Friday, December 16, 2011

Believe

When you believe in a thing, believe in it all the way, implicitly and unquestionably. –Walt Disney

Sunday, December 4, 2011

The Giving Tree



When I was in first grade with, I fell in love with reading. I think even at that young age I would love getting lost in a different world. 
All week I would look forward to library day, when our teacher Mrs. Grogan would take us to the library and we were allowed to pick out a book for the week. I would usually pick out a short story like the Amelia Bedelia stories about a crazy little maid with no common sense or an Arthur book because I liked the TV show. One day I borrowed the book, The Giving Tree. I don't know what it was about the book; maybe because the cover was bright green so it caught my eye, or perhaps because there were apples and I loved apple juice but I loved the book so much that I checked it out of library three weeks in a row. I even got scolded by my teacher for not taking out another book. I remember her telling me that I was a smart reader and I should get another book. I was cripplingly shy as a child so I probably did not say anything and just took another book and never thought twice about The Giving Tree.
That was 16 years ago and I still love the book. Something definitely stuck with me about it because the story almost haunts me now and I think it is why I go out of my way to be as generous as I can be to others and why other people's generosity really appeals to me. 

The reason that I am even writing this is because I am so happy at what I just found on YouTube; an animation of the story with narration by the author himself, Shel Silverstein.

It is such an innocent and sad story and his narration is beautiful.





jill

Where The Sidewalk Ends - Shel Silverstein

There is a place where the sidewalk ends
And before the street begins,
And there the grass grows soft and white,
And there the sun burns crimson bright,
And there the moon-bird rests from his flight
To cool in the peppermint wind.
Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black
And the dark street winds and bends.
Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow
We shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And watch where the chalk-white arrows go
To the place where the sidewalk ends.
Yes we’ll walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And we’ll go were the chalk-white arrows go,
For the children, they mark, and the children, they know
The place where the sidewalk ends.

-Shel Silverstein