In French class at school, we have pen-pals (all the way in France). We had to write letters about the holidays to them. I wrote mine on the computer, then decorated them further:

I just finished practicing my piano.
Tonight was one of those nights: the music truly came alive.
I felt it so strongly: like it was me.
I probably played this small, 4 measure part about 37 times. Really.
But the thing was: it really felt so good.

I have always wanted to be able to decorate a tree, let alone something, for the holidays.
My dad always says I am persistant, and pretty much I am. I made it happen for myself.

We celebrate Hannukah. It's tons of fun, what with the presents, games, candles and all. But I always wanted to have something big, like a christmas tree. So my mom, brother, and I started to build a gigantic menorah! It was mainly my idea, but they helped make the finishing touches.
We first built the base, a triangle shaped big wedge of cardboard, and then made the base of the candles, which was to lay on top of the triangle shaped base. Then, we made candles: big towers (made of cups) with colourful stripes of duct tape. My brother and I stuck them in. We haven't made the middle candle, the shammash, yet. We are waiting for some special materials.

I decorated it: one side with paper colored snow flakes, one side with a duct tape quilt, and on the other side, my brother and I wrote all the names of people who are important in our lives. It's pretty stunning.

And, like there's santa, we are even thinking of making a hannukah monster/person or something!

Happy early holidays!

Hearing; listening; speaking: that is learning. From reading, picking up conversations, conversing and talking with people, that is how idea's spark and begin to evolve.
Yesterday, I went to TEDyouth. Have you ever heard a TED talk, or watched one online? Well, they made a program for kids, and I had to enter an application and I got accepted.
Tons of kids, from all around New York, attended. It was all about getting kids feedback and what kids think, and we got to listen to some adults speak on a topic they focus on. For example, there was a mathematician trying to teach us that you can use math and numbers to figure out life equations, like do I need to study for a test or can I goof off? It was really funny.
Another person just gave a talk through questions, all of his questions about life and himself, and questions that were unanswered. Asking questions that don't have definite answers let you explore the endless posibillities of "answers", and what "can" and "can't" be. And he showed that through various animations and cartoons.
Anyway, my point is that listening to other people's ideas and building off of them is really fun, and is a way to learn: what other way is there to discover than to do?

My school, ms. 51, mixes in a lot of art projects with as our school work. I have that a lot in French. We had to make a cartoon within the second week of school, so there are some mistakes, but here is mine:

What I did today; November 8th, 2011
-Go to orthodontist and get two more brackets.
-Go to Mira's brithday party and bob for apples
(+get soaked)
-Have a very comforting conversation with my father.

I created a statue of liberty for a French Project at school. With bottles, cans, wire, and photo shop, you can create a lot! Here it is:

School is in my hands...
In ELA, we are doing a research topic called an iSearch. My topic is on the composer Mozart. When I was looking online, i found this quote:
"When I am traveling in a carriage, or on a walk after a good meal, or during the night when I cannot sleep: it is on such occasions that ideas flow best and most abundantly."-Mozart

So very real...

Back Home

I am back in Brooklyn. Everything feels so familiar. For the past two days I have started soccer and I am enjoying it, mostly because I feel confident on the field and so I am having a lot of fun. Also, school started on Thursday. I like my school a lot more than I thought I would. Before school started, my dad kept telling me "don't have your expectations to high, and its ok if you feel a little stressed by the first day." My dad does not say that kind of stuff without knowing anything, so I asked him why he was saying that and then he admitted to me that one woman (who he somehow met) with an older daughter gave him that "advice". So of course, I felt in a way that people were over preparing their kids, so that started to make me feel like I would hate going to middle school.
But honestly, and even after just two days of it, its just school, like I have been going to for the last seven years. And, I like it a lot. Plus I got into my top choice talent, Drama, and now I am so completely relieved and happy, and I know that I am going to make it a good year.

Devour Paradise

Portugal
Yesterday I went to the Maritime Museum, a museum on ships and Portuguese navigators. There where many models of ships that represented real ones used on missions lead by Vasco Da Gama, Infante Dom Anrique; who we now know as Henry the Navigator, and a few other men. In one part of the museum, there was a display of three ships; the Naus S. Gabriel, the S. Rafeal, and the Carare Beerio, used for an expedition lead by Henry the Navigator: they were used when he discovered the spice route around Africa and India. On that journey, the crew started with 220 men and by the end, lost 116 men along with a whole ship. Here is a picture of one of the ships:
Even with more than half his men gone, Henry was one of the first to realize that taking the short cut for the spice route would not make it faster for him; it would make it faster towards the wrong place. Henry made his plans by studying this map:
This map shows the direction of the wind. Henry also realized that taking the shortcut would be a battle against the wind that he wouldn't win, so he made his plan using his knowledge through the map.
Then we left that room, walked through a courtyard and came to a huge room full of life size models of ships. There were so many, and one that I liked had a silk red fabric cover, in replacement of what we use today as sunroofs on boats. Another one was like a mini palace on a boat, with gold engravings and beautiful patterns. I thought it looked like a palace even before I knew that it was designed by a queen, Queen Maria of Portugal (a long time ago).
There is so much care put into each boat, and each one is different which makes it very special: they are not the same model built 100 times. In the same room there were also models of planes, the kind I built (I built miniature ones) with my friend at a construction camp earlier in the summer. They also had a lot of old fashion steam engines. Everything was a different size and you could view the ships from a ground level or from up above: they had stairs leading up so you could see the top. All of the ships were either moved by sail or oar, and the oars where so huge that it took two people to row them. It is a very cool museum. I also think the setting, and the way they present it, is very nice. First you enter through a regular door into a small room where you by tickets. Then, through a huge and carved door way, (so bug its even hard to say its a doorway), you emerge into a dark, low lit hall which has all the models and statues of ships and navigators, then you go back to real time in the interior courtyard, and the end comes to a huge, white painted with stain glass room, naturally lit with bug windows, with all the life size planes, boats, and steam engines.
On most of our trips, we tend to go in a circle. We came to this museum on the first day but it was closed, so it became the last thing we did in Portugal too.

Lisbon, Portugal

Yesterday I traveled to another country, Portugal. This is the last foreign country we are going to before we go back to the U.S.

The bed I had in Barcelona was very comfortable, and I slept very well. I was the last to wake up yesterday because I could hardly bring myself to get up. We had to wake up at 08h00 to get the bus to go to the airport. On the bus I kept watching this T.V. that had the top things to do in Barcelona. It was a replayed loop but it was interesting to watch.

