Cover art by Ella McCausland
Moments in Time Literary Magazine Academy of Notre Dame de Namur 2016-2017
Moderators Mrs. Suzanne Wanninger Mrs. Kathleen McGuiness
High School Peggy Burke Julia Goldschmidt Merry Gu Taylor Stribrny Emma Wood
Middle School Lindsay McBride Alex McCulloch Olivia Mulligan Jada Wade
Letter from the Editor I am very excited and proud to present the 2016-2017 issue of the Academy of Notre de Namur’s literary magazine, Moments in Time. Literature, artwork, and photography have always transcended the boundaries of time; whether by immortalizing a perfect moment or by celebrating an event long after its occurrence, writing and imagery have never failed to stretch, freeze, and celebrate the seconds in our lives. This year’s literary magazine is a beautiful tribute to the occasions that we hold close to our hearts. For the first time, the Notre Dame literary magazine features work from school’s sixth-, seventh-, and eighth-grade students as well as that of the high school’s students. The writing, artwork, and photography featured in this issue reflect on personal identity, tragedy and loss, and calls for action. This issue also includes artwork by sophomore Taylor Ford, who received a scholarship to the University of the Arts’ Art, Media, and Design Pre-College Summer Institute in Philadelphia, as well as a short story by junior Jules Lynch, whose work was awarded second place in the National Constitution Center Coalition of Freedom Short Story Contest. I hope the works in this issue of the ND literary magazine resonate with you, humble you, or otherwise inspire you. Merry Gu
Table of Contents Sonnet 2 Julia Goldschmidt……………………………………...8 Hari Merry Gu…………………………………………………9 Our Woods Jayda Hepburn……………………………………10 Burbujas Catherine J. Ryan……………………………………11 Untitled Poem Alex McCulloch………………………………12 Lip Gloss Marion Boyd………………………………………13 A Different Sandwich Argirel Lion……………………………14 Untitled Photograph Ellen Lavin……………………………17 Monologue Julia Goldschmidt…………………………………18 Untitled Painting Eileen Shelton………………………………21 Untitled Poem Lindsay McBride………………………………22 Untitled Photograph Riley Balitsaris…………………………23 If Traveling Was Free Alyssa Giacomin………………………24 Untitled Painting Emma Wood………………………………25 Untitled Photograph Gretchen Heisler…………………………26 Ode to Blue Anonymous………………………………………27 Untitled Painting Taylor Ford…………………………………29 The Papers that Transformed the United States of America Jules Lynch……………………………………………………30 Untitled Painting Nina Ciocca………………………………35 Ode to the Snow Day Ellen Lavin……………………………36 Untitled Photograph Caroline Chaplin………………………37 O.K. Emily Apadula…………………………………………38 All Good Things Merry Gu…………………………………41 Untitled Poem Gigi Spragg……………………………………42 Untitled Photograph Riley Balitsaris…………………………43 6
A Search for Family History Meg Gentile……………………44 Untitled Photograph Anna Grace Coyne…………………….47 Abstracted Cabbage Campbell Ratigan………………………48 Untitled Poem Francesca Giangiulio………………………….49 Untitled Photograph Anna Kuyat……………………………50 College Essay Peggy Burke……………………………………51 We so rarely look at the sky Hailey Opperman…………………53 for him Emily Apadula………………………………………54 Untitled Photograph Elizabeth Sprague………………………55 Untitled Painting Sofia Giannaccari……………………………56 Untitled Poem Optulie Heriveaux…………………………57 College Essay Regan Moran…………………………………...58
Sonnet 2 Julia Goldschmidt My lover hasnâ€™t the faintest notion Of how her impression impresses me, And draws my thoughts past all the commotion Into a world without regret, where we Can tour Elysium on high, then crash Through the crystal ceiling of my desires. She knows not how I pitch as her eyes dash Towards my being and fill me with such fires. Yet in these moments, I fear not the cold That comes with a pallet of blue neglect, Nor the isolation of growing old Without a fairer seraph to protect. For her presence shows me felicity, Though she knows not what her air means to me!
