Friday, April 30, 2010
Saturday, March 27, 2010
A Pair of Spectacles: or Cinderella Retold by Maggie
“Oomph! This trash can is too heavy! Oh, hi. My name is Marguerite. Call me Maggie for short. You may have heard of my step-sister, Cinderella*? Of course you have. It’s all her fault now that I’m emptying the trash can. How? Well, she used to work for us- I didn’t have to dress my dolls… or feed the dogs... or push the play button on my iPod**. Now all of that’s changed. Here, let me tell you what really happened. And let me tell it right.
“It all started when Mom got a phone call from the royal palace one day. It wasn’t an invitation, like the author insisted, but that really didn’t have anything to do with it. The conversation (over the phone!) changed everything. And, because my mom didn’t want anyone hearing her (she put our phone off speakerphone), I only heard bits and pieces of the conversation. And the next thing I new, I was going to win the prince’s hand, I thought. Unfortunately, I had the wrong idea.
“‘Now listen, girls,’ Mom said to me and my sister, Mildred, ‘One of you has been picked to marry the prince. At a masquerade. Tomorrow night.’ ‘Which?’ we both asked at the same time. ‘Why, of course I don’t know,’ said my mom. (If I remember correctly, that’s not how the author told this story.) And guess what else? Cinderella was with us at the time! ‘You can go, too, dear,’ Mother said to her sweetly, ‘if you finish all your work in time.’ I was super excited! My mom was the nicest mom in the world, believe me. Cinderella was the mean one- she was always trying to ruin our chances, because you know what? She didn’t get her work done! Of course, she did have a lot of extra chores that day… including helping us with our costumes (it was a masquerade). She just… well, didn’t have any time to get her work done. Of course it was to her advantage. How were the rest of us to know she’d called a seamstress (now this is where the Mr. What’s-His-Name (the author) made up all that magic stuff about a fairy-godmother, and a carriage of pure gold…)? It just didn’t make any sense. Cinderella arrived in a sleek white limousine. Of course! We left it there for her! Um, yes, we… borrowed a friend’s *cough* corvette.
“I guess something didn’t add up for the prince. Why he didn’t see that I was obviously the prettiest of all the girls that night, I don’t know. But, what I do know is that Cinderella supplied the prince with a pair of eyeglasses that night! Come to think of it, they were rose-colored. The conclusion is the prince married Cinderella. Ha! I just proved to you that Cinderella was a cheat!*** Please… believe me?
“So… if you find any rose-colored spectacles lying around, let me know. A time-travel pill into the past would also really help. And, by the way, if you just happen to know anyone who is familiar with how to dress dolls, feed dogs, and push play on an iPod, keep in touch, okay? Thanks for listening!”
“It all started when Mom got a phone call from the royal palace one day. It wasn’t an invitation, like the author insisted, but that really didn’t have anything to do with it. The conversation (over the phone!) changed everything. And, because my mom didn’t want anyone hearing her (she put our phone off speakerphone), I only heard bits and pieces of the conversation. And the next thing I new, I was going to win the prince’s hand, I thought. Unfortunately, I had the wrong idea.
“‘Now listen, girls,’ Mom said to me and my sister, Mildred, ‘One of you has been picked to marry the prince. At a masquerade. Tomorrow night.’ ‘Which?’ we both asked at the same time. ‘Why, of course I don’t know,’ said my mom. (If I remember correctly, that’s not how the author told this story.) And guess what else? Cinderella was with us at the time! ‘You can go, too, dear,’ Mother said to her sweetly, ‘if you finish all your work in time.’ I was super excited! My mom was the nicest mom in the world, believe me. Cinderella was the mean one- she was always trying to ruin our chances, because you know what? She didn’t get her work done! Of course, she did have a lot of extra chores that day… including helping us with our costumes (it was a masquerade). She just… well, didn’t have any time to get her work done. Of course it was to her advantage. How were the rest of us to know she’d called a seamstress (now this is where the Mr. What’s-His-Name (the author) made up all that magic stuff about a fairy-godmother, and a carriage of pure gold…)? It just didn’t make any sense. Cinderella arrived in a sleek white limousine. Of course! We left it there for her! Um, yes, we… borrowed a friend’s *cough* corvette.