When we checked in our baggage, we got onto the plane. I sat in between my mom and brother. While I was on my mom’s iPhone, my mom was trying to get my brother to write. He finally did, but just one sentence. I like reading his work so I asked him to do more but he just said no.

Then my mom and I started reading “Watership Down” for our book club. It is about talking rabbits that have to flee there home because it is going to be made into some site (I don’t know yet), which will destroy the rabbits. My mom and I switched reading every few pages.

The flight was very short, and in an hour we where there. Right as we where about to leave the plane, my brother stuck gum in my hair. I do not know what goes on in his head. I got so angry at him and so did my parents. I don’t now why he did it.

But of course, we sorted it out. When we got outside the fresh air felt so good. One thought that came to me right when we arrived was that I liked the city. Everyone’s spirit was very light and happy, and the city was colorful and welcoming. We got in the cab and my mom asked the driver some questions. He works 12 hours a day everyday. I have to say that my parents are such good interviewers and that I know a lot about how people live because of that.

We settled in to the apartment but left right away for lunch. I had barely any dinner the night before and no breakfast so I was hungry. As we walked up the stairs (Lisbon is a very hilly place just like San Francisco, and they also both have cable cars) to the restaurant, my mom and I did obstacles and fun exercises. My brother and I pretended we where in the Olympics. Also, we where about to choose a restaurant when I said, “Can we keep walking a little bit?”. I said that for two reasons, one because there was no one at the restaurant, and two, because usually if we don’t like a restaurant, the good one was right in front of us.

I was right. The restaurant we did choose was right through and around another ally way. It was a very good restaurant and our waiter was talkative and very welcoming. When we decided what we wanted to order, he said, “Lets do it”!

After we ate the meal, we started walking through the labyrinth. In Alfama, the neighborhood we are staying in, there are little streets and ally ways everywhere, and the streets are very skinny and made of cobblestones. Cars cannot go through, which is a big change for me because from my bedroom in my house, I can hear all the traffic all night long. I am used to it like that.

We came to a little square that had a view (because it was high above) of Lisbon. I could see all the houses with the tin roofs, and the mini cars and people. My dad and I talked about my book, getting ideas for it from all around us. Then I started walking around just to get more steps for my pedometer, which I have been using for most of the trip.

Through the maze, we came to a station for the 28 cable car, the oldest one in Portugal. Portugal is a lot like San Francisco because it is so hilly and has cable cars. We realized we where going the wrong direction so we only went for one stop. Then we got off and my mom led us to a huge tunnel/window and we saw another view. We did a lot more walking.

We went through, and my mom, the navigator, led us to this bar where there was music playing. Every two or three songs, the singer would switch. There was a wide range of singing: opera, country, and a different style, I don’t know the name of it.

I woke up to the bright light outside the bedroom window. That wakes me up every day: at around 9:00, and because of that I can't really sleep.
The good thing about waking up early -I call nine early because we go to sleep at 11:30- is that I get to do a lot of extra writing, either on my blog, my book, or both.
That day, I did a lot of reading and I finished the book called "The Traitors Gate" by Avi. At first I didn't like the book; it had a slow and bland beginning; but after I kept reading, I was intrigued and I couldn't stop.
After I woke up, the order was my mom, brother, and dad. Once we were all dressed and ready to go, we went outside. There are two ways to get out of the building, one by taking the elevator and another way by walking down the stairs. So Roman and I decoded to wall down. We new our parents were going to take the elevator down, so as we walked down, we pressed every floors elevator button, so hey would have a local ride. It was really funny because every time the elevator stopped- we new because of the loud metal sound- we could here my parents mumbling what or why!
When we finally did get out, we went to this little bakery where I got a muffin and a pineapple juice. After, as we walked to the bus stop, we went into this shop called Durmofish. The name attracted us. It was actually a nail salon, but the way they do it is by soaking your feet or hands into a tank with water and fish who masage you and bite the dead cells of you, and it feels really good and ticklish. I got a free one because i stuck my hand into the basin while my parents talked to the owners. All the fish came to my hand as soon as i put it in. A photo (if you look closely you can see the fish souraounding my hand):

At the bus station, we took the bus for a few stops, then walked 14 blocks. My dad and I started talking about the street design of Barcelona, so I started to draw a map:
We needed to find directions to our destination, so my parents asked this old man. I think he had a speech problem, because every time he wanted to talk, he had to pause and it was very awkward. He would make a great character. We found directions though.
We settled at the worst restaurant ever; basically like a McDonald's in disguise. We barely ordered anything, and I ate nothing. The point was- a very agreeable point- that the view was great. Our table was outside and it viewed the famous Sagrada Familia. The Sagrada Familia is a church, that was built by many architects starting in the 19th century to now. They say will be done yin the mid 2000's. One architect started the church. Then Goudi took off. He created this church to not be your typical Victorian Jesus and Mary church, but a church with shape, curves here, circles there no hard strait lines, and more, a lighter church, not drowned on paintings and color but not drowned at all, with mostly wight, pink, a lot of cream, and blue. The stain glass windows were every where, stained with brilliant shades of color, with huge columns and rigged stair ways.
Goudi made many plans for the church, but died before it was even 25% done. Now, many architects from all around the world are working too finish Goudi's dream.
All of that could be seen throughout inside. As we sat at the restauraunt waiting for our time to go in, we saw the magnificent outside if the Church. What I liked where too things: one, because Goudi designed it, it was like multiple churches connected, each one having it's own original style but still being able come together: and two, the fruit basket on top of one tower created by a Japanese architect.
My father and I drew a a sketch of the church, its up above in the front of this post.
After we left the church, we walked for a long time to the Music Hall. Then we got a few sandwhiches, kind of a mix with a crepe, paninni, and tortilla. Mine had tomato and cheese, and it was very good. The music performance we saw was very electronical; this man put together a song in garage band and played an instrument to go with it. It was cool, but that was not what we were expecting at all. Also, it was not in the big grand hall designed also by Goudi, where we wanted it to be.
After, we went to a few stores to by some clothes for the school year. My brother and I had such a fun time trying all different coats on. I got a shirt and a scarf. The wierd thing is though, is that size 10-12, the size i usually get, is huge, and the 7/8 size shirt in that store fit me. That was a very calm but fun day.
Some photo's:

