Conversation: Just a Bit

Jackie: I like how this veggie recipe calls for bacon.

Alex: [opens fridge, his ankle pops] oh. I popped my ankle.

James: These chairs are weird.

Shellie: Don't insult my mom's chairs.

James: If you were wearing the chair, I'd probably make fun of you, too.

Shellie: That's not nice.

Alex: Well, at least we make fun of people to their face.

Jackie: What's a souffle? What's it look like? ooh! Bacon Spoon Bread!

Here's that recipe. Interesting.

3/4 c corn mean

1 1/2 cups cold water

8 ounces cheddar cheese, coarsely grated

2 cloves garlic, crushed

1/4 c margarine

1/2 tsp salt

1 tsp chopped parsley

1 c milk

4 egg yolks, beaten

1/2 pound bacon, fried, crispy!!!

4 egg whites, stiffly beaten

Mix corn meal and water to the consistency of mush. Yes. Mush. Add cheese, garlic, margarine, salt and parsley. Stir to melt cheese. Add milk and egg yolks. Crumble bacon and add. Fold in egg whites. Pour into greased 2 quart souffle dish. Bake at 325 for 65 minutes. Serves 6.

Attributed to Mrs. John S. McIntyre, Jr. of the Junior League of Jackon, MS

& then afterwards...

there was sleep. and an awakening. and soon there will be sleep again.

afterwards... a silence. But all around it, an awareness of the glory of the Lord. And that's all the comfort I can offer right now. An assurance of my own in Him... the promise of yours to come...

a gentle. its time. when it is.

Dear Sir

Dear Matthew Palfenier, I happened to glance your name on the hood of your jacket as you sat one chair ahead of me in the computer lab moments ago. I only wanted to say, your cherry-wood courderoy pants are genuinely wonderful. Thank you.

Blue Betties of Poplar Blvd.

I may have sprouted some blue hairs today. My dear friend Jackie and I played "old ladies" today by listening to classical music on vinyl, cooking (three homemade meals), volunteering to keep a baby (which we made noises at), telling stories, and playing with our cat. Thirty minutes ago, we turned at each other and decided we needed some fresh air.

Tuesday, Early Afternoon.

I played a little ditty while a little boy played walrus dentist with two silver pick-up-sticks. The wire-haired beast's teeth were in bad shape, I suppose. A grandmother was reading files and thought about her granddaughter's book report being unfinished. She dialed eleven numbers from memory and asked to speak to me. Ditty ended, I answered. "Yes", I said, I would help her read Cam Jansen and the Mystery of the Missing Dinosaur Bones. And spell check her paragraphs. Little boy wanted to know who that was. They don't like to think they aren't most important. None of us do. We are going to put the fifty United States of America together to make up for my disloyalty.

I have to say, it's just a way to steal tomorrow.

It is a happy Sabbath. I sat and sipped coffee with my mom over conversation. Our morning conversations are seemingly reversed. We don't speak over coffee. We drink it with a few utterances thrown out into the air. The coffee is our priority and our comfort as we try to build the momentum to thrust ourselves into the day. The beauty of a Sunday is that it was made for rest, and we don't have to build up that momentum as quickly...or at all. I am cherishing the memory of this morning. It is my last Sunday morning with my family for a while.

It is strange to want to be two somewheres at the same time.

I believe people spend a lot of their lives in this state, and I am discontent knowing that I am not grateful to be just where I am all of the time. I want to be able to make merry wherever I am without the underlying longing to be elsewhere. I experienced this to a great degree while in Arkansas last week. Part of my longing to be elsewhere was due to the fact that I was missing my dad's birthday for the fourth year in a row. But there was something deeper there (something that I can't quite explain), pulling me out of the environment that I was in. I was frustrated and a bit confused to know that even though I wanted to be fully and wholeheartedly where I was, I was being drawn by some other desire. Some anxious desire deep within me. It is sometimes very difficult for me to discern God's will for my daily life. Sitting in the kitchen, having a glass of water at 2 a.m. in a house on the banks of Lake Hamilton, I contemplated whether I was being rebellious in my distraction or whether my insatiable desire to be elsewhere, overwhelming my desire to make the most of my placement, was just God preparing me or communicating to me about the days shortly to come.

In retrospect, I've found comfort in this: God has called me to love. And I showed the best love that I could last week. My own thoughts and desires could have taken away from that, but I tried very earnestly not to let them. Perhaps that counts for something.

Now, there are times for contemplation. And that is a blessing. That is something else that became a tangible reality for me last week. I suppose I've been talking of contemplation the whole while, but this is a different contemplation than the contemplation of placement and contentment in that placement. This is the contemplation of objects.

There was a sort of designated nap time throughout the house last week. That was something that I thought that I would cherish about each day. I was very often tired by noon and could easily have gone to sleep. But everyday, after everyone else was asleep, I was lying there, having the hardest time dozing off. I never have this problem. Every afternoon, while the house was asleep, I was up, having Emily time. I read scripture, listenened to music, drew, collected and studied things, and caught up on details of the lives of others, far away. Instead of feeling exhausted for not having taken a nap, I felt rejuvenated and ready to spend the afternoon "sitting on babies" as a friend calls it. I was blessed by that two hour contemplation period. My life constant is that I am very often blessed by contemplation...