“I guess something didn’t add up for the prince. Why he didn’t see that I was obviously the prettiest of all the girls that night, I don’t know. But, what I do know is that Cinderella supplied the prince with a pair of eyeglasses that night! Come to think of it, they were rose-colored. The conclusion is the prince married Cinderella. Ha! I just proved to you that Cinderella was a cheat!*** Please… believe me?
“So… if you find any rose-colored spectacles lying around, let me know. A time-travel pill into the past would also really help. And, by the way, if you just happen to know anyone who is familiar with how to dress dolls, feed dogs, and push play on an iPod, keep in touch, okay? Thanks for listening!”
Thursday, March 25, 2010
How the Skunk Got its Stripes
Once, in the beginning of time, a long time ago, was a skunk who hated to work. It was the sweetest smelling animal in all of creation then, and it was terribly afraid that if it would work, it would lose its scent, and spoil its beautiful coat. For at that time, the skunk had a smashing, dashing, prancing, dancing, rushing, ushing, quick coat, which, dearest, was not the regular black-and-white stripe, dearest- it was India rubber oiled with all the colors of the rainbow (and you must not forget it!), which made the skunk very proud indeed.
One day, a flower, which had the worst looking coat of all in that time, and so worked and worked toward maybe someday getting a lovely coat, looked longingly at the skunk’s beautiful India rubber skin oiled with all the colors of the rainbow. “Pardon me,” said the flower, “but I simply must know just how you received that India rubber skin oiled with all the colors of the rainbow.” “Well,” said the skunk, and that was all it would say. It had no feelings for the simple flower, with hairy old leaves, and petals of vast shrewdness, but said only, “Well,” and that was all.
The flower, within its petals of vast shrewdness, looked at the skunk, so conceited and all, and decided to bring forth the genie, from his small oil lamp that he had been given permission to collect at the beginning of the world. It was not gold, but the flower thought with wonder that it was India rubber oiled with all the colors of the rainbow, and that made all the difference (And now you see why you mustn’t have forgotten the India rubber skin oiled with all the colors of the rainbow). Finally, it asked the teeny-tiny powerless genie to come out, and fix the skunk of its conceited scent and India rubber skin oiled with all the colors of the rainbow. The genie said, “How, and I shall,” and recited the following rhythm: “Skunks that won’t work had better regard the lurk.” And the genie got out of his pot, and immediately turned the skunk into a creature as small as himself, and stuck him in the oil lamp. For the genie was so immensely tiny and powerless, that it was nearly impossible for the skunk to see the lurking man. “Let me out!” the little skunk shrieked. “No,” said the genie, “for you would not work.” “But I will!” gasped the skunk, “Now please let me out!” “Alright,” said the flower with its petals of vast shrewdness, “Let the skunk out on one condition.” “What condition?” asked the skunk from within the oil lamp made of India rubber oiled with all the colors of the rainbow. “That you would give up your lovely scent, and your beautiful India rubber skin oiled with all the colors of the rainbow- and work!” “But that is all I’ve got! But—it is granted.”
So the flower, along with its petals of vast shrewdness, let the skunk out, and the genie transferred the lovely scent, and the skunk’s India rubber skin oiled with all the colors of the rainbow over to the flower. And ever since then, the skunk has never refused to work, and all the flowers have had a lovely scent and smell.
One day, a flower, which had the worst looking coat of all in that time, and so worked and worked toward maybe someday getting a lovely coat, looked longingly at the skunk’s beautiful India rubber skin oiled with all the colors of the rainbow. “Pardon me,” said the flower, “but I simply must know just how you received that India rubber skin oiled with all the colors of the rainbow.” “Well,” said the skunk, and that was all it would say. It had no feelings for the simple flower, with hairy old leaves, and petals of vast shrewdness, but said only, “Well,” and that was all.
