Favorite Place

Ann Wilson
Martens
Grammar
September 4, 2009
Perfection in the Forest
After an exhausting four, or sometimes five, days at my dad’s house in Colorado Springs, I am always eager to arrive back to my favorite place on earth; my mother’s house. An hour’s drive from my dad’s house, through windy, dirt roads and mountains it sits tucked into a heavily wooded forest outside of Cripple Creek.
As I close in on the last turn to her house, I throw my car into four-wheel drive to prepare for the approaching terrain. Seeing first the cul-de-sac around which we live, I observe our trampoline. It’s on a very large flat and bare area that we feel free to utilize, as there are no other houses in the cul-de-sac. My brother and I used to jump on it every single day after school when we were younger. Soon, I make a diagonal left turn to start up our very treacherous driveway that gets washed out by the rain a little more each summer. Once at the top of our round about driveway, I look up at our two-story, faded blue home. Just in front of me are the very old, worn stairs that lead up to the main entrance of the house on the second floor. A huge covered porch is on the left of the doorway and stretches around to cover the entire face of the house. A set of iron chairs, table and a sun chair are scattered about a BBQ that we frequently use during the summer. A wooden doghouse also sits against the house. I observe the plethora of birds and squirrels all around as they race to be the first to my mom’s several bird houses, squirrel feeders and hummingbird feeders that hang from the eaves of the house. My dogs stay entertained the entire day as they chase the neurotic animals.
When I first walk through the screen door and push open the deep brown front door, I see the dining room and kitchen area. My mom always has two plates containing our dinner, wrapped with cling wrap waiting for my brother and I, as she has already left for work. A couple beautiful, leafy plants adorn the dining room table, the top of the microwave at my right and one that hangs from the ceiling in the kitchen. The entire wall that faces the cul-de-sac is lined with large windows that let in huge amounts of light in the mornings. The whole house always smells like a mixture of clean laundry, delicious food and those beautiful, well-kept plants.
I move on, through the table area, which opens into a large living room. The whole top floor is very open and has only one wall that separates the kitchen from the living room. On the right, against the separating wall, is a wooden bookshelf that my brother made himself in woodshop last year to give to my mom. In front of me, there is a love seat with an Indian throw folded on the back that we purchased on our vacation to the Grand Canyon. On the couch’s left there is an end table that is completely taken over by a monstrous aloe Vera plant. There is a glass coffee table in front of the couch and another large sofa on the right of that. The couches face towards a stand that holds a very large TV, a DVD player and my brother’s game systems with which we entertain ourselves on days when it is so snowy that going anywhere is not an option.
Continuing on, to the right of the living room are the stairs that descend to my mother’s room, a bathroom and the laundry room. On the right of the stairs is the large, open hallway that leads to another bathroom on the right where we all scramble to get ready in the mornings. Straight down the hallway is the doorway to my brother’s room that I never dare to enter for fear of what may lurk inside. To the left of his room is another door. This door leads to my bedroom.
When I open the door a queen-sized bed decorated with a fluffy, light blue and white comforter, is caddy cornered in front of me. On my right is my blue recliner, placed under a hanging light and in front of a large window. Here is where I read, do my homework and where my best friend insists on sitting when we have long talks or watch TV. To my immediate left is a large dresser that holds all of my jewelry and some books of mine scattered on the top. The wall adjacent to the dresser holds two closet doors on each end. In between the doors sits a small TV stand that holds my silver TV and a DVD player. I watch a particular funny movie most nights before I go to bed using it.
When I sit on my bed to rest for the day, there is a nightstand to the right. Placed on it are a small lamp, a stack of books and my black alarm clock that I grow to hate a little more every time it goes off. My room smells of a Japanese cherry blossom candle that my mom gave to me as a Christmas gift last year. Out my two large windows on either side of my bed, I look at the gigantic pine trees standing everywhere and the ground scattered with columbines. Most mornings I see deer loping around outside.
My mother’s house is by far my favorite place on earth. It is always so warm and welcoming. The sounds of cars, sirens or neighbors are non-existent. It is always so peaceful and quiet, save the afternoon thunderstorms during the summer. This place is where I long to be after a rough day at school, an exhausting day of work and when I have any down time whatsoever. It is the perfect getaway from the busy city and our hectic schedules. It is ours and only ours. It is the most perfect and beautiful place I have ever been.