Barcelona, 8/15-8/16
I am in Barcelona (or Barthelona, how Spanish people say it. The king once had a lisp, and he made sure everyone repeated him so he would not feel alienated. That language is Catalan.). We arrived at night, which was nice because there were no naps involved, just eat something for dinner and got to bed. That night, we wanted to go to this restaurant that we spotted on our way to the apartment.
When we came back to eat, just like it had been before, the restaurant was totally empty and bucktooth woman and the old man just sat and watched T.V. It was a very depressing scene, so we went on to another place. The next restaurant (we did eat there) we went to had a few people in it, but was still pretty empty. We were exhausted from our full day of traveling so we ate there. The man who served us had a very sad face, and the food was not that good, but we didn't pay any attention, we were that tired.
The next day we explored the city. We went to the Grand Rambla, the biggest walk way in the world. We walked there for a while, and explored some cool original shops. We had some lunch, at a nice garden cafe. While i was eating, I wrote postcards to some of my friends. Then went to the contemporary art museum, which was closed. So my dad, my brother, and I decided to go inside this church. I have seen many old churches, but this one was very ornate, and the nice thing was that they had different levels of all the religious things. It had all the detailed paintings, the vague ones, and even the cross with the man made out of a simple piece of wire. This one painting showed many paintings in one, many scenes. Somethings were hidden, and I found the hidden lion in the shadows. We also went to the natural history museum, and the Picasso museum. There, we saw his early works to his latest, with the point of view faces. I noticed a lot of change in his style throughout his life, and his arty pieces were only really formed later in life. Seeing all his works, it was hard to believe they were made by the same artist.
Later that day, at the dinner, my brother and I played soccer with an empty water bottle. It was very fun, and a cute dog even played with us too! He grabbed the bottle in his mouth, the owner took it out, and my brother and I tried to kick the bottle between each other with out the dog getting the bottle.
The next day, the main thing we explored were houses designed by Goudi, a famous spanish architect. Also, we went to another art museum were we saw a documentary on Antoni Tapies, and i got inspired and wrote down some words and sentences and sketches that came to me when I was watching. Here are some photo's of the buildings we saw:

Salvador Dali
For the past two days, this is who we have been discovering. On 8-14-11, we had a full traveling day from Marsielle to Figueres, Spain. We woke up in Marsielle at seven a.m., 7h00,v to catch the train at 8h00. We were all dressed in in long pants and sweatshirts because the train is very air conditioned and cold.
We got out of our apartment, and rolled are suitcases to the front of the main station. There are big stairs leading up to that, huge stairs, so we found a different way to go up with our heavy luggage. Once we got there, we got to have our last French breakfast, in the station because we had a little time before our train left. I had a chocolate croissant. We got on the train, played games like guess who, went on electronics, I drew, did math, and waited.
Once we got off that train, we transferred to another. My brother and I watched a video. That train ride was very quick. After that train, we were supposed to transfer to another one to take us to our final destination.
The most unbelievable thing happened. The last train we were supposed to take was the front part of our previous train. We were sitting in the back of the train, what a coincidence, and by the time we got out, the front part had all ready detached and left. Plus, that train was a TGV train (which means it was a speed train), so because we missed it, it would take us four hours instead of 15 minutes.
There were other people who had missed it too. One of them had been at the station since 10h00: they had no idea about the train because on the screen, it had said that there was a twenty minute delay, so they assumed it would be later. The other person was a young woman who was traveling to Barcelona, and because of this, she would miss her flight. She was in tears.
Connections have to be exact for one to make it, and if the first domino falls, the other ones do too.
I haven't even gotten to Dali yet! When we did get there, we checked into our hotel. We quickly took our baggage up to our room, got in the car, and went to the Dali museum, for our 20h00 tickets. Of course, we made it, like we do (mostly) every time, usually at the absolute last minute. The exhibit was great. The exhibit had so much in it, and we spent almost half an hour in this one room, where they had a sculpture of a woman made of brass, and this car with a broken window that rained inside when you pushed a button. All of this was set in the round interior courtyard, where you could see the floors up above with a glass window every time there was a manikin in a different pose.
Other rooms had paintings, sculptures, and interactive exhibits. Dali also explored perception, so there was a lot of artwork that could be viewed as multiple things, as well as different places to look from. One piece was a painting, flat, that you couldn't understand until you looked into a wine bottle that reflected the image right side up. He also had a room dedicated to the face. There were to paintings of eyes on either side of the wall, a nose fireplace with two nostrils, and a pink couch that looked like lips. On the outer edge was hair that was formed like a doorway, and to see the whole face, you looked through a hologram to shrink the size and make it viewable with the eye.
After we left the museum, we went back to our hotel. It was raining, but still we decided to go into the pool. That was so much fun. They had a water slide into the pool and a diving board, and i went on each one a countless amount of times.
The next day would be another traveling day to Barcelona, but first, we went to Dali's home. It was not like all those old fashioned homes, with so much dark color and old rugs and paintings of religious things, and i am glad about that. It was actually interesting as we toured the house, because so many museums and homes we saw last summer were like i just described, and i wanted something else. Dali's home was fairly modern, but still had the old feeling which i like. Another thing for perception: there was a mirror in the front room, facing the window, and from Dali's room, because of the mirror, he could watch the sun set and rise.
Another thing he had was a cricket cage, because he loved the sound they made. Also, there living room was like a tunnel, because when you spoke, your voice would echo.
The garden had a lap pool with fountain, and a lounge just like the lips couch.
Here are some pictures of both exhibits:
My hand, holding a statue of an egg that is far away:
A painting of a rhinocaraus that a posed like:
The Face:
The second lip couch:

8-12-11
Still in the great Marsielle. On that day, we woke up and rushed to the Viex Port, the Old Port, to catch a boat. The boat ride was three hours and was a tour of the Calnques.
The line for the boat was very long. When we asked a guide about it, she said the line was normal and was even longer at two o'clock, which, i assumed, meant it was a big atraction and must be beautiful. We got on the boat, and chose a 4 seater table inside the it. As the boat started moving, i went outside. I found a seat right on the left side, a seat on the edge viewing the water. The wind blew my hair into my face, and normally i would of brushed it away but i liked the feeling of it; the wind was cool, and the breeze kept it from being to hot. The weather in Marsielle is really nice; not too cold, not to hot, and you can still wear shorts and a tank top or pants.
The Calanques were huge, mountain sized, curved rocks, with moss covering it making it look like a frosted cake. I also saw a few hikers, and i wanted to climb up. The boat never stoped, but we saw beaches that we had already went to and beaches we wanted to go to.
That night, we walked up to the cathederal, where it was said to have the best view of France. It was a very steep walk, but it was later in the day so it wasn't that hot. When we got there, the lighting was picteres so my dad took tons of photo's. The view was okay. The cool thing was that there were two points of view of the city, one was straight, were it was like a mountain, and it looked pretty close, but if i turned to my left, looking down, i could see a whole different looking city, that looked millions of miles away. It was really cool.Then of course, if you looked up, you would see stars starting to come out, they looked a trillion miles away, though some how, very close.

