  Hey guys! So, I know that I'm a little behind the times with the blog, but I just wanted go back to Pat's thing on the essays and sharing them with each other.
I think it's a really good idea, especially for people in the other classes to share essays about the same books. Anyways...Pat, I thought that your essay was really good. It reminded me of how materialistic America has become, and we all get swept up in it.
As much as you think you don't, I'm sure that all of you have. I mean, we all go to Skyview, and none of us seem to be doing that poorly. I mean, my parents both of decent jobs, we live in a pretty nice house, and we have enough food and clothes and things. I just throw myself a pity part sometimes, when I go over to a friend's house who lives in Ashley Heights or has a closet full of nice clothes, or wears a different outfit every day...it makes it really hard to be content with what you have and to not be dissatisfied. But (I'm gonna be religious here), as long as you lean on God, you should never be dissatisfied with what you have.
And that's something that I struggle with, but that your essay reminded me of. So, thanks Pat. I wrote a parody, and it's not too bad. It follows these few pages in "Their Eyes Were Watching God," and it's a really amazing part of the book that I wanted to try to recreate. It was hard, so I'm not sure how good my parody is. Read it, see what you think of it! But I've gotta go.
All of the Junior Project stuff is do tomorrow...I should start. Bye! Bethany Mary looked up at her with hungry eyes, only wanting to listen to the unfolding story of her Mom’s life. Sarah looked around as her eyes slowly took in the summer surroundings. Bees swimming drunkenly from flower to flower, the sun slowly dipping into the Puget Sound, and the gentle crash of waves on the shore. She smiled and gazed down at her patient daughter. Mary’s unanticipated interest in Sarah’s teenage years inspired her to tell her story. She thought of where to begin, and her eyes glanced heavenwards. The afternoon sunlight danced through the branches of the weeping willow tree and made playful shadows oh Mary’s excited face.
Sarah sighed with content, and decided to begin at the time when she first imagined that maybe she wasn’t a little girl anymore- that maybe she was growing into something greater. She decided to tell Mary about the time she swam in the ocean at midnight. It was a warm, summer evening on Whidbey Island. Sarah had spent the evening roasting s’mores over a beach fire and singing songs with her family. Every evening of that weeklong vacation, she had been on the beach. She spent every moment walking along the shore, but at night liked to listen to the waves crash on the rocks, slowly churning beach glass and barnacles into sand. The ocean called to her, like a mystery that needed to be unearthed. Not in the way that the ocean calls to a sailor, but she was mesmerized by the intense drifting current and the white foam that disappeared after only moments on the rocky shore.
It inspired her. How? Why? It was like a beat lost long ago, in another time, drifting across the ocean to meet her. What? How? Why? The song of the ocean was not a real song, yet the salt sea air made her drunk to the world. It followed her through her every move, and it pleasantly haunted her dreams and thoughts. The ocean sang to her, the waves the symphony and the air its conductor. It seemed to connect her to a place or time almost unreal; her observations became acute and alive. Things that she had not noticed suddenly became vivid and momentous. They were unearthed and filled her mind and conscience. She took a few steps towards the water, admiring the sparkling rocks and glistening water. Although her father’s guitar was now safely inside the cabin, the song still swayed in her mind, a friend in the warm night.
Suddenly the guitar, waves, and air were all playing together in harmony; a melody so strong and inspiring yet so soft and beckoning that she could hardly contain herself. She fell against the soft sand and stared at the stars, twinkling happily in the dark sky. Why had she never noticed them before?
The song of the ocean controlled her; she closed her eyes and seemed to float closer and closer towards heaven and the stars. Did the waves always make music? Did the moon always make the water sparkle like diamonds? Yes, but not for her. Tonight was her night. She felt limp and drunk with flying towards heaven and listening to earth’s song. After awhile she stood up and looked across the Sound. She was seeking some sort of confirmation of her vision, her dream, her revelation.
She received her answer. The water nodded its agreement, the waves roared its truth, and the stars shone in affirmation. The waves rushed over her bare feet, a usually chilling sensation that now left her smiling with indescribable warmth. She waded into the water. About to dive in, she glanced back at the cabin where here parents and siblings were sleeping. She turned around and dove into the cold water. She was seventeen! She was a dancing star and a singing wave, turning over and over in the ocean. Was the sky so joyful for her? Nothing answered. She searched the heavens, floating across the waves in the water.
Looking, waiting, breathing short with impatience. She stood and looked around her; the world was made in a new light. 
