEK6GIIUjpf-SK-K_rqtele2eKESjdCRAtdWHZjL0aOL4X-fANKevtHU/s320/Art+8+to+10+HM+Sampson+CG+Aquarium+pg+1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5608912069031834322" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6IPpnNnIZ48XwIYnPxBbAgWGCVSoQXsMqJcTSPBAWpbzjp5czihEaX906mChlQftuIoqJz_BRvtIzo4IZe21D0932rq8I7-KVOtxB4OPAH5shLFyyB9LLTWurZYKol5D4j13i54HUYwA/s1600/Art+8+to+10+HM+Sampson+CG+Aquarium+pg+2.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 234px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6IPpnNnIZ48XwIYnPxBbAgWGCVSoQXsMqJcTSPBAWpbzjp5czihEaX906mChlQftuIoqJz_BRvtIzo4IZe21D0932rq8I7-KVOtxB4OPAH5shLFyyB9LLTWurZYKol5D4j13i54HUYwA/s320/Art+8+to+10+HM+Sampson+CG+Aquarium+pg+2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5608912217136551634" border="0" /></a>Honorable Mention: "Curious George & Curious George Goes to the Aquarium" - Kyle SampsonMichellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01835990222847153544noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-381656688190904405.post-80981679273377833502011-05-20T17:10:00.005-04:002011-05-21T16:20:55.345-04:00Art Contest: 5 to 7 category<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4L2U-379hiaZer9VW4UjZBZYqRv3up05oRGpomFvwqc6XLZgkbkPfjO3nJI4yud7KoIfyO_FwxomujMdWkLMiubJVmxBwGhdqUjG1uhVnUa7rUm5_dtlKV-CjOvndVxgOa1Oi3zyUyvQ/s1600/Art+5+to+7+1st+N+Graff+Sweet+Dream+Pie.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 254px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4L2U-379hiaZer9VW4UjZBZYqRv3up05oRGpomFvwqc6XLZgkbkPfjO3nJI4yud7KoIfyO_FwxomujMdWkLMiubJVmxBwGhdqUjG1uhVnUa7rUm5_dtlKV-CjOvndVxgOa1Oi3zyUyvQ/s320/Art+5+to+7+1st+N+Graff+Sweet+Dream+Pie.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5608910331676172594" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOVgyK0Q-qf5FJHwD_F0PVzRLo7jgqLkACqXFWCsXaBo7np45Yjjhzs3dsEA0hnCaTfN9mL1epZheA1QZTIuhFso5TOcA9B46UCG8NYMorGKkq8jVE4qW7y4mimDKOmWd_w2n1AWfW7eg/s1600/Art+5+to+7+1st+N+Graff+Sweet+Dream+Pie.jpg"><br /></a><br />First place: "Sweet Dream Pie" - North Graff<br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi11BM007BJW8n9D5HNJhp3r6o1wseH2NCZnzYCm_FS6pHx_hFbFW35P_nuWOX0evBq97kP2IiO3XYwiXhzDL-aNCDt_ablzQTlfvNNQuVxW03gQHQuAkcud9_HUQv8vBcJrC9CDIi0-PU/s1600/Art+5+to+7+2nd+Merklin+Clown.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 234px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi11BM007BJW8n9D5HNJhp3r6o1wseH2NCZnzYCm_FS6pHx_hFbFW35P_nuWOX0evBq97kP2IiO3XYwiXhzDL-aNCDt_ablzQTlfvNNQuVxW03gQHQuAkcud9_HUQv8vBcJrC9CDIi0-PU/s320/Art+5+to+7+2nd+Merklin+Clown.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5608909181025114898" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Second place: "Mystery of the Circus Clown" - Sarah Merklin<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibPGekccLIBXdCXjpnqHfSA2npB4qzXATuORAKpuSZ_QDDG_DJAVZUSOf8NIgCD98loJ3xsRGAS2hRs7ZvooX6ywzwSA4_e_Dbua0tMnWTtcx45uQcPQWWPWS5nkjo1UFgRWorYGmZWvg/s1600/Art+5+to+7+3rd+Hawk+Paddington.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 234px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibPGekccLIBXdCXjpnqHfSA2npB4qzXATuORAKpuSZ_QDDG_DJAVZUSOf8NIgCD98loJ3xsRGAS2hRs7ZvooX6ywzwSA4_e_Dbua0tMnWTtcx45uQcPQWWPWS5nkjo1UFgRWorYGmZWvg/s320/Art+5+to+7+3rd+Hawk+Paddington.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5608909569001704562" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Third place: "Paddington Takes to TV" - Augie Hawk<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin6B4z7HvLI93XRxsgD-wrgVE_DOSNHnPgqjd2A9PmQ_Z1bkQnDdEPsoxM-WcV5J0RH8EsWWwu52OoQ27gh_KbYnz_BTHAKl-Ir0fxsEWqd0j-Ib6sA7_4RLkUtBOMMyxmrTBxtRCyKfs/s1600/Art+5+to+7+HM+Cull-Kahn+Kings+Taster.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 234px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin6B4z7HvLI93XRxsgD-wrgVE_DOSNHnPgqjd2A9PmQ_Z1bkQnDdEPsoxM-WcV5J0RH8EsWWwu52OoQ27gh_KbYnz_BTHAKl-Ir0fxsEWqd0j-Ib6sA7_4RLkUtBOMMyxmrTBxtRCyKfs/s320/Art+5+to+7+HM+Cull-Kahn+Kings+Taster.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5608909756350047554" border="0" /></a><br />Honorable Mention: "The King's Taster" - Esther Cull-KahnMichellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01835990222847153544noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-381656688190904405.post-5704966041733902082011-05-20T09:52:00.004-04:002011-05-20T10:45:17.951-04:00We now present...the 2011 contest winners!It has been a week of close reading, intense discussions, and a few good laughs, but we have reached our decisions for our art and writing contest!<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Art Contest</span><br /><br />5 to 7<br /></span>First place: North Graff - "Sweet Dream Pie"<br />Second place: Sarah Merklin - "The Mystery of the Circus Clown"<br />Third place: Augie Hawk - "Paddington Takes to TV"<br />Honorable Mention: Esther Cull-Kahn - "The King's Taster"<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">8 to 10</span><br />First place: Nayeon Chung - "George's Marvelous Medicine"<br />Second place: Bennett Graff - "DK Visual Encyclopedia of Science"<br />Third place: Cassie Schierer - "Princess and the Pea"<br />Honorable Mention: Kyle Sampson - "Curious George goes to the Aquarium"<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">11 to 13</span><br />First place: Nicholas Ornstein - "Duke Ellington"<br />Second place: Charlotte Holt - "Queen of Hearts"<br />Third place: Sophie Mark-Na - "Same Stuff As Stars"<br />Honorable Mention: Sara (from Newton) - "Violet Comes to Stay"<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Writing Contest</span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">5 to 7</span><br />First place: Nalani Jones - "Compiss"<br />Second place: Macy Rhie - "Super Girl Saves the Day"<br />Third place: Calla Walsh - series of poems<br />Honorable Mention: Baylor Diamond - "Tiny Coffee Cup"<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">8 to 10</span><br />First place: Jeremy Ornstein - "Dynasty of the Blue-Eyed Feathers"<br />Second place: Emmet Lewis-Hoeber - "Black Willow"<br />Third place: Robert Shapiro - "I Have 9 Lives"<br />Honorable Mention: Grace Valaskovic - "(I'm) A Work in Progress"<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">11 to 13</span><br />First place: Alexandra Domeshek - "Clock"<br />Second place: Jordan Lee - "Silk Road"<br />Third place: John Vernaglia - "Porky Poem"<br />Honorable Mention: Jacob Abrams - "The Book of Animal Transformations"<br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Congratulations to the winners! Thank you to all who bravely submitted their work, and the families and teachers who helped make it all happen.<br /><br />Within a few days we will have scanned all the art and writing to post on this blog, and the art contest winners will be displayed in our store's windows.<br /><br />Our building and nearby sidewalk are currently undergoing construction, so everything is now on our ground floor. As such, our selection of merchandise and books, while still painstakingly chosen, is smaller than in previous years. We recommend coming in sooner rather than later to pick up and redeem your gift certificates. (First through third places receive levels of gift certificates, honorable mentions do not).<br /></div><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span></div>Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01835990222847153544noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-381656688190904405.post-65877555306797747502011-03-14T18:26:00.003-04:002011-03-15T15:59:38.257-04:00Guidelines for this year's contest<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8Kl01RrAcawt_ms1nig17IBGG_1__VgioKaTE1XoM6lpmrGERolxoaAcSs7vITEiBPHvb-7Xsa5ZtsgLHoFyJcVXCpoVcHPdQQ_rlmVhLJ2zcTh4pPjIw-23l4PiTaOdQzV2praA-suM/s1600/cg-easel-color.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 154px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8Kl01RrAcawt_ms1nig17IBGG_1__VgioKaTE1XoM6lpmrGERolxoaAcSs7vITEiBPHvb-7Xsa5ZtsgLHoFyJcVXCpoVcHPdQQ_rlmVhLJ2zcTh4pPjIw-23l4PiTaOdQzV2praA-suM/s200/cg-easel-color.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5584065986489646402" border="0" /></a><br />It is early spring, and you know what that means - our annual art and writing contests are kicking off! All kids (excepting relatives of Curious George employees) between the ages of 5 and 13 are eligible. Each contest will be subdivided into age categories: 5 to 7, 8 to 10, and 11 to 13.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Art Contest</span><br /></div>Illustrate your favorite fairy tale, poem, short story, or book. Label your artwork with the author and title of the story you're illustrating.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Writing </span><span style="font-weight: bold;">Co</span><span style="font-weight: bold;">ntest</span><br /></div>Write an original story, poem, or essay. Please limit your submissions to 3 pages.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgerzhZDwn-VSJ_Vpi1ybbX1bInAqW_yNI_BhmITWYHQ07CBYmE0dOAdpExDneBbgJJkA7mIO4ArqPApmYyvhF9RDqT9yHAXZb2loB0ALk3r7yZCmjsv9DxcCmq72oroimTgG95ofBZBRHz/s1600/art+contest+image.jpg"><br /></a>Entering both contests means illustrating your favorite story as well as writing an original story. We love reading stories you have illustrated, only tell us which contest you would prefer us to judge it for!<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBqUkHovt_CE8geE6yy9dCZVnfC0gSx7yu2AuVEh_giaKIJY7A_KAm1x1VE_Q-SoRNKqlJuNVOfGkrUG5iuoJb24MSh_Jv8PEXDGO_R8fVRltn66imoDEmgYnDygwZmNLpnm9aTm1t9Eg/s1600/entry+form+2011+11+by+6.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 373px; height: 203px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBqUkHovt_CE8geE6yy9dCZVnfC0gSx7yu2AuVEh_giaKIJY7A_KAm1x1VE_Q-SoRNKqlJuNVOfGkrUG5iuoJb24MSh_Jv8PEXDGO_R8fVRltn66imoDEmgYnDygwZmNLpnm9aTm1t9Eg/s400/entry+form+2011+11+by+6.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5584398654813799026" border="0" /></a><br /><br />With all entries, please include our submission form that tells us your name, address, phone number, school and age. This submission form, which you can pick up in the store or download from our blogs, enables us to contact the winners. You can right click on the image above to download and print the entry form, or download it from the bar on the left of this webpage.<br /><br /><br />Winning artwork will be on display in the store, and winning writing will be posted here on our contest blog. Winners will also receive store gift certificates!<br /><br />The deadline for entries is Friday, May 13th. Winners will be announced the following Friday the 20th.Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01835990222847153544noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-381656688190904405.post-80861306526709363042011-02-10T11:20:00.002-05:002011-02-10T11:22:24.461-05:00It's almost that time again...Our annual art and writing contest is almost here again. In the next few weeks we'll be posting the guidelines and submission form, so get your masterpieces ready!Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01835990222847153544noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-381656688190904405.post-68826356154286674942010-05-28T12:07:00.026-04:002010-05-29T13:41:42.962-04:00Art winners, 8 to 10<b>1st Place<br />Title: "National Audubon Society Field Guide to Fishes of North America"<br />Artist: Ben Graff</b><br /><div><b><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBd1kXlylJfo-ERtPJiJxCPUO5anZRc150fbWpgoXmBL3mBiI9gpSLmEQT1mnTl3f0anIRoahHaoywpOG5bRo8oSTKyG5DirSbavUUzxwEQ8NossNEGr8OK1vWiPgesAsU-3cyISN9DlY/s200/8-10_First.jpg" style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 156px;" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5476366657155796018" border="0" /><br /></b><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>2nd Place<br />Title: "The Evolution of Calpurnia Tate"<br />Artist: Valerie Dubinsky</b></div><b><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8onzvN9CNB4cTeIK8h5MA1El1S5hzH4MAnc4oktx5LgUtnS9EFZ5jMNQ4w-Z9fum9W_vBhXKddkOVqMTlk5xoLIGbD3kw7wy2_Z2NqL0dxnn-LJdGiP5FA4CVqOT4HsgmiVtor-fnE2o/s200/8-10_Second.jpg" style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 146px;" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5476367141440241330" border="0" /></b><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b><br />3rd Place</b></div><div><b>Title: "If You Give a Pig a Pancake"<br />Artist: Irene Wu</b></div><div><b><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPWw5AjLN0B-pzB3vJIp7awIHfJh5KU50Wzgi_aqEDozPI-5DHkEqnQSnNIlvwSzzx0fmArHy2E9u2bIMTnu901lW4bs_tvTBLXzcGHUzLkXtFeXABTcuEagopEvoUdB-pktDtJ2UwSS4/s200/8-10_Third.jpg" style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 152px;" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5476366669634977858" border="0" /><br /></b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b><br /><br /></b></div><div><b>Honorable Mention<br />Title: "Yummers"<br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><b>Artist: Lena Rhie</b></span></b></div><div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2V8XFsK3EgrDKlUhKtKkOTgEMhyphenhyphensjivM45V_FGDQ4erYc8-rtodncMZcnmv6m3R1jaCuIx7Zvm1Fo4Zjp167Hh6JRbJShM1CBQf7t6qHA-zBmrH3OgjArXifVv7hRIDePBt6GM0o4FjU/s200/8-10_HM.jpg" style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 165px;" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5476366673582761442" border="0" /></div></div>Three Little Monkeyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02658363686357290806noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-381656688190904405.post-82369455354029348842010-05-28T12:07:00.024-04:002010-05-29T13:38:54.123-04:00Art winners, 11 to 13<b>1st Place<br />Title: "100 Dresses"<br />Artist: Charlotte Holt<br /><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM__MZxagFtC3cxLebukIyaLbbV7Qges3P9q1KaphgexPy_24iKAe6fIud3vAjsVa72yWLCGfFE-k_Hj77Hq0y_QhAe2wtn65tV1CA938rMW9psd9cnxRD_KiQuTzLazy2MTkP-7t_dCc/s200/11-13_First.jpg" style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 162px; height: 200px;" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5476367844132473090" border="0" /></b><div><b><br /></b><div><b><br /><br /></b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b><br /><br /><br /></b></div><div><b>2nd Place<br />Title: "Indigo's Star"<br />Artist: Kay Goodhart<br /><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuoll06n_2vkAC1GTAi63-WMwN_ArSQVGduhJbSV-003aOA90cNn5kd1ncM_r39LREaAHuOGHpzfF3jxtIThrPI4PEf5_Jb7Zne5b-fXr5e8EHeSJxjlnKDlRa9vk2TCuwacpUBmgfwHA/s200/11-13_Second.jpg" style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 162px;" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5476367835786122386" border="0" /><br /></b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b><br /><br />3rd Place<br />Titl</b><b>e: "Silent Pond"</b></div><div><b>Artist: Sara Mittelmeier Curtis<br /><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzui8lBVOPrJJSsp_MOFRsldJgwcjEx0YMQt7-FBUlZUnAD02em0-jCfQzi3XAQJ_cBFkXhSeYYoJbHnTJiINk0_HzhwYKkr7qAc755uHvA-DcP6U21oBkmYFlGLFu4x5TEsp-zWt5REs/s200/11-13_Third.jpg" style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 160px; height: 200px;" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5476367849819851762" border="0" /><br /></b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b><br />Honorable Mention:<br />Title: "Highwire 66"<br />Artist: Abigail Dickson</b><br /></div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx6M1TadhSUJGKICGrFEzBAxPybC93L6btksIVcUgaCm5pCXonY6v8pIOpSYCQyVgjMjOp945cHtLnbYysWXa7N2OOPOocuFyFHdicdbwtTFX6SDWDlVZhKBfAm0ODVPO15Li2UL-wPt4/s200/11-13_HM.jpg" style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 136px;" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5476367856897908258" border="0" /></div>Three Little Monkeyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02658363686357290806noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-381656688190904405.post-53749992514555469532010-05-28T12:07:00.020-04:002010-05-28T13:27:50.745-04:00Art winners, 5 to 7<div style="text-align: left;"><b>1st Place</b></div><b><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><b>Title: Dragons of Wayward Crescent</b></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><b>Artist: Augie Oppenheimer</b></span></div></b><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxWZipqpE6NtGaytWxr2h-GIdBDosNIR1pzPJXdF9P8UJ5A7NIYMc7H-Yo83bhOJfQ6Ax2wu-nfEk1-yXXmFYqGkoMgrdJ0qR_bDGTZaL940Xh2MGQYtjt9-bsQfeDwILX-isLwEn8xdE/s200/5-7_First.jpg" style="text-align: left; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 154px; height: 200px;" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5476365250771029778" border="0" /><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>2nd Place</b></div><div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>Title: Don't Let the Pigeon Drive the Bus</b></div><b><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><b>Artist: Ben Pratt</b></span></div></b></div><div><div style="text-align: left;"><b><br /></b></div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdj9m-Te_etjWA9obEW75kUtRaGiM5Zt5-xLUDSw95E7-qAP1sZV6S7nsKrJ48m7XShRX1BdP74wGam3wpI1WYZAldtwqv3bxQw_gH5eF6_ktiXtaC4MlNKCeYLu0Rosxr_rqUTql_kss/s200/5-7_Second.jpg" style="text-align: left; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 184px;" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5476365259711571746" border="0" /><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div><div style="text-align: left;"><b><br />3rd Place</b></div><b><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><b>Title: Arthur Writes a Story</b></span></div></b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>Artist: Piper Larin</b></div><div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8K-8muCxdQfhTK9THziA1e_sdMYzma-wr-W7Z-1dIGBauhUKB8nMnk4ATZZ85DQYv-VwZezQWKB3J9lli6jHRVLaF-C4B3exyw4XDkHmba94s7aN3-vqoTqVc_jS2Y2FaQkHGIphlbxc/s200/5-7_Third.jpg" style="text-align: left; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 143px; height: 200px;" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5476365265439236418" border="0" /><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div><div style="text-align: left;"><b><br /><br />Honorable Mention</b></div><b><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><b>Title: The Old Meadow</b></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><b>Artist: Julia Rasmussen</b></span></div></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV1iIOk8ea_13XQrs7iUWnMqIIjEK6Eh1yg6QPaUEHGUs3x4FmIZv_wfRp3Ky1OPCGbEeMR24SYMpy_zlF3cwpDBhi_YdIK4cdqWbmnrhQRLujEIpFpilOjQffHJIbnWzClo2n09x3uY8/s200/5-7_HM.jpg" style="text-align: center; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 155px;" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5476365268251415410" border="0" />Three Little Monkeyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02658363686357290806noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-381656688190904405.post-62570731320409275002010-05-28T11:22:00.011-04:002010-05-29T13:37:07.374-04:00Writing winners, 11 to 13<span style="font-weight: bold;">1st Place</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Title: "Like a Rat</span><span style="font-weight: bold;">"</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Author: Max Zegans</span><br /><br />The morning started like any other for Mr. Humphenphrey. He fell out of bed, bruising his head on his nightstand, pulled on knickers, a shirt, an undercoat, a coat, and an overcoat, followed by underwear, socks, and an inside-out hat. After he was dressed, Mr. Humphenphrey (called Humpy by most) brushed his teeth with a feather duster, applied a fresh coat of paint under his forearms, and proceeded to his front door. But alas, here is where Humpy’s day diverged from its original path of normality, for as Humpy attempted to turn his crystalline doorknob, he found out that it wouldn’t rotate an inch. And at that moment, Humpy realized he was trapped, like a rat.<br /><br />Humpy didn’t bother to try turning the knob again; he knew it was no use. Instead, Humpy proceeded to his telephone and called his only friend, Shverdshverd Pattlebottom. Shverdshverd answered immediately because, aside from his occaisional trips to the horse races to smell the manur, Shverdshverd spent all his time in a closet with a lifetime supply of linzer tarts and a telephone.<br /><br />“Hello Humpy.” said Shverdshverd as soon as he picked up.<br /><br />“How did you know it was me?” asked Humpy.<br /><br />“Because no one else calls me,” said Shverdshverd. “Why are you calling anyway?”<br /><br />“I’m calling because I recently found out that I’m trapped in my house.”<br /><br />“Wow, we have more in common than I thought.”<br /><br />“Listen, you sorry sack of gashlumper,” said Humpy, “I need to get through my front door, down the street, up the steps of Mrs. Flackergan’s house, down the steps of Mrs. Flackergan’s house, into the sunrise, over the hills and far away, and through the back door of my job because the front door is currently overrun by rabid monkeys donning purple bowties.”<br /><br />“You sound stressed,” said Shverdshverd. “I recommend you take up the closet life. It’s much more mellow.”<br /><br />“I don’t have time for your lectures on the closet life,” said Humpy. “Are you going to help me or not?”<br /><br />“Oh, all right,” said Shverdshverd. “But you owe me a linzer tart.”<br /><br />“Very well, very well,” replied Humpy. “I have an acquaintance who’s Norwigian, and I need you to phone him. His number is 1-800-EAST-VEST, but in Norwigia you say the phone numbers backwards, so his number would be TSEV-TSAE-008-1.”<br /><br />“That’s all very good, but why do you need me to call him?” asked Shverdshverd.<br /><br />“I need you to call him because he promised that if I ever called him again he would walk all the way from Norwigia to the front door of my apartment and yodel uncontrollably until the cows came home,” replied Humpy, a hint of fear in his voice.<br /><br />“Well, I surely don’t want that to happen,” said Shverdshverd. “If your Norwigian friend really did follow through on his promise, your neighbors would probably blame you and throw you out of the building, in which case you would most likely come to live with me, and this closet isn’t big enough for the two of us.”<br /><br />Humpy didn’t know what to say in response to this remark, so he just told Shverdshverd to dial that number, which Shverdshverd proceeded to do in an unusually rushed manner. A few minutes later, Shverdshverd called back, sounding a tiny bit aggravated, a little disappointed, and just maybe slightly constipated.<br /><br />“I have bad tidings from Norwigia,” said Shverdshverd, “when I called the number you gave me, all I got was a gravelly voicemail saying that your Norwigian friend had died in a fatal paddle boating accident and that he is very sorry for any inconveniences and will call back as soon as he gets the message.”<br /><br />“Oh phiddlesticks!” exclaimed Humpy. “He was my best shot at getting out of here!”<br /><br />“Any other ideas?” Shverdshverd asked in a muffled tone while devouring a linzer tart.<br /><br />“Well…” replied Humpy. “On Penny Lane there is a barber-”<br /><br />“Does he know how to get you out?” interrupted Shverdshverd, still chewing.<br /><br />“No, he doesn’t know how to get me out,” answered Humpy, “I need my hair cut.”<br /><br />“You only have one hair?” inquired Shverdshverd. “If so, I would hardly think you would want it cut.”<br /><br />“No, I don’t have only one hair,” Humpy shot back, annoyance in his voice, “you knew perfectly well what I meant.”<br /><br />“No point in wasting a perfectly good joke,” said Shverdshverd absentmindedly, “besides, how will this barber cut your hair if you can’t even get out of your apartment?”<br /><br />“Well, to be honest, I hadn’t considered that,” replied Humpy, “I suppose he was just the first person that popped into my mind. Say, can’t you help me get out of my house?”<br /><br />“Sorry, Humpy,” said Shverdshverd, “I don’t come out of my closet on Tuesdays.”<br /><br />“But today is Thursday!” Humpy yelled into the phone, getting more exasperated by the minute.<br />“Oh, I suppose you’re right.” said Shverdshverd. “I was just looking for an excuse not to come out of my closet.”<br /><br />“You’re really coming over?” asked Humpy, astonished. “Usually you excuse yourself from coming six ways to Sunday before hanging up. This time you only go to around Friday and you’re still on the line.”<br /><br />“Well, this may be promising for you, but I must disappoint again,” answered Shverdshverd. “Look out your window and you’ll see what I mean.”<br /><br />“What are you talking about?” questioned Humpy. “I thought you lived on the other side of town, and that your closet didn’t have any windows, or air vents, or high speed internet.”<br />But the phone had gone dead. Humpy was starting to think that Shverdshverd may be off his rocker when he heard a startling sound outside his window. Not knowing what the sound had come from, Humpy decided to investigate further. As Humpy reached his immaculately carved plywood windowsill, he saw a surprisingly obese woman belting out “This Little Light of Mine” in a voice that sounded like nails scratching on a chalkboard, under a train track, in a hailstorm.<br />Being the kind of person who always hoped that there was one last shot of a Chihuahua eviscerating a bed of marigolds before the credits rolled; Humpy decided to try the door again.<br />With his ambitious, lofty, and elusive goal in mind, Humpy proceeded to his front door, put his hard, calloused hand on the doorknob, turned it, and pushed a little on the door, which proceeded to swing open like it usually did.<br /><br />“Drat!” yelled Humpy. “I had turned the wrong way again!”<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">2nd Place</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Title: "Peculiar Happenings</span><span style="font-weight: bold;">"</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Author: Dasol Lee</span><br /><br />It was my friend’s tenth birthday,<br />And I was deciding what to get.<br />This thinking was most difficult,<br />For she was my newest friend just yet.<br /><br />I went into the toy store,<br />Alas…nothing quite so awesome.<br />I ran into my papa’s office,<br />But everything was law-some.<br /><br />As I began to stroll towards home,<br />Ready to give-up,<br />I saw a freshly opened pet store<br />With dogs barking “Yappity, yup!”<br /><br />I entered this new pet store<br />For my newest friend,<br />And there were gazillions of animals,<br />I thought it wouldn’t end!<br /><br />There I bought a couple of cats,<br />A parakeet or two,<br />A good-sized pair of horses,<br />And a white baby gnu.<br /><br />I then came upon the next section,<br />Filled with dogs, oh so sweet!<br />I just couldn’t help buying all of them.<br />My presents surely can’t be beat!<br /><br />One more aisle left to scan,<br />What more could I possibly buy?<br />A beautiful red and gold parrot,<br />Caught my searching eye.<br /><br />But something nagged my eager brain,<br />There was something I’d left out.<br />Yet I ignored this little nuisance<br />For I was much too busy to scout.<br /><br />Hold on! There was also one more thing<br />My weary brain had simply forgotten.<br />A fact about my newest friend,<br />Which from my memory was trodden.<br /><br />I shrugged my shoulders up and down,<br />“It’s not important,” I carelessly say,<br />Little did I know it made all the difference,<br />In its dreadful way.<br /><br />I lugged my things to the counter,<br />The cashier looked very shocked.<br />I took out my fat, yellow wallet,<br />Brimming to the top.<br /><br />“One billion, five million dollars,” she shouts,<br />Looking quite very strange.<br />She ogles at my little figure,<br />“Is that between your money range?”<br /><br />I nod and smile up at her,<br />The plump woman looks<br />Like an alien had given her a kiss,<br />I snatch out my mother’s checkbook,<br />And write, “My mother will pay for this.”<br /><br />Then I take out a mini cell phone,<br />And call the moving men,<br />Who rushed into the store.<br />I’m not sure if this is right, but I think there were about ten.<br /><br />They loaded everything up,<br />And headed for the house.<br />Yay! I’m just in time for the party,<br />On the lawn I see the spouse.<br /><br />My friend comes out of her house,<br />Looking purely traumatized,<br />With the same expression the clerk gave,<br />So shocked, she couldn’t have talked.<br /><br />When she finally recovers,<br />She slowly ushers me in,<br />So I run into the mammoth house,<br />Where kids are making a spectacular din!<br /><br />As I sat down at the table,<br />We all were served some cake,<br />And I was so very hungry,<br />That I admit I was opaque.<br /><br />It’s time to open presents!<br />The birthday girl chooses me first,<br />The moving men brings in the animals<br />While the boxes looked ready to burst.<br /><br />Achoo!<br />My friend started to sneeze,<br />As loud as a sneeze can be,<br />Her mom asked me what was in the box,<br />I said, “A couple of chimpanzees.”<br /><br />Her mom saw more coming,<br />And asked, “What are in those, my dear?”<br />“Just some animals,” I timidly reply,<br />The mother opened her mouth as if standing for a pose.<br /><br />“What?” She almost screamed out loud,<br />“Are they animals with fur?”<br />“Yes,” I simply answer her,<br />She immediately turned into a blur.