A Little More

Mr. Bombompsky didn’t just know of people, but made contact with them. Two falls ago, Mr. Bombompsky had heard that Robert Goldman was in New York. Somehow, he found out that Mr. Goldman was going to Central Park on the first Saturday of his stay. Mr. Bombompsky had wanted to meet him, so he made his way from Brooklyn to the city.

“Excuse me, but I think I recognize you,” Mr. Bombompsky had planned to say, in a casual tone to get the conversation started. But it had gone the oppisite way of planned.

Mr. Bombompsky did recognize Mr. Goldman: he was sitting on the bench near the Broadway entrance. Before he could say anything, Mr. Goldman exclaimed, “I think I recognize you. Are you, ah, I can’t remember!”

Mr. Bombompsky was taken aback, but then knew what Mr. Goldman was going to say. He would of suggested the idea for him, but wanted Mr. Goldman to say it in his own words.

“Oh, yes! You are, you are Bombompksy, Mr. Bombompsky, the famous writer! Voila! Oh, I have heard so much about you and read all of your books, even the ones for children. It is a pleasure to meet you.” He shook Mr. Bombompsky’s hand hard.

Mr. Bombompsky smiled, very full with satisfaction but trying not to show it too much. He wondered why Mr. Goldman, who didn’t have a French name or last name at all, had a French accent.

“Thank you. And you are Robert Goldman, no? It is a pleasure. Why are you in New York? And where did you come from?” Mr. Bombombpsky had inquired.

“I come from Marseille,” he said while smiling, and the corners of his white mustache lifted up. “I just wanted to explore “the City”, as they call it, no?”

The conversation was taken to the Pie Café, where each of the authors got an ecpresso. As he thought back to that conversation, Mr. Bombompsky realized he was in no mood to travel, and wished he could hear the conference through his Apple Macbook air, recorded, but knew he couldn’t let down his old friend. Mr. Bombompsky slowly finished packing the bag, until it would close without anything sticking out.

He went to the bathroom. By accident, he turned on the freezing cold water and shrieked. Then he laughed, and soon the cool water began to soothe his body, began to freshen it, began to give it more strength, make him feel lighter, free, like a bird, soaring through the rain, and music began to play in his head, like it was a movie. The rain poured and poured and poured on him, coming out of the hose strongly but making gentle drops of water run down his back.

I just read back at my other posts. I really enjoyed reading them, but I used way to many exclamation marks. I think I am getting better, though.

Here is a little more of my story

She wished she could listen to the music Mr. Bombompsky and his friends had made. She wanted something knew from her piano.

She had gone to Italy for a vacation because she thought she had needed a break.

But every second of every minute of almost every hour, she dreamed of being back in her apartment, playing the piano. Sometimes she would start moving her fingers around, trying to play. Each time, she forgot where she was. And her pieces always echoed through her head, just like they did after she played.

Sometimes, she held her hands to her head, and tried to figure out why she was so in love with this instrument. The one thing that had helped her through that was writing her own piano piece. She had already written 3 pages of music, without even getting to play them. But the music in her mind stayed, and she heard it none stop. When she went on a tour of the temples in Italy, everyone could here her humming. It was as if her humming made the temples come alive, and everyone around her could feel the energy of the ancients sorounding them.

Everyone liked it, though. Everyone on the tour asked if she was a proffesional musician. She didn’t know what to say to that, so she smiled, and said, “I am the living female Motzart.” That was what she hoped she was.

And Ida had thought her response would make people laugh, and go away saying she was a crazy old woman, but it did the oppisite. People became fascinated with her. They watched her, while she didn’t even know it, because Ida wasn’t trying to impress people. She just felt a sudden urge of happiness, which she expressed through the humming and the composing. Evan a few mothers asked to get autographs for their children.

She sipped her passion fruit Tazo Tea.

“Excuse me?” Ida heard someone say. She turned and looked to see the young boy with strawberry colored hair next to her. He was wearing a red t-shirt and cargo shorts with lots of pockets.

“What’s your name?” he asked in a British accent, a sound that Ida always had loved to hear.

“Willy, please,” the woman said to her son, looking sheepishly at Ida.

“Oh, its fine. My name is Ida. Is yours Willy?” she said.

Ida never understood why some parents were so embaressed when there child simply asked a question to a stranger. Her parents had done the same thing, and she always wondered why.

“Yup! And this is my mum. Why are you going to Germany?” Willy asked, grinning.

“I live in New York, and I’m supposed to transfer planes once we get to Berlin. What about you?”

“I’m just on a vacation. I live in England. We’re going to visit my mum’s sister, my cousins.”

“Oh!” Ida replied, than looked back to her book.

Mr. Bombompsk-

“Can you tell me a story? I desparetely want to fall asleep, and I can’t without a story. Its so important; its Willy tradition!” Willy’s voice came out.

Ida looked up and followed Willy’s gaze to his mom. Willy’s mom (Ida decided to call his mom Ms. Willy) tried to speak once again, but she sounded like a mute, saying through saying nothing, motioning with huge gestures.

“My mum’s voice is all gone from yelling at me, so she can’t tell me one,” he finished, almost bursting out with laughter.

Ida looked at Willy, then to his mom. By this point, Ms. Willy was ingnoring her sons questions and working on a book of Soduko.

“There once was a land with no rain. It was bare, as dry as a skeloten bone. The orchards had dried up, the crab apples had turn rotten and sour, and flocks and flocks of sheep, cattle, and even birds, had no energy to do anything. Especially the people. One hot, sunny, dry, scorching night, under the moon, along the dried river bend, came a young woman, with flowing dirty blond curly hair. Seeing this curious woman, the town gathered around her. The woman started to sing, her voice making the most butiful ranges of sound. The sad music awakened there eyes, and they started to cry. They cried through the night, and as the song started to become softer, to soothe the citezans eyes, the rivers filled, the empty bottles in everyone’s straw homes filled with cool, blue and clear life, and golden apples bursted from the trees.” Ida looked at Willy. He was lying on his mom, sleeping, muttering “water, finnaly”, and having the most happy look on his face Ida had ever seen.

Willy had watched her tell the story. He had watched in away that showed a lot of admiration. With Willy sleeping, she opened the book.

Mr. Bombompsky stretched his arms and rubbed his eyes. The afternoon light was pouring in from the window, and that meant it w as time to get up. He looked at his watch.