Here is a song list for your contemplation:

- "I'll Be Your Lover, Too" by Van Morrison

-"Ballrooms of Mars" by T. Rex

-"Buckets of Rain" and "North Country Girl" by Bob Dylan

-"Steal Tomorrow" by The Tallest Man on Earth

-"Moonlight Mile" by The Rolling Stones

Pulled Taut

I have feet sewn to winding roads. I think if you can picture this, you may see someone waving arms wildly to maintain balance. That, or someone trying extremely hard to move forward, like a mouse with someone standing on its tail. I feel that these both describe me at times. It's normal. But I'd like to take some shears to these binding stitches.

It's frustrating to know that everyone feels what I believe I am describing as discontent. It's even more disheartening to know that I don't have a reason to be discontent. My life is a good one and I enjoy it. There shouldn't be underlying anything but joy. This is a terrible curse. Good God, can't you come on?

A Shocker.

I'm not sure that Bravo! has a clue about art.

What Does the "L" Stand for?

Every time I ask Winn what his initial stands for, all I get is "nothing".

"All There Is..."*

It's warm. Very Warm. This makes for miserable outdoor adventuring. When will Autumn fall around us? Hmm. Until then, I'll have to learn to appreciate the summer nights with Gregory Alan Isakov*. The nights are lovely enough here (with Off!). What sounds we hear. What sights we see. What a great many stars rise above us...

I'm Not Sure That This Actually Says Anything.

I feel negligent. Even though I'm not. It's difficult to keep up with a blog if you don't have the internet. So, I sit in the parking lot of somewhere I don't even eat and steal their wi-fi.

I've written blog entries over the past few weeks on Word. But, none of them seem right for uploading tonight.

Earlier, I was in the kitchen, putting away my watercolors and adding more plums to the already vast quantity boiling on the stove for jelly, and two of Heath's friends walked in. I love that our home is also some sort of community youth building...most of the time. There are moments when I'm wearing pajamas or I want to be by myself and random people let themselves in and such. But, its nice to know that so many people like just being out on Josephine...with us.

There isn't much in the way of excitement going on here. I've finished reading a few books and they were good. I've been making jelly and pitting fruit for seeds that I want to plant in the fall. I've been working more lately, which is good. Life here is slow. And I like that a good bit of the time. This place lopes along like an animal, tucked thickly within some dense crop. And sometimes, I myself feel as if I could be the animal.

The Orange was the Only Light.

While I was waiting to head south this morning, I stopped by the library. I bought six books for a combined total of $2.50. One was on Egon Schiele. That made me happy.

I wait. And while I do, Egon keeps me company.

In Arizona, You Can Give Your Love Away...

...or at least this is what Ed Masuga beautifully repeats at the end of "Arizona" on his self titled album. Along with holding a spot on my ever-growing list, "Relishes" (an assortment of easy summer finds), Mr. Masuga sports a fancy beard and uses hand drawn posters for concert announcements. I like this man. I'll try to hold him in my hand next to Chris Buhalis, Peter Prince, Charlie Sutton, and other men of folk.

This is one of the other fellows that I hold in my hand. Meet Baruch. This little guy and his brother, Petree, came to stay with me until they could feed themselves and flew the coop.

The interests of early June are many.

1. Things made of paper...

Whether we are wasting paper and time while making "aeroplanes", fortune tellers, birds, fish, stationery, and beads or not is certainly debatable. I debate that it isn't.

2. Broken ceramics...

I'm collecting broken cups, mugs, saucers, and other eatery that someone as clumsy as myself once held. I'm not exactly sure what I'm going to do with each one, but I've started on a new venture...I am now a professional collector of shards, insects, wasp nests, paper jibbles, books, lists, hand-written notes, pressed flowers, and mail. Oh boy.

3. Crane Flies...

and sweat bees are my insects of choice at present. Crane flies are sometimes called mosquito hawks. They do look like mosquitoes, blown up to about fifteen times their size. But, they do not, like most people think, eat them. They eat plant roots. Sweat bees are annoying at any rate. They are attracted to salty water, so a southerner working in the yard is rather unlucky. We have swarms in our Helleri bushes. At least they are available for catching.

4. Attache Cases...

shouldn't be something that siblings fuss over. Heath and I haven't reached this point, yet. But, every time I bring my black 80's number back up stairs, it disappears again. I haven't figured out just exactly why it keeps finding it's way to his room.

5. "I Spy" Cards...

come in happy meals and are highly amusing. I know this, because Kaitland got a set, which are actually a memory game, and because I have played game after game.

6. Overton Park's Levitt Shell...

is where it's at. Free Concerts four out of seven days a week. Check it out at http://www.levittshell.org/.