The flower, within its petals of vast shrewdness, looked at the skunk, so conceited and all, and decided to bring forth the genie, from his small oil lamp that he had been given permission to collect at the beginning of the world. It was not gold, but the flower thought with wonder that it was India rubber oiled with all the colors of the rainbow, and that made all the difference (And now you see why you mustn’t have forgotten the India rubber skin oiled with all the colors of the rainbow). Finally, it asked the teeny-tiny powerless genie to come out, and fix the skunk of its conceited scent and India rubber skin oiled with all the colors of the rainbow. The genie said, “How, and I shall,” and recited the following rhythm: “Skunks that won’t work had better regard the lurk.” And the genie got out of his pot, and immediately turned the skunk into a creature as small as himself, and stuck him in the oil lamp. For the genie was so immensely tiny and powerless, that it was nearly impossible for the skunk to see the lurking man. “Let me out!” the little skunk shrieked. “No,” said the genie, “for you would not work.” “But I will!” gasped the skunk, “Now please let me out!” “Alright,” said the flower with its petals of vast shrewdness, “Let the skunk out on one condition.” “What condition?” asked the skunk from within the oil lamp made of India rubber oiled with all the colors of the rainbow. “That you would give up your lovely scent, and your beautiful India rubber skin oiled with all the colors of the rainbow- and work!” “But that is all I’ve got! But—it is granted.”
So the flower, along with its petals of vast shrewdness, let the skunk out, and the genie transferred the lovely scent, and the skunk’s India rubber skin oiled with all the colors of the rainbow over to the flower. And ever since then, the skunk has never refused to work, and all the flowers have had a lovely scent and smell.
Friday, March 5, 2010
Mathematical Genius: The Diary of Sophie Germain
January 10, 1790
Dear Diary,
I still cannot figure out that arithmetic problem that Archimedes left. Why can’t I get over the mystery of his death? It is something that I know I should not be wrapped up in, but I simply must find out what was so involving to him that he would die trying it. My parents, unfortunately for me, do not understand this longing of mine. I’ve been secretly studying at midnight. I hope they won’t ever find me out. Last week they made it clear that I was no longer allowed to study mathematics; however, I shall not ever give it up. Now I must get back to that example of Archimedes’s. What was so fascinating to him that he would die over it?
January 12, 1790
Dear Diary,
I think I have finally found a key to my problem. In mathematics, I mean. I tried telling mama today; well, I don’t mean to say I tried, I wasn’t even going to tell her, but I was so excited it simply slipped out. Therefore, she discovered my studying at midnight, when I should be asleep. When papa found out about it from mama, he took away all my lamplight. I’ll try candles tonight. But what has gotten into them, I wonder? I used to be allowed to study all the time, and now it is simply, “Sophie, don’t do this,” and “Sophie, don’t let me ever catch you doing that,” and so on and so forth, and it gets so tiring! I went into papa’s library early this morning when I was sure no one would be there, and there I found Bessie, the parlor maid, dusting away. When I checked further, she was actually asleep, much to my shock. And I noticed a cot bed in the corner. Has papa moved her to the library in order to stop me from studying? I brought the subject up with him at dinner, keeping back the fact that I had seen her at 2:00 this morning. He seemed rather guilty, but said nothing, much to my dismay.
January 13, 1790
Dear Diary,
In addition to my lamplight, my candles have all disappeared from my bedchamber- so I smuggled some stubs in from the dustbin in my shoe. I feel deceitful- but if only mama and papa would understand. I wonder what they would think if I showed them the solved arithmetic problem- pleased, proud, angry? Papa was extremely horrified when he found me studying one night. He insisted I have a maid in my room, but I sent her away with threat of dismissal, which worked pretty well, I must admit.
January 16, 1790
Dear Diary,
I feel as though I will never be able to figure out Archimedes. Maybe my parents are right. Maybe I am wasting my time! Anyway, my friend Pierre is coming today; perhaps he can cheer me up.
Later: Yes, Pierre did cheer me up, just as I thought. He and I both sneaked up into the school room and worked on my arithmetic problem. Pierre just breathes mathematics, and whenever I am around him, he seems to rub it off on me. There! I just crossed out my words from above. I’m never even going to start giving up again! Now, if only I could figure out this example….
