A trip to remember.

        Travel: to go form one place to another; take a trip; journey. The ditionary definition of the word gives away little in regard to its true meaning. The word travel can mean a myriad of things; to some it may stand for an aspiration, something to look forward to; to another it may represent pleasant memories. To the turly ambitious it could representa  lifestyle. To me, travel is a mixture of the three.
        Traveling is something I have always wanted to  do, as long as I can remember. For manh years it was an aspiration for me- as a kid I never got ot go anywhere I felt was truly exciting. Even now, when travel to me can seem like a memory, I still consider it an aspiration, and hope someday to incorporate it into my lifestyle. Two years ag I was nominated to go on a trip through the band program. To company was called Voyagers International, and the trip was a sixteen day tour around Europe.
       Sooner than Icould have anticipated, we had driven to the airport, checked our bags, and began our journey. We landed at the London/Heathrow airport, andt he tour began. The culture in London was something I found incredibly fascinating; my grandfather had moved to 'America from England when he was in his twenties, and so far every generation of my family had been save for mine. I enjoyed the guided tours we participated in, the sightseeing we did on our own, andt he playing that we did in our concerts. Before I knew it, though, our stay in London was up and we were off to Paris.
     Going on a trip with a band meant a lot of things; for one, it meant that we didnt have time to climb every step of the Eirffel Tower, and couldn't pick and chose where we chose to spend all our time. However, it also meant that the places we visited were all fascinating displays of culture and history. In Paris in particular, we spent a lot of time visiting monuments, the Eiffel tower, of course, and spent an afternoon in the Louvre. From Paris, full of beautiful city life, we moved on to Crans-Montana, a small town nestled in the mountains of Switzerland. The views were fantastic, and the small town showed us true hospitality- on our last night there they hosted a traditional Swiss party for us, complete with their traditional dancing, singing, music and food.
        From Switzerland we drove through Liechtenstein, stopping to rest and eat, and to wander the streets of the world's fourth smallest country before continuing on our way to Austria. Here, the town's billboards and propaganda were oriented towards the Olympics, which had been held there years before, and Mozart, who had called it his home. Everywhere we went in this first German-speaking country I found myself faced with cultural differences and language blocks. but be that as it was, everything we did was being embedded, unkowingly, into my mind. The way I perceive tings, the way I think, even on occasion the language I use has been impacted by the many cultures I visited.
        One of the most beautiful places we went, with perhaps the most unique culture, was Italy. The day trip we took into Venice was fasciatingly different; a city built of water, canals around every corner and perhaps more bridges than I've ever seen in one places. Venice is surely somewhere everyone should visit before they die, the gondola rides, the masks, the food. Being a vegetarian is hard in America, but in Italy it was made so easy for me. The psta, the cheeses and the breads, and all of the unique Italian cuisine was exquisite. I miss it terribly now that I'm back home eating things strait from the microwave. It couldn't last, though, as we moved on to our last stop: Germany.
       If I thought Italy couldn ot be beat, I was sadly misteaken when wea rrived in Germany. The city, or rather, village, where we stayed was surrounded by high brick walls- which you could walk clear around the city on- from the days when it had been constantly besieged by neighboring countries. It wax perhaps the most historically rich place we had been, or perhaps I just perceived it to be that way sine it was our last stop. It concluded my travel experiences for a time, I haven't been any where since. I will never forget what I saww, what I learned, and how much I enjoyed myself.
    That trip to Europe will stay with me, forever.

Pondering: Why I write?

Why do I write? Interesting question I think, with a plethora (like how I slipped the word plethora in there?) of components. The first, as Mrs. Cardona pointed out, is simply why do I write? I write on occasions when I am made to, weather for school or college essays or other such things, but that doesn't constitute the bulk of my writing. Mostly I write because I enjoy it. I feel the need to take whatever is inside my head and get it down onto paper, to see how it will look; how it will sound... Sometimes it's poetry, maybe just a line I though sounded nicely put together, floating around in my head waiting to be written. Mostly it is stories. I write because doing so calms me and lets me think about the characters in my stories, and their problems as opposed to my own. It also, in this way, entertains me.

