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Adora Svitak's Journal
"Mr. and Mrs. Journal"
I will begin with a letter concerning my day, yesterday, and the day of a couple of anonymous individuals who would probably prefer not to be named. You may sit back and enjoy if it is possible/convenient for you.
As yesterday was doubtless a longer day (having begun today just reccently) I shall begin with the notable and not-so-notable events of yesterday.
To begin with one must know that I attend a school called Seeds of Learning where I am homeschooled; in the morning, we have class from nine to twelve, and in the afternoon, we take class from three to five, doing homework from five to six.
We learn about the details of gory battles, notorious monarchs, and various other interesting things; but in any case I was sitting at my desk, doing a mixture of math, absent-minded doodling on my well-worn workbook, and a couple of secret things.
When school was done and we had recieved our homework (which we invented ourselves) we...
TO BE CONTINUED
Current mood:
gloomy.
The sky is gloomy, foggy white, the sun almost blocked by the clouds and the breeze silently sweeping in. Hopes of good weather are mere flecks of blue behind the clouds, and everything is cold and glum.
The shadiest places are freezing cold with winter's icy winds; the hottest places, on which the sun has breifly smiled on, are refreshingly warm to one who has walked in the breeze but cold and unwelcoming to those who have remained sheltered in a warm house.
To go outside without freezing to death people must huddle together in the warm spots, quickly run together through the colder spots clutching each-other's hands, and again crouch down, in fear of the coming wind, ready to run.
Current mood:
groggy.
The giraffe basked in the sunlight, one great gold spot shining on his back as he swept his tail across his back legs and stretched his neck up to devour the leaves; the zebra, striped, and woefully short, looked up in envy, and edged away.
The giraffe then bent down, the majestic head lowered to the lush grass, and began grazing, peacefully, like the others, and, like the zebra who had looked at him so enviously before, he was now eating grass.
________________________________________
We looked in through the windows, our noses pressed to the glass, ignoring the sign that clearly read "PLEASE STAY BEHIND RAILING" and ducking our heads up and under the wooden fence in front of the glass; some tapped on the glass and others remained staring through it; some zoomed in on the scene on digital cameras, while others merely installed the image firmly in their mind; it was indeed a beautiful sight, the animals walking about; some were excercising and showing off to the crowd; others were napping curled up in the few corners they had their privacy; and yet others were doing a mixture of both, seeming to close their eyes and fall asleep, suddenly to spring up again and begin showing off.
________________________________________
Current mood:
sleepy.
Writing is something that gives you a chance to share your ideas. They can be stupid or silly or smart. Or creative.
I started writing when I was four, about little boys in restaurants and fantasy fairylands-things almost everybody has read about before. My mom helped me hold the pencil, which was ridiculously brobdingnagian to a midget of my puny size.
Now I still like to write fantasy stories, but with strong women characters and complex plots; with antagonists who are clever and cunning and prove worthy adversaries to the heroes of the story. I like writing about these things because they are both more interesting to read about and write; they are more unique and give me the opportunity to really share my ideas in an interesting setting.
To a four-year-old, words appearing on previously blank paper, words simply flowing out from a pencil, was magic. It still is magic to me sometimes, when I tilt my head and look at my notebook or my computer sideways, to see those words, appearing on paper or my laptop browser.
The mini-movie inside my head that I can enjoy watching while I write is also rather magical. With an infinite number of screens through which I can watch my characters, I am the omniscient narrator. Only too bad I'm not omnipotent…my characters rebel only too often.
I'm of the opinion writing gives you free rein to really express your ideas. You can create fantasy fairylands or science fiction planets; you can complain about unfair things under the cover of a story, making yourself the martyr; you can make fun of the people you hate and insert and exaggerate your own personal experiences; you can do whatever you want in the world of writing. You can make your archenemy the corpulent slug or the evil villain; you can make best friend the protagonist. I believe that everybody should experience the joy of writing; writing gives you the power to do whatever you want, wherever, whenever, and however.
Current mood:
calm.
We the common children of the United States of America demand true equality for all! We have been held in contempt by adults, who would take away our rights, and many youngsters have been mistreated, misunderstood, and assumed inferior to adults; we have been disrespected in many forms and underestimated by many; we are ordered around like tame dogs and often told, "You'll know when you're older..." There are centuries of knowledge in this world; why should adults selfishly keep it to themselves, or refuse to admit it when they do not know the answer to a question made by a child? Why do adults, who advise their children not to lie, often use trickery and deception themselves? Why do adults, who advise their children not to fight, with speech or fist, are really the ones who inspire skirmishes with their loud arguments in the kitchen?
And why do many online journals and blogs put the minimum age to thirteen? Why are children excluded from these sites and those responsible for this exclusion claim it is for safety? Do these sites really think this would stop a determined blogger?