<br /><br />She ran to her pale looking daughter,<br />Blooming with red spots,<br />Then dashed to the telephone,<br />And pressed some little dots.<br /><br />She takes her daughter to the car,<br />“What happened to the birthday girl?” everybody says,<br />They look at me expectantly,<br />I just shrug and put on my fez.<br />Her father comes running into the house,<br />“Who brought these animals?” he asks,<br />I raise up my trembling hand bit by bit,<br />Oh, why am I always in difficult tasks?<br /><br />He looks at me quite angrily,<br />“Didn’t you know about my little girl?<br />Did you at least buy her one fish?”<br />He suddenly becomes the perfect picture of a big rude churl.<br /><br />“About what?” I asked quite frightened,<br />But it had already come back to me,<br />This girl, my newest friend…<br />This girl named Marie was allergic to fur at a very high degree!<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">3rd Place</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Title: "Inheritance</span><span style="font-weight: bold;">"</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Author: Coby Gray</span><br /><br />I had never been in the house before. In fact, I’d never known I had a great Aunt until two days before today. I had always thought that I had no living relatives because my mom and dad died in a mysterious car crash and they had no relatives that are living. The letter had been delivered to the orphanage where I lived on the South Side of Brixton, a rough neighborhood in London. The letter arrived while I was eating lunch, crammed on a bench, shoulder to shoulder with several other kids. When it was delivered to me I immediately opened and read it. The letter, which was from my Great Aunt’s lawyer, said that her house was going to be sold on the occurrence of her death and that I should go there, “being her only relative,” to pick up most of her belongings. The belongings that I didn’t pick up would be sold along with the house to pay off the enormous debts that she owed various people. Also included in the letter was a key to my Great Aunt’s house.<br /><br />When I first got this letter my reaction was, “Oh great, I have a relative. Maybe she will take me in.” But as I kept reading I got to the part about her dying and my hopes were crushed. After I got even further in the letter I got some more hope when I read the part about her stuff. After finishing the letter I was left with a feeling of loneliness. After this rigorous change of emotions I had a whole lot on my mind, so to get all of this off my chest I went to talk to my best friend Tig. Tig is quite a small guy. Most peoples’ first impression of him is that he is totally harmless and wouldn’t hurt a fly, but if you think that you are totally wrong. Tig is probably the most feared guy in the whole orphanage. You never want to be on his wrong side. Luckily he considers me his best friend. He’s really good to talk to and one of the advantages of having him as a friend is that if anyone threatens me he’ll beat them to a pulp. Tig was sitting on a bench outside. I went over to him and said, “Hey, guess what I got?”<br /><br />“Tell me,” Tig said.<br /><br />“I got a letter.”<br /><br />“From who?”<br /><br />“A lawyer saying I had a Great Aunt that died a few days ago.”<br /><br />“Really? That stinks.”<br /><br />“But the lawyer said that I got some of her stuff.”<br /><br />“That’s cool. When do you think you are going to pick up the stuff?”<br /><br />“I don’t know. Maybe in a couple days.”<br /><br />But I was wrong. As soon as the words came out of my mouth the Patron came over and pulled me away from Tig and away to the main hall. A man with a black suit was waiting there. The Patron said I should go with him. He took me outside to a black car.<br /><br />“Where are you taking me? Who are you?” I asked.<br /><br />“I’m your Great Aunt’s chauffeur and I’m taking you to her house to pick up the belongings that you inherited from her.”<br /><br />The events of the past hour were going through my head as I stepped out of the car. The first thing that I noticed was the state of the house. It looked like it hadn’t been lived in for years, with peeling shingles and most of the shutters hanging by their hinges. After inspecting the outside, I went to the door and turned the brass rose encrusted key that I got in the mail and nudged the door open. As soon as I stepped in the house I was greeted by the smell of rotting wood and stale perfume. The inside looked like it was once luxurious but now it looked like all the luxury was sucked out of it by a giant vacuum cleaner and replaced with rotting wood and termites. The furniture was covered over with a white cloth and all the wallpaper was peeling. After seeing the decrepit main foyer I proceeded to the kitchen wall. It showed a woman in a gray shawl, spectacles and almost snow white hair. He stared at it almost loathingly like he hated the person.<br /><br />“Who is she?” I asked.<br /><br />“It’s your Great Aunt.”<br /><br />“Oh, and who are you?”<br /><br />“Oh, how rude of me. I’m your Great Aunt’s lawyer, Mr. Pain.”<br /><br />“Oh, ok, and you’re here becau-”<br /><br />“I’m here to show you around her residence so you can find the stuff you want.”<br /><br />“Oh, ok.”<br /><br />“Now I guess I should show you the bedroom,” he said. “Watch your head when you go through this door.”<br /><br />I ducked my head and entered the same room that I saw when I first walked into the house. Then he led me up a flight of stairs, past a couple of portraits that were covered with white grimy cloth. Then the lawyer led me into a room that I assumed was my Aunt’s. Everything was pink: pink rug, pink sheets, and pink wallpaper. It looked like a six-year old girl had lived here, not a sixty-year-old lady. All it needed was some Barbie dolls and a little jewelry box with a dancing ballerina. After walking around and observing the room for a bit I wandered over to a giant chest (it was the only object in the room that wasn’t pink). I opened it. Inside there were a couple of sweaters and jackets and, right in the middle, was a journal. It was bound in leather with elastic holding it together. I opened it up and inside there was curly cursive writing done in emerald green ink. I put the elastic back around it and asked the lawyer, “Can I have this?”<br /><br />“Well sure, anything you want can be yours.”<br /><br />“Thanks.”<br /><br />After my discovery of the journal, the lawyer continued with the tour. We went through some guest bedrooms that looked like the only occupants in them for the past ten years were dust mites. Unlike the other rooms, I saw nothing interesting. I felt distracted and tuned out to what the lawyer was saying. It didn’t really take long for him to notice that I wasn’t listening, and before I knew it I was back in the car with the man that took me to the house and heading back towards Brixton.<br /><br />As soon as I got back to the orphanage I started to read the book. I flipped to a random page. The green writing seemed to possess me; I didn’t want to tear myself away from the page. Every sentence made the book more enchanting. The first sentence that she wrote seemed to grab me the most.<br /><br />Dec17, 1992<br />It seems that I am being followed. Every place I go it’s like I’m being watched. A couple of days ago my suspicions seemed irrelevant but then only today I noticed someone following me. It was a man in a tailored black coat with sunglasses. He was clean-shaven and clean cut. At first I didn’t notice him at all but then he started to show up everywhere I went: at the café, at the butcher’s and even at the lobby of my doctor’s office. Whenever I saw him he just stared at me. He looked like he only noticed me, not anyone else, just me. It scared me. I don’t know why he’s following me or anything about him. All I know is that he terrifies me and all I want to do is run. Run away from him and my miserable life. No debt, just me maybe sitting on the a beach no one there but me no man no debt not anything just me.<br /><br />As soon as I finished the first entry and saw Tig walk in to the room.<br /><br />“How was your old hag of an Aunt’s house?” asked Tig.<br /><br />“Oh, you know, lots of cobwebs and old furniture,” I said in a dreamy, far away voice.<br /><br />“You OK Dude? You sound kind of out of it.”<br /><br />“Yeah, I’m fine,” I said while shaking my head as if waking up from a long dream.<br /><br />“You get any good stuff?”<br /><br />“I only got one thing. All the other stuff was old and sort of creepy. But I got this.” I showed him the book.<br /><br />“Cool, can I see it?” he asked.<br /><br />“No,” I snapped at him “you can’t.”<br /><br />“Ok, just asking, it’s not like I’m going to steal it. I got to get a smoke.” After that Tig left and the room fell silent. I flipped to the last page and started to read again.<br /><br /><br />Dec 25, 1992<br />The man is still following me. In the past few days it has gotten worse. He’s shown up in my driveway a couple of times. It’s starting to creep me out even more. I’ve started to see him in everyone and everything. I don’t know if I should call the police or just let it be. If I call the police they might think I’m insane. They could take me away and put me in a mad house. All that I know is this has to end sooner rather tan later. I don’t know how it will end but it just has to.<br /><br />I closed the cover of the journal and set it down. The sun had almost set. The dusky evening light was coming through the one bedroom window. Had it all been in her head? Was she really insane?<br /><br />I opened the journal once again to the back cover. Huh? Different handwriting – red. Almost looked like blood. “I’m coming for you boy.”<br /><br />The floorboards creak. The rusty hinge of the door opens. A man stepped in- the lawyer. Then I made the connection. He almost looked like the man she described in the journal. A glint from an object in his hand.<br /><br />And then a sharp pain and blackness.<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Honorable Mention</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Title: "Reading Emily</span><span style="font-weight: bold;">"</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Author: Eva Koplow</span><br /><br />I stare down at my paper, studying the smudged ink from my sweaty fingers and gripping the sheet as though my life depended on it. I knew what people were thinking of me right now. I knew that their thoughts were negative and most likely about how I could not read in front of people. In my hand I am vigorously holding a poem I had written for an assignment. My teacher, who obviously did not know me well enough to think I could read a poem in front of twenty three staring eyes, told me it was a great example of what the whole class should be writing . So she decided to have me read in front of the whole class. Well, I don’t know who she thought she was talking to, because in case I haven’t made my point clear enough, I can’t read in front of people. So I’m standing in the front of the class with nothing to do but feel sick to my stomach and wait for my teacher to do something. Finally after what feels like hours but realistically was probably less than a minute, I hear footsteps approaching me. I look up from my paper to see my teacher. I have never been so happy to see someone in my life.<br /><br />“Morgan, you may take a seat.” It’s the last thing I hear my teacher say today in class, for as soon as I hear those words, those wonderful words, I feel like leaping to my seat. I know that would only draw more attention to me though. I quietly sit back down, feeling my cheeks burning. Fortunately for me, not a minute of classmates staring at me later, the bell rings and school was over. There was a catch to my “good luck” though. As soon as I am about to run out of the classroom, I hear my teacher say, “Morgan, could I speak with you for a minute?”<br /><br />I hear the door slam closed with what is like for me a signal for my heart to skip a beat, because I know that’s when my teacher will start talking. That’s when I will get lectured for what would feel the ten millionth time on public speaking, and how by my age I should not be so shy reading in front of people. Ever since the third grade I have been getting these “lectures.” My teacher this year in seventh grade had seemed different than the rest, more thoughtful. And that’s why it scared me that she called me over. I was worried that instead of just lecturing me on public speaking, she would make me take action on not being so shy. And boy, I was right. I would have never have even guessed the conversation that followed the last student slamming the classroom door.<br /><br />“Morgan,” my teacher began. “Do you want to be able to speak in front of crowds?” This question made my throat dry. I could hardly speak. Finally I manage to say something. “I guess,” I reply. “Well that’s good, because you need to learn. As you get older your teachers will expect you to know these things, and it will only get harder, the older you get.” I was silent. “So,” my teacher continues. “That’s why I have suggested to your parents that you sign up for the school play.” Inside I have no idea why a play, the thing I was scared of, would help this situation. But I am too shocked to say anything about that. “A play?” I ask hesitantly. “A play,” she replies confident and strong. I gulp as I realize exactly what this means.<br /><br />As I walk home my mind swells up with thoughts about what Ms. Bailey had said. A play. How on earth could she think that I, Morgan Day, could be in a play? I mean I could help with the backdrops or control the lighting or anything where I did not need to speak in front of people. Unfortunately from the look in Ms. Bailey’s eye, I think she had something besides painting the backdrop in mind.<br /><br />As I approach my house, I fear what my parents will say. I hope they won’t make me do the play. But if I know my parents, I’m pretty sure I’m going to be out of luck. As I walk in the door, I move slowly. Instead of dumping my backpack and coat on the floor as usual, I carefully hang up my coat and place my backpack against the stairs, hoping it will help my chances of not joining the play. I had nearly finished that task, when my mom comes in and says, “So, what do you think?” She says it in a stern, but calm voice. “What do I think about what?” I say, pretending I don’t know what she’s talking about. “You know,” she says. “About the play.” She seemed to emphasize the word play, for no reason I could think of. I rack my brain for an answer, but none comes. I feel overwhelmed, and all of a sudden I start crying. My mother comes over to hug me and my words are muffled by my sobs. “Of course I don’t want to do the play.” I say. “But I don’t really have a choice do I? I can’t speak publicly and what makes my teacher so sure I can start now? Everyone will make fun of me if I go up on stage and forget my lines. I mean, of course I wish I could speak in front of crowds, but if I try now and I don’t learn, I will be teased forever.” “Well in that case,” my mother starts speaking calmly. “I will tell your teacher to sign you up for the play.” “What?” I say, astonished.