Twelve oclock in the afternoon! The night before, the music kept on going until three in the morning. Mr. Bombompsky was the kind to clean up at the start, so he had only gone to bed at four.

He went to his closet and put on his robe. With the warmth on, he walked to the bathroom and splashed cool water on his face. He shivered, and became fully awake. Today, he would really have to pack for Marceille.

Mr. Bombompsky took out his black rolling duffel. He put in 2 sweaters, 4 long sleve button down shirts, 2 t-shirts, 2 shorts, 2 short pants, 2 long pants, his underwear, and socks. He ran down the stairs and got his Boston style Berkenstocks and his sneakers. He ran back up and stuffed the shoes into the side pocket of the duffel. He closed his eyes, and smiled.

He looked back at his packing. Shirts were sticking out, the shoes created lumps in the pockets, and half a pant leg was flickering in the wind from the window. Mr. Bombompsky sighed, covered his eyes with his hands, and fell down on the bed. He was going to Marseiile, France, because he wanted to see one his favorite author’s (and mentor) give a talk on one of his latest books. The book he would talk about was called “No Squares”. The book was about how different cultures of the world can not be judged by just a group of people. Robert Goldman, the author had gone around the world interviewing people about what steriotypes were onto in their country.

I am in Marseille. Mr. Bombomsky is supposed to meet us here on Thursday.
We (of course, my family and I, for vacation) came here on Sunday, on an eight hour Lufthansa flight. A baby was crying the whole time, so I barely got any sleep. I got some great ideas for my book from the airport. Once we got to Frankfurt, we had to wait two hours before my next flight. During that time, we sat at a restaraunt. My brother had a cold, so my mom asked for some hot water and honey. When Roman, my brother, got the milk, it was standing on a little plate with one of thoses packets of honey you get get for free at any deli in America. The milk was four Euros, (for every 1 American dollar, it is worth 1.2 Euros), and the packet of honey was 1 Euro. I have never been charged for honey before.
On Tuesday, our first real full day, we went to two different beaches. The first one, in Niolin, north if Marseille, was on a rocky platform, with some sand, and most people were not swimming because it was also a dock, but we went in. I did, my mom did, and my dad did, but my brother didn't. He gets sensitive when it comes to Freezing Cold water.
At the same beach, we went to a restaraunt that was above the rocks. They were just closing, but they let us have a salad and a crepe anyway. The food was not worth it, but the setting and feeling of the restaraunt was very good.
After that, we took the train back to the main station in Marseille. From there we took the metro, spent a while searching for the right bus, got on, got off, got on a shuttle, and Voila (It took much longer than a Voila). At the second beach, in Les Goudes, a calanque, it was extremely windy. At first, we didn't think there was even a beach, because it was partially hidden. But out of the corner of his eye, my dad saw people swimming and lying on a beach, so we found away to get there. On the way there, we saw a man who helped us navigate, and when we said thank you, I said Merci in a very good French accent. I am taking French next year in middle school, and it is good I'm traveling in France this summer.
At that beach, it was so windy that I didn't know if I should swim or not. I did, and so did my dad, but my mom and brother waited and got towels ready for us for when we came out (it was that cold). Then we rushed into this bar/cafe, which had the best apperance because it had a gigantic statue of a spaceman out front, and a pool table, very comfy chairs, and good ice cream inside. We walked a little, and then took the bus back. For dinner, we went to a good restaraunt called Chez Noel, near our apartment, and we had a mussle dish, grean beans, and ravioli. My mom got this very weird and bad, bad, bad, specialty of the house dish (it was some sort of animals legs; :( ) and it tasted and smelled horrid.
The next day, we went to Arles, a small town just out of Marseille. No one wanted to go, because we had to wake up to early, but my dad insisted. I am making it seem bad, but I am glad my dad did that because it was really fun. We explored the weekly market outside, (for basically breakfast and lunch) and got some real french cheeses, meats, bread, and fruit. I don't know if there is "French fruit", but the fruit was good and ripe anyway. Through the market, we walked into the town through the main gate. We bought a pass that was valid for 2 museums and 4 monuments. The first museum we went to was a contemporary art museum, were we saw Pablo Picasso's works, and we saw lots of paintings of people, there faces shown in all different points of view just in the one face, something we looked at during the school year. There were also very cool rooms that explored sound, and again, great setting. We walked around a lot more, and I mainly forgot what we did next. But after, of course I do remember this, we went to a Bull Fight. It was in one of the monuments, an ancient Roman ampitheater, a stadium built a long time ago in stone. They are building a stadium in my neighborhood, near a mall, (a "perfect match"), whinch does not belong there. Most people voted no, because they wanted to keep Park Slope residential, but they one because it was of "Jobs! Jobs! Jobs!". Anyway, all I am saying is that it would of been really awesome if they made the stadium like the one in Arles. It is quite a dream.
Anyway: the bull fight: for the main part, men in white suits started to chase the bull, then once it was after them, tried to run away out of the mane circle. That, was fun to watch, but once a man made a very close jump, and the bull fell over, it got interesting. The bull had fallen over the gate, and had almost hurt itself. His mouth was all bloody. I felt bad for the bull. You would think that he would just get back up and go back in the main ring and chase another person, but no. The bull just layed there, trying to figure these people out. When he did get up, he wouldn't go back in. I think he had had enough of these "fools", so he was going to revolt. It was also kind of scary, but you could feel a sense of pride in the bull. He started running around the outer inner edge, and people who were standing there had to duck. He ran, and whenever he came to the door to go back in, he ran the other way. He broke some of the walls, to. Finally, they had to make another bull come, and he chased the first bull back inside the stall. Then we had to leave.
That was not taken to another level because our dinner was in a very touristy restaraunt, but the bull fight left a lot to think about. Here is a photo of it.
The bull fight:

Some Picasso Works:




These are Picasso+: I designed the last one for my dad.

But then she remembered that this flight had been delayed. That meant that she would miss the flight from Berlin to New York. Oye, she said to herself. She put her hands on her face and shook her head.

She might have to stay overnight in Berlin. But that would cost a lot of money, and Ida was saving her money to purchase a grand piano.

Ida had a friend who lived in Berlin. Ida had known this woman since she was very little. They were both raised in Russia, but then Ida had decided to come to New York and her friend married a German man, so she moved.

Ida wasn’t that fond of her friend anymore. But if she could stay the night at their house, she would save about 120 Euros; 70 for a hotel, 20 for a cab ride, and 30 for food. She could manage one night with her old friend.

