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Helen Yvonne Hart English 111 April 21, 2012

Tables of Contents Self Assessment Memoirs Final Copy Original Copy of Memoirs Writing Critique pgs. 3 pgs. 5 pg. 11 pg. 17

Self-Assessment Helen Hart In this self-assessment I will try to explain what I have learned in class. I must say I probably learned more than the average college student. I graduated high school in 1971. This was before anyone in the class was born. I never attended a writing class, and my extent of writing was a book report in the 10th grade. I feel all older college students should take this class at the beginning of college experience. While attending this class, and using of the Norton Field Guide to Writing I have learned everything I know about writing. All I had written in the past forty years were post cards, a resume, and thank-you notes. My reading assignments taught me that you must follow a series of steps, a process, and an outline. The book gave me easy instructions to follow, and a list of things you need before you get started. All these things I needed to know to write essays correctly. When I have a report or writing assignment, I know the beginning paragraphs must present the thesis. The beginning must focus on the main point. The essay must also have a purpose, appeal to a certain audience, decide the genre, make a stance, set a tone, follow a strategy, argue a position, use illustrations or graphs, and follow an outline. It is hard for me to admit I didnt know any of this. Now my essays will be more than just a story from my imagination or an event from the past. Learning writing rules and punctuation are a must for writing intelligently. The reading homework assignments helped me to understand different genres. The questions at the end of the chapters were there for us to evaluate the writings. Knowing what to look for in a text helps you remember what is needed when you write an assignment. Checking

for the purpose, noting the details, using transitions and time markers by the writer helps guide readers through events of the stories. It also helps to focus on making statements clear by using vivid details, as well as stating the significance of what you are writing. As I reviewed our in-class notes I realized how many things we had studied for use in writing a strong composition. We listed several things to consider; finding a topic, summarizing facts, following through with a purpose, comparing or contrasting, following a pattern or theme, just to mention a few. Our notes covered; using facts, being organized, staying focused, and providing accurate well researched information. I had never been aware of all that went into writing. Instead of a lot of thoughts combined: I learned to make points and tie them together at the end. Now I was learning to develop an outline with each paragraph containing a piece of my writing puzzle, and all the pieces fitting together. Our classroom participation taught us all to try to use more descriptive words to make things more interesting for example; instead of hot, use sweltering, or scorching. Our job as a writer is to help the reader visualize what we are reporting, seeing, hearing and smelling the surroundings, so they might be immersed in the story. The corrections listed on the side of essays were short, concise, and proved to be an enormous help in putting the essay in perspective. I realized I was confused on the correct use of commas. Familiar clichs are should not be used. They also taught me how to separate run on sentences. I was making some of the same mistakes over and over. The correction notes were easy to understand, and thought provoking. I had not been pushed to think, dig, or research anything in many years. Now I can say by attending this class I have a better understanding of what is expected from a college student. I will keep my textbook to use as a reference book for the rest of my college days.

Helen Hart Stacy Jones English 111 April 9, 2012 Memoirs It Started With a Honk It was a crisp, cold, Saturday morning in December 2002 that I sat down at my kitchen table to write out wedding invitations. My daughter, April, was getting married the weekend before Christmas. It was my desire to get them finished and in the mailbox before nine oclock when the postman usually got to our house. Beep! Beep! Beep! Someone was blowing a car horn, it front of my houseand it was not stopping. It was too early for the postman. I hurriedly made my way to the front door to see who it could be. It was my seventy-six year old mother. She had stopped by on her way to pickup some medicine, and to tell me that she didnt feel well enough to go shopping. We had waited to go together to purchase our dresses for the wedding, and everything had to match. Usually nothing would keep us from shopping together except maybe money. I was a bit puzzled. She didnt appear to be any sicker than usual, since she was diagnosed with COPD. She knew how important it was to April that everyones clothes matched for the wedding pictures. My mother was so proud of her children, and grandchildren. She displayed all of our diplomas on the wall of her entranceway. She would brag about how smart and pretty we all were (at least she thought we were). Mom always wanted us to be proud of her as well. She loved to look her best. Mom liked being fixed-up, as she called it; hair done, nice clothes, and make-up so-so, always before she went anywhere.

