GoCharlie

gocharlie

Anne of the Island by L. M. Montgomery, is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book here . In the Park Chapter VI - In the Park “What are you going to do with yourselves today, girls?” asked Philippa, popping into Anne’s room one Saturday afternoon. “We are going for a walk in the park,” answered Anne. “I ought to stay in and finish my blouse. But I couldn’t sew on a day like this. There’s something in the air that gets into my blood and makes a sort of glory in my soul. My fingers would twitch and I’d sew a crooked seam. So it’s ho for the park and the pines.” “Does ‘we’ include any one but yourself and Priscilla?” “Yes, it includes Gilbert and Charlie, and we’ll be very glad if it will include you, also.” “But,” said Philippa dolefully, “if I go I’ll have to be gooseberry, and that will be a new experience for Philippa Gordon.” “Well, new experiences are broadening. Come along, and you’ll be able to sympathize with all poor souls who have to play gooseberry often. But where are all the victims?” “Oh, I was tired of them all and simply couldn’t be bothered with any of them today. Besides, I’ve been feeling a little blue—just a pale, elusive azure. It isn’t serious enough for anything darker. I wrote Alec and Alonzo last week. I put the letters into envelopes and addressed them, but I didn’t seal them up. That evening something funny happened. That is, Alec would think it funny, but Alonzo wouldn’t be likely to. I was in a hurry, so I snatched Alec’s letter—as I thought—out of the envelope and scribbled down a postscript. Then I mailed both letters. I got Alonzo’s reply this morning. Girls, I had put that postscript to his letter and he was furious. Of course he’ll get over it—and I don’t care if he doesn’t—but it spoiled my day. So I thought I’d come to you darlings to get cheered up. After the football season opens I won’t have any spare Saturday afternoons. I adore football. I’ve got the most gorgeous cap and sweater striped in Redmond colors to wear to the games. To be sure, a little way off I’ll look like a walking barber’s pole. Do you know that that Gilbert of yours has been elected Captain of the Freshman football team?” “Yes, he told us so last evening,” said Priscilla, seeing that outraged Anne would not answer. “He and Charlie were down. We knew they were coming, so we painstakingly put out of sight or out of reach all Miss Ada’s cushions. That very elaborate one with the raised embroidery I dropped on the floor in the corner behind the chair it was on. I thought it would be safe there. But would you believe it? Charlie Sloane made for that chair, noticed the cushion behind it, solemnly fished it up, and sat on it the whole evening. Such a wreck of a cushion as it was! Poor Miss Ada asked me today, still smiling, but oh, so reproachfully, why I had allowed it to be sat upon. I told her I hadn’t—that it was a matter of predestination coupled with inveterate Sloanishness and I wasn’t a match for both combined.” “Miss Ada’s cushions are really getting on my nerves,” said Anne. “She finished two new ones last week, stuffed and embroidered within an inch of their lives. There being absolutely no other cushionless place to put them she stood them up against the wall on the stair landing. They topple over half the time and if we come up or down the stairs in the dark we fall over them. Last Sunday, when Dr. Davis prayed for all those exposed to the perils of the sea, I added in thought ‘and for all those who live in houses where cushions are loved not wisely but too well!’ There! we’re ready, and I see the boys coming through Old St. John’s. Do you cast in your lot with us, Phil?” “I’ll go, if I can walk with Priscilla and Charlie. That will be a bearable degree of gooseberry. That Gilbert of yours is a darling, Anne, but why does he go around so much with Goggle-eyes?” Anne stiffened. She had no great liking for Charlie Sloane; but he was of Avonlea, so no outsider had any business to laugh at him. “Charlie and Gilbert have always been friends,” she said coldly. “Charlie is a nice boy. He’s not to blame for his eyes.” “Don’t tell me that! He is! He must have done something dreadful in a previous existence to be punished with such eyes. Pris and I are going to have such sport with him this afternoon. We’ll make fun of him to his face and he’ll never know it.” Doubtless, “the abandoned P’s,” as Anne called them, did carry out their amiable intentions. But Sloane was blissfully ignorant; he thought he was quite a fine fellow to be walking with two such coeds, especially Philippa Gordon, the class beauty and belle. It must surely impress Anne. She would see that some people appreciated him at his real value. Gilbert and Anne loitered a little behind the others, enjoying the calm, still beauty of the autumn afternoon under the pines of the park, on the road that climbed and twisted round the harbor shore. “The silence here is like a prayer, isn’t it?” said Anne, her face upturned to the shining sky. “How I love the pines! They seem to strike their roots deep into the romance of all the ages. It is so comforting to creep away now and then for a good talk with them. I always feel so happy out here.” “‘And so in mountain solitudes o’ertaken As by some spell divine, Their cares drop from them like the needles shaken From out the gusty pine,’” quoted Gilbert. “They make our little ambitions seem rather petty, don’t they, Anne?” “I think, if ever any great sorrow came to me, I would come to the pines for comfort,” said Anne dreamily. “I hope no great sorrow ever will come to you, Anne,” said Gilbert, who could not connect the idea of sorrow with the vivid, joyous creature beside him, unwitting that those who can soar to the highest heights can also plunge to the deepest depths, and that the natures which enjoy most keenly are those which also suffer most sharply. “But there must—sometime,” mused Anne. “Life seems like a cup of glory held to my lips just now. But there must be some bitterness in it—there is in every cup. I shall taste mine some day. Well, I hope I shall be strong and brave to meet it. And I hope it won’t be through my own fault that it will come. Do you remember what Dr. Davis said last Sunday evening—that the sorrows God sent us brought comfort and strength with them, while the sorrows we brought on ourselves, through folly or wickedness, were by far the hardest to bear? But we mustn’t talk of sorrow on an afternoon like this. It’s meant for the sheer joy of living, isn’t it?” “If I had my way I’d shut everything out of your life but happiness and pleasure, Anne,” said Gilbert in the tone that meant “danger ahead.” “Then you would be very unwise,” rejoined Anne hastily. “I’m sure no life can be properly developed and rounded out without some trial and sorrow—though I suppose it is only when we are pretty comfortable that we admit it. Come—the others have got to the pavilion and are beckoning to us.” They all sat down in the little pavilion to watch an autumn sunset of deep red fire and pallid gold. To their left lay Kingsport, its roofs and spires dim in their shroud of violet smoke. To their right lay the harbor, taking on tints of rose and copper as it stretched out into the sunset. Before them the water shimmered, satin smooth and silver gray, and beyond, clean shaven William’s Island loomed out of the mist, guarding the town like a sturdy bulldog. Its lighthouse beacon flared through the mist like a baleful star, and was answered by another in the far horizon. “Did you ever see such a strong-looking place?” asked Philippa. “I don’t want William’s Island especially, but I’m sure I couldn’t get it if I did. Look at that sentry on the summit of the fort, right beside the flag. Doesn’t he look as if he had stepped out of a romance?” “Speaking of romance,” said Priscilla, “we’ve been looking for heather—but, of course, we couldn’t find any. It’s too late in the season, I suppose.” “Heather!” exclaimed Anne. “Heather doesn’t grow in America, does it?” “There are just two patches of it in the whole continent,” said Phil, “one right here in the park, and one somewhere else in Nova Scotia, I forget where. The famous Highland Regiment, the Black Watch, camped here one year, and, when the men shook out the straw of their beds in the spring, some seeds of heather took root.” “Oh, how delightful!” said enchanted Anne. “Let’s go home around by Spofford Avenue,” suggested Gilbert. “We can see all ‘the handsome houses where the wealthy nobles dwell.’ Spofford Avenue is the finest residential street in Kingsport. Nobody can build on it unless he’s a millionaire.” “Oh, do,” said Phil. “There’s a perfectly killing little place I want to show you, Anne. it wasn’t built by a millionaire. It’s the first place after you leave the park, and must have grown while Spofford Avenue was still a country road. It did grow—it wasn’t built! I don’t care for the houses on the Avenue. They’re too brand new and plateglassy. But this little spot is a dream—and its name—but wait till you see it.” They saw it as they walked up the pine-fringed hill from the park. Just on the crest, where Spofford Avenue petered out into a plain road, was a little white frame house with groups of pines on either side of it, stretching their arms protectingly over its low roof. It was covered with red and gold vines, through which its green-shuttered windows peeped. Before it was a tiny garden, surrounded by a low stone wall. October though it was, the garden was still very sweet with dear, old-fashioned, unworldly flowers and shrubs—sweet may, southern-wood, lemon verbena, alyssum, petunias, marigolds and chrysanthemums. A tiny brick wall, in herring-bone pattern, led from the gate to the front porch. The whole place might have been transplanted from some remote country village; yet there was something about it that made its nearest neighbor, the big lawn-encircled palace of a tobacco king, look exceedingly crude and showy and ill-bred by contrast. As Phil said, it was the difference between being born and being made. “It’s the dearest place I ever saw,” said Anne delightedly. “It gives me one of my old, delightful funny aches. It’s dearer and quainter than even Miss Lavendar’s stone house.” “It’s the name I want you to notice especially,” said Phil. “Look—in white letters, around the archway over the gate. ‘Patty’s Place.’ Isn’t that killing? Especially on this Avenue of Pinehursts and Elmwolds and Cedarcrofts? ‘Patty’s Place,’ if you please! I adore it.” “Have you any idea who Patty is?” asked Priscilla. “Patty Spofford is the name of the old lady who owns it, I’ve discovered. She lives there with her niece, and they’ve lived there for hundreds of years, more or less—maybe a little less, Anne. Exaggeration is merely a flight of poetic fancy. I understand that wealthy folk have tried to buy the lot time and again—it’s really worth a small fortune now, you know—but ‘Patty’ won’t sell upon any consideration. And there’s an apple orchard behind the house in place of a back yard—you’ll see it when we get a little past—a real apple orchard on Spofford Avenue!” “I’m going to dream about ‘Patty’s Place’ tonight,” said Anne. “Why, I feel as if I belonged to it. I wonder if, by any chance, we’ll ever see the inside of it.” “It isn’t likely,” said Priscilla. Anne smiled mysteriously. “No, it isn’t likely. But I believe it will happen. I have a queer, creepy, crawly feeling—you can call it a presentiment, if you like—that ‘Patty’s Place’ and I are going to be better acquainted yet.” About HackerNoon Book Series: We bring you the most important technical, scientific, and insightful public domain books. This book is part of the public domain. L. M. Montgomery (2006). Anne of the Island. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/51/pg51-images.html This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org , located at https://www.gutenberg.org/policy/license.html. The lead image was generated using HackerNoon's Stable Disffusion Al Image Generator feature, via the prompt "Anne of the Island".