But maybe she wouldn’t need to. Maybe her flight home would be delayed. Maybe she could spare a lucky penny. If she wasn’t lucky, though, she would have no way of finding her friend. She hadn’t contacted her in years, all she could remember was that her name was Anje Croton, and she was married to someone by the name of Erich Croton, and that they had two kids, and lived in Berlin.

Ida would figure that out later. The only thing that excited her was that she would be able to go to Café Au Lout. When Ida was younger, she travled to Berlin many times, because she had entered a Piano contest, which had taken place in Berlin. She had discovered the Café, and had always dreamed of going back.

For some reason, Ida loved the Café’s Elderberry tea. She had never heard of it before, and the minute she tasted it, she knew she loved it. If it wasn’t for the fact that she had many other things to do, she would come to Berlin just to get a sip of the tea. Since then, she started drinking tea. She had started exploring all the American tea brands, but never found any of them as wonderful as the Elderberry tea. Ikea made an Elderflower juice that came in a box, but it tasted fake to her. The only American brand that she sort of liked was Tazo Tea. She liked this brand not really because of the taste, which wasn’t that special, but because on each of the tea packets, there was an interesting note.

In fact, she just remembered why she had asked for hot water. Because one can’t bring liquid on the plane, Ida had brought a numerous amount of Tazo Tea packets. She took one out from her handbag, ripped it open, plopped in her cup, and stirred. She sipped her tea, finally with a little real satisfaction.

She wished she could listen to the music Mr. Bombompsky and his friends had made.

Your Here, Then There, Then Back to Here

“Ladies and gentaleman of terminal four, flying on Lufthansa, with the destination of Berlin, Germany, we are now boarding. First class passengers, please come to the gate,” came a thick, Italian voice from the loud speaker.

Ida shot up like bullet, rubbed her eyes, and put her glasses back on. She straitened her back, picked up her bags (a green rolling duffel and a purse), and got ready to go.

By the time they called the economy class, Ida was already standing at the gate, ready to go. She was first in the line, so she gave the woman her ticket and boarded the plane.

As she got comftorble in the not so comftorble plane seats, she took out her iPod and listed to her absolute favorite song, a piano piece by Aldo Cicillini. Ashe listened to this wild song, she found herself saying in her head “I am so lucky to be sitting at the window”. She said this as she looked to the woman sitting in the middle seat, a plump old lady who barely fit in it.

Ida took out her book.

With the first two courses leaving an excellent impression, they started the desert dessert of a cactus themed cream pie. The meal had been very satisfactory, and everything had gone as planned. Mr. Cordelle had brought his wife, and she and Liza were happily talking. Mr. Bombompsky, Mr. Cordelle, and Saki Motto were having a three-way conversation about the major decreases in the stock market. Mr. Bombompsky argued it was another depression, but Mr. Cordelle had faith in America, while Saki Motto didn’t know the half of it, but was just listening in.

After they finished eating, Mr. Bombompsky decided it was time for music.

“Excuse me for moment,” he said to his guests, who were now rubbing their stomachs happily and sipping the fruity dessert wine Liza had brought.

Mr. Bombompsky went to the bookcase. He pressed a button, and behind the wall was the music room, and in the center was his Lithuanian drum set. Along the walls were records, pictures of famous musicians, and instruments hung up. Mr. Bombompsky had a fairly exceptionall house. It was a 3 story brownstone: he lived on two floors and rented out the other. When it came to realistate, Mr. Bombompsky was an expert. He had come into the market at a very good time, and he took advantage of it. He had had a lot of money in his savings account, so he went ahead and bought three brownstones: his home, and two other four story ones. He made good money through these houses, which also lead him into being a writer. He had known that if he didn’t make good money through his books, he would always have a back up. But Mr. Bombompsky had done very well in both carreers. Because of this, he was able to afford many things of quality, and he spent his money well.

Everyone gasped. His “music room” was very new.

“Mr. Bombompsky, I didn’t know you were a famous musician!” Saki Motto exclaimed.

Mr. Bombompsky raised his eyebrows up and down, and smiled. “Okay, everybody. Come on, nothings wrong with splurging! Now let me just take the plates in and we’re going to turn this house into a music hall!”

All his guests, as if on cue, said, “can we help?”

Mr. Bombompsky shrugged, in a way that said you shouldn’t because you’re a guest but why not. They all brought in the dishes.

“Everyone, welcome to the Whirl Pool of Sound!! I thought it was a good name,” he laughed.

“What about your neighbors?” asked Mr. Cordelle, who was very cautious about interruption.

“What about them? I’m sure they’ll love to here some music. Something else to do than sit at there couches all day and listen to those people on CNN.”

They all went inside the room, and each chose an instrument. Mr. Bombompsky sat on the leather stool drumming on his set, or his prize possession, Mr. Cordelle lightly hit a tambourine, his wife shook the shakers, Saki Motto played a japenese song on the hermonica, and Liza strummed a western tune on her guitar, in honor of the Cot’s.

The house was filled with of sound for hours. Mr. Bombompsky didn’t know it then, but his recorder had never been turned off and had recorded the whole evening.

By 11:00 at night, they were still playing. Mr. Bombompsky had brought out a platter of the chocolate chip cookies that Mr. Cordelle brought over.

“Would you like anything to drink?”

“Hu?” Ida looked up to see a stewardess holding a tray of drinks. “Oh. Yes. May I have a hot water?”

“Lemon?”

“Please,” she replied.

As Ida sipped her hot water with the pulp of the squeezed lemon, she started thinking about how nice it would be when she got home.

The Earths Tectonic Plates Shift to the Famous Piano Teacher

Ida Cremchanskivich’s stomach rumbled. She was so deep in thought about her book that she had forgotten to eat, and now wasn’t even sure where she was. She was supposed to be eating the dinner from her Airplane, but her Lufthansa flight had been delayed. As she looked around, she remembered. Her stomach rumbled again.

She sat on the metal chairs (with little cushioning) of the airport, while looking at her watch, saying over and over again to herself, “why is my plane so late?” and trying to read her book. It was 3:00 a.m. Italy time and 10:00 p.m. New York time, where she lived. She now was stuck in the Fagvingiana airport in Sicily, Italy, waiting for an airplane to go back to Germany, where she would transfer planes to go back home. The flight had been delayed from a 1:30 flight to a 3:00 one, but was not here yet. Ida assumed it was never going to come.

She looked around the airport. She saw all these tired people, waiting, looking at there watches, playing games that they didn’t even like but needed to do something to pass the endless time. There were also all the restaurants, and shops, most of them closed. As she saw the familiar restaurants, she imagined herself sitting at a Central Park bench, eating a hotdog with sauerkraut and mustard from her favorite pushcart peddler, Benny.

