Ooey Gooey

My next animation--with no socks involved.  Caden and I made this movie.  Caden set up the train track and provided the audio, and I animated  it.  I hope to make some more of these (and more sock movies too!)

Betsy's Nightgown

Today I sewed a nightgown for Betsy.It has pink flowers and a green neck hole.Tomorrow I will hem it. Betsy likes it.

Grace

More sock motion!

As promised, here is my sock animation sequel.



This one was fun to make.  I especially liked the part at the end where the black sock gulps down the white sock.  I hope to make a third one, but I haven't thought of any more ideas.  Maybe a green sock will be involved...

Betsy and Bella

Mom made me a baby out of a glove.  And she gave it to me.  I named her Bella.  I like to play with her.  Betsy is the mommy and Bella is the kid.

Betsy (6/20/2012)

I popped my baby.  My baby spilled today because I dropped it on the picnic table and it hit a fork.  It made a big splash all over my mother and my sandwich.

I go-ed to church.  I did play toys.

Betsy (6/24/2012)

In The Cellar by Robyn

This is a story I wrote for the Cricket writing contest.
When I got the letter in the mail that I had won it made me realize that that I like writing and that I can do it.

One stormy night Violet lay shivering in her bed listening to the thunder crashing and the rain pitter-pattering on the roof overhead. Her room in this old house that her family had just moved into seemed empty and eerie. "Oh I wish I could be in our old house where I knew that it was safe," she thought to herself.

Suddenly, as the noise of the storm moved away, she thought she heard another scarier sound. A whimpering noise was coming from the cellar directly underneath her room. She got nervously out of bed and crept toward the cellar to check it out. Before she got there her mother ,who was busily unpacking the kitchen, stopped her.

"Go back to bed, Violet," her mom said.

"But mom..."

Her mom cut her off. "Go back to bed now, Violet!"

Violet went sulkily back to bed.

The whimpering sound continued. Finally around midnight she couldn't stand it anymore! She had to find out what it was! She got out of bed again and tiptoed quietly over to the cellar.

It was pitch black as she entered the cellar. She needed a flashlight. She soundlessly stole back up to her room, got a flashlight out of her backpack and tiptoed back to the top of the stairs leading down to the cellar.

As she entered the cellar something growled uneasily at her from behind the furnace. Violet carefully crept over to the furnace and found the source of the growl and the whimpering. It was a big black dog.

His foot was stuck in a rat trap. She gently whispered kind words to the dog until it let her take his foot out of the rat trap. She found the dog some food and gently led him back to bed. Both Violet and the dog slept well in the safety of each other's company all the rest of that dark night.

Violet was thrilled the next morning when her parents let her keep the dog. They lived happily ever after.

A Psalm of Life

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow circa 1850

I have in my collection a book called The Poetical Works of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (comprising his poems from 1839 to 1847).  It has an inscription in the front that says:

Mary L. Cassin 

From Aunt Emily 

Christmas 1896

Its in pretty darn good shape for a 116 year old book, it looks like only the first 20 pages have been read.   I'm guessing Mary used it like I do, as a decoration.  I took it down and actually read some of it the other day.   Mary and I have been missing out!   

 I fell in love with one of the poems, A Psalm of Life.  It's awesome!  The kids and I are now working on memorizing it.  It's got an amazing message and cool words like "bivouac" in it.  What's not to love?!!

A Psalm of Life 

by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Tell me not, in mournful numbers,

Life is but an empty dream!

For the soul is dead that slumbers,

And things are not what they seem.

Life is real!  Life is earnest!

And the grave is not its goal;

Dust thou art, to dust returnest,

Was not spoken of the soul.

Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,

Is our destined end or way;

But to act, that each to-morrow

Find us farther than to-day.

Art is long, and Time is fleeting,

And our hearts, though stout and brave,

Still, like muffled drums, are beating

Funeral marches to the grave.

In the world's broad field of battle,

In the bivouac of Life,

Be not like dumb, driven cattle!

Be a hero in the strife!

Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant!

Let the dead past bury its dead!

Act, -act, in the living Present!

Heart within, and God o'erhead!

Lifes of great men all remind us

We can make our lives sublime,

And, departing, leave behind us

Footprints on the sands of time;-

Footprints, that, perhaps another, 

Sailing o'er life's solemn main,

A forlorn and shipwrecked brother

Seeing, shall take heart again.

Let us, then, be up and doing,

With a heart for any fate;

Still achieving, still pursuing,

Learn to labor and to wait.  

PS: bivouac means a temporary dwelling place, like a campsite.  Now I'm off to be a hero and leave some footprints on the sands of time, with deep gratitude for the footprints of others that have given me heart today and everyday!

Kim (June 22, 2012)