There are four of us children, two brothers, six and seven years older, and my baby sister is nine years younger than me. The way she spaced us out, it was almost like having three sets of children. We were all close to my mom. A couple of weeks before Christmas my oldest brother called to ask what April needed in particular to set up house. While we were talking I told him how mom had not been feeling well lately. He told me how he had noticed that she was starting to show her age. She never wanted to be considered as a senior citizen, not even at church. People would invite her to the senior adult functions. She would not go. She did not want to be part of the elderly group. I guess I was too busy with my own life, and my daughters wedding plans, to notice how sick she had become. Mom called to tell me how her class had purchased white poinsettias for Christmas decorations for the church. I told her that I had seen the church, and it was beautifully decorated with dozens of poinsettias red, white, and gold. Wreaths with evergreen twigs, berries, and crimson velvet bows were every six feet, tied together with matching green garland draping the walls in the sanctuary. April had rented candelabras to put across the front, candles for all the stained glass windows, and bows to be wired to the pews for the wedding. The decorations in the entire church followed the Christmas color theme. As we talked, she reminded me that she had a red two- piece suit in her closet, and it should be good enough for the wedding. On the day of the big event, my husband and I were busy with last minute details that had started at ten in the morning. It was a full day of family and friends. The pastor performed a tender, touching ceremony. The photographer took hundreds of pictures. All of our relatives were there. The church was packed, and I had never seen so many people in the reception hall at one time. The day ended for us with cleanup duty until one oclock the following morning. My mother walked with the usher to her seat in the front of the church. After the wedding, mom was

out of breath, so she had one of her grandsons push her in the wheel chair into to the fellowship hall for the reception. It wasnt until weeks after the wedding when we received the wedding pictures did we realize we did not have a picture of the bride and her grandmother. When we showed mom the pictures, she also realized that there were no pictures of her. She was very disturbed that no one had taken her picture. I tried to console her and promised we would get a picture made somehow on the computer. The lighting factory where I worked was closed for the holidays until the first of the year. Therefore, I was enjoying the some much needed time- off. One afternoon I decided to go visit with my mom. When I arrived mom was taking a breathing treatment, I waited for her to finish so we could talk. After a short time I realized she still was having trouble breathing. I called the physicians office to see if they could set her an appointment. Yes, they could, so I loaded up the oxygen tank, the wheelchair, and mom. I could hardly get her and her stuff into the car. When we arrived at the physicians office, they called her back. Dr. Eason began by asking mom questions. She could hardly get the words out. She was sicker than I had realized. The doctor ran several tests on my mom. Every breath was a struggle and she could not get herself out of the wheel chair to go to x-ray room. While she was having blood drawn Dr. Eason called me aside to tell me that he felt that moms condition had deteriorated. He said after he got all the tests results back he would order her some new pain medicine and put her under hospice care. He explained that people in her condition only had about six months to live. Hospice would come into her house to help her with her daily needs. Mom obviously had not been eating very much and had lost several pounds. I had been working long hours, helping with wedding plans, and had been too busy to notice how moms health was failing. As Dr. Eason talked to me I found myself in a state of shock. I did not want to believe it and now I had the unwanted