Hari Merry Gu
Our Woods Jayda Hepburn Why were you out that evening I found you, Deep in these woods somewhere? The shovel in your hands and fingers caked with dirt, You laid me down in it with gentle care Were you digging a garden for the coming spring? Did you lose something beneath the forest floor? Or were there screams, pleads of anguish.. Of which you could take no more? Was it the nights spent away from home, And in the arms of another? Was it the lonely, lonely nights with me, When you would wake frightened at the ghost of your mother? The voices in our lonely wood, To which neither of us are strangers. Leaves and brush to obscure from plain sight, Our love, madness and anger. Donâ€™t take me to the city, I want this and nothing more. And when youâ€™re finished digging let me sleep. Go with your love and your heart beating (not) for me And leave me in our woods with this old, rotted heart and our memories to keep. 10
Burbujas Catherine J. Ryan
Alex McCulloch Burglars come in and take our things Leaving us bare, off our strings. If I was in a coma, buried alive, Would I wake up? Would I survive? The fire below me, my shoes burning off, Lowered into the pit, The smoke makes me cough, Not death that it is, But danger indeed. The suffering, the suffering, The suffering of me.
Lip Gloss Marion Boyd
A Different Sandwich Argirel Lion On a typical day of school, my mother will pack me a large lunch, consisting of a turkey sandwich, some sort of fruit, and multiple snacks, plus an extra water bottle in case the large green water bottle I carry around with me every day isn’t enough. My father will walk into the kitchen in the morning and run into her making these large lunches for my brother and me and jokingly blame her Italian and Greek heritage, never failing to remind us how we eat “meals made for royalty” and that “not many other moms do that for their kids.” Naturally, my lunch box weighs way more than your average lunchbox, and upon opening it at lunch I see all my food strategically placed, where some are down towards the bottom near the ice pack and the others are neatly piled on the top. As my friends and I sit down at our usual lunch table (one of the circle tables in the old middle school cafeteria), the normal lunch conversation ensues, starting with my one friend asking me what I have for lunch today, “Hey Argirel, do you have your lettuce sandwich for lunch again?” My turkey sandwich, which has been affectionately nicknamed ‘the lettuce sandwich’ by my friends consists of several different components, but the lettuce is the most visible ingredient since my mother adds three or four too many leaves to the stack. The lettuce sandwich is actually quite complex, with the ingredients listed in this order from the bottom of the sandwich to the top: bottom bun, little bit of mayonnaise, turkey, Italian salad dressing, a touch of pepper, the sky-high stack of lettuce, a layer of avocado, and the top bun. As I bring out the wide square of foil from my lunch box, I answer my friend with an 14
enthusiastic affirmative, excited to eat my favorite sandwich of all time. I eagerly open the foil and begin to eat. The crunch of the lettuce with the tastes of turkey and salad dressing make it a delicious sandwich, one I have been eating every day at school for the past five years. One time, one of my friends asked me if I could bring an extra lettuce sandwich to school for her to try, so I told my mom and the next day my lunch box had two thick squares of foil in it. To this day, this friend loves my sandwich almost as much as I do, and she never forgets to comment on it at lunch. This describes a typical day of school, and has been one of the only consistent practices I have maintained over the course of high school so far. But one day last week, this routine was interrupted, and a shift that seems so little to everyone else made a large impact on me. This past Wednesday, I opened my lunch to find a long cylinder wrapped in paper covered with the Wawa logo, not my usual foil square. At first I was terribly confused, and could not figure out why my mother decided to not make lunch today. As I pondered, I remembered that she had a really important doctor’s appointment really early in the morning, and didn’t have time to make us lunch. I’m fine eating a Wawa hoagie; I always customize mine to be just like what my mother makes, and I actually really like them a lot. But what I found inside the Wawa-labeled paper was not what I was expecting. I opened the paper and to my disappointment found a different sandwich. My Wawa hoagie did not consist of its usual turkey and lettuce, and I was quite frankly taken off guard by it. I started to study every ingredient in the new hoagie, and finally discovered that this hoagie was meant to be put in my brother’s lunch box, and there was no way for me to get this to him or mine to me. It was an Italian hoagie, with almost all the same elements as 15
my normal sandwich, but there were also tomatoes and cheese. I knew no matter what I ate I wouldn’t like it with tomatoes, so I plucked those out and placed them to the side. Not only was I extremely annoyed that I didn’t have the right lunch, but I also realized the only thing for me to do was try it. I took a bite of my Italian hoagie and something monumental happened. As the taste of the Italian meat met my tongue, combined with the tastes of lettuce and pepper, I came to the realization that I actually liked this sandwich. I was surprised, and continued eating as if nothing was wrong, because in reality it was actually a delicious sandwich. It never occurred to me that there could be another sandwich out there just as good as my mother’s homemade one, but there was and I couldn’t have been happier with how this accident played out. What I noticed through this situation is how unwelcome I was to change. I had found something that worked for me, and I liked to stick with it until it didn’t work anymore. I came to the revelation that people in general are not open to change if they like something a certain way. What most of us fail to realize is that change is not always a bad thing. I had my one friend try a different flavored piece of gum in order to test my statement’s reliability and she wouldn’t do it at first. When I finally convinced her to try it, she actually liked it. Now, I know this won’t always be the case, but change doesn’t always have to live up to its negative connotations. Thanks to my mom’s accidental sandwich switch, I got the opportunity to try something new, and the picky eater I am actually liked it. Change won’t always occur in a welcoming situation, but it’s definitely not guaranteed to ruin everything by appearing.