<br /><br />After School today is my first play practice. The whole day I dread when I will hear the final bell ring. I wonder what people will say when they see me at the play practice. Amidst all my thoughts I hear the bell ring, signaling the end of school. I grab my backpack and slump out of the classroom. As I am making my way to my locker I see a cluster of girls giggling and laughing. Probably Alyson got some new shoes, or a new shirt, or something like that. Alyson is what you might call the “popular girl.” She is always wearing the latest fashion. Then there is what you might call her “posse”, Alisha and Courtney. They follow Alyson everywhere. They do whatever she wants. I finish gathering my school supplies into my backpack, and then very slowly I walk into the auditorium for my first (and hopefully last) drama class. As I stride through the doors I see eyes turn my way. Then to my surprise I see a pair of sparkling blue eyes look up at me. “Alyson?” I say.<br /><br />“What are you doing here?” Alyson asks, with misery in her voice. I am about to answer but the drama teacher Ms. Campbell enters the auditorium. “OK, everyone,” she says. “Lets go around and say our names.” Alyson goes first, then a girl named Isabel goes. She seems nice enough, and so do most of the other kids. I’ve hardly ever seen them before. Then it is my turn. “I’m…I’m Morgan” “Nice to meet you Morgan,” says Ms. Campbell, for I was the only one who was new at drama class. “Lets Begin with some stage tips, to refresh our memory and help our newcomer.” I listen intently as people shar their experiences with the stage, and tips they have. I wish I had a pen and paper to write them all down “Next class,” Ms Campbell starts talking “will be the auditions. You can try out for a specific role or you can just read some lines if you don’t care which role you get. Our play will be a musical about a girl who moves to a new school and is shy, but ends up being popular. I will give you each the script and you can consider who you will want to be.” Ms. Campbell hands out the scripts and then dismisses everyone. But I hear the dreaded words I’ve been hearing a lot recently. “Morgan, could you hold on a moment?”<br /><br />“Yes?” I say. “I have a couple of things I would like to go over with you,” replies Ms. Campbell. “Okay,” I say. “So Morgan, do you have any questions?” “Well…” I say. “Uh, no.” “Okay,” says Ms. Campbell, “Well I think I have a part for you in the play that you will do well at.” “What is it?” I ask. “I think you should play the main character, Emily” “But I’ve never done this before,” I reply immediately. “Plus I can’t talk in front of people.” “Well, I’ll tell you a trick,” says Ms. Campbell. “When you are up on the stage looking out on all the people, take a deep breath, and transform yourself into your character. Be your character up there, not Morgan. Not Morgan who is afraid of public speaking. You are your character, your character has nothing to be afraid of, because it’s not acting, it’s your character’s real life. Now I know you’re thinking ‘Be your character’ sounds kind of young, but it really works. So will you try it for me?” My heart is pounding.<br /><br />As soon as I get home I run to my room, ignoring my mother’s questions about play practice. As I lie on my bed, I look through the play script. I look at each part carefully. As I flip the pages, I see what a big part Emily is. She has lines on every page, and is singing eight out of the ten songs. I start going through Emily’s part, looking at each and every line. I’m starting to think this play might be interesting. Now, I read through Emily’s lines over and over so I will be prepared for the tryouts.<br /><br />The next day is Wednesday. No play practice today. I am not exactly sure how I feel about that. I do not know now if I am relieved or disappointed. All during the school day I replay the section of Emily’s lines I was going to recite for the tryouts over and over in my head. As for the song I have to sing to get the Emily part, I have not begun to practice. For me singing in front of big groups of people is even harder than speaking in front of them. I have no idea what I am going to do.<br /><br />The next morning, the day of the auditions, I face the truth. I will have to sing. I do enjoy singing, and I have to say, my voice is not half bad. But singing in the shower and in my room is different than singing on stage with lots of people watching. I decide I have to go forth and audition. Besides, I really liked the part of “Emily” and I have spent a long time learning the lines. I have almost all her lines memorized, and I have been looking forward to the auditions to see how I will do. I’ve forgotten that other people would be auditioning for the same part, who would bring the same enthusiasm as me.<br /><br />But if that thought did not cross my mind, Alyson auditioning for “Emily” certainly had not. Nor, the fact that I would get the part of Emily and that I would even shine on the big night. I didn’t think that I would actually be a good singer, and that not only would Isabel become my friend, but many other girls from drama class would too. And what certainly did not cross my mind, was that this play would change my life forever and, for the better.Three Little Monkeyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02658363686357290806noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-381656688190904405.post-74963183841914257602010-05-27T18:31:00.019-04:002010-05-29T13:40:31.373-04:00Writing winners, 8 to 10<b>1st Place<br />Title: "Ode to Baseball"<br />Author: John Vernaglia</b><br />Baseball I love you!<br />You wipe away my problems,<br />Like a broom<br />Sweeping away dirt.<br />When I go to your games I hear<br />The bat<br />Crack<br />Against the ball<br />Thunder.<br />When I see the green grass<br />And brown dirt of your field<br />It’s like fresh fallen snow<br />Ready to play in.<br />Oh Baseball<br />Your fans<br />Lions Roaring,<br />I am<br />The king<br />Of the lions.<br /><br /><b>2nd Place<br />Title: "Dugongs"<br />Author: Sam Wachman</b><br />Diving, cheerfully<br />Vegetarian giants<br />Dugongs are awesome<br />Dugongs, endangered<br />Species down in Mozambique<br />Cows of the ocean<br /><br /><br /><b>3rd Place<br />Title: "A Flock of Leaping Words"<br />Author: Benjamin Ringler</b><br /><div style="text-align: center;">There once was a flock of</div><div style="text-align: center;">leaping words</div><div style="text-align: center;">There were words like</div><div style="text-align: center;">snake and moss</div><div style="text-align: center;">friend and wend</div><div style="text-align: center;">words like twitters and laughs</div><div style="text-align: center;">and flitters and snow</div><div style="text-align: center;">That big flock of leaping</div><div style="text-align: center;">words would leap on your</div><div style="text-align: center;">head and under your bed</div><div style="text-align: center;">We area flock of leaping words</div><div style="text-align: center;">leaping like flames</div><div style="text-align: center;">rushing like water</div><div style="text-align: center;">We are a flock of leaping words</div><div style="text-align: center;">We help you with writing</div><div style="text-align: center;">and how do you repay?</div><div style="text-align: center;">You stuff us in a book and</div><div style="text-align: center;">No longer will we leap</div><br /><b>Honorable Mentions (3 way tie!)</b><br /><br /><b>Title: "A Pilgrim’s Diary"<br />Author: Eliza Broughton</b><br /><i>June 2, 1621</i><br />This morning be cold and rainy. Mam told me to help her clean the house and knit a little hat for my little brother Benny. He was outside throwing rocks at the birds to keep them away from his seeds. I snuck away out of the house to play with my best friend, Remember, because I didn’t feel like cleaning. Remember and I snuck into a barn to try and get some eggs for our mothers. Unfortunately the owner saw us, and our fathers and mothers got set in the stocks for 2 days! When they got home from the stocks, they punish me. I have to sit in my room for 2 days straight! I wish I never snuck outside.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">June 4, 1621</span><br />T’was a sunny morning, so Mam and I sat on the hammock and practiced my reading. T’was getting better, that’s what Mam said.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">June 6, 1621</span><br />I woke Mam up early in the morn, and we walked ouside and planted some seeds. After 3 months, the plants started agrowing potatoes on them! Mam and I were so happy we could hardly speak. It meant that we would have potatoes to eat instead of lentil soup and stale bread!<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">June 8, 1621</span><br />Today it’s Sunday, which means it’s also church day. On church day we have to sit on hard benches all day, which isn’t very fun, but at least it’s better than cleaning the house all day! The only time we get a break on church day is when we have our meal that we always have in the middle of the day.<br /><br />*<br />Mam= Mom<br />T’was= it was<br />Agrowing= growing.<br /><br /><br /><b>Title: "The Pre-Birthday Mystery"<br />Author: Lila Cardillo<br /></b>I am Jenna Cameron.<br /><br />For my whole life, since I knew they existed, I wanted to be a detective. But when my first mystery cam to, I changed my mind.<br /><br />This was my first babysitting job, and I was really excited. I was babysitting my little sister, Thalia, while my parents were at the movie theater down the street, seeing some boring movie. But today was a special day. It was the day before my sister’s birthday, and everything was set up for her little “Pink Princess” party, because she was only inviting her two best friends, Lean and Isabelle.<br /><br />I was walking around the yard, because, well, it was a nice day, and I just love being outside. But then I noticed a spot that my mom (the planner of this party) had missed with the “Pink Princess” streamers. I slid back inside, making sure I heard the screen door click closed behind me so that the mosquitoes wouldn’t follow me inside. I jogged past the kitchen and to the stairs. I reached my destination, the top floor. I skipped over to the cabinet where my mom keeps the ribbons and streamers and wrapping paper and stuff like that. Then I checked the bottom shelf because that’s where I saw Mom put the streamers. The streamers weren’t there. I checked the middle and top shelves. The streamers weren’t there either! I couldn’t think of a good explanation for this. I came up with, <span style="font-style: italic;">maybe Mom moved them</span>.<br /><br />“Oh well,” I muttered, the party can go on with out that part being covered. I walked into the kitchen to get a snack, finding that the stack of plates with the face of “Pink Princess” on the front weren’t where they had been. Even the forks weren’t there! This was getting kind of weird, I had to admit. But was I scared? Just a little. What if a robber had broken into our house? <span style="font-style: italic;">But the</span>, I wondered, <span style="font-style: italic;">what kind of sensible robber would want a bunch of “Pink Princess” party supplies</span>…? I just thought again, <span style="font-style: italic;">Mom must have moved them</span>.<br /><br />I walked up to my room, relieved to find a pile of gifts still sitting on my desktop…but there were only give. I thought I had counted six this morning. <span style="font-style: italic;">I guess I counted wrong this morning</span>. I really hoped I did!<br /><br />Then I remembered that I was babysitting! I had a little Thalia to entertain! Where had she been all of this time? I found her in the playroom reading a book (you guessed it, “Pink Princess”).<br /><br />After that she could’ve slipped away from me while I was daydreaming about the “Pink Princess” cake…I wonder if it’s considered “uncool” to still like her. Well, regardless of the character, chocolate cake, any kind, is good! But then I remembered… THE CAKE! If all of the other party supplies had gone missing, what about THE CAKE?!?<br /><br />I dashed to the fridge, opened the door, and found that the cake was still there, but not the whole thing. A jaggedly cut fraction of the cake was clearly missing. Whoever this robber is, they might want to work on their cake-cutting skills. Panic rushed through me. Where had all of the party supplies gone?! Then many questions rushed through my head. Should I call mom? If id did would she think I’m an awful babysitter? It didn’t matter-yet. I won’t call mom yet. Right then, I was going to find Thalia and see what she was doing. I looked in the playroom,. I didn’t find her there. I went up to her room, which is where she likes going second most. I find, no, <span style="font-style: italic;">hear </span>her there. I knock on the door.<br /><br />“Don’t come in,” says Thalia’s small voice.<br /><br />“Why not?” I inquire.<br /><br />“Because. I’m the birthday girl, and I say so!” is Thalia’s reply.<br /><br />“This sounds a little suspicious,” I say, feeling grown up, “This is my first mystery and I think I might’ve just solved it!”<br /><br />I come in, only to find the plates, one wall decorated with the “Pink Princess” streamers, the missing present, which was a “Pink Princess” in doll-form, and of course, the missing fourth of the cake. I had gotten all scared when all that happened was my little sister got a bit overexcited, and had a little party?!<br /><br />“Busted” I muttered as I grabbed the phone and punched in mom’s number.<br /><br />“Um, hi? Is everything all right?” asked my worried mom, recognizing the number.<br /><br />“Yes,” I reply, “everything is good, just, could you come home?”<br /><br />“Sure! We’re on our way, actually, the movie just ended.”<br /><br />“Oh, and when you come home, please don’t think that I’m a horrible babysitter!”<br /><br />“Goodbye,” she said.<br /><br />Later, my parents came home.<br /><br />My dad said, “I don’t think this is a case of a bad babysitter, I think it’s a case of a sneaker baby-sister!”