7. Passenger Seat Adventures...

are not to be reckoned with. They are epic. Always. They are either epically wonderful or epically aweful. People don't ever get out of the passenger seat after a trip and feel neutral. They are extremely something or extremely something else. All of my Passenger Seat Adventures of late have been extrememly lovely. Of this, I am grateful.

8. Embroidery...

used to make me very happy, and I want to get back into it. I guess this means that I collect napkins and handkerchiefs and other random textiles, too. The image conjured in my head of my future home is a mess of oddities. I like it. But it frightens me.

I.II.a.b.III.a.1.2.3

Guess what. It's a new list.

Perhaps when it's complete, I can add it to the tentatively titled "E's Obsessively Compulsive and Elitist Opinions on a Variety of Topics". Enjoy.

Category: Music Videos Worth Watching, unranked

Andrew Bird's "Imitosis"
Beck's "E-Pro"
Grizzly Bear's "Two Weeks"
The Avalanches' "Frontier Psychiatrist"
Tool's "The Pot"
Andrew Bird featuring Dianogah's "Lull"
Iron & Wine's "Naked as We Came"
Modest Mouse's "Float On"
Grizzly Bear's "While You Wait for the Others"
Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros' "Desert Song"
Angus and Julia Stone's "Chocolates and Cigarettes"
Marcy Playground's "Saint Joe on the Schoolbus"
Simone White's "Yakiimo"
Marcy Playground's "Sex and Candy"
Red Hot Chili Peppers' "Scar Tissue"
Ben Kweller's "Penny on a Train Track"
The Great Lake Swimmers' "Your Rocky Spine"
Iron & Wine's "Boy with a Coin"
Jeff Buckley's "So Real"

I Like What They Call "Weed".

I have missed being a morning person. I woke up around four this morning and I never went back to sleep. Instead, I got up, got dressed. Then, I went out and got Wood and we went foraging. Guess what we found...

...that is wild garlic (Allium Vineale). It grows well here and it's considered a weed even though it is edible because some crops, especially grains like wheat, can pick up it's pungent flavor. Even the beef of cattle who eat it can be tainted. It has a stronger aftertaste than garlic, which some people don't like. But, it is grown in herb gardens for it's strange blooms and, because it is allium, it still carries positive health benefits. Also, it is fairly common in the delta, because the structure of the leaves withstand chemical herbicides.

Earlier in the week, I took my grandfather to his doctor's appointment in Memphis. We were in the waiting room for a while, but I didn't complain. I discovered what is probably my favorite magazine now, Gun&Garden. I know what you're probably thinking if you've never read an issue...I thought it was probably a bathroom basket reader. It may be. But if so, I think that the gunmen and gardeners who subscribe are probably spending a lot of time in their bathrooms. The journalism is fantastic. Anyway, I particularly enjoyed several articles, and I managed to locate this one online: http://gardenandgun.com/article/forager. It struck a fire under me to spend a lot of time trekking around to collect and identify plants, and to figure out what kinds are edible and to be able to differentiate between those good for herbal remedies and those that are poisonous. We certainly don't want another Christopher McCandless.

In the process, I've discovered that both sides of Josephine are essentially nothing but dewberry briars, wildflowers, and johnson grass. I've enjoyed going out to pick with my family, our friends, and just with Wood. Yesterday, I took Hallie and Winn out, and they had a grand time. I think more berries made it to their mouth than their bags, and they both picked half a bushel. When I took them home for baths, we had to scrub their purple faces and hands.

My agenda for the afternoon is going out for another collection, and maybe taking a trip to the library. Here's to the hopes of finding some arrowhead, wild strawberries, violets, bellflower, mallow, and virgin's bower, to name a few.

The Time has Come to Speak

What an unconventional and bewildering Friday night I've had. Not only is there an absence of laughter, background movie noises, and any number of sounds associated with college weekends, the only sounds that I can hear at all are the clacking keys I'm typing on, the cicada's chirruping outside, and the whir of the ceiling fan above me. My dad took my brother and sister out, and my mom celebrated a night at home by hitting the hay around nine thirty. Therefore, I am having a night of "me-time". I think I should be enjoying it more than I am. I've become so accustomed to company...Not dependence, but company. I like being alone. But there are times when you just know a night is better shared. This just happens to be one of those.

In my effort to occupy myself with something other than housework that didn't need to be done (my next option), I discovered something very lovely.

Simone White has a few very good new songs. I dare say they surpass her previous ones. She breaks past the efforted indie category that she fit so well into in her last album, I am the Man, and enters gracefully into that of folk singer-songwriter. Let me say, she has been a very talented song writer all along. However, these few new songs that I've happened across bring her into a new light as a sort of delineating narrator...in a non linear sense. I'm not sure that makes sense at all. I think what I'm trying to say, is that she has created a story-like kind of life in these songs, (let's use "Victoria Anne" as an example), by providing a sort of patched at plot line, which doesn't need to be fully delineated to provide a detailed account of what she is getting at. She bears it all in under three minutes.