Monologue Julia Goldschmidt Curtain rises revealing an empty stage. A single spotlight shines center-stage. JULIA enters stage left and quickly, but confidently, walks into the spotlight and faces the audience. JULIA: (Imperceptibly clears throat) (In a sing-songy voice): Hello! (Beams at audience) My name is Julia Nell Goldschmidt and Iâ€™ve found my place. (Beat, laughs) Maybe that was a little overdramatic. I just mean that this space, this theater, holds so many incredible memories for me and has molded me into a fully realized character. From the nerve-wracking auditions, to the seemingly-endless, sometimes grueling rehearsals, to the thrill of opening night. The emotions that this place has given me are as countless as the stars. (Makes a face) That was a cliche if Iâ€™ve ever heard one. But hey; the fault, dear Brutus, is not in our dumb cliches about stars, but in ourselves. (Lighting becomes cool in tone) My journey started when I got my first role as Willy Wonka in Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory in the summer before fifth grade. I was so excited that I went home and practiced my big solo number for close to three hours straight! That was the moment I knew that I had discovered something special. Nothing else could inspire an eleven year old to do anything for that long, except a true passion. I learned from that first role 18
that there are some feelings and experiences that can only be had on stage, and some of my fondest memories are of times I’ve spent doing shows with my best friends. (Beat) But the theater has not only brought me good times. I’ve been taught some tough lessons. They may seem trivial to some, but are crucial in the (air quotes) life-lesson department. After being cast in the lead role in The Little Mermaid in my final middle school production, I was so excited to perform in a more serious high school show. There are no words that can (pauses, as if searching for the right word) articulate my feelings when I was cut from the first show I auditioned for. That’s right. Fresh out of middle school and so excited to perform with the big kids I wasn’t even allowed to participate in the ensemble of the show. I’m not gonna lie. I did question whether I was cut out for show business. After all, rejection is a big part of this world. But I kind of resented all the kids that didn’t have to experience that feeling at the high school level. (More brightly) I stuck with it, though. I found another show that would accept me, and another, and another! (Building) (Lighting regains its warm tone) I worked hard on my singing, dancing and acting skills to become what we call a triple-threat. Okay, that might be a little bit of an exaggeration, but I really have improved! I paid my dues and spent a lot of time in the chorus, or ensemble, of the musicals. Sophomore year, I was casted in the same program that cut me the previous year. Junior year was also spent in the chorus but with small solos. I felt happy to be included but always wished I could have my moment in the spotlight. As a high school senior, I finally feel like I made it. I was cast as Mrs. Potts in Beauty and the Beast, 19
the second biggest female role in the show, for your information. I am so excited to be a leader in the theater community at my school and be a mentor to the younger kids because I know what they are going through. I can be reassurance to the ensemble members that they will have their time to shine if they work hard enough. Just like Glinda sings in Wicked, I couldn’t be happier. While I don’t know what the future holds for me in terms of performance opportunities, I know I can always return home to the theater. (Contentedly) I’ve really found my home here. That’s right; here on stage. (Smiles) (CURTAIN FALLS)(END OF SCENE)
Lindsay McBride Alone in the dark A dogâ€™s distant bark A world after sun Wanting to run Where am I now? At the summit's peak? Knees feeling weak As I watch the war below
If Traveling Was Free Alyssa Giacomin There is a feeling deep inside of me An urge to wander over sea, If traveling was free You would never see me. I’d move with the wind Going wherever it would blow, Another chance To travel to a place I don't know. I’d fill my life with adventure Without spending a dime or an expenditure, I’d gain memories while relinquishing regret All without being a single penny in debt. Because “life is short and the world is wide” I’d forbid to ever live curbside, This life is a dream, a fascination, a desire A life I wish I could acquire. But after all that life is a lie… I can only wish that after my body has died, When my soul becomes free It explores the world I never got to see.