<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">THE END</span><br /></div><br /><br /><b>Title: "The Unknown, the Mysteries, the Death"<br />Author: Gabriel Colburn</b><br />I woke at the sound of the window opening. The faintest tingle far off in the night. I had that feeling you might get before the first day of school, an odd churning feeling. I had pulled myself out of bed. All was dark, but I knew my room well enough.<br /><br />I had a feeling that I wasn’t going to get back to bed that night. So I quickly—as if something was chasing me—hurried over to my dresser. I pull on the first pair of clothes I found, and cautiously opened my door.<br /><br />******************************<br /><br />The hallway was darker than the deepest of seas. Yet my bare feet on the wood stairs and the dull pounding of my heart still gave myself away. Suddenly I heard a movement right next to me. I could have sworn that all I would have had to do is stretch out my hand. Later I will never know what stopped me, some small instinct that saved my life. I had no way of knowing what the mysterious noise was. Yet new ideas kept swimming through my head.<br /><br />I really wished I had had a plan or at least known what I was doing.<br /><br />******************************<br /><br />I walked as surreptitiously as I could across the creaking wood floors. It was summer and the damp air made my eyes sting. After a while I turned around, cutting back and up the stairs at the back of the house, through the hallway. That was when it happened. I first heard the click. For once I hadn’t read too many Alex Rider books. As I dived to the ground I thought I was over, but then the crack of the bullet hitting the mantelpiece told me differently.<br /><br />******************************<br /><br />I was bleeding. Time seemed to have stopped, and broken glass was everywhere. Bullets ricocheting off everything. I had no sense of direction, and perspective seemed to me to be nothing at the time. And then it was over as fast as it had begun. The man had disappeared. It was as if nothing had happened. I fell to the ground and the night curled around me.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-381656688190904405.post-69964497984904296102010-05-27T17:48:00.010-04:002010-05-28T13:06:03.898-04:00Writing winners, 5 to 7<b>1st Place<br />Title: "The Monkeys are Scared"</b><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Author: Pete Christensen</span><br /><br />One day there was a monkey named Naughty. One day Naughty went out of his house. He went deep into the jungle. When he was deep in the jungle then he had an idea. His idea was to have fun! While he was having fun, a big panther came out of the trees and pounced! But he missed Naughty! But Naughty didn’t notice because he was swinging away on a vine. Then the panther gave up.<br /><br />Then Naughty went home. When he got home, he ate six bananas and took a nap. After his nap, he put coconuts all over himself and scared his mother. Then Naughty said, “I am the coconut monster! Ooooooo!” Then the mother ran out the door. Then Naughty laughed his head off!<br /><br />Then Naughty went off to find his friends in the jungle. He said, “Guys let’s go have fun!” So they played Duck, Duck, Duck, Goose! The panther was watching them, licking his lips. He began to sneak up a tree. One of the monkeys noticed the panther and screamed! Why are you screaming? Look in the tree! Then they all screamed and ran away.<br /><br />Then Naughty said, “Guys, I know what we can do! I did this to my mother and it works! We can put coconuts all over our selves.” So they found some coconuts and put the coconuts on. Then they got ready to challenge the panther. So they crept into the jungle and jumped out of the bushes and they shook their coconuts! The panther screamed and ran away. The monkeys laughed and ran around in circles because they were so happy! The panther was never seen again.<br /><br />The End<br /><br /><br /><b>2nd Place<br />Title: "We Us Mittens!"<br />Author: Grace Valaskovic</b> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><b style=""><o:p></o:p></b></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style=""> </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style=""></span><span style="font-family:georgia;"></span></span></p>Us mittens<br />Us cozy<br />cozy mittens<br />For kids hands cozy<br />for grown-ups very warm<br />We help you make<br />so big and great!<br />It’s us mittens who get you warm<br />You don’t think of us mittens<br />Some people knit us great!<br />Some out of fleece<br />Of the people we all see<br />they look so cold<br />and we are so warm<br />all we need to do is<br />hop on over<br />slip on<br />slip on<br />We slip on your hands like fleece<br />You say “Uh<br />my mittens so warm!”<br />But we end the big nice party<br />on the last day of winter<br />So sad<br />So sad<br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><st1:street st="on"><st1:address st="on"><b style=""><span style="font-size:14pt;"></span></b></st1:address></st1:street></p><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:100%;" >3rd Place <br />Title: "The Bear and the Hare were fighting over a pear"<br />Author: Peter Louztenhiser</span><br /><br />The Bear and the Hare<br />were fighting over a pear<br />But they didn't realize the pear was a Square<br /><br />The Square was after the Bear<br />But not the Hare<br />The Hare was good<br />The Bear was bad<br /><br />Here comes the hare’s dad<br />“Are you playing with Square or Bear?<br />Haven’t I told you<br />Lots of times<br />Not to play with Bear.<br />Play with Square!”<br /><br />Bear thought Square and Hare<br />were playing mischief against Bear.<br />The next day Bear<br />Came to Hare and Square<br />For his birthday.<br />They gave him a cake.<br />Bear said “Don’t you dare!”<br />They chased him into a cave.<br />Hare and Square lived happily ever after<br />But not Bear.<br /><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><b style=""><span style="font-size:14pt;"></span></b></p><span style="font-weight: bold;">Honorable Mention </span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Title: "Jazz"</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Author: Kayla L. Bernard</span><p class="MsoNormal"><b style=""><o:p></o:p></b></p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><b style=""><o:p> </o:p></b></p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"></p>Rat a Tap Tap<br />Says Jazz <br /> Jazz<br /> takes<br /> away<br /> my <br /> BLUES!<p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-381656688190904405.post-70841515792014945352010-05-14T16:43:00.001-04:002010-05-14T16:45:10.467-04:00The end of an era...Today's the last day for sending in entries to our art and writing contests. So far, we've gotten an unprecedented amount of submissions, and they're still coming!<br /><br />On May 28th, we will announce the winners here and on our <a href="http://www.curiousgeorgestore.blogspot.com">store blog</a>, with the winning entries posted here and the winning art displayed in the store. Winners will also be notified by mail.<br /><br />Thanks to every kid who has submitted their work, and thanks to all the parents and teachers - especially those kind, worried souls rushing in these last few hours.Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01835990222847153544noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-381656688190904405.post-71062523873597058422010-03-13T13:59:00.001-05:002010-03-30T10:49:13.603-04:00At long last -- Art and Writing Contests 2010!Our <span style="font-weight: bold;">annual Just for Kids Art and Wr</span><span style="font-weight: bold;">iting Contest</span> is here, so break out your pens, pencils, markers, paints, typewriters, or word processors and start working on your masterpieces! <span style="font-weight: bold;">You may enter one or both cont</span><span style="font-weight: bold;">ests in your age group.</span><br /><br />The <span style="font-weight: bold;">art contest</span> <span style="font-weight: bold;">categories</span> are<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"> ages 5-7</span> <span style="font-weight: bold;"> ages 8-10</span> <span style="font-weight: bold;"> ages 11-13</span><br />Illustrate a scene from your favorite poem, short story, fairy tale, or book. Please be sure to label your artwork with the title and author of the work you've chosen to illustrate.<br /><br />The <span style="font-weight: bold;">writing contest categories</span> are<br /> <span style="font-weight: bold;">ages 5-7</span> <span style="font-weight: bold;"> ages 8-10</span> <span style="font-weight: bold;"> ages 11-13</span><br />Write an original short story, poem, or essay (three pages maximum).<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Pick up an entry form at the register, or print one from the blog. All entries must be postmarked or turned in to the store by May 14</span>. Results will be announced on our blogs (Notes from the Hut and Curious George's Art and Writing Contests) on May 28. Winners will be notified by mail.<br /><br />Prize-winning work (1st, 2nd, and 3rd places, plus honorable mentions) will be posted online, and winning art will be displayed in the store's Yellow Hat Gallery through the summer. <span style="font-weight: bold;">1st place through 3rd winners will receive store gift</span><span style="font-weight: bold;"> certificates!</span> Good luck to all the entrants!<br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">No purchase is necessary. All kids ages 5-13 are eligible, except relatives of Curious George employees. Please enter each contest only once; children submitting multiple entries in either contest will be disqualified. Children should enter only their own work.<br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3RH2802vtdhHLejBGvpJbzz5ffnyvdOlrJx4DZXGg8CjDF9KXFL7DkWXVgxGXFdJ9Q_RXO44Ws4kZh8s7iswSUIxgRSLVeaXk2gEHUlels2Vbg0x1MBDIUKfDDOFy5LsccCTM-FhiKV4/s1600-h/labelform+single.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 172px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3RH2802vtdhHLejBGvpJbzz5ffnyvdOlrJx4DZXGg8CjDF9KXFL7DkWXVgxGXFdJ9Q_RXO44Ws4kZh8s7iswSUIxgRSLVeaXk2gEHUlels2Vbg0x1MBDIUKfDDOFy5LsccCTM-FhiKV4/s400/labelform+single.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5448193952809067506" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">To print, right click and select "open link in new window." </span><span style="font-size:85%;">When the new window opens, select "print" under your browser's file menu.</span><br /><br />Now that you know all the rules, put on your thinking cap and get started! Good luck to all our entrants!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-381656688190904405.post-2097925819455431932010-02-14T12:10:00.001-05:002010-02-14T12:15:24.435-05:002010 ContestI hope you're working hard on your masterpieces, because our art and writing contests for 2010 are just around the corner - a mere few months away!<br /><br />Dates and guidelines to be announced soon.<br /><br /><br />Happy Valentine's Day!Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01835990222847153544noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-381656688190904405.post-31268114605665484272009-08-27T12:17:00.002-04:002009-08-27T12:24:36.567-04:00Claiming contest entriesOur display of art contest winners has received much praise and appreciation these past few months - we're extremely proud of the talented artists who submitted!<br /><br />We will continue the display through September, and any artist who entered may pick up their piece at any point - but should take their picture next to the display before they go!<br /><br />Thanks for submitting, and we hope to see your masterpieces again next spring.Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01835990222847153544noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-381656688190904405.post-33787435371580447362009-05-20T12:30:00.001-04:002009-05-22T12:37:45.840-04:00Art Winners 11-13<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqxIBIzsdyYICv8eFR5TnfRDC4Dn1X4wNOme5ZwAglqJwiEYI7tMtt6yeup0HmRvRT0ws-kJI-zlS0Uj0vi0h6-hu1oAxpdyMyp4gaXDchjem65M0Tf443ojqF9cYZF0rI8fhg2SnH8gU/s1600-h/CDickson_Lonelysurfer11-3.1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 327px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqxIBIzsdyYICv8eFR5TnfRDC4Dn1X4wNOme5ZwAglqJwiEYI7tMtt6yeup0HmRvRT0ws-kJI-zlS0Uj0vi0h6-hu1oAxpdyMyp4gaXDchjem65M0Tf443ojqF9cYZF0rI8fhg2SnH8gU/s400/CDickson_Lonelysurfer11-3.1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5338679836723123602" border="0"></a><br />First place: Claire Dickson, age 12<br />"The Lonely Surfer"<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmwhx3p7Q6MOPywd7UCEjUPdThHFYUuojujra2xxtZVE6jHohm_6CSjAtdNc_KrQxrp5r4eo8TpBDX3zXuDRVhcW1_ZF6btIZkL5SMPlOXzYe77gyy2w0tfOdTfQv-v-Q1B5oBNrKlRls/s1600-h/EHolton_journeytotheriversea11-13.2a"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 290px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmwhx3p7Q6MOPywd7UCEjUPdThHFYUuojujra2xxtZVE6jHohm_6CSjAtdNc_KrQxrp5r4eo8TpBDX3zXuDRVhcW1_ZF6btIZkL5SMPlOXzYe77gyy2w0tfOdTfQv-v-Q1B5oBNrKlRls/s400/EHolton_journeytotheriversea11-13.2a" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5338679625626937538" border="0"></a>Second place: Eleanor Holton, age 11<br />"Journey to the River Sea"Three Little Monkeyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02658363686357290806noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-381656688190904405.post-73144299155703580982009-05-20T12:00:00.003-04:002009-05-22T12:37:30.269-04:00Writing Winners 11-13<meta equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; 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margin:0in; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";} @page Section1 {size:8.5in 11.0in; margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in; mso-header-margin:.5in; mso-footer-margin:.5in; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} --> </style><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:#0400; mso-fareast-language:#0400; mso-bidi-language:#0400;} </style> <![endif]--> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><st1:street st="on"><st1:address st="on"><b style="">First Place</b></st1:address></st1:street><b style="">: “More Than 1000 Books on our Shelves” by Margaret Shea (age 11)<o:p></o:p></b></font></p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><b style=""><o:p> </o:p></b></font></p><p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><b style=""><o:p>