obligation to tell the rest of the family. When we arrived at home I shared the bad report with my stepfather. He was not surprised because he knew how hard it had been for her to breathe and how much pain she had been enduring. We decided to tell the rest of the family when we were all together at one time. My youngest brother, Gary, was having his birthday at the end of the month we usually all got together then. We both agreed it would be the perfect time to share the details of moms situation.. It was only a few days away, but I could not keep it to myself. Everyone could see my devastation. I had to share it with my husband and my sister. During the next couple of days my thoughts returned to mom and her love for me and my love for her. I was the first girl and had been spoiled. I grew up during the era of the stay-athome moms. My mom was always there for me: rolling my hair, painting my fingernails, sewing doll clothes, and helping me with homework. I thought mom could do anything. She was a very independent person and instilled her characteristics into all of her children. Garys December 31st birthday party had arrived too soon for me. I dreaded sharing this information with the family. Instead of being a joyous occasion it would be dampened by the fact the New Year would be filled with heartbreak and sorrow. It had to be done. The rest of the family was overwhelmed. We knew we all had to spend more time with her. My new work year started with new contracts and challenging projects. The days were long and the nights seemed short. I was waking up during the night with pains in my hands and wrists. While awake my mind would wander off to thoughts of my childhood and my mother. After work every other day I would stop by to see mom for a while. My stepfather was now trying to learn how to do housework and take care of mother. Thank God he knew how to cook and didnt mind doing it. The months seemed to be flying by; I just wanted time to slow down so we all could enjoy each moment left with her.

When June came around mom was on oxygen twenty-four hours a day. Her pain had increased and so had her medicine. Six months had passed and she was still with us. She had beaten the odds the doctor had predicted. She was living on oatmeal and oranges. She had lost over thirty pounds, just a thin frail skeleton of a woman. I was in a state of depression, her failing health, my busy job, and now the doctor was telling me I needed carpal tunnel surgery as soon as possible. I had learned several years before to weather the storms of life, on my knees, and now it gave me peace more than ever. My surgery went well. Now, I could be with mom while I had some recovery time off. Moms lungs were full of holes she had to take a breath with every word. It would wear her out just trying to speak. Most of the time I just talked to her, combed her hair, rubbed lotion on her arms and legs and sang to her. Our time together was priceless to me. While I was off, I got my daughter to cut and paste some wedding pictures to make one with both mom and April. We took it to Wal-Mart where it turned out perfect. I framed it, took it to her, which made her day. She could not talk any more just squeeze our hands or arms, yes, it pleased her, you could see it in her eyes. My medical leave had come to an end, and I didnt need to go back to work. Mom needed me. On August 1st I took my return-to-work statement into the plant office. The personnel manager seemed to be waiting for me. She took a look at the scars on my wrist, and inquired on how I was feeling. Then she asked about my mom. (Mom had worked years before; in the same building, and with some of the same people.) I explained how I was feeling much better, but moms condition had gone from bad to worse. She then reached into her desk drawer and pulled out the prettiest pink dismissal slip I had ever seen. I was officially laid off, and with unemployment pay. Now I could spend as much time with her as she needed.

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My mom lived eighteen more days, and during this time I took turns with my siblings attending to her every need. I spent the last day of her life at her side, and that night my younger sister was with her when she took her last breath. My annoyance of a horn blowing is now just a memory of how it all began; the beginning of the end. Moms last two months were a blessing no one had expected to receive. It was ALL part of Gods miraculous plan.

It Started With a Honk It was a crisp, cold, Saturday morning in December 2002, that I sat down at my kitchen table to write out wedding invitations. My daughter, April, was getting married the weekend

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before Christmas. It was my desire to get them finished and in the mailbox before nine oclock when the postman usually got to our house. Beep! Beep! Beep! Someone was blowing their horn, it front of my houseand it was not stopping. It was too early for the postman. I hurriedly made my way to the front door to see who it could be. It was my seventy-six year old, mother. She had stopped by on her way to pickup some medicine, and to tell me that she didnt feel well enough to go shopping. We had waited to go together to purchase our dresses for the wedding, everything had to match. Usually nothing would keep us from shopping together except maybe money. I was a bit puzzled. She didnt appear to be any sicker than usual, since she was diagnosed with COPD. She knew how important it was to April that everyones clothes matched for the wedding pictures My mother was so proud of her children, and grandchildren. She displayed all of our diplomas on the wall of her entranceway. She would brag about how smart and pretty we all were (at least she thought we were). Mom always wanted us to be proud of her as well. She loved to look her best. Mom liked being fixed-up, as she called it, hair done, nice clothes, and make-up so-so, always before she went anywhere. There are four of us children, two brothers, six and seven years older than me, then my sister is nine years younger than me. The way she spaced us out, it was almost like having three sets of children. We were all close to my Mom. A couple of weeks before Christmas my oldest brother called to ask what April needed in particular to set up house. While we were talking I told him how she had not been feeling well lately. He told me how he had noticed that she was starting to show her age. She never wanted to be considered as a senior citizen, not even at church. People would invite her to the senior adult functions. She would not go. She did not want