Ode to Blue Anonymous “Winners of the banners are … the seniors!” The moment we all knew it was over. As our hearts first pounded with joy to our wonderful Merry Gu, our faces then turned into a overall look of desperation. 91 hearts sank together. 91 stomachs twisted and turned together. 91 eyes flooded together. 91 sisters that would not have the precious moment of touching that trophy together. As I fell asleep that night I wondered what good could come of this. What good could come of losing that moment as a class? What good could come of the sadness and anger we all feel right now? Some may say nothing, some may say revenge, but I say something different. The Blue Class of 2017 is hands down the best group of girls I have ever known. As many teachers have heard us say, we are indeed slept on. “Slept on” means underrated or low-key. We identify ourselves as this because of the quiet but tight bond we have together. I recently helped create the groups for Kairos LVI, and separating friends was near to impossible. We constantly have each other’s backs, and seeing different friend groups mesh so effortlessly brings so much joy to my life. The ability we have to deeply connect with one another is something I believe makes us unique. We may not be as determined as the Red Class of 2016 or as put together as the Green Class of 2018, but our love for each other overcomes all of those aspects. We were together through the rough transitions of freshman year to the application process senior year brought. We hold each other 27
up; we never tear each other down. Our deep connection is woven from so many joyful memories throughout these past four years together. Flashback a few days prior to spirit day: the GroupMe of the Blue Class is born. 91 of us rascals in a groupchat. Is that madness or insanity? Automatically, memories of our past four years together flooded in. From concussions to freshman lunch table drama, all had us screaming of laughter from behind our phones. As memories whirled in my head I began to look at pictures that corresponded with them. Whether I was in awe of how much we have grown since freshman year or immediately resenting my outfit of choice, all feelings were quite vital. Every single thought of my past four years brings a smile to my face; only the thought of leaving brings a tear. 184 days: the time we have left here. 184 days until the security of the gates will no longer protect us. 184 days until my slept-on sisters and I will say goodbye to our dance parties. In these next 184 days I promise you one thing. I will not spend a single second more dwelling on hatred because we could not touch that insignificant piece of plastic known as the Spirit Day trophy. Although we will never have that memory embedded into our brains, we have thousands more taking its place. This past Friday the Blue Class suffered a loss, one that might sting for a long time. This Blue Class will not make its mark on the school by causing a riot and splitting the school apart, but by rising above. Rising above the assumptions of us, because we do not care if recent graduates think we donâ€™t try hard enough or if underclassmen think we are lame. We are us. We are blue. No trophy takes that away from us. 28
The Papers that Transformed the United States of America Jules Lynch “Madison, are you getting this?” asked Washington. The recorder raised his brows as he glanced up; the lines etched in his forehead stood out. He dabbed a handkerchief on his face in an attempt to revive himself from the sweltering weather. “I apologize Sir,” he responded, “but my ink seems to be boiling in this tremendous heat.” A chorus of agreements sounded amongst the crowded occupants. The delegates had been cooped up for hours in the State House; blinds were drawn shut, doors were locked, and the stream of arguments was ongoing. “Centralized is the key to the success of a united nation; without it, we would be a series of loosely strung states with no bonds. I cannot elucidate the importance of this element in the government,” preached a young man on a chair across the room. Another delegate announced his views in a separate corner of the room. “I have to say, I thoroughly enjoyed listening to McClurg’s opinions on the governing body; he is such a valuable asset to this team--I was actually about to inquire on his whereabou--” “McClurg left weeks ago, Randolph,” shouted a man at the curious delegate. The man on the chair stopped mid-sentence and entered the argument. “In all frankness, McClurg was a detriment to this meeting. His absence is enough proof for the lack of dedication he holds to the very fabric of this nation--” 30
George Washington rose swiftly and spoke, “Gentlemen, please. We are all in attendance because we have the same goal: to better the status of our nation. Arguing will get us nowhere. Randolph, please take a seat; Hamilton, step down from the chair. We are to depart for the winter in five weeks’ time. In order to achieve the ratification for the constitution, we must progress in many different ways.” Washington paused and drew in a deep breath. The meetings at the Constitutional Convention began as an onslaught of delegates differing in stances concerning foundational documentation of the country known as the Articles of Confederation, representation within the states, the length of the president’s terms, and countless other issues. Most of the arguments had died down in the days beginning August, but boundaries were still present in the meeting room. “The final draft of the Constitution is nearing completion-months of work will soon repay us in its entirety. However, I must remind all of you gentlemen of one important note: only but half of the work is