If I had to say, I think she fits into place right next to the likes of Antje Duvekot.

Because I am doing such a poor job of this musical explication and critique, I recommend that you don't take my word, but listen for yourself. http://www.myspace.com/simonewhite I promise you, it is worth it.

You Can Call Me Grass

I live in Star's Hollow. But it's better...because it is rural. And it isn't fictitious.

Here are some other reasons why Tunica is the place to be:

We are people's people.
When I got home last week, one of the first images that I saw was Ms. Bettie Webb bent doubled in her northerly side-yard garden, big brimmed hat tied beneath her chin. I honked and she stuck her trowel hand up without even looking to see who it was. I got a letter from her yesterday thanking me for a little hare that I'd found in a book and snipped out for her...and to welcome me home. I appreciated it, but its that wave that welcomed me first.

Age is just a number.
I went to the library yesterday and while sitting at a table, flipping through a Sarah Simblett book, I got a strange feeling. I turned around and there was a little girl standing behind me. I said hello and she smiled. Then, she sat down next to me and started talking about grass. This three year old was telling me all about grass. It was magnificent. I gave her some paper and a graphite stick and asked her to draw me a picture. She handed it back with three rows of zig-zags and some specks. "What are the specks," I asked her. "Seeds," she said. I thought it appropriate to read her "The Tiny Seed" by Eric Carle. When we finished, her mother came over and said it was time for her to go. The little girl turned back and waved at me. Her mother asked her who her new friend was. She said, "grass".

We make our own music.
Mhoon's Landing was made symphonic by the multitude of frogs, dogs, and guitars that appeared last night. The muddy Mississippi rolled past and we heard the occasional belch of a barge foghorn. After a while, it came around the bend, lighting the night and sweeping up closer than usual. The water is up right now.

You can sleep safely outside....
when the mosquitoes are tolerable. At least, Wood and I did.

This place is definately real. And it smells like it.

On Presence

This morning, I am sitting at my friend's desk, using her computer, listening to her music on her itunes, and thinking about:

(1.)... how grateful I am that she is staying close enough that I don't have to go an entire three months without seeing her--this was last summer.

(2.) ...how big of a difference presence makes...I am the remaining soul in our dorm suite. Lauren is still here, but she is moving out in waves and training for her two new jobs in between. Last night, Rebecca, Lauren, and Natalie spent the night in Star. This morning, they took our beloved Natalie to the airport. By now, she is surely closer to Washington State than to us. This both pleases me and makes me tear up a bit. But, never fear...she'll be returning shining and new in the fall. She has more than one heartstring tied to the south, now.

What I mean about presence, though, is this-- a truth revealed to me by Lauren yesterday: people learn the most about themselves when they are with someone else. The things that I have learned about myself in the conversant company and mere presence of these women is astounding. I love them with all of the kind of love reserved for dear friends. For the dearest of friends.

(3.) ...how much my grandfather probably misses having a presence in a large, claw-footed, leather chair in his living room. I don't think I can fix that. But I woke up this morning wanting to sit there. I miss his eyes and his hands. I miss him more than I miss my grandmother. I don't mean that I love him more. I mean that I don't have to long for her. She is far better off than he at this point. And he is alone. And this breaks my heart.

(4.)...how being in good company makes time go faster. It's true that time flies when you're having fun. But more than that, I think time flies in the presence of a beautiful person or beautiful people. I have the most fun when I am in the presence of those I love. I don't short cut solitude. I need that. But, I what I am learning about myself from the nearness of others, is that the nearness of others itself is a beautiful thing. I want to see my reflection in this always. I want these people to understand that some of the most important parts of myself are most visible when I am cast off of them in reflecting gazes, or statements that fall out of me that I hadn't previously thought of, or the love that I feel radiating between us. It is very good.

(5.)...how I can't fathom the inner workings of God's creation. I am ever awestruck.

Sanguine & Melancholy Side by Side

1. "Chocolates and Cigarettes"...

is not my favorite song by Angus and Julia Stone, but it is an exceptionally beautiful video. Please enjoy by low light.

2. My family...

came to Jackson today, in the rain, to help me by picking up some things that I couldn't haul home in my car. My dad didn't feel well and everyone had things that they could have been doing otherwise. I so appreciate them and I hope that they realize how big of a help they were to me.

3. Maps...

shouldn't be so difficult for me to learn. I am a visual person. This summer, I will educate myself (at least somewhat) in the area of geography. I feel that this is important.

4. "You Don't Miss Your Water"...

by Otis Redding, was my happy musical discovery of the day. It's a sitting in silence song.

5. Carrots...

are very good when boiled in water and mixed into oatmeal with butter and brown sugar.

6. The Urge...

to watch French movies is overwhelming right now.

7. Thunder...

makes me want to curl up. This isn't a cowering sort of curled up. It's more some sort of passive appreciation on my behalf.

8. Sundays...

are best when they are Sundays. I'm going to keep it that way.