I suppose that answer summed up when I write, as well as how. For school or when I want to. To be more specific, I enjoy writing most when I can curl up in bed with my lap top and just write. Usually in place of doing my homework. Occasionally in the car with a notepad, or in the spare moments we have in school, but usually that's when I read.

Of the writers we addressed in class, I feel I can identify most with Didion. Though I found her "On keeping a journal" essay extremely confusingly written at first, I realized when I was through reading it that I had really agreed with what she had said. In the most recent essay of her's we have read, entitled "Why I write" I once again found myself connecting with what she had to say.
Example: "My attention veered inexorably back to the specific, to the tangible, to what was generally considered, by everyone I knew then and for that matter have known since, the peripheral. I would try to contemplate the Hegelian dialectic and would find myself concentrating instead on a flowering pear tree outside my window and the particular way the petals fell on my floor."
I can connect with this statement because I know for a fact I do just the same thing. I am writing this blog right now, but for just a moment while I typed out that quote I was considering the number of raisons left in the box on my desk.
A second (and last, because this is getting long) Example: I write entirely to find out what I'm thinking, what I'm looking at, what I see and what it meants. What I want and what I fear."
I love that quote, I think it sums up a perfectly legitimate motive to write, one that Orwell left out.

I'm officially talking far too much, so Au Revoir to blogging for a moment in time. <3

AP classes and AP blogs?

Wingapo! If you didn't know (which you should have, obviously) that it how you say hello in...whatever language it is that pocahontas uses. My name is Kayla, and I'm a Wayzata High School senior, and this blog is my first project for my AP Language and Composition class. It's only the second day of school, and I already can feel senioritis setting in. I'm trying at the moment to balance my highschool life, my social life, and my panic attack-worthy need to start seriously applying to college. Taking things at more of a steady tempo, I suppose I can talk about the first part of my freak-out worthy life: the highschool phase.

Most of the things I do on a regular basis involve, or are connected to, my highschool. The fall is when I have my precious free time, although lately thats looking like it may be threatened by my overwhelmingly large number of interests. I take my brother to school in the mornings, and home afterwards. I do my homework, I hang out with my friends. I try to run, most of the time. For the most part, in the fall, my time is my own. However, just as of recently I've been thinking of joining the sounds and lights crew for our drama departments fall musical. Huge time commitment, but I have to admit, it would be fun. It cuts, by a week and a half, into my winter season. During the winter I become an insane busy body. Being on the alpine ski team is ridiculously time consuming, but god do I love it. I've done it every year of highschool and have no intentions of quitting. I come home late, usually have ice cream (which we always have in the winter, but somehow never in the summer. Odd?), do my homework and go to bed late. Skiing ends for the spring season, during which I have a week or two of rest, before the track and field season starts. I used to run sprints, and jump hurdles. Highschool changed that. My track event is polevaulting, and while it may be the silliest of all the things I am involved in, I enjoy it very much.

Outside of my sport life, but still in my school life, I am in club Y.E.S.- a service volonteer program-, and have also participated in Link Crew, Photography Club, and Novel writing club. Novel club actualy may beat out polevauling for one of the sillier things I am involved with. I love art, and reading, and playing my flute. I am in the wind ensemble here at the school, and take private lessons from a teacher I admire hugely. During marching band, which is going on just next class period, I play the piccolo. Hence, ladies and gents, my URL.

Unrelated to school, I spend most of my time either burried in a book or spending time with my friends. Most of the time, its reading. If I'm not doing those things, I could probably be found hyperventilating (yes, that was a slight exaggeration) about my college apps. I love Madison, Loyola, and am applying to several schools out east. We'll see what happens.

Well this post is getting abnormally long, and I'm running out of time. Oh, time- the title of my blog, if anyone were to be intested, is pulled strait from one of my absolute favorite poems. Andrew Marvel's "To his coy mistress". And on that note, goodbye.