<br /></o:p></b></font></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; font-family: georgia;" align="center">I am from</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; font-family: georgia;" align="center">“Handsome is as handsome does”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; font-family: georgia;" align="center">And, “Hunger makes the best sauce”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; font-family: georgia;" align="center"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; font-family: georgia;" align="center">I am from being critical, and being kind</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; font-family: georgia;" align="center">From seven aunts and uncles,</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; font-family: georgia;" align="center">A World War II veteran,</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; font-family: georgia;" align="center">And a small town in <st1:state st="on"><st1:place st="on">Michigan</st1:place></st1:state>.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; font-family: georgia;" align="center"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; font-family: georgia;" align="center">I am from ping-pong,</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; font-family: georgia;" align="center">And playing (fighting!) with my brothers.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; font-family: georgia;" align="center"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; font-family: georgia;" align="center">I am from jokes about Christmas trees (“You son of a birch!”)</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; font-family: georgia;" align="center">And more than 1,000 books on our shelves.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; font-family: georgia;" align="center"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; font-family: georgia;" align="center">I am from Ancient Greek and Latin,</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; font-family: georgia;" align="center">And poems endlessly recited by my father:</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; font-family: georgia;" align="center">In the car, and as I brush my teeth.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; font-family: georgia;" align="center"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; font-family: georgia;" align="center">I am from two attorneys,</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; font-family: georgia;" align="center">From a poor city boy who grew up in <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Lowell</st1:place></st1:city>,</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; font-family: georgia;" align="center">And a little girl from a small town who made it big.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; font-family: georgia;" align="center">
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<br /></font></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; font-family: georgia;"><meta equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"><meta name="ProgId" content="Word.Document"><meta name="Generator" content="Microsoft Word 11"><meta name="Originator" content="Microsoft Word 11"><link rel="File-List" href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5CHILLEL%7E1%5CLOCALS%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtml1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml"><font size="3"><o:smarttagtype namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" name="PlaceName"></o:smarttagtype><o:smarttagtype namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" name="PlaceType"></o:smarttagtype><o:smarttagtype namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" name="place"></o:smarttagtype><o:smarttagtype namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" name="Street"></o:smarttagtype><o:smarttagtype namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" name="address"></o:smarttagtype></font><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:snaptogridincell/> <w:wraptextwithpunct/> <w:useasianbreakrules/> <w:dontgrowautofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:browserlevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if !mso]><object classid="clsid:38481807-CA0E-42D2-BF39-B33AF135CC4D" id="ieooui"></object> <style> st1\:*{behavior:url(#ieooui) } </style> <![endif]--><style> <!-- /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-parent:""; margin:0in; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";} @page Section1 {size:8.5in 11.0in; margin:1.0in 1.0in 1.0in 1.0in; mso-header-margin:.5in; mso-footer-margin:.5in; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} @page Section2 {size:8.5in 11.0in; margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in; mso-header-margin:.5in; mso-footer-margin:.5in; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section2 {page:Section2;} --> </style><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:#0400; mso-fareast-language:#0400; mso-bidi-language:#0400;} </style> <![endif]--> </p><div style="font-family: georgia;" class="Section1"> <p class="MsoNormal"><font size="3"><st1:street st="on"><st1:address st="on"><b style="">Second Place</b></st1:address></st1:street></font><b style=""><font size="3">: “The Ode to Mozzarella” by Francis Corvino (age 12)</font><o:p></o:p></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b style=""><o:p> </o:p></b></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b style=""><o:p>
<br /></o:p></b></p><font style="" size="12"></font> </div><p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">Mozzarella oh mozzarella</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">Come to me!</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">My poor mouth is in the mood for salty and sweet</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">As I sit at my table</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">I think of only one thing</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">That that is mozzarella cheese</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">Your explosive flavor</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">And everything about you</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">Is so delicious</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">Mozzarella oh mozzarella</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">When I finally get a chunk of you</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">I need another piece</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">After the next piece</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">There will be another</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">Then another</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">Until there is no more to eat</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">Mozzarella oh mozzarella</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">Your flavor beckons to me</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">Like a bone does to a dog</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">When my spoon hits your flesh</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">My taste buds start to sizzle</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">Like firecrackers in the sky</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">Or popcorn on the burner</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">Mozzarella oh mozzarella</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">Now my teeth start to open</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">My hand starts to shake</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">And my head starts to spin</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">You are now in my mouth</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">Waiting to be released</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">From the prison of my fork</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">Mozzarella oh mozzarella</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">My lips start to seal</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">And I suck you from the fork</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">Then <b style="">BAM!</b></p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">Salt starts to rush</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">Into the bottom of my throat</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><b style="">BAM! BAM!<o:p></o:p></b></p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">I cut you thinly</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">Trembling all the while</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">Mozzarella oh mozzarella</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">I place you carefully</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">On top of a thinly cut tomato</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">Then I sprinkle you with vinegar</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">A small dose of olive oil</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">Will add to your taste</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">Mozzarella oh mozzarella</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">Once you come to my mouth</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">I can smell your ravishing taste</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">I can see your diamond like salt</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">Shining on your soft and squishy flesh</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">I can feel your soft, soft body</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">As you shimmer in the light</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">I can only think of more</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">Mozzarella oh mozzarella</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">While you jump in my mouth</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">Like kids on a trampoline</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">Washa! Goes the tomato</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">Wahoo! Goes the vinegar</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">Wala! Goes the olive oil</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">What you do is indescribable</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">You are like a nuclear explosion</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">An avalanche on <st1:place st="on"><st1:placetype st="on">Mt.</st1:placetype> <st1:placename st="on">Everest</st1:placename></st1:place></p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">Mozzarella oh mozzarella</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">It’s just me and you</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">The cats aren’t in the kitchen</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">There’s no mouse to be seen</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">No dog that is barking</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">No horse is now running</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">But my hand sure is moving</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">And right to my mouth</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">I close my eyes</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">And take a deep breath</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">I have a small nibble</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">Then one a little bigger</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">As my I take bigger bites</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">There becomes less left of you</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">And less</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">And less</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">And less</p> <font style="font-family: georgia;" size="12" face=""">And gone</font><p style="font-family: georgia;"></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; font-family: georgia;">
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<br /><font style="" size="12"></font></font></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; font-family: georgia;"><meta equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"><meta name="ProgId" content="Word.Document"><meta name="Generator" content="Microsoft Word 11"><meta name="Originator" content="Microsoft Word 11"><link rel="File-List" href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5CHILLEL%7E1%5CLOCALS%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtml1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml"><font size="3"><o:smarttagtype namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" name="country-region"></o:smarttagtype><o:smarttagtype namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" name="place"></o:smarttagtype></font><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:snaptogridincell/> <w:wraptextwithpunct/> <w:useasianbreakrules/> <w:dontgrowautofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:browserlevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if !mso]><object classid="clsid:38481807-CA0E-42D2-BF39-B33AF135CC4D" id="ieooui"></object> <style> st1\:*{behavior:url(#ieooui) } </style> <![endif]--><style> <!-- /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-parent:""; margin:0in; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";} @page Section1 {size:8.5in 11.0in; margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in; mso-header-margin:.5in; mso-footer-margin:.5in; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} --> </style><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:#0400; mso-fareast-language:#0400; mso-bidi-language:#0400;} </style> <![endif]--> </p><p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><b style=""><font size="3">Third place: Twas the day of Inauguration by Chhoyang Cheshatsang</font><o:p></o:p></b></p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><b style=""><o:p> </o:p></b></p><p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><b style=""><o:p>
