This is an essay we have to write for english. I need to make it as perfect as it can be. Bland? yes, but heck its an essay for an academic english class. Any way I could use some critique on this! So what do ya think? Now with out further ado, My bedroom on the lake. . .
“I call dad’s old room!” It’s a phrase a second grader might say, but the same thing I yell every time that I run through the screen door. Running up the stairs, my legs pumping hard on the carpeted steps. The walls decorated with pictures of my dad’s old camp and uncle’s hockey team. The second door on my right I fling open and take a deep breath. I made it, before any one else. This my favorite room in my grandmother’s house. Possibly my favorite room any where.
It is usually night when we get there, but I can already see the lake when the sun rises off of it. Clearly visible from the two windows on the front wall. There are no screens in the two windows either. Making it possibly for Claudia or I to climb out on to the slightly slanted roof. But neither of us has ever gotten the courage to try. A pine tree houses a few birds in the early morning. It is most always them waking us up.
The room smells like newly washed laundry, and the slight aroma of wine that always lingers in the house. The room is only big enough for a double bed, small sewing table, and two bed tables, with a little room to get around. But it seems cozy and more homey in the somewhat large house. The bed looks even larger compared to the size of the room. It is always covered the same thick comforter, striped with purple and white, decorative pillows to match. A little yellow rabbit in a floppy sun hat rests on the pillows of the bed, her stitched smile always looks up at my sister and I every time we visit.
A white shuttered window opens into and looks down on the sun room. A hurricane tore off the first porch they had outside and the window used to look out onto the lake. But when the built a new sunroom the window was then looking inside. Looking out this window reminds me of hours of play with sisters. Tying little stuffed animals to left over scraps of felt and throwing them out the window to “bungee jump”. This window also lulls Claudia and I to sleep in the big bed, listening to the chatter and clink of glasses below.
Right under this window there is a little vent. Probably only about eight inches in length and three inches in width. The vent opens up and holds a variety of paper dolls on popsicle craft sticks. Three dollars in change scrounged from Grandpa’s stained and lumpy television watching chair. And odd shells and rocks found on the tiny strip of beach by the lake. This vent was my dad’s secret hiding spot for all his special things and ever since we were little my sisters and I have hidden our stuff in there. It’s also an ideal place for listening to adult conversations going on in the sitting area below.
In the little basket by the sewing table on the left side of the room there are extra scraps of fabric and felt pieces from my Granny’s rug braiding. These scraps entertain us for hours, two of us sitting on the squishy tan carpet making fairy clothes to hide in the twins room, and American Girl Doll dresses, or sometimes a nightcap for Sophie.
On the same side of the room there is a closet. No door covers it, just a thin cotton sheet that makes the closet look like its breathing at night when we keep the window open. Not the most pleasant thing to think about but its pretty neat when you get in the closet its self.
On the back wall there are two holes. One is large enough to reach your entire arm through and look into the Grace and Sophie’s room next door. There is a smaller hole above and to the left of the other. This one is good for a second person to listen in. When I asked my grandparents how the holes got there they told me that my dad smashed those holes himself when he and my uncle Miles were kids. He used to use the large hole to spy on Miles and the smaller hole to stick a little microphone recorder in there and record his conversations while Miles was with his friends or just talking to himself. But I still like using the holes to scare the twins or just annoy them.
Behind the door is a little white wire bookcase filled with a bunch of books that I remember from when I was little. My favorite on the case is It’s a Good Night For Sleeping, by Doctor Sues.There are also a bunch of books about the history of dolls and dollhouses and many more from when my Granny was still a teacher. Every night before going to bed I still like to look for and read that Doctor Sues book (if I can find it). Still one of my all time favorites.
Right in that room, is one of the places that I first really got into reading like I do now. That is important to me because I read like crazy and never would have gotten to enjoy it so much if it hadn’t been for my grandmother’s vast collection of books.
Usually in the summer I sleep wicked late. Eight is one of the earliest times I’ll wake up. But there some thing just makes me want to get up and you can usually find me sitting up in bed watching the sun rise over the lake, making it look more like a mirror than water. And then going up to the windows to open them. There are usually a chorus of small birds sitting on the branches of the oak tree the bird feeders chirping and flitting around each other. Sitting there with the crisp morning air on my skin, and the sounds of soft waves hitting the dock and birds singing serves as a reminder that this room at my Granny’s house really is one of my very favorite places.