finished. After the final draft of the Constitution is drawn up, we must still face the ratification process, in which we need the support of nine out of the thirteen states. Please return to your places of lodging and get a good night’s rest; we will reconvene tomorrow.” On that final note, the exhausted delegates retreated to their rooms. However, many of them did not have a “good night’s rest” in mind--they knew there was far more work to be done. Each and every representative present at the meetings was there because he wanted to help his country in any way that he could, in order to create what would later be known as a “more perfect union.” Many sacrificed rest in order to draw up new compromises and plans to present to their fellow delegates at the State House the following day. There was a continuous flow of proposals and counter-arguments in an attempt to resolve any loopholes in the Constitution. They reached for a government like no other--one made on peaceful terms constructed 31
by and for the people. By no means were these men perfect; each delegate held a fault to his own self. However, these Founding Fathers overcame their weaknesses for a greater good: to create a country built with the ideals of freedom, prosperity, and advancement. Over the weeks leading to their winter break, the men worked tirelessly to complete the drafting of the constitution. On September 17th, 1787, the representatives were presented with the fruits of their labor. Madison painstakingly rolled out the parchment in front of the sea of delegates. Everyone looked with careful eyes as they scanned the detailed document. “We the people,’” whispered Madison in an awe-filled tone. “It does have a nice ring to it,” said a delegate in the back of the crowd. Murmurs of agreement rounded the meeting space. A symphony of screeching wooden chairs sounded in the room as men lined up to add one final addition to the document: their signatures. Something had settled in the air, a feeling of reverence. Barely anyone moved, and all eyes were trained on the paper that served as the foundation to the country. Each man became aware of the monumental actions that they had performed; they took part in the creation of a nation. After the signing was completed, Washington stood up and announced to the congregation, “The Constitution will be in the sights of the people in a few day’s time--from what I understand, the Pennsylvania Packet and the Daily Advertiser have both agreed to publish it. From here on, it is up to the people.” With a few closing words, the convention ended, and all of the delegates returned to their home states. Hamilton stood staring at the 32
document, his quill practically itching in his hand. Washington’s words seemed to echo in his head: ‘it is up to the people.’ With another look at the document, he finally thought, “Our work is not yet done.” After the convention, one obstacle still remained: the people’s opinion. Groups formed and either declared their favor to the Constitution, Federalists, or their opposition towards it, AntiFederalists. In New York, Anti-Federalists claimed the spotlight, publishing articles in newspapers and protesting in the streets. Seeing this, Alexander Hamilton soon came to the conclusion that some sort of action had to be taken. He took to his writing desk and organized a group of men to construct essays in favor of the Constitution, rightly named The Federalist Papers. Alexander Hamilton, James Madison, and John Jay took on this challenge with high hopes in mind. They met and discussed the purposes and contents of the papers, along with a tentative plan on how many papers each person should write. Hamilton paced the length of the room as he contemplated the topics of the papers. Madison ceased writing and looked up from his paper. With a deep breath, he said, “Hamilton, please stop your insistent pacing; it is distracting me from my work.” Hamilton looked up as if he was shaken out of a trance. “My apologies,” he responded as he took a seat, “but the matter that we are dealing with here is of utmost importance.” Hamilton continued, “It is no secret that the Constitution is struggling, to say the least. The diction exceeds the understanding of most common men.” John Jay spoke up and said, “Citizens also fear that their rights may be infringed upon; many believe that we are constructing a centralized government akin to Britain’s.” 33
Madison set down his quill and noted, “At least we are aware of what we are up against. With that information, we can structure our arguments in response to some of the criticism.” “Brilliant.” The two men looked at Hamilton, who had spoken up. “These essays… They can clarify the structure of the government to the people, so the citizens know the preventative strategies set against tyranny. Not only that, but we can also relay the downsides of the Articles of Confederation.” The men continued discussing ideas until it was late and they returned home. With a set plan, they published Federalist Papers in various newspapers over the course of a few months. Under the pseudonym of Publius, eighty-five essays explained the details of the Constitution to the public. These articles served as the original intent of the United States Constitution. The works of these three men influenced thousands and eventually led to the ratification of the this noble document. If it weren’t for their dedication and perseverance, the Articles of Confederation would have still been the reigning document of the land. However, the hard work of these men paid off in the form of the ratification of a well-structured, unifying creed for the country. And so, a nation rightfully called the United States of America was conceived.