January 17, 1790
Dear Diary,
I’ve DONE it! I’ve solved Archimedes’ death problem! It was actually really simple, if you can believe it- I can’t; some of his complex formulas are really too incompatible for me. But I’m ready. I’m going to take a chance and tell mama and papa my dream: to be a mathematician.
Later: Well, I gathered together my formulas, my diagrams and my courage, and went to my papa in the library. He fingered my work, scratched his head, and looked at me with a slight smile. I held my breath, and told him I was going to continue studying mathematics. “My daughter,” he mumbled to himself, “a mathematician? Possibly.” As he studied my equations though, papa’s smile grew and grew! “Fantastic!” he sputtered, “Sophie, you did all this yourself?” “I did,” I said to him, and went through the pages of formulas, explaining them to him. Though I knew he already knew them, it gave me great pleasure, and him as well.
And, do you know what else? Papa has given me full access to his library once more! Oh, I will study until I am a book; but why should I care?
March 14, 1790
Dear Diary,
Today Pierre came running in, out of breath and trembling with excitement. He told me his news, after very little coaxing. “Sophie! A group of scholars are opening a school! And the great mathematician Monsieur Lagrange will be teaching here in Paris! And I will get to be apart of it!” “That’s interesting,” I said to him, pretending insult. Pierre was too excited to care, though. “Sophie, did you not hear me? Isn’t it wonderful?” “Yes, I heard you,” I replied, and then tears came to my eyes. “But, Pierre, don’t you understand? I am a girl! As long as France looks on me as the ‘weaker sex,’ Pierre, I may never do mathematics out of my home- on penalty of rioting!” “Oh, I’m so sorry, Sophie,” he said, “but I have an idea,” the light returning to his eyes. I hardly understood what he meant at first, but now….
April 16, 1790
Dear Diary,
I tried Pierre’s idea. Over the past few weeks, I have been studying with Pierre and his friends; in other words, they have copied lecture notes for me, and shown me how to do the examples. And yesterday I prepared a paper for Monsieur Lagrange, and Pierre has smuggled it into the class and submitted it along with all the other papers. I am waiting for his news, with anxious mind and worried spirit.
Even worse: I have signed my name Monsieur LeBlanc. For some reason or other, I don’t believe a highly esteemed mathematician would read an essay signed, Sophie Germain.
April 17, 1790
Dear Diary,
Monsieur LeBlanc (myself) has passed the exam! And what else, for there is even greater news, is that Monsieur Lagrange wishes to meet me! But how? I am still only a girl; “For though I am but little, I am fierce,” as my papa quotes Shakespeare about me… fierce about arithmetic, he means. I am almost thinking about writing Monsieur Lagrange a letter of apology containing my true identity. Pierre says that Monsieur is impressed with my work, an even more wondrous compliment that I could ever have dreamed of. Hmmm. Perhaps I can meet him. An arranged meeting, perhaps?
April 18, 1790
Dear Diary,
My heart is still beating so fast I hardly know what to think. Monsieur Lagrange has been here! At my home! And was accompanied by Pierre~ that rascal~ I just knew his mind was working when he looked at me in that quizzical way of his yesterday. Pierre stayed after Monsieur Lagrange left, and told me the following:
“I told Monsieur about your being a lady mathematician. He was stunned, but was not in the least upset. He even promised to keep your secret!”
Monsieur Lagrange congratulated and moreover, he encouraged me to continue in my race. This will definitely be one of the most treasured moments of my life. I know that no universities will take me. But, God willing, I will continue to help all of Europe with my mathematics. You don’t think that last part was too proud, Diary, do you? Because I think I may make it smaller. I will continue to help all of France with my work. Oh, never mind! I will change all of Europe and the entire world. Perhaps… someday.