And why does the misbehavior of one tiny midget cause adults to equally blame those related, by blood or deed, to the troublemaker? Why does the irresponsibility of one tiny midget cause adults to think children are irresponsible and not trustworthy on the whole?
Why is it an adult's task to discipline the child, not vice versa? Adults surely make just as many, if not more, mistakes as a child? Why must an adult, when angry at some other person, take out their anger on a child? This is unfair beyond words; adults demand perfect obedience from their children; everlasting respect, even when they are making decisions of pure stupidity?
Why is it adults have the power to forbid the consuming of the following articles of food: ice cream, cake, and other vital, essential foods for children? Why is it adults have the power to force and punish, to shout and yell, etc.!!! We the United Association of Revolutionary Children, we of all races, wealth, and faith; let us rise up against those tyrants who hold us in bondage; let us have true freedom, and turn away from the paternalistic government of adults; let us have TRUE FREEDOM FOR ALL!!!
SIGNED,
Adora Svitak &
The Revolutionary Children of the United States of America
Current mood:
infuriated.
TO DADDY Happy Father's Day!!!
FROM ME HAPPY FATHER'S DAY!!!
Happy Father's Day!!!
HAPPY FATHER'S DAY!!!
To the best dad in the world, mine and
A's:
Whether you're on the pot
Or exploring life's thorny forests
I will always love you a lot
So Happy Father's Day!
Dear Daddy--
Had money to buy you a present
But didn't want to bother you driving me to get it
Had ideas to make a present
But didn't want to make a mess of construction paper
Which you claim you end up cleaning up.
But I can easily produce enough love
To take the time to make a poem
Only thing I need to bother you with
Is not to see it
Until I say it's done.
Infinity baskets of love from
Adora
Current mood:
pessimistic.
TO DADDY Happy Father's Day!!!
FROM ME HAPPY FATHER'S DAY!!!
Happy Father's Day!!!
HAPPY FATHER'S DAY!!!
To the best dad in the world, mine and
A's:
Whether you're on the pot
Or exploring life's thorny forests
I will always love you a lot
So Happy Father's Day!
Dear Daddy--
Had money to buy you a present
But didn't want to bother you driving me to get it
Had ideas to make a present
But didn't want to make a mess of construction paper
Which you claim you end up cleaning up.
But I can easily produce enough love
To take the time to make a poem
Only thing I need to bother you with
Is not to see it
Until I say it's done.
Infinity baskets of love from
Adora
Current mood:
pessimistic.
If you're interested in my writing, I'd like to announce I'm doing a fifteen-minute speech about writing, reading, and congratulating winners of this year's Redmond writing contest. You can find me at 12: 30, Anderson Park.
ONLINE HISTORY CLASS #2
KING HENRY AND HIS SIX WIVES
King Henry was born Prince Henry Tudor June 28th, 1491. He became one of the most famous monarchs in English-and worldwide-history. Why?
His six wives.
Prince Henry Tudor was the second son of King Henry VII and Elizabeth of York. He was athletic, handsome, and talented, being accomplished in poetry and music among other things, and was said to have written "Greensleeves", although modern historians are now not so sure.
Prince Henry's older brother, Prince Arthur, was destined to be the king after King Henry VII. He was, in other words, the "heir" to the throne, and was really the one trained to be king. However, Prince Arthur was sickly, often catching colds, and not as handsome as his younger brother.
At the time it was quite common for European monarchs or other influential or powerful people to marry off their sons and daughters to other wealthy or powerful people. Matches were usually made for money or power, hardly ever love, although some royal couples did get along. Matches were also made to strengthen relationships with the leaders of neighboring kingdoms or duchies or ally rulers against a common enemy. One of these such matches was made between the son and heir of King Henry VII, sickly Prince Arthur, and the daughter of Isabella of Castile--Catherine of Aragon.
Catherine of Aragon was the daughter of Ferdinand of Aragon (a large part of Spain) and Isabella of Castile (its neighboring part). Isabella and Ferdinand made peace between the warring parts through their marriage and wanted to make a good political move through the marriage of their daughters and sons.
Catherine of Aragon was finally shipped off to England, knowing none or little English with a few servants and a friend of Queen Isabella's to chaperone her. They landed in Plymouth, in England, on October 2, 1501. She was married to Prince Arthur around a month later on November 14, 1501 at Old St. Paul's Cathedral, London.
After much of the wedding fuss had been gotten over, feasts had been finished and wedding dances had been danced, Ludlow Castle, on the Welsh border (the heir to the throne, or Prince Arthur, was traditionally Prince of Wales), became Catherine and Arthur's new home.
Catherine and Arthur spent some time in Ludlow before Arthur, always a sickly boy, suddenly passed away, perhaps of the "sweating sickness". Catherine was childless, husbandless, and would soon become almost penniless.