Ode to the Snow Day Ellen Lavin (I) It is with excitement and glee I creep to my bed, Awake all night, to my parents’ dread. A text or two will reveal my fate. I wait, I wait, I wait. (II) I watch the stars twinkle in the clear night sky And, as for lights out, I try and I try. Eventually just as I fall into sleep I hear it bleep, bleep, bleep. (III) “Due to inclement weather the Academy will close” No Math, No French, No Prose. The text has arrived, I shout with glee. A day in the snow is happening for me. (IV) So next morning I check we are not deprived And true to the plot, the snow has arrived. As we love our day and the thrill of snowboarding Let us stand together for no more global warming.
O.K. Emily Apadula Your eyes were full of stars And the luster of the sea They glimmered in a childlike hope With every word you spoke to me.
Your lips would whisper secrets, Which you know I’ll never tell, And confess your forlorn heartache Every night as darkness fell.
Your hands shook with excitement When you spoke, careful yet strong. They would hold me when I cried Though I never held them long.
You would whisper how you loved me From a hundred miles away, And I’d say I’d see you soon, That one day we’d be okay.
But one day came much too quickly And my promises were wrong. How can we ever be okay When I’m still here and you’re gone?
Your eyes’ glimmer has died out. It vanished far too fast. Who knew that final, hopeful look We shared would be our last.
The secrets that you whispered I no longer have to keep. But I will, and unlike you did, Every one will die with me.
Your hands will never shake again Or tangle in my hair. When I’m lonely and I reach for them I know they won’t be there.
Yet I still see your hopeful eyes In every wink of every star. I hear your voice in gusts of wind And in the silence of the dark.
Your hand is on my shoulder While I cry myself to sleep, And when I’m weak, you’re the quiet force Which somehow carries me.
So one day, far from this one, When I’m old and tired and free, I’ll remember you, and pray to God That you’ll remember me.
Your eyes will blaze with love and joy And your voice will be so strong You’ll hold me once again-All I’ve wanted for so long.
I’ll see you at a better time. We’ll start over brand new, And I’ll remember why I fell in love With every part of you.
Until that day, I’ll hold on tight To fading dreams, and try to cope. But for now it’s see you later To the boy who gave me hope.
All Good Things Merry Gu
Gigi Spragg They believed in me, Trusted me, I told them that I could. They said that I would, And now Iâ€™m standing here, Saying that I should. I canâ€™t open the door To my new life, For it is locked On the other side. It feels like spider webs Are all around, But I know that the effects Of fear Will only hurt the sound Of the small hope left of me, Still saying I should find the key.
A Search for Family History Meg Gentile Everyone is fascinated by his or her family history. Most families cherish old photographs because they offer a personal look into the past. Rarely are new family photographs or documents discovered. This is why I was intrigued yet apprehensive when my mom mentioned her interest in searching for new information about her great uncle. Her great uncle Joseph Madden graduated from Providence College in 1933. Because I would be going on a college tour of PC, my mom was determined to use this opportunity to learn more about Joseph’s life. During the drive to Providence College, my mom recounted fond memories of her Uncle Joe. It was interesting to hear how close she was with her great uncle because I had never heard of him. I became equally as invested in discovering new information as I learned more about my great-great uncle Joe. Joseph Madden was a star pitcher on PC’s baseball team. He had been asked to go professional for baseball; instead, he became a Dominican Priest. My mom only knew him as an elderly priest, so she was anxious to learn about his younger years at PC. Our search for a glimpse into Joe’s youth began on a tour of Providence College. During the tour, we walked through the athletic hall of fame. As we walked passed the 70s, 60s, 50s and 40s, my family became excited. Suddenly, the next plaque was from the mid 20s. My mom joked, “Just our luck!” When my 44
dad spotted a man entering his office in the hallway, he asked the man why there was a jump in the dates. The man explained that the depression had halted the creation of photographs and plaques. Although we faced our first setback, my family was still determined to find information about Joseph Madden. Before leaving Providence, my mom and I asked the front desk how we could find old yearbooks. The woman at the front desk directed us to the president’s office on the third floor. As we ascended the flights of stairs, I began to feel butterflies in my stomach before knocking. My mom and I spent a few anxious seconds in front of the president’s grandiose office. When the door opened, the president greeted us warmly. After my mom described our predicament, the president was immediately intrigued. She explained that Providence College was celebrating their centennial year by collecting and displaying various archival photographs and objects in the library. The president decided to call the archive department to inquire about a yearbook from 1933. Unfortunately, due to the depression, no yearbook was created for 1933; however, the woman from archives suggested that my mom and I come to their archive room while she searched for anything she could find. When my mom and I arrived to the archive room in the basement of the library, we were greeted with a warning. Robin, who works in archives, declared, “1933 is a difficult year! Everything between 1929 and 1935 is tainted due to the depression!” As Robin left to begin her search, she advised that we lower our expectations. A few minutes later, Robin returned with a large smile on her face. She presented my mom and me with five pieces of paper. The top three papers were documents 45