Signed,
Sophie Marie Germain
1790
Dear Diary,
I still cannot figure out that arithmetic problem that Archimedes left. Why can’t I get over the mystery of his death? It is something that I know I should not be wrapped up in, but I simply must find out what was so involving to him that he would die trying it. My parents, unfortunately for me, do not understand this longing of mine. I’ve been secretly studying at midnight. I hope they won’t ever find me out. Last week they made it clear that I was no longer allowed to study mathematics; however, I shall not ever give it up. Now I must get back to that example of Archimedes’s. What was so fascinating to him that he would die over it?
January 12, 1790
Dear Diary,
I think I have finally found a key to my problem. In mathematics, I mean. I tried telling mama today; well, I don’t mean to say I tried, I wasn’t even going to tell her, but I was so excited it simply slipped out. Therefore, she discovered my studying at midnight, when I should be asleep. When papa found out about it from mama, he took away all my lamplight. I’ll try candles tonight. But what has gotten into them, I wonder? I used to be allowed to study all the time, and now it is simply, “Sophie, don’t do this,” and “Sophie, don’t let me ever catch you doing that,” and so on and so forth, and it gets so tiring! I went into papa’s library early this morning when I was sure no one would be there, and there I found Bessie, the parlor maid, dusting away. When I checked further, she was actually asleep, much to my shock. And I noticed a cot bed in the corner. Has papa moved her to the library in order to stop me from studying? I brought the subject up with him at dinner, keeping back the fact that I had seen her at 2:00 this morning. He seemed rather guilty, but said nothing, much to my dismay.
January 13, 1790
Dear Diary,
In addition to my lamplight, my candles have all disappeared from my bedchamber- so I smuggled some stubs in from the dustbin in my shoe. I feel deceitful- but if only mama and papa would understand. I wonder what they would think if I showed them the solved arithmetic problem- pleased, proud, angry? Papa was extremely horrified when he found me studying one night. He insisted I have a maid in my room, but I sent her away with threat of dismissal, which worked pretty well, I must admit.
January 16, 1790
Dear Diary,
I feel as though I will never be able to figure out Archimedes. Maybe my parents are right. Maybe I am wasting my time! Anyway, my friend Pierre is coming today; perhaps he can cheer me up.
Later: Yes, Pierre did cheer me up, just as I thought. He and I both sneaked up into the school room and worked on my arithmetic problem. Pierre just breathes mathematics, and whenever I am around him, he seems to rub it off on me. There! I just crossed out my words from above. I’m never even going to start giving up again! Now, if only I could figure out this example….
January 17, 1790
Dear Diary,
I’ve DONE it! I’ve solved Archimedes’ death problem! It was actually really simple, if you can believe it- I can’t; some of his complex formulas are really too incompatible for me. But I’m ready. I’m going to take a chance and tell mama and papa my dream: to be a mathematician.
Later: Well, I gathered together my formulas, my diagrams and my courage, and went to my papa in the library. He fingered my work, scratched his head, and looked at me with a slight smile. I held my breath, and told him I was going to continue studying mathematics. “My daughter,” he mumbled to himself, “a mathematician? Possibly.” As he studied my equations though, papa’s smile grew and grew! “Fantastic!” he sputtered, “Sophie, you did all this yourself?” “I did,” I said to him, and went through the pages of formulas, explaining them to him. Though I knew he already knew them, it gave me great pleasure, and him as well.
And, do you know what else? Papa has given me full access to his library once more! Oh, I will study until I am a book; but why should I care?
March 14, 1790
Dear Diary,
Today Pierre came running in, out of breath and trembling with excitement. He told me his news, after very little coaxing. “Sophie! A group of scholars are opening a school! And the great mathematician Monsieur Lagrange will be teaching here in Paris! And I will get to be apart of it!” “That’s interesting,” I said to him, pretending insult. Pierre was too excited to care, though. “Sophie, did you not hear me? Isn’t it wonderful?” “Yes, I heard you,” I replied, and then tears came to my eyes. “But, Pierre, don’t you understand? I am a girl! As long as France looks on me as the ‘weaker sex,’ Pierre, I may never do mathematics out of my home- on penalty of rioting!” “Oh, I’m so sorry, Sophie,” he said, “but I have an idea,” the light returning to his eyes. I hardly understood what he meant at first, but now….