Catherine was almost or completely at King Henry VII's mercy. She had hardly any money left of her own (if she had any) and she was unable to use her marriage dowry, which consisted of several items of worth, to buy food and other essentials, because it officially belonged to Henry VII.
At first King Henry VII was for marrying Catherine to Prince Henry, the new heir of England. It was still a good political move. He agreed to do so and it seemed final.
But King Henry VII changed his mind and forced his son to write an article stating that he had been forced into the marriage. Young Prince Henry was really quite taken with Catherine and unwillingly did so. Catherine was a prisoner of the king.
After Henry VII died, Henry VIII took control. He made Catherine of Aragon his wife and they were formally crowned, raising Catherine from the lowly posistion she had been in to one of the highest in the land: Queen of England.
The first thing Henry wanted was a male heir. Catherine had a few miscarriages until she gave birth to a baby boy, whom she named Henry after her husband. Obviously there was a lack of name creativity in the Tudor family. Henry, Henry, Henry. But in any case, the baby boy should have led the way for a happy ending.
Only too wrong.
Full of smiles, wit and charm, Catherine of Aragon was enchantingly beautiful to King Henry VIII. Her face was a little plump, but it only gave her a healthy appearance. Now, after numerous miscarriages and royal life weighing down on her, she was short and fat, with little of her earlier beauty left in her pudgy body. She did give birth successfully, but only to a baby girl, whose name was Princess Mary.
At the time Catherine was strictly Catholic, like the majority of people of her native Spain. The Pope, the head of the Catholic Church, had before said that Catherine's marriage to Henry had been valid despite the fact the Bible said it was un-Christian to marry your dead brother's wife. So Henry and Catherine could easily marry without fearing the fires of hell. But now Henry was tired of Catherine, who had only managed to give him a girl and a prince who had only lived for 52 days. Henry wanted an heir who would become king after him and keep England in Tudor hands.
At the time Henry had various mistresses, but there are only two we know of: Bessie Blount and Mary Boleyn, who was the sister of the infamous woman who would become his second wife.
King Henry wanted his marriage to Catherine annulled, or made unlawful and invalid by the Catholic Church. The Pope would not agree, and this was followed by arguments, pleas, court cases, meetings, and etc. Henry finally broke off from the Catholic Church, declaring himself the head of the Protestant church of England. He divorced Catherine, making Princess Mary an illegitimate child, and brought his new queen into the spotlight. Her name was Anne Boleyn.
Much of England was shocked by their king's actions. Most were of the Catholic faith and disliked Anne Boleyn, calling her names and declaring their loyalty to Catherine in the streets as the king's procession went by. King Henry was enchanted by her and refused to listen to growing rumors she was a witch.
The King, as well as the rest of the court, excitedly waited for the birth of Anne Boleyn's child. King Henry VIII was sure it was to be a boy; "Prince" had already been written in the proclomation of its birth. The baby's gender would determine the fate of England--and, as it later came to be, the fate of Anne Boleyn herself.
The baby was a girl.
Princess Elizabeth's title was quickly raised over "Lady Mary's". While Mary still had a fairly respectable title, she was made to live under the care of Anne Boleyn's relations, who were directed to slap her if she referred to Catherine of Aragon as the queen. She was forced to watch as Princess Elizabeth, dressed in gowns of most expensive material, was carried past in luxurious litters; she was forced to walk in the mud behind Elizabeth like a common servant; and indeed, she was hardly more than that in the castle she lived in.
King Henry VIII's need for an heir increased as he became older, and finally he executed Anne Boleyn on charges of meeting other men and Wife Number Three, Jane Seymour, was brought into the spotlight.
Jane Seymour died after giving birth to Edward, King Henry's first boy. It was possible King Henry actually loved Jane Seymour, as he mourned for a deccent time after her death. None of his other wives--Anne of Cleves, Katherine Howard, and Kathryn Parr--gave him baby boys, so he had to be content with Edward as he grew old and fat.
A RHYME TO REMEMBER KING HENRY'S WIVES:
Divorced, beheaded, died
Divorced, beheaded, survived .
Current mood:
sleepy.
Dear Mr. or Mrs. Journal:
Saturday went fine, beginning as usual with me up before A, although narrowly. I spent some time with her in the bathroom admiring her fine block art and then moved on to terrorizing our parents (namely, sneaking up on them and annoying them while they discussed some "serious business".
As usual when terrorizing my parents I stole my mom's slippers and impersonated her, making A think I was her and fooling her (much to A's indignation).
Right I am debating what to have for breakfast, as today is a Saturday (meaning I want something special), while precious time is running out and my stomach is rumbling more and more.
Current mood:
hungry.