Ah. She smiled at this wonderful thought.

She quickly looked back at her book. If it weren’t for the fact that she was enormously hungry, her eyes would be glued to the page.

Ida had read so many interesting books through out her life. And many of them she had loved so much that she read them in one day. But then, she felt like she had never read them, because she had read them so fast.

She was trying to savor this story. She was just at the best part, Mr. Bombompsky, an author who was writing a book, was having a “character meal” to describe his top character in his new book: the character was Lee Cot, a western cowboy. She was saving this part to read on the plane, so it wouldn’t be such a bore.

She held out her hands, like she was eating a hotdog, and took a bite. She pretended to chew, and smiled at the wonderful taste. She took a pretend napkin from her pocket and wiped her mouth.

She blinked, and noticed a women sitting next to her, staring. Ida smiled a fake smile. She just remembered what she was doing. She shook her head, and did a silent laugh.

Ida Cremchanskivich yawned and lied down on her book. She tried to fall asleep, but couldn’t, so her mind drifted off, dreaming about Lee Cot.

Mr. Bombompsky Returns to the Cover

Mr. Bombompsky smiled. He was very satisfied with what he had written.

He turned to the page with his notes on Emil’s grandma. He started to think more about her. That was the hardest character to write for him, because he had never had one. He remembered his old friend, Vince Tuckler, and the many afternoons he had spent at Vince’s house, were Vince’s grandma would be waiting at the door, offering cookies to them, and watching the boys because Vince’s parents were at work. Vince had never eaten the cookies, he thought they were disgusting. Mr. Bombompsky hadn’t thought so, but he played along anyway.

Mr. Bombompsky never had someone waiting for him at home. His parents were at work too, and his mom’s parents had passed away, and his dad’s parents were mean and didn’t get along with the family. Even though Mrs. Tuckler’s cookies weren’t the best, Mr. Bombompsky had found it comforting to be around her. Emil’s grandma was based on Vince’s grandma.

Mr. Bombompsky leaned his head back in his chair and stretched his arms out, the kind of stretch a writer does after they have been sitting at their desk writing for a while.

He got up, and went to his kitchen. Just three weeks ago, Mr. Bombompsky’s kitchen had been redone. Along with all his other passions, he thought it was vital to have a good cooking space, especially if you are a writer, like himself.

Mr. Bombompsky spent hours in his kitchen, cooking up delicious meals, and, every time he was working on a book, tried to cook the character: he tried to create the character through cooking, by adding spices, choosing what country the food was originally from, fresh food, caned food, was the character a vegetarian, a vegan, if they were stranded on an island what would they eat, etc.

That night, for dinner, he decided he would have a three-course meal based on Lee Cot. He opened his computer, and researched ‘classic foods of Arizona’. It turned out to have kind of a Mexican, American, fruity flavor.

But he wanted to add more to Lee Cot. He felt spices, from morocco, nuts, chili with cheese, of course pickles, prechuto, adventurous white wine. Lee Cot would not be shy to new things, but would have a sturdy mind; he knows what he likes.

That’s it, he said to himself. That’s it.

There would be a fried sea bass fish, covered in mushrooms, spicy cashews, almonds, raisons, and peppers. With that would come an air loom tomato salad, with sea salt, pepper, oil, and feta cheese. It would come with pita bread covered in hummus. That was the second course. The first course, an appetizer, would be two kinds of bread. One, baked with parmesan and melted brie cheese and prechuto, and the second one, a simple but full of taste French baguette dipped in a homemade olive oil and a platter of olives. For dessert, well, that would come to him after he made the first two.

He decided to invite a few of his friends over, a tradition for character meals. He took out his phone and dialed Saki Motto.

He could come. Then Mr. Bombompsky called his good friend from the Writers Weekly Newspaper (WWN), Liza Elfansso. She could make it as well.

“Hello, Mr. Cordele. Its Mr. Bombompsky.”

“Hi! What is it?”

“Well, I’m having a character meal tonight, and Liza and my good friend Saki Motto will be there.” He didn’t even have to invite him.

“I’ll be right over. I’d be a fool to miss one of these meals!”

Now, Mr. Bombompsky just had to start cooking.

Mr. Bombompsky Returns to the Cover

Mr. Bombompsky smiled. He was very satisfied with what he had written.

He turned to the page with his notes on Emil’s grandma. He started to think more about her. That was the hardest character to write for him, because he had never had one. He remembered his old friend, Vince Tuckler, and the many afternoons he had spent at Vince’s house, were Vince’s grandma would be waiting at the door, offering cookies to them, and watching the boys because Vince’s parents were at work. Vince had never eaten the cookies, he thought they were disgusting. Mr. Bombompsky hadn’t thought so, but he played along anyway.

Mr. Bombompsky never had someone waiting for him at home. His parents were at work too, and his mom’s parents had passed away, and his dad’s parents were mean and didn’t get along with the family. Even though Mrs. Tuckler’s cookies weren’t the best, Mr. Bombompsky had found it comforting to be around her. Emil’s grandma was based on Vince’s grandma.

Mr. Bombompsky leaned his head back in his chair and stretched his arms out, the kind of stretch a writer does after they have been sitting at their desk writing for a while.

He got up, and went to his kitchen. Just three weeks ago, Mr. Bombompsky’s kitchen had been redone. Along with all his other passions, he thought it was vital to have a good cooking space, especially if you are a writer, like himself.

Mr. Bombompsky spent hours in his kitchen, cooking up delicious meals, and, every time he was working on a book, tried to cook the character: he tried to create the character through cooking, by adding spices, choosing what country the food was originally from, fresh food, caned food, was the character a vegetarian, a vegan, if they were stranded on an island what would they eat, etc.

That night, for dinner, he decided he would have a three-course meal based on Lee Cot. He opened his computer, and researched ‘classic foods of Arizona’. It turned out to have kind of a Mexican, American, fruity flavor.

But he wanted to add more to Lee Cot. He felt spices, from morocco, nuts, chili with cheese, of course pickles, prechuto, adventurous white wine. Lee Cot would not be shy to new things, but would have a sturdy mind; he knows what he likes.

That’s it, he said to himself. That’s it.