April 16, 1790
Dear Diary,
I tried Pierre’s idea. Over the past few weeks, I have been studying with Pierre and his friends; in other words, they have copied lecture notes for me, and shown me how to do the examples. And yesterday I prepared a paper for Monsieur Lagrange, and Pierre has smuggled it into the class and submitted it along with all the other papers. I am waiting for his news, with anxious mind and worried spirit.
Even worse: I have signed my name Monsieur LeBlanc. For some reason or other, I don’t believe a highly esteemed mathematician would read an essay signed, Sophie Germain.
April 17, 1790
Dear Diary,
Monsieur LeBlanc (myself) has passed the exam! And what else, for there is even greater news, is that Monsieur Lagrange wishes to meet me! But how? I am still only a girl; “For though I am but little, I am fierce,” as my papa quotes Shakespeare about me… fierce about arithmetic, he means. I am almost thinking about writing Monsieur Lagrange a letter of apology containing my true identity. Pierre says that Monsieur is impressed with my work, an even more wondrous compliment that I could ever have dreamed of. Hmmm. Perhaps I can meet him. An arranged meeting, perhaps?
April 18, 1790
Dear Diary,
My heart is still beating so fast I hardly know what to think. Monsieur Lagrange has been here! At my home! And was accompanied by Pierre~ that rascal~ I just knew his mind was working when he looked at me in that quizzical way of his yesterday. Pierre stayed after Monsieur Lagrange left, and told me the following:
“I told Monsieur about your being a lady mathematician. He was stunned, but was not in the least upset. He even promised to keep your secret!”
Monsieur Lagrange congratulated and moreover, he encouraged me to continue in my race. This will definitely be one of the most treasured moments of my life. I know that no universities will take me. But, God willing, I will continue to help all of Europe with my mathematics. You don’t think that last part was too proud, Diary, do you? Because I think I may make it smaller. I will continue to help all of France with my work. Oh, never mind! I will change all of Europe and the entire world. Perhaps… someday.
Signed,
Sophie Marie Germain
1790
Planning- It's of the Essence
"Bad planning on your part does not constitute an emergency on my part."
-Attributed to parents and teachers everywhere-
This is a saying most likely written by my wonderful composition teacher! She showed it to us in class today, when we were having a poetry slam.
-Attributed to parents and teachers everywhere-
This is a saying most likely written by my wonderful composition teacher! She showed it to us in class today, when we were having a poetry slam.
Thursday, March 4, 2010
The Flower Alphabet
I'm really not sure whether or not this could be regarded as poetry, but I've decided to post it anyway.
A- Astor
B- Bluebell
C- Crocus
D- Daffodil
E- Elephant Ear
F- Forget-Me-Not
G- Geranium
H- Honeysuckle
I- Iris
J- Jasmine
K- Kingcup
L- Lily
M- Marigold
N- Narcissus
O- Orchid
P- Primrose
Q- Queen Anne’s Lace
R- Ragwort
S- Snapdragon
T- Tulip
U- Ulster Mary
V- Vinca
W- Woodbine
X- Xeranthemum
Y- Yarrow
Z- Zinnia
A- Astor
B- Bluebell
C- Crocus
D- Daffodil
E- Elephant Ear
F- Forget-Me-Not
G- Geranium
H- Honeysuckle
I- Iris
J- Jasmine
K- Kingcup
L- Lily
M- Marigold
N- Narcissus
O- Orchid
P- Primrose
Q- Queen Anne’s Lace
R- Ragwort
S- Snapdragon
T- Tulip
U- Ulster Mary
V- Vinca
W- Woodbine
X- Xeranthemum
Y- Yarrow
Z- Zinnia
For the Record...
I don't know WHO came up with this wise old saying, but... I heard it at Bible study today, and was simply enthralled:
"When trials come into your life, don't nurse them, don't rehearse them; instead, give them to God, and He will reverse them."
There's your bit of wisdom for today!
"When trials come into your life, don't nurse them, don't rehearse them; instead, give them to God, and He will reverse them."
There's your bit of wisdom for today!
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