Personal Narrative Strategies

technique is one that I really wish that I could accomplish, but it is hard. Just knowing

Personal protective equipment was worn, and safety procedures briefed prior to beginning the experiment. After obtaining, and cleaning a 2-quart plastic container, we transferred heaping scoop of clean, dry bentonite clay for making the sample. We weighed out XX-grams of bentonite using a digital scale (+/- 0.01gm) and a thin plastic weigh trays on a tare-zeroed scale. The of bentonite was added to XX-mL of warm water using the laboratory mixer seen in Fig. 1 to make standard (15-cP) mud. The speed of the mixer was set to create a cone vortex in the middle of the mixing cup, and bentonite added to the mixing cup within 1-minute. We continued to mix the mud for seven additional minutes increasing speed as required to keep the particles in suspension. The sample was then poured into a clean plastic quart size container, sealed and labelled properly. The remaining sample was then stored at room temperature (68 ℉) for 1-week to allow sample to fully hydrate.'

She carries symbolic bracelets and tangled up headphones and torn playbills. She carries crumpled sheet music, a highlighted play script, a rusty gun and holster, an old calculator, worn out journals for writing fragmented lyrics, passionate feelings, unforgotten memories, and so much more. Twice or three times a week she carries packets of law and a lunch that was packed that morning. She carries a water bottle that is always half empty, or much like herself, half full, depending on how you see it. Wyatt carries the priceless shark tooth necklace she gave him, locked away somewhere unknown. Hannah carries the cheap but meaningful books that she gave her, unread but still valued. Her mother carries the candy she gave her, hard but sweet, a reflection of her soul. Something they all carried in common, was that they all carried something that was given; taking turns, they carried pieces of her shattered heart.

“In order to become a truly good and versatile musician in the long term, correct technique is very important.” (LTP Editor, 2014)

Reflecting back on my goals from my fall modern one midterm exam, I set goals of increasing the strength and articulation of my spine when contracting and extending, using my understanding of grounded and weight  more in movement, and learning to adjust to different changes of facing and directions. After evaluating myself in terms of musicality, technique dynamics, and how well I accept and apply feedback, I feel that I accomplished my midterm goals and progressed into a more confident student than I have ever been in modern.

I caused Greg to break his hand without any remorse at the time. Greg was a high school acquaintance who tended to bully me. He was significantly taller, stronger and more athletic; therefore physically bullying me wasn’t much effort for him. When I heard he was coming to work at the warehouse, I wasn’t particularly happy about it. The warehouse contained boxes from multiple suppliers. Some were really thick and some were really thin. They all contained books, though some were heavy text books while others were light weight paper backs. All workers with experience knew which boxes were heavy, which had thick soft cardboard as a box, and which were encased in thin cardboard. I waited until Greg stopped by with his working partner for

Most of my drumming moves was OK, but I wanted to get even better. I was pretty excited when my instructor showed up at 430. "Hey, professor, I'm so glad you came to learn me to play!" I said. He got to the point. "Lets see how you play now, and then we'll improve it," he said. I played Tapper's Suite Better than ever, but my skill went unnoticed. "First," he said, "You must set the drum at elbow level. Then we'll worked on your arms and hands." We positioned the drum, and I played again. "Your left hand your weaker is lagging," he said, "and, what's worse, your holding the stock wrong." He made me hold my elbows in grip the stick securely, and straight with the same force from each hand. I was happier before I knew how worse I was

I wake up at 5:30, five days a week, and each time I try to cram in five extra minutes, I end up having a late start to my day.

The most powerful moment that has happened to me involving music happened in the middle of my seventh grade year. Prior to seventh grade, I played the violin but desired to learn the Double Bass. I asked a few times if I could switch instruments so that I could fulfil that desire, but my teacher always turned me down telling me that I should just stick with the violin, this of course made me devasted. Then the following school year, the teacher asked if anybody could play Bass because Alex (the bassist) had moved to a different school and we had only one bassist left in the orchestra and at that moment I got my chance to learn an instrument that I not only loved to hear, but also loved to look at, listen to and play. My teacher was skeptical

Hiro didn't attend school that day, emotionally and physically drained by the past few hours. The pattern repeated the in the two following days until the week had come to a close. One day of wallowing in grief was turning into a weekend affair. This was the kind of anniversary no one wanted to remember, but the squeezing pain of loss made itself known regardless.

At this point it was halfway through the year of 2006, summer break had just begun. The third grade was a difficult school year, this year I was introduced to the End of Grade state exams. Nonetheless, I passed the third grade along with Ruby passing kindergarten. This year so far was already a fantastic year, and it was only about to become better. My family had discussed plans about this summer, it was going to be the best summer ever. This summer was packed with trips to public swimming pools, visiting our relatives, fishing at my grandparents, and our annual trip to the beach. On this warm, breezy evening in early June, eight-year-old me in this brand-new blue dress with two bright yellow bows with my sister, were in my parent’s bedroom

“So, uh, you’re not going to believe this.” These are the words I hear upon answering my phone. My friend continues, “I just dropped off my wife at work, and well, one tire is facing straight and the other one is not.” I get dizzy and my face lights up red as I hear the description of my car. My friend continues to stammer as he tries to explain what happened, but I don’t listen to any of it. I know that I’m getting the bill no matter what happened. “Well, have it towed to a shop.” I say, most likely interrupting his continued jabbering. “Call me when it’s there and I’ll take care of it.” This was not the first, or last, time that I had to make sure an unplanned event could be taken care of out of my pocket. In most people's lives there will

My mom’s anger over the dog upsets me. Last Friday my mom and dad were trying to clean out Spenser's ears. My mom could tell he didn't’ want his ears cleaned because he looked hesitant from the beginning. Right when my mom stuck the first cotton ball in his ear, he started to majorly crawl. My mom threw her hands up in frustration and huffed outside to the front porch where she sat for 20 minutes until she came back in grumbling under breath in annoyance. She was afraid he was going to bite her because he has done that before with my sister. My dad tried talking to my mom, but she just kept yelling. I could feel the thick air from all the stress and tension. SInce my mom gave up on trying with Spenser, she brought up the fact that she

Generations and generations of my family have been Christians who followed Christ; so I grew up going to church and serving the Lord. I loved school, learning, and the Lord. Those were my three passions growing up. I did exceptionally well every year of school. I received A’s and a 4.0 GPA throughout all my school years. By my freshman year of high school I was ahead credits and on the road to graduating early. Then a turn of events happened. I met a boy; who became my boyfriend. We were happy and in love. Although my family was against it, they permitted me to move in with his family because of our persistency. His family was perfect in my eyes; after all his parents were still married and mine were not. Even though I had two exceptional

As the doors opened I saw the white ceramic floor, the red and grey lockers, and the alphabetically arranged hallways. I was in an American High school. At this moment a jolt of energy gushed through me and made me feel on top of the world, however as the day progressed, my head started to observe the ceramic floor more than the diverse group of people in this school. I felt like I was an “inbetweener” and I am not even bi-racial. This feeling of being an outcast made me homesick. A few months into the school year my English Two teacher gave me a book called “The Gifted Hands.” It was after reading this book, about Ben Carson, I realized I am not the only kid in high school that is feeling out of place. I learned that although our experiences might differ, we were all students trying to skip these few years and become a senior.