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I found this image and thought it represented this story very well. Not only does the soldier have lots of heavy equipment to carry, he has the emotional weight as well.

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One thing that struck me about this story was the symbolism of the stockings and the guilt that they represent to Willy. Every time he sees Linda mending her stockings he feels guilty about his affair. The stockings reminded me of the heart under the floorboards in Edgar Allan Poe's "The Tell-Tale Heart".

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"The Tell-Tale Heart" by Edgar Allan Poe || A Classic Suspense and Horror Story

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DimensionBucket reads the classic story by Edgar Allan Poe, sure to put you on the edge of your seat in suspense. Our narrator tells the story of how he murdered an old man, to put an end to his maddening eye.

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I have to admit when I first started reading this story I had the image of the movie "Bring It On" in mind.  But after the finished the story, I realized it was much more complex than that.

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When I read this story I couldn't stop thinking about how Dee was going to hang the quilts on the wall to look at but not be used. But Maggie would use the quilts, not save them for a special occasion. It made me think of my fine crystal and china, which is only use once or twice a year. It is a waste. I found this blog that describes it perfectly. From now on, I'm drinking my orange juice in a crystal goblet if I feel like it!

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A friend of mine opened his wife's underwear drawer and picked up a silk paper wrapped package:

"This, - he said - isn't any ordinary package."

He unwrapped the box and stared at both the silk paper and the box.

"She got this the first time we went to New York , 8 or 9 years ago. She has never put it on, was saving it for a special occasion. Well, I guess this is it. He got near the bed and placed the gift box next to the other clothing he was taking to the funeral house, his wife had just died. He turned to me and said:

"Never save something for a special occasion. Every day in your life is a special occasion".

I still think those words changed my life.

Now I read more and clean less.

I sit on the porch without worrying about anything.

I spend more time with my family, and less at work.

I understood that life should be a source of experience to be lived up to, not survived through. I no longer keep anything. I use crystal glasses every day... I'll wear new clothes to go to the supermarket, if I feel like it .

I don't save my special perfume for special occasions ; I use it whenever I want to. The words "Someday..." and "One Day..." are fading away from my dictionary. If it's worth seeing, listening or doing, I want to see, listen or do it now. I don't know what my friend's wife would have done if she knew she wouldn't be there the next morning, this nobody can tell. I think she might have called her relatives and closest friends. She might call old friends to make peace over past quarrels. I'd like to think she would go out for Chinese, her favorite food. It's these small things that I would regret not doing, if I knew my time had come.

I would regret it, because I would no longer see the friends I would meet, letters... that I wanted to write

"One of these days".

I would regret and feel sad, because I didn't say to my brother and sisters, son and daughters, not times enough at least, how much

I love them.

Now, I try not to delay, postpo ne or keep anything that could bring laughter and joy into our lives.. And, on each morning, I say to myself that this could be a special day..

Each day, each hour, each minute, is special.

If you got this, it's because someone cares for you and because, probably, there's someone you care about.

If you're too busy to send this out to other people and you say to yourself that you will send it "One of these days" , remember that "One day" is far away... or might never come...

No matter if yo u're superstitious or not, spend some time reading it.
It holds a useful message for the soul.

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Never save something for a special occasion

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A friend of mine opened his wife's underwear drawer and picked up a silk paper wrapped package: "This, - he said - isn't any ordinary package." He unwrapped the box and stared at both the silk paper and the box. "She got this the first time we went to New York , 8 or 9 years ago.

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Miss Moore reminded me of Mary Poppins, she was very prim and proper. She wanted to teach the children lessons about life but she did so in lessons that seemed fun.

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When I first read this play this scene from the movie "Fight Club" kept popping into my head.

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I loved Fight Club and really enjoy editing video so I made a trailer for the movie. It was a difficult process as I did not have a DVD player in my computer at the time. I had to download a DivX of the movie to get the video to edit.

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This poem made me think of how being bullied can be devastating to a child. The poem says that the boy was in Baltimore for 7 months yet all he can remember about that time was being bullied while riding (probably on a bus). Hopefully this image will remind us all how words and attitudes can hurt.

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This poem made me think of the movie Hunger Games: Catching Fire.  Specifically the scene where Katniss and Peeta volunteer as tributes for District 12. Like the men in the poem if they must die they wish to die fighting.

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"The Yellow Wallpaper" by Charlotte Perkins Gilman

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"The Yellow Wallpaper" by Charlotte Perkins Gilman

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After I read at the end of the story how the narrator was creeping around the room,  "But here I can creep smoothly on the floor and my shoulder just fits in that long smooch around the wall, so I cannot lose my way." I couldn't help but think of this "thing" from the movie "The Grudge". I know it's creepy but it kind of fits with how the woman lost her mind.