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to be part of the elderly group. I guess I was too busy with my own life, and my daughters wedding plans, to notice how sick she had become. Mom called to tell me how her class had purchased white poinsettias for the church decorations for Christmas. I told her how the church was beautifully decorated with dozens of poinsettias red, white, and gold. Wreaths with evergreen twigs, berries and bows were every six feet, tied together with matching green garland draping the walls in the sanctuary. April had rented candelabras to put across the front, candles for all the stained glass windows, and bows to be wired to the pews for the wedding. Everything followed the Christmas colors theme. As we talked she reminded me that she had a red two piece suit in her closet and it should be good enough for the wedding. On the day of the big event, my husband and I were busy with last minute details that started at ten in the morning. It was a full day of family and friends. The pastor performed a tender, touching ceremony. The photographer took hundreds of pictures. All of our relatives were there. The church was packed and I had never seen so many people in the reception hall. The day ended for us with cleanup duty until one oclock the following morning. My Mother walked with the usher to her seat in the front of the church. After the wedding, Mom was out of breath so she had one of her grandsons push her in the wheel chair into to the fellowship hall for the reception. It wasnt until after the wedding when we received the wedding pictures did we realize we did not have a picture of the bride and her grandmother. When we showed Mom the pictures, she realized that there were no pictures of her. She was very disturbed, that no one had taken her picture. I tried to console her and promised we would get a picture made somehow on the computer.

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The lighting factory where I worked was closed for the holidays until the first of the year. Therefore I was enjoying the some much needed time off. One afternoon I decided to go visit with my Mom. When I arrived Mom was taking a breathing treatment, I waited for her to finish so we could talk. After a short time I realized she till was having trouble breathing. I called the physicians office to see if they could work her in. Yes, they could, so I loaded up Mom, and the wheel chair. I could hardly get her into the car. When we arrived at the physicians office, they called her on back. Dr. Eason began by asking Mom questions. She could hardly get the words out. She was sicker than I had realized. The doctor ran several tests on my Mom. Ever breath was a struggle and she could not get herself out of the wheel chair to go to x-ray room. While she was having blood drawn Dr. Eason called me aside to tell me that he felt that moms condition had deteriorated. He said after he got all the tests results back he would order her some new pain medicine and put her under hospice care. He explained that people in her condition only had about six months to live. Hospice would come into her house to help her with her daily needs. Mom obviously had not been eating very much and had loss a several pounds. I had been working long hours, helping with wedding plans, too busy to notice how Moms health was failing. As Dr. Eason talked to me I found myself in a state of shock. I did not want to believe it and now I had the unwanted obligation to tell the rest of the family. When we arrived at home I shared the bad report with my stepfather. He was not surprised, he already knew how hard it was for her to breathe and how much pain she was in. We decided to tell the rest of the family when we were all together at one time. My youngest brothers birthday was at the end of the month, we usually all got together then. We agreed it