There is Something to be Said for Everything.

There is, right now, a sun pattern falling across my room. It is bent through my window and sits on my floor. And I am cast onto the carpet as a shadow within it. And it is beautiful.

Right now, I should be studying for a final tomorrow and completing a sculpture, which will be critiqued by my peers and professors. fun.

I am not neglectful of my duties, but I am lost in thoughts of other things and the appreciation of the sun. Is this so bad?

Summer is five days away. Work starts in eight.

There is something to be said for everything. There are always interesting somethings. I am interested in saying less. Less is more. More or less. Except for when less is best. I'm rambling. I'm scrambling to get everything done. And honestly, I don't really mind it. Except for when the sun is calling.

We will Keep the Beat!

We are not trees that cling well to ones before us, sinking

our fingers deep within the earth. We carry our out-branched

bodies, heavy as they are, in search of fields where we will clap our hands, the air

carrying on it, the praise of all our days.

Grasping at it All...

We memorize each other within a thin frame, against absences.

Turning away, I find that in mind's eye, you are still speaking through your tea--

lips wrapped around a ceramic farewell, smallest finger out.

Freshness on Toile. And Other Notes on the Present...

1. Dinner...

tonight was so tasty. I went to Rainbow Foods co-op for the sole purpose of buying their fresh, plump asparagus. I go once a week, if possible, just to browse or to grab an apple and a stout ginger ale. They have beautiful organically grown produce. I recommend visiting them on Old Canton Road in Jackson, or on their website, http://www.rainbowcoop.org/. Afterwards, I ran to McDade's where I bought some chicken breasts, fresh corn on the cob, alfredo sauce, and fresh pasta. I cooked the chicken in lemon pepper seasoning, boiled the water and cooked the pasta (which takes literally 60 seconds!) and shucked and boiled the corn. Then, I steamed half of the bushel of asparagus. I arranged it all on two square plates. One for the corn, and the other for the pasta and sauce on the bottom, the chicken atop it, and asparagus on each side. Alex came by and nabbed a bite, confirming the taste test. Then, Shellie, Lillian, Em Fray and I went eat at some picnic tables on the other side of Preston Hall. After we finished, Eastman ambled up and ate a little of what was left. I love cooking. And I love sharing food.




2. Natalie Springel...

just brought me coffee in a large, red, ceramic cup. She sat it beside me on my desk with a grin and a satisfactory thump.

3. Yarn...

is taking over my room. Lauren went to a voice perfomance competition this weekend, and must have been in a rush when deciding which of her yarn she would like to accompany her. I bet there are 75 skeins chilling on her bed.

4. Band of Horses...

is coming to Memphis in May. This is exciting. James and I are going to see them. This is even more exciting.

5. Two Weeks...

is how long I have left before the semester ends and summer begins. I can't wait to accomplish each of the bullets on my to-do list before then. I will feel so much better!

6. Photography...

is oftentimes beautiful. This is especially the case when you have more than four good friends who are talented photographers. I think one of my very favorite gifts in the world are their photos. Shellie recently gave me a photo that she had taken of my favorite dog, which died last year. I didn't know she had even taken it. I'm looking for a frame that will fit it. Charlie has given me a few of myself that she has snapped. They are beautiful. She is a lover of high contrast, and her photos are always striking. Rebecca and Lauren have also given me beautiful photos. Lauren gave me one of a street band from our trip to New Orleans...a bunch of 25ish young men in white wife beaters and suspenders. Each beautiful in an antiquated way. The photo looks like it was shot in the twenties. Also, each of my last three sketchbooks has one of her photos taped to the cover. I'm excited about taking photography, myself, in the fall. Then, we can all take photography trips!

7. Reading Aloud...

is not overrated. It is quite possibly one of the most wonderful things in the world. I will tell my children stories always. Sneaky Beans Coffee Shop hosts children's story time every Thursday. This morning, I witnessed an influx of twentysomething children ranging from unborn to four or five, all into the back room of the shop. Byron, the owner came through with a toddler on each hip, turning sideways to fit through the doors. I was exceptionally happy.

8. The Orange Peel...

is a vintage consignment shop in Fondren that has provided me with two wonderful additions to my fascinating creatures collection. Most of these creatures are birds that have been given to me as gifts. In March, I added a unique little fellow that I believe must be a kiwi to the group. Then, today, I bought a welded camel from Peru. Both of them are hand made and both cost less than $10! Hooray!




9. Something...

is my all time favorite Beatles song. That's a hard thing to pinpoint. It took me a long time to decide between that one, Eleanor Rigby, and Rocky Raccoon. One day, James and I are going to listen to his entire Beatles anthology from start to finish. I think this will require a long road trip.

10. The Velvet Underground...

is underrated. Give me a TVU tune and I'll give you tears of extreme joy and appreciation.

11. Randall Smith...

has style. Yesterday, he wore his famed black sports coat with his famed khakis and famed boating shoes. Beneath his coat was a famed Randall Smith tee shirt. But, this time it was purple. I told him I liked it. He responded with "Target. 20 bucks." I think this man is brilliant.