that mentioned Joseph Maddenâ€™s pitching. When my mom saw the next two pieces of paper, her eyes filled with tears. There were two photographs of Joseph Madden, one of him pitching and another from when he became a priest. My mom exclaimed how much he resembled her brother. In this moment, I noticed how many archivists had entered the small room. They were all celebrating the discovery and seemed genuinely happy to contribute information about our family history. Although our search for more information about my greatgreat uncle Joe was time consuming, it was well worth the effort. We have since shared the photographs with other family members, and each family member has been reminded of his or her own personal memories of Uncle Joe. I am proud to have someone like Father Joseph Madden in my family line, and I am especially happy to have learned more about his life. My family can attest that old photographs and documents are well worth searching for because of their ability to recount rich history.
Anna Grace Coyne
Abstracted Cabbage Campbell Ratigan
Franny Giangiulio i run into the puppet tied tight with strings a TOUCH lights up his COLOR it sets him FREE no longer their pet but a man of â€œMeâ€? like a flawed Rainbow with GREEN before RED the COLORS confuse like a misguided thread the EARTHY essence may draw you back more, to the place you know but have never seen before funny, how cinnamon smells like a LEAF and FLOWERS turn our skin to GOLD the purest COLOR for purest MINDS but they still sit and stare, silently scold COLORS start to fade as this chapter ends only a few grains left till the hourglass bends but the man returns to accept his fate see the COLORS in full, all the wrongs of his hate the LIGHT that once burned and scorched the skin is slowly allowed to creep within with an eruption of WORDS and COLORS galore it is held with comfort to be SHARED once more
Peggy Burke My heart is pounding. I look around at the people around me, as I walk on stage, we are all in the same position; some are nervous, others look perfectly at ease. I am so nervous that my stomach feels like it is just going to explode. But itâ€™s time, no turning back now. I get in position, look at the crowd watching, the gun goes off, and we all start running. My heart is pounding. I look around at all the people around me, as I walk up to the starting line, we all in the same position; some are nervous, others look perfectly at ease. I am so nervous that my stomach feels like it is just going to explode. But itâ€™s time, no turning back now. I get in position, look at the dark theatre, the lights go up, and I am a different person. Running and theatre. These are the two activities that have truly shaped my high school experience. While I always thought that they were very different activities to participate in, as I look back on my experiences with both of these extracurriculars, I realize that they have very similar impacts on me. Running is a mental sport. It is hard. Having to run 3.1 miles at a constant pace with killer hills is not something that anyone really wants to do. But running with my teammates makes running so much better. We are all in the same dreadful position which connects us all. We are all able to support each other because we know how we all feel. Cross country and track has allowed me to bond with students outside of my grade. I love being able to cheer on younger girls as well as the older ones because they all really appreciate it. Aside from learning how to 51
run a fast 5k, I have also learned how to be supportive of others. I learned that I really care about how my teammates run more than myself. I learned that you canâ€™t always win, but you can be just as happy for those who do win. I love theatre. I love singing and dancing and acting. But even more than performing, I love watching a performance. I love being able to watch the people that I have math class with turn into a star on stage. I love being able to see the transformation of the boy who never talks offstage to becoming an outgoing, eccentric character on stage. Being able to connect with a person through written words and music, is something like no other. Participating in theatre has allowed me to connect with people who I would not have the chance to otherwise. Theatre has allowed me to break out of my very firm comfort zone by not only being on stage, but by meeting and experiencing people that I would not have had the chance to if not for the theatre. Running and theatre, although very different, have impacted my life in very similar ways. They have both taught me how to interact with people of all ages. They have both taught me that I do not have to only root for myself, but others. They have both taught me that it can be beneficial to get out of your comfort zone and experience new people and things, no matter how uncomfortable or out-of-the-box it may be.