<br /></o:p></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; font-family: georgia;" align="center">‘Twas the day of Inauguration and it went all through the state</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; font-family: georgia;" align="center">Obama was president! But not quite yet…</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; font-family: georgia;" align="center">People were crowding, pushing, shoving and shouting</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; font-family: georgia;" align="center">But there was peace to the court</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; font-family: georgia;" align="center">when Obama was arriving.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; font-family: georgia;" align="center">Everybody clapped and cheered.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; font-family: georgia;" align="center">And then they saw Bush who they sorta feared.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; font-family: georgia;" align="center">The group was playing, Perlman, Montero, McGill and YoMa</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; font-family: georgia;" align="center">While the Obamas relaxed,</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; font-family: georgia;" align="center">like they were doing Yoga.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; font-family: georgia;" align="center">While they were playing, the announcer,</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; font-family: georgia;" align="center">Who was close friends with Bill Gates,</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; font-family: georgia;" align="center">said “Obama is now president of the <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">United States</st1:place></st1:country-region>.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; font-family: georgia;" align="center">People hugged and cried and kisses (ew),</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; font-family: georgia;" align="center">Even the Republicans were kind of happy too.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; font-family: georgia;" align="center">Then everyone stopped their ruckus,</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; font-family: georgia;" align="center">‘cause it was old Joe’s turn to do the oath of office.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; font-family: georgia;" align="center">With his hand in the air</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; font-family: georgia;" align="center">He said those powerful words</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; font-family: georgia;" align="center">But at Fayerweather Cindy was asking <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Jordan</st1:place></st1:country-region>,</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; font-family: georgia;" align="center">“What’s half of two thirds?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; font-family: georgia;" align="center">Biden was now V.P.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; font-family: georgia;" align="center">The man 2<sup>nd</sup> in charge</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; font-family: georgia;" align="center">But the real show was</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; font-family: georgia;" align="center">the guy living large.</p><p style="text-align: left; font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><font size="3">
<br /></font></p><p style="font-family: georgia;"></p><div style="text-align: left; font-family: georgia;"><meta equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"><meta name="ProgId" content="Word.Document"><meta name="Generator" content="Microsoft Word 11"><meta name="Originator" content="Microsoft Word 11"><link rel="File-List" href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5CHILLEL%7E1%5CLOCALS%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtml1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml"><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:snaptogridincell/> <w:wraptextwithpunct/> <w:useasianbreakrules/> <w:dontgrowautofit/> </w:Compatibility> <w:browserlevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="156"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><style> <!-- /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-parent:""; margin:0in; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";} @page Section1 {size:8.5in 11.0in; margin:1.0in 1.0in 1.0in 1.0in; mso-header-margin:.5in; mso-footer-margin:.5in; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} --> </style><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:#0400; mso-fareast-language:#0400; mso-bidi-language:#0400;} </style> <![endif]--> </div><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; font-family: georgia;"></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; font-family: georgia;" align="center"></p><p style="text-align: left; font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><b style=""><font size="3">Honorable Mention: Outside the Box by Claire Dickson</font><o:p></o:p></b></p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p><p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p>
<br /></o:p></p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">On November 4, 2008 our country voted for a new president. But just a second. Fifteen percent of the population can’t vote. Some people need to think outside the box and open up their minds to us kids. Well, at least someone has. John Holt, a pioneering homeschooling advocate expressed in his book “Escape from Childhood” that everyone should have the right to vote. He said: “Though we will probably lower the voting age a year or two at a time, ultimately I want the right to vote for people of any age.”</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">I think John Holt is right. All people should have a say, even kids. Especially since the outcome of the elections affects them hugely. Everyone should have the option, even if they choose not to take advantage of it.</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">John Holt had a fourth grade class of 28 kids write to him on the subject. The results on that were very interesting. Nine boys and three girls said they would vote and should be allowed to do so. Five boys and two girls said they would not vote, nor should they be allowed to. The people who said they wouldn’t or shouldn’t be allowed to vote gave reasons like this: too difficult, would not know how to, would vote the same as parents, would break the voting machines.</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">The only one of these reasons that might turn out to be a reality if kids were allowed to vote is that they might vote the same as their parents. Even so, it’s not a good enough reason to keep kids from having the right to vote. Kids’ moms and dads aren’t always going to vote the same way, and we kids have minds of our own.</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">You might think kids don’t think about these things, but we do! In fact, a survey of 500 kids ages 8-12 was done before the election by Just Kids Inc. Seventy two percent of them knew who they would vote for, and they had some ideas in mind for the next president – lower gas prices, stopping the Iraq war, etc.</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">So let’s start thinking outside the box and let youngsters put their vote in it! </p> <p style="font-family: georgia;"></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; font-family: georgia;" align="center"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-family: georgia;"></p> Three Little Monkeyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02658363686357290806noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-381656688190904405.post-79131660553671845492009-05-20T11:30:00.007-04:002009-05-22T12:37:15.274-04:00Art Winners 8-10<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMJ5J7GTwqOKRA9G3aG8BvFhNV2MnqDvj1tGsCYOjVGPei4cIyG2TATHWTCDDMHhxgQ4egL4iIIp2iWqMSluMvz_WoD2v8hlUnaiK_pXoN_x5M9h8mMiA9twREuV4h8i9BgIIwZJEwTPM/s1600-h/BGraff_Seems8-10.1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 313px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMJ5J7GTwqOKRA9G3aG8BvFhNV2MnqDvj1tGsCYOjVGPei4cIyG2TATHWTCDDMHhxgQ4egL4iIIp2iWqMSluMvz_WoD2v8hlUnaiK_pXoN_x5M9h8mMiA9twREuV4h8i9BgIIwZJEwTPM/s400/BGraff_Seems8-10.1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5338683930822926690" border="0"></a><br />First place: Bennett Graff, age 8<br />"The Department of Time and the In-Between" from "The Seems: The Split Second" by John Hulme and Michael Wexler<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBaW4CCgxTflPf_ZASXJSCclrf48UMXLthRRVuTK3xbMsrVqRv53ol0py1XIdaUbFgzZ9cQ3uMssNPObe9Q7v0Uf9f87fouVz4U4BLznOZCT2jMP8pf6P100TT39i_zNafSi7twB-X-uA/s1600-h/ADickson_EllaFitzgerald8-10.2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 278px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBaW4CCgxTflPf_ZASXJSCclrf48UMXLthRRVuTK3xbMsrVqRv53ol0py1XIdaUbFgzZ9cQ3uMssNPObe9Q7v0Uf9f87fouVz4U4BLznOZCT2jMP8pf6P100TT39i_zNafSi7twB-X-uA/s400/ADickson_EllaFitzgerald8-10.2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5338683448565959250" border="0"></a>Second place: Abigail Dickson, age 10<br />"Ella Fitzgerald: The Tale of a Vocal Virtuosa" by Andrea Davis Pinkney<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsMs_9aiLq7Mer0jbcOLTmgF0VxBd0lAOq9T2HK8jvMaAn_waFSe-jG6ZgLrIEjNEZHrwweu0xYVnZrpR5ODlW06Ye3mnxGev2hlXKASAbFnLH6cPd63Rk-QjLtj01gG1fDrNWfnzeFoY/s1600-h/VDubinksy_coraline8-10.3a"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 290px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsMs_9aiLq7Mer0jbcOLTmgF0VxBd0lAOq9T2HK8jvMaAn_waFSe-jG6ZgLrIEjNEZHrwweu0xYVnZrpR5ODlW06Ye3mnxGev2hlXKASAbFnLH6cPd63Rk-QjLtj01gG1fDrNWfnzeFoY/s400/VDubinksy_coraline8-10.3a" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5338683241365527842" border="0"></a>Third place: Valerie Dubinsky, age 9<br />"Coraline" by Neil Gaiman<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx7g-yf76hqH5WB-pYwlSeCx2c0DA9SkOG25FGTOb5prKeZ63TTXzd6Rzj-F70aUu2uraCqmwpsk9mywdQjaW6uoflzXHuQFRycqAJLoRUjcisYSvIsebsoWIMCSqXvwPeiRaQr_3Ql0I/s1600-h/GBechunas_Inthelagoon8-10.hm.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 310px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx7g-yf76hqH5WB-pYwlSeCx2c0DA9SkOG25FGTOb5prKeZ63TTXzd6Rzj-F70aUu2uraCqmwpsk9mywdQjaW6uoflzXHuQFRycqAJLoRUjcisYSvIsebsoWIMCSqXvwPeiRaQr_3Ql0I/s400/GBechunas_Inthelagoon8-10.hm.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5338681730002371474" border="0"></a>Honorable Mention: Gwyneth Bechunas, age 8<br />"In the Lagoon"Three Little Monkeyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02658363686357290806noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-381656688190904405.post-86484325632601115472009-05-20T11:00:00.002-04:002009-05-22T12:37:00.841-04:00Writing Winners 8-10<meta equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; 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margin:0in; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";} @page Section1 {size:8.5in 11.0in; margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in; mso-header-margin:.5in; mso-footer-margin:.5in; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} --> </style><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:#0400; mso-fareast-language:#0400; mso-bidi-language:#0400;} </style> <![endif]--> <p face="georgia" class="MsoNormal"><b style="">First place: “The Dream Ghost” by Sophie Culpepper (age 10)<o:p></o:p></b></p> <p face="georgia" class="MsoNormal"><b style=""><o:p> </o:p></b></p><p face="georgia" class="MsoNormal"><b style=""><o:p>
<br /></o:p></b></p> <p face="georgia" class="MsoNormal"><font style=""> </font><font style=""> </font><font style=""> </font>I didn’t know what was happening. I was floating away, farther and farther away, and everything was going black.....</p> <p face="georgia" class="MsoNormal"><font style=""> </font>An 11 year-old girl suddenly appeared in the middle of the woods. She looked dazed and confused. How had she gotten here? Suddenly she realized how cold, hungry and tired she was. The child dropped to her knees, moaning. She knew she could never find her way home. Suddenly, she jumped to her feet. There was a light coming towards her. The girl stumbled forward…and found herself face to face with an old woman holding a lantern. </p> <p face="georgia" class="MsoNormal"><font style=""> </font>“Why, you poor child! What are you doing out here in the cold!you’re dead on your feet! Come with me, claire, and we shall get you some nice hot soup.”</p> <p face="georgia" class="MsoNormal"><font style=""> </font>Claire gratefully took the wrinkled hand, and gasped. “Why ma’am, your hand is cold as ice!”</p> <p face="georgia" class="MsoNormal"><font style=""> </font>The lady scowled. “Really Claire, it’s quite rude to make comments like that.Apologize.”</p> <p face="georgia" class="MsoNormal"><font style=""> </font>“Sorry,” Claire muttered. This lady was starting to scare her, but there was <i style=""><u>no way</u></i> she was going to turn down soup, just becuase her skin was cold! However, had she noticed two other things, she would have been running for her life, screaming.Number one: she knew claire’s name without being told. Number two: she didn’t leave any footprints in the damp forest earth.</p> <p face="georgia" class="MsoNormal"><font style=""> </font>“Here we are, Claire,”purred the old lady. Claire gasped. The house was huge! It was of grey and black stone and had no windows. She had a thousand questions at that moment: Who was the old woman? Why was her house in the middle of the forest? Why was it covered in cobwebs? What had the lady been doing in the forest so late at night? However, a glance of warning from the old woman told her not to ask any questions.</p> <p face="georgia" class="MsoNormal"><font style=""> </font>The old woman took out a key that seemed to be made of what looked suspiciously like a human finger bone. It took a full five minutes to get the door open. The second they stepped inside, Claire knew something was wrong. The woman slammed the door shut and slid the bolt home, locking the door. She smiled mockingly.</p> <p face="georgia" class="MsoNormal"><font style=""> </font>“Would you like some soup, <i style=""><u>dearie</u></i>?” She stuffed the selection in Claires face, laughing a truly evil laugh. The choices were: eyeball chowder, liver stew, bone soup and toenail noodle soup.</p> <p face="georgia" class="MsoNormal"><font style=""> </font>“No thank you” said Claire shakely. She began to back up. “I’ll be going now.” She turned and tried to run, but the old woman caught her in an iron, icy grip and sneered. “Oh no you don’t. I have very special plans for you.</p> <p face="georgia" class="MsoNormal"><font style=""> </font>“At least tell me who, no <i style=""><u>what</u></i> you are,” pleaded Claire, desperate.</p> <p face="georgia" class="MsoNormal"><font style=""> </font>“Whith pleasure. I am the gost of Mrs. Kimberly black, murderer and kidnapper.</p> <p face="georgia" class="MsoNormal"><font style=""> </font>Claire felt sick.At last she managed to choke out “What are you planning to do with me?”</p> <p face="georgia" class="MsoNormal"><font style=""> </font>“Why, I am planning to Kill you and with one drop of your blood I will come back to life!” Kimberly laughed the laugh of a lunatic. Then she picked up a knife that had been lying on the counter beside her, unnoticed. She raised the knife slowly, letting it slide up claire’s arm, leaving a long, shallow cut. Claire covered up the blood with her hand, realizing too late that this left her chest unprotected. With a wild war cry, Kimberly brought down the knife. Claire screamed and once again she was floating….. </p> <p face="georgia" class="MsoNormal"><font style=""> </font>I woke up, shaking in my parent’s bedroom. I was lying on the couch.</p> <p face="georgia" class="MsoNormal"><font style=""> </font>“Claire, you look as if you’ve seen a ghost!” my dad said. Suddenly he saw my arm. “Claire, Whats this?” he cried. There on my arm was a long, shallow cut.</p> <p face="georgia" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p face="georgia" class="MsoNormal"><st1:street st="on"><st1:address st="on"><b style="">