In the Park

174 AI Tools To Try

Don’t feel like reading? Listen instead! Charlie Joe, Dominique, Tiffany, John, Carlos, Alex. I’m very bad with names. Bad as in, I already forgot your name after you just told me, especially after meeting a lot of people in a short period of time. But when I spoke with each of these lovely human beings that are living in the streets of the Tenderloin, I was humbled, touched, and overwhelmed enough to have their names etched in my memory. I felt a strong desire to somehow, someway, help them. I’ve been meaning to volunteer my time for-e-va. But I figured that as long as I donated to a charity, I was being charitable enough with my money instead of time, and this covered my volunteering duties. But the day finally arrived when had a volunteering program going on, and I decided to take the opportunity right away. my church “You will be walking in groups, you will have a team leader, and you will always have a partner with you when approaching someone. We all know that these streets are dangerous, so if your team leader tells everyone to go, you go. You don’t ask questions. If you feel you are getting into a dangerous situation, give your team leader and everyone will leave right away. Don’t get too close, because you will be entering their personal space, this is their homes and you need to respect that. If they start hate talking, you politely say that you have a different point of view and leave. Also, do not talk to anyone who is shooting up drugs.” It was 7pm, a couple of people in the group were admittedly scared (and secretly myself). And we were all “God is with us!” and I thought….“and please save us God”! the look My partner was one of the admittedly scared ones, so I had to get the courage to start talking with the first person. - What’s your name? - Charlie Joe, and this is my friend Dominick.- You both have beautiful names. Would you like a muffin? - Sure. - Would you like, hmmmmm, a prayer? I’m sorry, it’s the first time I do this… She calmly looked at me, as in to say don’t be nervous, put the muffin away, and said yes.I held her gentle hands, dirtied with black street marks, and surprisingly had absolutely no nervousness of holding them (I have barely changed one diaper in my life, might as well held someone’s hands who is likely on drugs and hasn’t showered in a very long time). Charlie Joe was probably in her early 20’s, a beautiful person, and her eyes showed that she was under the influence of something. I wanted to know what got her there, and if anything could have stopped it from happening. But I didn’t know how to ask. After I was done praying for her, she surprisingly took the stage and prayed for me, asking God to make all my dreams come true. Wow, Charlie Joe, this homeless person, who is part of a group of people that I have purposefully ignored even looking at, cared about dreams coming true when she knows I already have so much more than she does. My heart froze, cracked into a million pieces and sank to the deepest part of the ocean. my We had a box of small snacks like bananas, muffins, and some flowers for the ladies. Each person we encountered humbly took only 1 item, clearly leaving some for others that needed it as well. One of them just stopped, looked at the flowers in the box with a focus that nobody that owns a phone has left, picked a single stem, raised it up and looked at it like it was a piece of art, smelled it, carefully put it next to his bag, and said thank you as he walked away. No snacks, just one flower. I was watching that with the same focus he was looking at the flower (a focus I haven’t had in a while) as if nothing else around me mattered, thinking of the abundance of flowers I buy for myself, put in a vase and leave them there, not really stopping to appreciate the bouquet. The next person we approached was Alex, a young man probably in his early 30’s. I asked him if he wanted a snack and he promptly accepted. Where are you from Alex? “San Francisco”. Unsure of what to respond (as I typically respond with “It’s such a beautiful and awesome city, isn’t it?!”) I quickly asked him if he wanted a prayer. He said yes. Alex was a bit quieter and I felt that maybe Alex was ashamed of being there as a man, having a woman around his age offering him food and a prayer. We quickly left so Alex wouldn’t feel uncomfortable. By now my partner tells me to “Keep it up Steffany, you’re doing great” as she is still a bit nervous about the situation, and the night settles in. We then approached Tiffany, another young girl probably in her mid twenties. Tiffany told us that she had some emotional challenges, as her mother was using drugs when she was pregnant with her. Tiffany had problems holding jobs because, as soon as a challenge was presented, she couldn’t deal with the problems and would quit. She went on to say that she has a son who is going to be six next week. Her son was taken away from her after he was 1 year old. She said that she wishes her son was with her, as tears started streaming from her eyes, followed by “But I know that it’s very selfish of me, because, if I can’t even give myself one meal a day, how can I take care of my son?”. Needless to say, I was bawling too. What an amazing mom to say that it was selfish of her to wish that the human that she loves and longs for the most in this world was with her, because she can’t even take care of herself. Riding back home in my Uber had a very different feeling this time around, as we passed through the Westfield Mall on Market Street, with my iPhone in hand, looking outside of the window and seeing all of the frivolous things we buy being heavily marketed to us as “Falls Must Have’s” on storefront after storefront. What has our world come to, that these sweaters had homes with a roof, when so many other human beings slept just outside of it, in the cold? As I arrived in my warm apartment building, I remembered I had to pickup an Amazon box in the “Amazon-boxes-overflowing-mail-room”, knowing that all of the box owners will get strangely excited to open their newly arrived box, taking what is inside, getting a kick from their new “toy” followed by immediately loosing that kick, and throwing away the box — that very discarded box will become someone’s mattress, and blanket… Silicon Valley was put in the spotlight when we woke up completely baffled after America decided who should be our president. This volunteering experience showed me that we have a long way to go. If we don’t acknowledge the situation in our own backyard, and choose to turn our heads, how could we even begin to fix the disparity between us and the middle of America? How can we even attempt to fix the problem? I know that most of us would also be shaken by an experience like this. And we can make an impact in these human being’s lives by creating and supporting programs in our organizations that can help train and employ them, give them a chance, a chance that we were all just handed. If every organization makes it a point to help even just one human being per, say, 500 employees, imagine the exponential effect this can have in our own backyard. Empathy also makes us more emotionally intelligent and informed leaders, and it is very important for every organization to have a team with a broader perspective on life. — Otherwise, we work in silos, inside our echo chamber, out of touch with the reality around us, and we make mistakes that seem like basic common sense in hindsight. Can I get a clap clap or a comment for every person who will propose this at their next All Hands meeting? Shall we call it “Meet the Homeless”? Here are a few organizations that you can get started to #MeetTheHomeless: Lava Mae Miracle Messages SF Food Bank Glide Defy Ventures Because Justice Matters My lovely __ Canvas Church Thank you and for reading drafts of this article. Chandini Ammineni Lecole Cole

Stories, News & Mentions about GOCHARLIE

Gocharlie’s Stories on HackerNoon