We so rarely look at the sky Hailey Opperman Itâ€™s 7:02 and the sun starts to say goodnight But before it goes it gives us a beautiful show, just for our delight Shades of pink, purple, orange, blue, and yellow Swirled together to create a beautiful array. Its is truly a gift To watch such a scene But some people do not realize the beautyThe constant array of colors offered to us, for pure enjoyment All the clouds are at peace Watching the sun descend As the colors fade to black It's now 7:23, And the sun has said goodnight
for him Emily Apadula there were so many times when your voice wrapped me up. when I was swallowed in the depths of pain you came and promised and saved me. and even though you arenâ€™t here your help became a habit. now all I need is to feel the pain crawling over my shoulder, hinting at self-destruction to hear the memories of your voice again. you save me every day without so much as a whisper; without so much as a glance.
Optulie Heriveaux If only we realized all that was in front of us, and touch base with our spiritual minds; then possibly we’d form more trust and realize we have more time. If only we cared a little more and stepped away from technology, our hearts would be less bitter and sore; our path to happiness, almost complete. If only we loved with all our hearts and took time to our advantage; more smiles would form, better relationships would start, and all would be as happy as God planned. But we let everything go past us, we’re blind to true emotions and reality. Time seems to fly way like dust, and we discover our lack of immortality.
We’ll realized what we’ve missed, and by then it will be too late; Time and us will no longer coexist, we cannot alter our fates.
Regan Moran This summer I took a course on Law and Psychology, which gave me unique insight into the current problems we have in law and how psychology interrelates. The course did more than teach “Law school 101;” it helped me discover a future for myself. I went to Tennessee expecting a summer camp experience and discovered a future profession that has captivated my interest and put me on a new path toward independent adulthood. We covered civil, criminal, torts, and constitutional law and learned as much as we could in 3 weeks about court systems, from pre- trial motions to appellate procedure. My most significant experience occurred when my professor gave an assignment to write and then argue a motion for summary judgment in court, in front of a real judge. Our professor created the case and decided which side each of us would be on: the defendant or the plaintiff. Multiple days’ worth of research and drafting went into my motion, which we would only have 30 minutes to argue. I was using my study hall to practice my argument and write out possible weaknesses in my case when I got an alarming email that almost caused a heart attack. It read something like “Dear students, I’m sitting at dinner currently and just thought of a fun twist on tomorrow's competition--a classic law school challenge. You all will argue the opposite side of what you previously prepared. Don’t stress about it tonight. I'll give you an hour or so extra to prepare before we go to the court.” The “don’t stress” turned into mayhem, as I watched all the students in my class come into the library and squeeze into my study room to freak out and announce their imminent demises. I 58
could see both the good and the bad about this switch. I would have to go first as the plaintiff, but I also would have an opportunity for rebuttal, which my opponent wouldn’t receive. I put my carefully-worded and thought-out motion in my bag and took out the notes I had created for the most important points of the plaintiff’s side, around which I had crafted my now useless arguments. I had no idea at the time when I had created this list of weaknesses with my own case as defendant’s counsel that it would become the platform for my new arguments. I’m still not certain where my nervousness went that night but my confidence is definitely what saved me. I put the notes away rather than panicking because I knew the facts of the case by heart, so my arguments came to me naturally. The next morning when I got to the stand in the courtroom, I was shocked as I felt foreign words and arguments seem to come from seemingly nowhere inside of me; somehow, those words sounded so coherent and prepared. After I had presented my case I furiously wrote notes as my opponent spoke and my rebuttal seemed to pull all rationality from her with ease. Although I complained and felt overwhelmed, I won my case and received a medal for best in court argument that day. But that’s not the important part to my narrative; this day and moment created a certainty in the future I want for myself. I will never forget the feeling of arguing at the stand. I play sports and have been in musicals, but this was different then the feeling of being on stage or walking onto the field before a big game. I was on my toes and felt challenged in a way that was both fun and fulfilling. Someday, when I am winning real cases, I will be ready for any challenge thrown at me. 59