Earliest Memory

Ann Wilson
Mrs. Martens
Grammar Composition
8/28/09
The World’s Best Hairdresser
It all started in the playroom. Cars of every different color scattered on the floor with stuffed animals and various toys scattered in between. It was everything a toddler needed to stay entertained, but I was an exception. My brother, maybe two at the time, was perfectly content with his cars and monster trucks. I examined this sea of entertainment but, of course, nothing caught my eye.
"This is boring! I'm doing something better!" I taunted my brother. He was angry for a second but quickly got over it and continued his activity. I had to get him thoroughly upset though. I stepped closer to him and kicked his car. He immediately broke into tears, ran to his car and attempted to throw it at me. I easily stepped out of the way and laughed. My work here was done.
Now, I was finished with this childish nonsense. I would find something much more entertaining and actually worth my time. He would be insanely jealous. I started towards the stairs stepping on all the toys we had thrown all over the floor. Holding onto the banister, that was at least a foot over my head, for balance I started my journey up the stairs. Quickly getting sick of reaching over my head I dropped to all fours and resorted to crawling. At the top, I gently pushed open the slightly cracked white door. I didn't want to make any noise because my parents may question me. I refused to let this search be interrupted.
My mom and dad were sitting at the dining room table mindlessly chatting about who knows what. I was just out of their view. The only place I could really go without being seen was to the bathroom. Being as quiet as I possibly could, I tiptoed to the slightly cracked door of the bathroom. I slid through, not touching the door, and not making a single peep. Now, it was time to complete my mission.
I scanned the white and light blue bathroom. On the right was an ocean-size bathtub with rubber duckies lining the sides. After further observation of the tub, nothing really caught my eye. I continued on. The toilet tucked in its cubby, cut in the wall, was now in front of me. I looked around at the fluffy blue seat coverings, a tissue box on the back and a black plunger on the right and became discouraged. Was the whole world this excruciatingly boring?!
Just as I was about to give up I peered up onto the white counter. I looked past the shell-shaped sink and a large mirror and found my entertainment. There was my whole afternoon lying in front of me. My brother would envy me forever. What I now had in front of me was a beautiful pair of black-handled scissors. Gleaming bright in the bathroom lights, they called to me. I stared in awe and complimented myself on being such a pioneer. I had always wanted to be a hair stylist.
I took them into my right hand and began making myself beautiful. I was a professional stylist in my salon. My first step was giving myself bangs. I brushed my hair into my face so it covered my eyes. I took the scissors and cut from ear to ear. Let me tell you, they were the most perfect bangs I have ever seen. It was a straight line across my forehead and I had such a clear view of everything. No more hair in my face! Then I got creative. I gave myself layers, a partial mo-hawk on my left side, and kept most of the length in the back. I didn't even need that mirror! I was already so great at this I even surprised myself. I cut shapes into my bangs and it really gave it an elegant feature. To finish the look, I grabbed a pair of bright green sunglasses from the basket of toys on the side of the bathtub and put them on. I looked like I was straight out of a magazine. It was absolutely fabulous.
Once I decided the look was complete, I put the scissors back and admired my work one last time. Hair lay in a large circle at my feet. I swept it into one large lump with my hands and put it in the toilet. The handle was far out of my reach so I didn't bother flushing the evidence. It was time to show my parents what a beautiful movie star they had!
As I walked noisily out of the salon to gain their complete attention, my parents glanced over. They immediately whipped their heads around to take another look. Now was the part when they would gasp in shock at my creativity and wonder how they had gone so long without noticing my expertise. As I watched their faces though, I was overwhelmed with horror. Their jaws dropped and as seconds passed my dad broke into hysterical laughter! The audacity! Laughter?! His face was actually turning red and tears filled his eyes and, at the same time, they began to fill mine as well. How on earth could this be his reaction?!
My mother came to my rescue. She quickly scooped me up and ordered my dad to stop. She sat me on the dining room table and examined my head. Stifling her laughter she asked, "Honey what have you done with your hair?"
I wailed, "It's in the toilet!” This ended my parents’ attempts to be nice. Both of them burst into laughter, leaving me helpless on the dining room table bawling my eyes out. This was the most beautiful haircut this world had ever seen, and it was being mocked. After the horrifying ordeal, I was scarred forever and I have never dared to cut my own hair again. I will certainly save myself the embarrassment and spare my very unappreciative parents. They obviously don't know art when they see it, so I won’t waste my time.

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