There would be a fried sea bass fish, covered in mushrooms, spicy cashews, almonds, raisons, and peppers. With that would come an air loom tomato salad, with sea salt, pepper, oil, and feta cheese. It would come with pita bread covered in hummus. That was the second course. The first course, an appetizer, would be two kinds of bread. One, baked with parmesan and melted brie cheese and prechuto, and the second one, a simple but full of taste French baguette dipped in a homemade olive oil and a platter of olives. For dessert, well, that would come to him after he made the first two. Not exactly your typical western cowboy, but hey, this was Lee Cot, Mr. Bombompsky’s cooked up creation.

Mr. Bombompsky decided to invite a few of his friends over, a tradition for character meals. He took out his phone and dialed Saki Motto.

He could come. Then Mr. Bombompsky called his good friend from the Writers Weekly Newspaper (WWN), Liza Elfansso. She could make it as well.

“Hello, Mr. Cordele. Its Mr. Bombompsky.”

“Hi! What is it?”

“Well, I’m having a character meal tonight, and Liza and my good friend Saki Motto will be there.” He didn’t even have to invite him.

“I’ll be right over. I’d be a fool to miss one of these meals!”

Now, Mr. Bombompsky just had to start cooking.

The Story Shifts Once Again

That night, Mr. Bombompsky started packing for the book conference he was going to go to in Marseille. He was leaving on Thursday, and today was Tuesday, so he did not have much time.

He sat on the bed, hopeless. He was too busy thinking about his book to pack. His desk was 4 feet away from the bed, and his notepad and his lucky #2 pencil were on it.

“Why not?” He said to himself.

Even though he knew no one else was there, he looked around the room to check if anybody was watching. He knew he had to pack, but couldn’t bring himself to do it. He slowly walked to the desk, sat down, and began.

Lee Cot woke up to the sound of thunder. He shivered, even though it wasn’t cold. The treasure of Bompo, and rain, did not go together. Before Cot had come on this mission, he did some research. In each of the books he had read (there were about twenty of them), there was at least 1 story of someone who had tried to get the treasure, but than it rained, and in each of the stories, something bad happened because of the rain.

It deserts, rain is rare. But some said that the treasure, or the guardians (if there were any, who knows) of the treasure, knew when a bad person was trying to steal it, rather than a good one, so they caused it to rain. Other than that, the treasure had nothing to do with what happened.

Of course, this made Cot very nervous. He knew there was nothing he could do about it, so he waited for the rain to come. He took deep breaths. He started saying bad things about himself in his head. He waited some more.

But the rain never came. Instead, it started to smell like a chicken soup. Not the kind of a can, but the home made granny kind that was made for you if you were sick.

It kept thundering. And it kept Cot perplexed. He kept looking around, trying to make sure there wasn’t a dinosaur stomping around him.

I looked up from my writing. I could hear my grandma walking up the stairs to my room. It sounded like thunder, either she had had grown, or she was bringing up something that weighed a ton.

I sniffled. Even though I couldn’t smell very clearly, because my nose was so stuffed up, I smelled the smell of Grandma Gertrude’s chicken soup. Ugh. I quickly hid my writing under my mattress. Grandma usually would not let me do anything but sleep or just lay in my bed when I was sick.

“Emil, are you awake?” She said in her loud voice, while knocking.

“Yes,” I sighed.

She came it through the door, but had kind of a hard time getting in. I hadn’t wanted anyone to disturb me while I was writing, so I had piled up all my toys, most of my books, my dresser, and my bean bag chair against the door.

But my grandma was as strong as ever. She also had a very unique style and personality, and not in a way one could say was good or bad. She spent have the day everyday at the gym, so she was very muscular and had a very sturdy body, unlike me, but it looked slightly peculiar because she had wrinkles all over her body. Plus, while she “loved to work out”, she always made sure she was dressed over appropriately for the occasion, in my opinion. Once, my parents had to work, and I had to go to the gym with her. Her gym outfit that day was a long linen skirt, no shorts under, that had been cut off her wedding dress. It had flowers all over it. She also wore a beaded tank top, and long, purple dangly earrings that matched with her purple painted toenails. As one could probably imagine, that looked so strange with her big body and her wrinkly face, which was aimed to be covered up with mascara but in reality had turned out to cause her face to turn a bright pink, permanently, which she covered up with a mask, but of course she chose a clear mask, which makes no sense whatsoever, so you could see her wrinkles. What a character. She had so many sides to her. At this point, I don’t know if she’s a fat old lady, a dinosaur, or just my grandma from Denmark.

She came into my room holding a tray of a big bowl of her chicken soup, crackers, and a tall mug of hot tea.

“Thank you grandma,” I managed to say.

I think that when she was little, she got no appreciation, so even if it is completely obvious that a person is faking it, she will accept any little compliment. She smiled real big at me.

“Oh, its nothing. Anything for my favorite little grandson…” She came over to me and squeezed my cheeks so hard.

“Now, I’m going to go down stairs and start your dinner. Remember to dip the crackers in the soup, honey.”

“Yes.”

The second she left the room, I went into the bathroom, poured have of the soup in the toilet, flushed it, put have of the tea in the sink and washed it out. I out the tray outside of my room, closed the door, pushed back my bean bag and dresser, and walked back into my room. I took out my notebook.

Mr. Bombompsky is Introduced
To understand this part, and the parts to come, you might want to back track and re-read alittle.

Mr. Bombompsky always wore purple Indian slippers to not match with his black suit coat with yellow hexagonal shaped buttons. He had three pairs of black socks and three pairs of brown socks, which he mixed to make 6 pairs of brown/black socks. His socks always were a little big, because he needed to fit his money in them.

“Mr. Bompomsky, your eel-avocado roll is here.”

Mr. Bombompsky blinked. He was at the Sushi-Ishus, the Japanese restaurant he went to every Tuesday.

“Thank you, Saki Motto.” Saki Motto was Mr. Bombompsky’s favorite waiter, and he made sure he was his waiter each and every time he went to the restaurant.

He sat at the table and bit in to the eel. The fish was brought to the restaurant every Monday night, and Mr. Bombompsky always came on Tuesday for lunch for the fresh fish.

He tapped his #2 pencil on the table. Before he had become a writer, he was a famous Ukrainian drummer, and he loved to make a beat out of anything.

He came to the Sushi-Ishus on Tuesday weekly also because Tuesday was his thinking day. And of course, eating eel-avocado rolls made his novels even better.

Eating eel-avocado rolls increased his imagination. Mr. Bombompsky looked down at his purple satin slippers, wondering if Lee Cot should go forward in his journey or not, or if the story should go back and focus on Emil, who through his illness was writing about Cot. As he contemplated that, he knew that he needed to make his book a quadruple Nobel Prize winner.

He ate another roll. He ate more and more eel, until his imagination had overtaken him.