12. Cicadas...

I can hear outside. It makes me want to be home.

13. Home...

reminds me that I am missing the annual Crawfish Festival. Sad day.

An Excerpt on Growth

Past the edges of the River Town, the land is flat and wavers
with the heat. Beyond the steel-tilled fields, near water’s edge,
the ground grows only seeds that deem to set
themselves within the soil, to sing
silently, God’s song of great release which flings
them out, shots within the earth.

A Dust on the Wind

She sits near candles, burnt
to wicks ends, there, near out-doused
ends of cigarettes, and water-filled
jars with which to do that deed. Later, she will pour
them, somewhere past the fenceposts, ash on ash.
And from the dust, she will carry
back inside with her a fine dredging, upturned
by bare feet, clinging, where it will meet in great reunion,
its kind brought there, like this, so many times before.

Upon the floor, the silt collects until she sees and deems
it time to sweep it up, into a heap—to fling
it to the wind. It’s sent and landing, stands, freshest
of sands on the ground. Some song, sounding
as “From the dust I have come” She will
hum, and out into it she will go.

...An Excerpt...

Bird Watching

A door blew open last
autumn and let
a nesting of motley foliage
build thick and curl
along a wall,
all mortared with the rain.

Among the waterlogged
were leaves,
broken twigs,
and the ochre beadwork
of the oaks along the drive.

Dashed and wet, a warbler
sat alert
atop the mass and
I watched

the silent
minstrel shake
and pucker from the cold,
ever preening the delicate yellow
back from where it had been blown.

As the bird settled into the heap,
I left it alone
and took inside with me
the memory of the fellow.

I wrote this last semester. Seeing all of the oaks' sheddings along the sidewalks today made me feel that it was an appropriate time to include it.

A Cyclical Wishlist

Emily wants to:

--spend an entire day doing nothing but hopping bookstores.
--walk down Josephine leisurely, laughing with company, picking up treasures, and breathing in
the scent of fresh country.
--have a bonfire. Molotov cocktail hitting scrap wood, fingers picking tunes, marshmallows burning, and stories all around.
--sew aprons to sell.
--run a tub of scalding water. Make use of it.
--plant lavender for picking, drying, and breathing.
--own very large dogs her entire life. Ones that lean their entire body weight on you, it's okay to have the temporary loss of circulation for that purpose.
--find, build, buy, and refinish more furniture.
--exchage a back massage.
--drink a cuppa. Black. Large.
--turn off all of the lights. Everywhere. Just for a while.
--plant, prune, pluck, and pick a garden.
--build a tree swing. Rope. Plank. Two holes. Two knots. Two loops. Children.
--give Dot a big hug.
--listen to music in the dark. With company.
--ride the Presbyterian merry-go-round.
--take a drive.
--buy some land.
--finish the semester gracefully.
--sleep outside.
--hunt lightning bugs.
--stay up late.
--sleep in.
--wake up. Go again.

Oh, the Mind that Wanders...

I made an exceptionally bitter cup of coffee this morning which I decided was still worth drinking in Western Civilization, where I was sitting and letting my thoughts drift. The grounds were stale, perhaps. It was cool this morning, but not too cool...sweater weather. Spring covers everything now. It smells different, looks different, feels different. It's awakening...inspiring. A few days ago, I took my finger to the top of a yellow-dusted trash can. "I write pollenear lines..." or something likewise. I've become determined to come up with a better use for "pollenear". I don't want to throw it around, though. It feels different from other words. I should look it up to see if it exists somewhere aside from my collection.

This sidewinds my mind to "Slaughterhouse Five". What takes me there is the thought that perhaps, even if no one has used a word yet, that the word still exists, has and always will exist (at some point in time, to be summonsed). Does it seem plausible for a word to pop into existence upon being spoken by the common man? It seems to me that perhaps they are already there, somewhere, waiting (some longer than others) to be spoken, not into existence (for only God speaks things truly into existence), but into action. [Pollinear for example, may have been waiting until March, 2010 to be sent into that active space between ear and mind, and mind and concept, ect., ect.] How it got into this place of hibernation, if you will, undoubtedly is an act of God. For He did speak everything into existence. The power of His WORD was great enough to create all others. That leaves me awestruck.

If you've read "Slaughterhouse Five", you will understand the correlation. If not, allow me to attempt an explanation. Billy, a veteran of WWII, believes himself to have been abducted by the a group of aliens, the Tralfamadorians, who place him in a zoo where he is observed and taught about the fourth dimension and the true nature of time. They claim that there is a long timeline, navigable forwards and backwards. This allows Billy to time travel. The Tralfamadorians tell him that any given moment exists...has existed...always will exist. I hope I've not given too much away or altered your desire to read the book.

Maybe you'd appreciate a list of vocab?