<br /></b></st1:address></st1:street></p><p face="georgia" class="MsoNormal"><st1:street st="on"><st1:address st="on"><b style="">Second Place</b></st1:address></st1:street><b style="">: untitled story by Tim Lee (age 10)<o:p></o:p></b></p> <p face="georgia" class="MsoNormal"><o:p>
<br /></o:p></p><p face="georgia" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p face="georgia" class="MsoNormal">Chapter 1</p> <p face="georgia" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p face="georgia" class="MsoNormal"><font style=""> </font>Kyle sat in the back yard of his house. He was 12 years old, and his parents had just gone to some meeting at his school. He was old enough to stay home, so usually his parents let him. Unless they were going to be away for awhile, like maybe the entire night. In that case a neighbor would come over to check on him now and then.</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><font style=""> </font>Kyle lay back on the soft, slightly damp grass of his yard. His vision slowly went black, although his eyes were open, and he could make out dark forms. He began to see colors and shapes, dancing in front of his eyes. He did not know why this happened, but he enjoyed the sensation. Every time this happened Kyle usually pried himself from the ground before the anything really did something, but tonight he wanted to find out what the climax of his hallucinations was. The patterns got deeper, going into focused detail, but then blurry again. He felt strangely relaxed, pinned to the ground by gravity, his body in another dimension. He started to lift up into the air. Not fully into the air. In the dimension of his back yard, he was laying on the ground with his T-shirt getting slightly wet from dew. However, in the Tachyon dimension, he was in the air, gliding through a tunnel through space.</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><font style=""> </font>Tachyons are particles that can travel faster than the speed of light. Scientists have theories that if something could travel faster than the speed of light, unusual things would start to happen, like the tachyon being able to travel through another dimension of earth and space. In other words, time travel.</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><font style=""> </font>Kyle stared as the colors turned to dark forms and the hallucinations calmed. He then had enough focus to see where he was. His own back yard. He slowly sat up, disappointed that nothing had happened, and he walked over to the front door. He jiggled at the handle, and then realized it was locked. As he was pulling the key out of his back pocket, the door swung open. An old man stood at the door.</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">“Yes?” he said creakily, “Are you selling something?”</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">“No, I was wondering who you are. You’re in my house!” Kyle said uncomfortably.</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">“I live here. My name is Francis Skidmore. Call me Frank.”</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">Kyle figured it out. “Oh…” he said softly.</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">Kyle had traveled into the future. He was now staring at his father, or future father, In about his seventies or eighties. Kyle had discovered a time portal, In his back yard.</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">Chapter 2</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><font style=""> </font>Jason McCrieg walked down the street, weaving and dodging through the throng of businessmen. He couldn’t call them that like he wasn’t. He was a businessman himself. He was an insurance agent for Carlton & McCaster in <st1:place st="on"><st1:city st="on">Washington</st1:city> <st1:state st="on">D.C.</st1:state></st1:place> His job was boring, violently tedious at some points. But, he was making reasonable income, and he was at a steady job, a job that wouldn’t turn its back on him during the economic crisis.</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><font style=""> </font>He was waiting at a street crossing, thinking about his job. He didn’t notice that the walk sign had already flickered on, the timer slowly counting down. At the twentieth count he started to walk. When he had reached about the middle of the cross walk he noticed a bus driving up to the street. He calculated that by the time the bus reached the area that he was in, he would be well across the street. Being distracted by this thought, Jason dropped his brief case. The series of events that followed were the reason Jason McCreig would die, or worse.</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">Kyle stared. He knew it was impolite. But he stared. He was looking at his father. In the future.</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">“You are… dad?”</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">“And, who are you?”</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">“My name is Kyle Skidmore.”</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">“Kyle Skidmore?” the man said, “Kyle… that’s my father’s name.”</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">“What?”</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">“My father, Kyle Skidmore. What is this April fool’s day?” the man said, getting angry.</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">“No, I’m…” Kyle said defeated.</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">“C’mon! Who are you?”</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">“Kyle Skidmore! You’re my father, Frank Skidmore!”</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">“Frank Skidmore? Frank? That’s my grandfather!”</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">It finally dawned on Kyle. He was talking to not his father, but his son.</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">“I, uh…have to um… go. I have to go now.”</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">“Was there something you wanted?” his son said.</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">Kyle started to walk away.</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">“Oh, well I guess not.” His son closed the door.</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">Kyle tried to grasp what had happened. By lying in his yard, Kyle had traveled into the future. There he met his father, no- his son, talked with him and left.</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">Kyle realized his problem. He traveled into the future, yes, that was amazing. But, how did he get back to the past? He considered lying in the yard again, but he didn’t know if it would work. he decided the probability of it actually working was better than walking around trying to time travel, so he went back and found exactly the faded imprint of his form on the damp grass. He lay down, and the show began.</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><font style=""> </font>Jason dropped his briefcase. He watched in horror as all the papers spilled out on to the asphalt. He scrambled to pick them up. The bus driver watched Jason drop the case, but his eye was caught something else. A woman walked across the sidewalk, holding her child’s hand. The child was pulling on the woman’s purse, and just has the bus driver was going to look away, in that split second, the seam of the purse burst. Jewelry, coins and belongings spilled from the bottom of the purse. The child laughed, as an old man slipped on the scattered items, regained his balance and started to mutter. The bus driver did not notice Jason, in front of the bus picking up his own briefcase.</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><font style=""> </font>Jason looked up and in a fraction of a second his mind processed three things; <i style="">Moving bus</i>, <i style="">fallen briefcase</i> and <i style="">certain death</i>.</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">Jason looked up and felt nothing. He saw a huge blue form rushing at him and his world went dark, like an invisible hand had turned out any light in the world. He opened his eyes realizing that he wasn’t dead. There was a dull pressure pounding his ears and a constant ripple of hot and then cold air rushing at him. He watched looked around himself and realized that he was now in the bus, floating in almost slow motion over the seats and bus riders. Slowly things began to speed up to normal time, and Jason hurtled through the bus to the back wall. He braced himself for impact, but the only thing he felt was a slight ripple through his skin and a strange sensation through his stomach. He smacked down on the hard pavement. He looked around. Something was different. Because of a formation of molecules and tachyon particles, he had managed to fly through the bus unharmed and ended up somewhere near the 1950’s. he watched the old fashioned style bus drive away in a cloud of dust and smoke. Jason had time traveled.</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">Note: This is only the first to chapters. It continues, but it was too long to submit all of it.</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p>
<br /></o:p></p><p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><st1:street st="on"><st1:address st="on"><b style="">Third Place</b></st1:address></st1:street><b style="">: “Pure Jazz” by Coby Gray (age 10)<o:p></o:p></b></p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p>
<br /></o:p></p><p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">The music flows out of my bell</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">A river</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">Only stopping to take a breath</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">Cracking sometimes</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">But otherwise perfect</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">Come,</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal">Pure,</p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><b style="">Jazz.<o:p></o:p></b></p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><b style=""><o:p> </o:p></b></p><p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><b style=""><o:p>
<br /></o:p></b></p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><b style="">Honorable Mention: untitled poem by Magnus Aske (age 8)<o:p></o:p></b></p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><b style=""><o:p>
<br /></o:p></b></p><p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><b style=""><o:p> </o:p></b></p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><font color="green">Frog, green frog, bright green spotted frog,<o:p></o:p></font></p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><font color="green">shinny, slippery melody, still… cattails,<o:p></o:p></font></p> <p style="font-family: georgia;" class="MsoNormal"><font color="green">pond… jumping, splashing, swimming, vanished.<o:p></o:p></font></p> Three Little Monkeyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02658363686357290806noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-381656688190904405.post-15914703528327906062009-05-20T10:30:00.007-04:002009-05-22T12:36:48.255-04:00Art Winners 5-7<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVvrLRiXYreh1r1NaefyjW61znH6lMhyZP3D73Fp5jbXRb4XM0j-ZmFZEO9MCUVUbpJncMxT9PxniwURaTZ-MkTaiNhHCpY6TdI2VtUN9nHs8SxWUsd-MEZmd3BWx0U-vMcklhrMiIpH4/s1600-h/NHolton_moonlake5-7.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 323px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVvrLRiXYreh1r1NaefyjW61znH6lMhyZP3D73Fp5jbXRb4XM0j-ZmFZEO9MCUVUbpJncMxT9PxniwURaTZ-MkTaiNhHCpY6TdI2VtUN9nHs8SxWUsd-MEZmd3BWx0U-vMcklhrMiIpH4/s400/NHolton_moonlake5-7.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5338687482532213602" border="0"></a>First place: Natalie Holton, age 7<br />"The Moon Lake" by Ivan Gantschev<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhku9j-KjuSesAxFbeEAVnUhu4Dka1UabRnQZBEOr5TDshjksaCuXNgxWY_M4MU8JN8Eg7fXry-bGbVxxFH5eJ3miNrlsUcLRndPLFPE1aCBhU-JmTKrf4ADjme2kwWPob5El7-P7cMIvQ/s1600-h/TWalsh_washwipe5-7.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 290px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhku9j-KjuSesAxFbeEAVnUhu4Dka1UabRnQZBEOr5TDshjksaCuXNgxWY_M4MU8JN8Eg7fXry-bGbVxxFH5eJ3miNrlsUcLRndPLFPE1aCBhU-JmTKrf4ADjme2kwWPob5El7-P7cMIvQ/s400/TWalsh_washwipe5-7.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5338687083499862306" border="0"></a>Second place: Tess Walsh, age 6<br />"Wash, Wipe"<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6Y-cGX94aE2QcbI_r7iBPV8iyopUjLovoFlFnHp6nhncO-h0IGRoIZY1Q-NOLGFrVVr5f-EvPTeMESOfwEXnNEoQt8O9Wx9oTDZr6AtsyMxn1W_z6G_7hvg-C0QssGWdKcxR-6WgiCoU/s1600-h/GBroughton_maryhadalittlelamb5-7a1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 308px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6Y-cGX94aE2QcbI_r7iBPV8iyopUjLovoFlFnHp6nhncO-h0IGRoIZY1Q-NOLGFrVVr5f-EvPTeMESOfwEXnNEoQt8O9Wx9oTDZr6AtsyMxn1W_z6G_7hvg-C0QssGWdKcxR-6WgiCoU/s400/GBroughton_maryhadalittlelamb5-7a1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5338686200375204690" border="0"></a>Third place: Grace Broughton, age 6<br />"Mary Had a Little Lamb"<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh0QVPcptDnATPwU-D_YpwcKcKaAGdSAdVWDSibLbQcSQYc172B0wRVcDMK2kmUwmUN7GwaGa6xU1nDkJbYUa8N05MXZtQOisESYJhLtGbSJQ_9pM7HzbqFrRkDcZRZw6tJbKspdYF1GU/s1600-h/BWong_Wowwowwubbzy5-7.hm"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 303px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh0QVPcptDnATPwU-D_YpwcKcKaAGdSAdVWDSibLbQcSQYc172B0wRVcDMK2kmUwmUN7GwaGa6xU1nDkJbYUa8N05MXZtQOisESYJhLtGbSJQ_9pM7HzbqFrRkDcZRZw6tJbKspdYF1GU/s400/BWong_Wowwowwubbzy5-7.hm" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5338686594729964130" border="0"></a>Honorable Mention: Benjamin Wong, age 6<br />"Wow Wow Wubbzy: Special Delivery" by Mara ConlonThree Little Monkeyshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02658363686357290806noreply@blogger.com0