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This poem reminded me of Nora and Torvals's marriage and home, perfect looking on the outside but cold and fake on the inside.

"Doll's House" by Ioanna Carlsen

The music comes on with the lights,
the little opera of emptiness begins, the little
dance of no one there —
just the rooms exhibited,
furniture in them like ideas,
a stage set waiting for action out of the blue.

But no,
even the fire in the hearth is neon, warms no one,
the drawers in the painted chests,
are filled with nothing,
the tables loaded with miniature, fake, repasts.

It’s night outside, about to snow, the dollhouse lights are on:
you’re in the dark,
watching the dollhouse like a thief,
pilfering its pockets for a clue to your own life,
wafted over by smells of cooking, and silence.

Inside the dark
a flute starts to play, imaginary people come in at the door:
invited to stay, they take off their coats,
tea is made in a miniature pot — oh,
it’s good I hear you say, let’s have crumpets too, and we put them on,
you and I, they’re almost crumbs but we toast them,
and what kind of jam do you want, I say, on top of the butter,
and you say raspberry,
and I give it to you, reader,

I give it to you and we both eat.
Outside the big house it’s snowing.
Applied frost creeps up the sides of the doll house windows,
the fake fireplace glows electric,
our toy dog sleeps on the rug —

a hush falls over this small house inside the big house,
we sleep in it…
I sleep, you sleep, he sleeps, she sleeps…
it sleeps, the real,
a sleep so delicious, we can dream in it,
as in a delirium, without sound…

windows opening into windows,
shoes never walked in at the door
that we slip on.

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This story reminded of how as a parent I hope to teach my children all the things they need to know to become happy, responsible adults. I think the song "I Hope you Dance" by Leann Womack illustrates much like the story "Girl" how parents worry about and wish good things for our children.

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When I read about the bird in the play it made me think of the story about a falcon in the novel City of Bones by Cassandra Clare. If you haven't read it I would recommend it. I'm not especially fond of birds but the thought of someone purposely killing one makes me sad.

" Once there was a boy,” said Jace."

"Clary interrupted immediately. “A Shadowhunter boy?”

“Of course.” For a moment a bleak amusement colored his voice. Then it was gone. “When the boy was six years old, his father gave him a falcon to train. Falcons are raptors – killing birds, his father told him, the Shadowhunters of the sky."

“The falcon didn’t like the boy, and the boy didn’t like it, either. Its sharp beak made him nervous, and its bright eyes always seemed to be watching him. It would slash at him with beak and talons when he came near: For weeks his wrists and hands were always bleeding. He didn’t know it, but his father had selected a falcon that had lived in the wild for over a year, and thus was nearly impossible to tame. But the boy tried, because his father told him to make the falcon obedient, and he wanted to please his father."

“He stayed with the falcon constantly, keeping it awake by talking to it and even playing music to it, because a tired bird was meant to be easier to tame. He learned the equipment: the jesses, the hood, the brail, the leash that bound the bird to his wrist. He was meant to keep the falcon blind, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it – instead he tried to sit where the bird could see him as he touched and stroked its wings, willing it to trust him. He fed it from his hand, and at first it would not eat. Later it ate so savagely that its beak cut the skin of his palm. But the boy was glad, because it was progress, and because he wanted the bird to know him, even if the bird had to consume his blood to make that happen."

“He began to see that the falcon was beautiful, that its slim wings were built for the speed of flight, that it was strong and swift, fierce and gentle. When it dived to the ground, it moved like light. When it learned to circle and come to his wrist, he neary shouted with delight. Sometimes the bird would hope to his shoulder and put its beak in his hair. He knew his falcon loved him, and when he was certain it was not just tamed but perfectly tamed, he went to his father and showed him what he had done, expecting him to be proud."

“Instead his father took the bird, now tame and trusting, in his hands and broke its neck. ‘I told you to make it obedient,’ his father said, and dropped the falcon’s lifeless body to the ground. ‘Instead, you taught it to love you. Falcons are not meant to be loving pets: They are fierce and wild, savage and cruel. This bird was not tamed; it was broken.’"

“Later, when his father left him, the boy cried over his pet, until eventually his father sent a servant to take the body of the bird away and bury it. The boy never cried again, and he never forgot what he’d learned: that to love is to destroy, and that to be loved is to be the one destroyed.”

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I feel as Louise comes to grip with the loss of her husband a new thought appears, that without her husband oppressing her she can finally be free. As she stares out the window at the beautiful sky she feels the chains of her former life falling away.