*ameliorate: [v.] to prove
*neophyte: [n.] a novice
*impecunious: [adj.] having little or no money
*defenstrate:[v.] to throw out of a window
*redolent: [adj.] having a pleasant odor

Something to Hold Onto

1. The Wailin' Jennys...


are a musical trio from midwestern Canada. Hannah Moody, Nicky Mehta, and Heather Masse work together to harmonize and produce songs that are soft and inviting, but strong enough to hold the listener's attention. The sound is folksy and real and the songs carry themes that reinforce the genre. Many of their songs ask questions and recollect loss and the nostalgia of happy times, but are not overwhelming and sentimental. They present the lyrics as factual deptictions of situations. In that, I mean that the situations, while not ideal are believable.

2. The BFG...


by Roald Dahl makes me feel like I'm back in fourth grade...in the best way. My friend, Charlie, has a wonderfully unique giant voice in which she reads aloud the adventures of the Big Friendly Giant and the little girl that he steals, Sophie. I love sitting back in the grass and hearing all about whizzpopping and frobscottle, the Fleshlumpeater, and dreamcatching. I can't wait to hear the conclusion of their adventures. Also, the illustrations by Quentin Blake, are, as always, fanciful, imaginative, and humorous.

3.The Philosopher's Pie...

from Mellow Mushroom is one of the best things that I have ever eaten, and certianly the best pizza that I've ever had. My roommate and I downed an entire 14 inch pizza in twenty minutes...maybe less. I never eat more than two pieces of pizza...it was that good. The crust was the perfect consistency between crunchy and soft, and was topped with mozarella, olives, steak, artichoke, feta, and portabella mushrooms. It was, as the BFG might say, scrumdiddlyumptious.


4. Slaughterhouse Five...


by Kurt Vonnegut, I finished reading yesterday. I appreciated Vonnegut's style throughout the entire novel, and while I felt perfectly content after reading the final sentence, which was perfectly fitting and conclusive, I found myself wishing that it wasn't over. I haven't felt this way about a book in a while, due mainly to the fact that I haven't been reading much lately. I was impressed in Vonnegut's ability to make me think, to draw parallels (it's very strong literarily), and to make me laugh and ponder the seriousness of his subject matter, all while making me feel as if I wasn't reading a book at all, but living it...or better yet, observing someone else live it.



5. Monty Python...

is sheer genius. That is all.




6. Painted Turtles...

are probably sunning themselves...and mating...and laying eggs in Tunica. This is very important, as I will be home next week, and will be able to enjoy the quite miniature versions of the adults which will be scampering by the multitudes across the asphalt and into the deep ditches on either side of the road. We may have a rescue service. Many undoubtedly will be flattened.

7. The Question...



that I was just posed is, "don't you want to finish the last forty-five minutes of The Life Aquatic?" followed by some German. No. Not particularly. Thank goodness it's missing. This may become and issue later, when I actually do...very badly.


8. Track and Field...


began for my brother today. As today is sunny and warm, I would have liked very much to have been able to watch his events. However, I am grateful to not be burning to a crisp.

9. The Reservoir...


is beautiful at night. I love the yellowed orange lights reflected on the water at the spillway. Also, trips to see this are made better by loud bellowings of The Knack, Joan Jett and the Blackhearts, and Marcy Playground.


10. Cups...


is not as good as Sneaky Beans. But they are calling my name...as this is where Lauren is headed. Here's to compromise.

Draw the Line

"I talk to my students a lot about how poetry asks us to try seeing double-- that is, beyond literal. To see the molecular world (our bodies, the daily news, the earth, ect.) and to also see the powers that animate that world. I think I've spent my whole life seeing double--being fixed, mystified, and mesmerized by those powers."

-Sekou Sundiata in conversation with Ani Difranco

_______________________________________

Seeing in writing and seeing in art are the same. Writing requires the same diligent exploration and sacrificial giving that drawing does. What Sundiata is saying is right. Whether or not he is a Christian, he understands that there is an intrinsic value to the world around us, and seeing that world requires making the connection between molecular object and meaning...purpose. Art is about drawing connections. Art is about understanding those connections. It isn't about creating them. It's about discovering them. It's about having a response to them. I want to spend my whole life being fixed, mystified, and mesmerized by His power. And I want to make art and write about my repsonses to the connections that I make through that fixation, mysticism, and mesmerization.

We Went Upward Over the Mountain and Came Back Down Again...

...and when we got where we were going, we found that the other side was greener.

Feel It

Today, Mother taught the four-year-old
about the pinching mouths of insects. He spoke
with lips drawn in and then pursed out as if he
weren't mimicking the word, but the "mandibled"
insect itself--as if he were another bee, like the
one he held, buzzing through the bag. See
the "segments" she said to him who broke
the word into parts of its own. See. He bent

forward with the resonating queen. "Feel the wings."
Today, the four-year-old reminded Mother
of more important things.

