January 18, 2008
I agree with what the results are…and it comes as no suprise to me that I’m not meant to be a mathematician. 😀
|WHAT MAJOR IS RIGHT FOR YOU?
created with QuizFarm.com
|You scored as English/Journalism/CommYou should strongly consider majoring (or minoring) in Communication, English, Film, Journalism, Literature, or Writing.It is possible that the best major for you is your 2nd, 3rd, or even 5th listed category, so be sure to consider ALL majors in your OTHER high scoring categories (below). You may score high in a category you didnt think you would–it is possible that a great major for you is something you once dismissed as not for you. The right major for you will be something 1) you love and enjoy and 2) are really great at it.Consider adding a minor or double majoring to make yourself standout and to combine your interests. Please post your results in your myspace/blog/journal.
January 18, 2008
Well, here I go….this is my first time taking part in Poetry Friday and you can find the entire round up of poems at Farm School.
Have you got a brook in your little heart,
Where bashful flowers blow,
And blushing birds go down to drink,
And shadows tremble so?
And nobody knows, so still it flows,
That any brook is there;
And yet your little draught of life
Is daily drunken there.
Then look out for the little brook in March,
When the rivers overflow,
And the snows come hurrying from the hills,
And the bridges often go.
And later, in August it may be,
When the meadows parching lie,
Beware, lest this little brook of life
Some burning noon go dry!
As I read this poem, I am reminded of when I lived in Pennsylvania. While Miss Dickinson is not to be always taken literally, this poem brings me back to the times on my family’s acres where we had a brook, ‘bashful flowers,’ and ‘blushing birds’ aplenty. Then, as the poem progresses, I am reminded of our last winter in Pennsylvania, “And the snows come hurrying from the hills,/And the bridges often go,” and, finally, of our settling in Arizona “…When the meadows parching lie,/Beware, lest this little brook of life/Some burning noon go dry!”