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would be the perfect time. It was only a few days away but I could not keep it to myself. Everyone could see my devastation. I had to share it with my husband and my sister. During the next couple of days my thoughts turned to Mom and her love for me and my love for her. I was the first girl and had been spoiled. I grew up during the era of the stay-athome moms. My Mom was always there for me: rolling my hair, painting my fingernails, sewing doll clothes, helping me with homework. I thought Mom could do anything. She was a very independent person and instilled her character into all of her children. My brothers December 31st birthday party had arrived too soon for me. I dreaded sharing Moms situation with the family. Instead of being a joyous occasion it would be dampened by the fact the new year would be filled with heartbreak and sorrow. It had to be done. All of the family was overwhelmed and determined to send more time with her. My new work year started with new contracts and challenging projects. The days were long and the nights seemed short. I was waking up during the nights with pains in my wrist and hands. While awake my mind would wander off to thoughts of my childhood and my mother. After work every other day I would stop by to see Mom for a while. My stepfather was now trying to learn how to do housework and take care of mother. Thank God he knew how to cook and didnt mind doing it. The months seemed to be flying by, I just wanted time to slow down so we all would have more time with her. When June came around Mom was on oxygen twenty-four hours a day. Her pain had increased and so had her medicine. Six months had passed and she was still with us. She had beaten the odds the doctor had predicted. She was living on oatmeal and oranges. She had lost over thirty pounds, just a thin frail skeleton of a woman. I was in a state of depression, her failing

15

health, my busy job, and now the doctor was telling me I needed carpal tunnel surgery as soon as possible. I had learned years before to weather the storms of life on my knees, and now more than ever. My surgery went well, now I could be with Mom while I had some recovery time off. Moms lungs were full of holes she had to take a breath with every word. It would wear her out just trying to speak. Most of the time I just talked to her, combed her hair, rubbed lotion on her arms and legs and sang to her. Our time together was priceless to me. While I was off, I got my daughter to cut and pasted some wedding pictures to make one with both Mom and April. It turned out perfect I would make her day. We took it to her. She could not talk any more just squeeze our arms, yes it pleased her. My medical leave had come to an end, and I didnt need to go back to work. Mom needed me. On August first I took my return to work statement in to the plant office. The personnel manager seemed to be waiting on me. She took a look at my scar and inquired on how I was feeling. Then she asked about my Mom. I explained how I was feeling much better but my Mom was not doing well at all. She then reached into her desk drawer and pulled out the prettiest pink slip I had ever seen. I was officially laid off with unemployment pay. Now I could spend all the time I wanted to with Mom. My Mom lived eighteen more days, and I was there for her as she had always been there for me.

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My annoyance of a horn blowing is now just a memory of how it all began, the beginning of the end. Moms last two months were a blessing no one had expected to receive. It was ALL part of Gods miraculous plan.

Helen Hart Stacy Jones English 111

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April 25, 2012 Writing Critique Best Piece of Writing It Started With a Honk, appears to be one of my best writings. This memoir follows what happened during brief period of time which I turned into the foundation of the outline. I wanted to write a personal compelling story, with vivid details, and a moral to the story. It was an emotional time for me, it was important to share these feelings in descriptive words that help others cope with what life deals you. As I reminisced about my childhood, I realized how significant my mother had been in shaping my life. She was a strong, loving, and determined individual that ruled with an iron fist, until she got sick. Looking back at several events, they gave me the inspiration to write a captivating story of how a loud annoying car horn started us on our final journey. While I remembered the details of those last few months, writing it for others to read taught me how to use the writing guide text book. Verbalizing this emotional time gave me the opportunity to speak to the mind and hearts of readers. As I recalled the seriousness of the situation I wanted to write it down so it could be shared with others in years to come.

Weakest Piece of Writing The Four Ds that Shaped a Young Girls Life, was my first attempt at writing, it was quite a learning experience. I read the instructions in the text book. I tried to focus on a single event that took place in my early childhood that I could recall vividly. My earliest memories started with the memorization of sight words. I wanted to follow the guidelines, and show the significance of learning to read. There really was not one thing that stood out, except for discipline. My assignment took on the appearance of a memoir instead of a literary narrative, and

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I had no idea how to improve it. A narrative needed a purpose, or a moral to the story, or a lesson to learn. I attempted to tell how school had made a difference in my life. My information was not characteristic of narratives. In the future I will spend more time researching my topic, following guidelines and using correct punctuation.