We, Being Sisters, Sometimes Love Like This

We, being sisters, are sometimes at a loss
for words. She will sit solemnly, hunkered
in a wicker fit--a basket, she builds
around herself. I don't dare
disrupt her, but instead, drop
my dragnet through the thickened
air. It catches words that linger
there. We, being sisters, are sometimes
at a loss for recognition--each. She doesn't
see that we both weave to relieve ourselves
from everything but this silence
that we sometimes need.

On Simple Pleasures

1. Socks...
are absolutely one of the most comforting things in the world when it's gray...especially right from the dryer. Are not comfortable to sleep in. (When sleeping, bare feet are definitely the way to go.)
My socks are often mismatched, to my satisfaction. Also, they are the one thing that I am aching to learn to knit. Handmade socks. Yeah.

2. Moss...
is growing thickly beneath the lip of the sidewalk, with little hairlike spores! Moss and ferns are my favorite plants. Then artichokes...and asparagus. I like green.

3. Chill Bumps...
are such intriguing mechanisms for coping with the cold. Also, though beautiful in their own way, are not desired at the present. I would very much appreciate a warm day and sun on my arms...and nose.

4. The Untuned Piano...
in our dining room is disconcerting...unless you're banging on it just for the sake of a ruckus. Then, its wonderful. It was last purchased for $80. It can now be purchased for nothing by anyone who will just take it. Also, it is the desired piano for dueling piano's, as opposed to the one which is tuned, sitting less than ten feet away, in the foyer.

5. Spring Break...
should be permanent, or extended.

6. Boxwood...
is apparently a very appealing home to cottonpatch rabbits. I've run one out of one near my front porch, much to my distress (and it's I'm sure), twice since I've gotten home.

7. Folk Music...
is my favorite. Favorite, for sure.

8. "Thirteen"...
is how old my sister will be on Sunday. Also, the title of a wonderful Ben Kweller song.

9. Dizziness...
is a simple pleasure. Once, in a letter that my friend, Mark, sent me, he quoted me as having said to him, "The beauty there is in making oneself dizzy is too great for words." Therefore, I suppose I shouldn't try to explain.

10. Wood Stain...
smells divine. I'm sure I've lost a few brains cells from lingering a little too near it.

11. Where I am...
is right nice. Which, seeing as I have no idea where I will soon be, is interesting. Here's to contentment.

And the Moon Will be Just One

"We will walk out together, among ten thousand things."

-Galway Kinnell
(Little Sleep's Head Sprouting Hair in the Moonlight)

She Lays Her Eggs on the Ground...

"Walking, I recite the hard explosive names of birds: egret, killdeer, bittern, tern..."
-Robert Hass

Slow the Rain

Slow the rain.

Let it be collected in my hands to escape if it wishes. Let it sink through my fingers and trip down my arm. Let it drip off of my elbow. Let me feel it.

Let me see it on a window pane, where I can find my reflection [if upside down] somewhere within the sanctuary of each. I'm told that there is little to no sound underwater. Let me go there to think.

Blue skies are calling.Blue skies are coming. But, I love the rain most.

Shining, Fresh, and Uninspected

I feel as if I should be overwhelmed this week. I took the first of my four tests this morning. I have to complete two sculptures by the end of the semester, transform my drawing series into a body of work, while maintaining sketchbooking habits, compile a Creative Writing Portfolio and Journal, and keep up with academics. I have a vast quantity of books I'd like to read and adventures that I'd like to have. I need to catch up. I'm moving slowly and surely. For now, I'm alright, but I feel that at some point, it is all going to come together in a collision. Maybe it won't. I've always survived in the past.

I should feel overwhelmed, but today I just feel happy. I feel like Tom Hamilton from East of Eden. Our worlds are both "shining and fresh and as unispected as Eden on the sixth day". It's the perfect temperature outside for life. It's the perfect temperature for living.

I'm anticipating Spring Break with open arms. I want to tap my hands on the steering wheel all the way home. I want to hug my family. I want to sit and drink coffee with my grandfather. I want to gather up all the children that I babysit and play neighborhood games with them. I want to have a picnic with my mom beside the Mis'sip. I want to wake up early and have adventures with my dog. I want to watch a movie with James and climb on the church roof with Mark like we've planned to. I want to lie in the grass in my yard and watch the stars do nothing...maybe shoot by. I want to wake up one morning, pack an assortment of "necessities" and go out, alone, into the world that I miss. I do NOT want to waste one minute.

Remember: (me as a time of day)(everything you can).

Horray, random commentary:

1. Donald Hubele...
is an English professor who has singlehandedly mastered the art of facetiousness. Posing questions as brilliant as "Why are mermaids so seductive? The bottom half of them looks like a carp.", Hubele has a way with words and of questioning the world around him. I once drew him, starting from a mole on his face, which I believe is my favorite of his noticeable physical characteristics, except for perhaps his mustache. His entire basement is filled with books and tools, (the essentials), and he blames the little mishaps of life on the supposed alcoholism of whoever happens to be close at hand.

2. My Contacts...
Are exceptionally dry. I feel as if they are affixed to my irises.

3. Mint Green...
is the color of my chipping nail polish. