Foood

I told of a dinner at a fancy restaurant that I went to with my family and grandparents in the Kenyon Inn.  I remember staring at the menu and not knowing how to pronounce half of the words and ingredients.  I just pointed to the chicken dinner I wanted when the waitor came around to get our order.  He prounounced the two words as he wrote them down and I swore he wasn't speaking a real language.  The waitor brought out a platter of side salads for all of us and I felt like a rabbit, eating all of these crisp, bright green vegetables.  Our conversation banter quickly came to an end as we saw our food being brought out on beautifully white plates.  Immediately I noticed how small the portion of food was and started planning out what I was going to eat when we got home.  We all began eating and everyone exclaimed how theirs was the best, even though mine of course was the most delicious. I forced myself to eat slow, savoring each bite and to participate in the dinner conversation with my grandparents.  Although I had self-prepared to be hungry after finishing my plate, surprisingly I was quite full. 

He told of a dinner that was a typical Monday night, "Pasta Monday".  His mom made a pasta dinner every Monday.  He told about the three ingredients to his mother's delicioius dish.  Specifically she used linguini noodles and a certain pasta sauce.  He spoke of this ritual every Monday very fondly.  He asked me questions to see if I knew what kind of pasta he was referring to.  So that I could recall and know what tastes he was talking about. 

Villanueva

          When I was three years old I recall attending some sort of party with my parents.  At this party an annonymous person revealed a bloody knife.  My parents, having seen it, took my hands and ran quickly away.  I also remember from around this time our move to a new house on Bartlett Street in Brooklyn.  There was no furniture yet but my father, Mrs. Ashell and I were all in the new place.  I recognized the fact that we had improved from living in the storefront flat.  I also can evoke a memory in which I walked from Bartlett Street to John Lee's hand laundry alone.  I was still very young, perhaps four years old.  I waited for all of the lights to turn green before crossing streets and was very careful.  No adult passerby asked me where my parents were. 

          It all comes down to how the immigrant or minority arrived to be living in the host country.  Some races are very easily assimilated into the dominate culture because they elected themselves to go and live there.  My family decided freely to live in America.  Our assimilation should be a little easier than if we had been part of a conquered peoples. 

          The second part of the exercise was harder than I imagined it would be when reading the assignment.  It's hard to put a personal spin on an academically written subject when you're not really putting your own personality into it but rather the author's. 
          I really enjoyed hearing his views as a child.  Villanueva mentions how he saw his family as more American than some immigrants even though they were wealthier than his family.  It's interesting how this conclusion is made through a child's mind and a very good point for Villanueva to make. 

Writing is a form of expression that can be strict or lenient.  Rules and certain structure can be followed or a writer can ignore all of these and completely make it up.  Sometimes while writing for someone else, say a boss or a teacher, it may feel like you're writing with a very large pen.  One that you cannot manage perfectly to create your own writing.  Instead it is so very large that it hinders how you really wish to write.  You are writing yes, but this very large pen is encasing your own preferably small pen and forcing you to follow certain guidelines. 

Occasionally I dislike writing.  Occasionally I think I have great thoughts in my head that I want to share and let others think.  But once I try to transfer them to words and sentences and paper... they seem to lose their meaning.  Occasionally I have a great big thought that is very important to me.  But forming it into a sentence or paragraph is similar to squeezing play-do through a strainer.  Before, this blob of play-do could have been anything, some magnificent, intricate piece of art.  But it cannot remain in its magnificent state after having to be shoved through the strainer. 

          Hello, my name is Claire Hall. I'm from Tiffin, Ohio and I'm studying Chemical Engineering here at OU.  I enjoy activities outside, like riding my bike, hiking and running.  I love good food and I love naps.  Summer is my favorite season, because it's almost always nice out and that's the season for vacations.  I am very involved with the student organization CSLC (Community Service Leadership Council). So if anyone ever wants to do some volunteering I'm your gal.  Books are one of my biggest passions, I could spend days in Barnes and Noble, and I also love thunderstorms.  When I have time to watch t.v. I enjoy Spongebob Squarepants and South Park.   Also, seeing the fat groundhogs wadle around near West Green makes me smile.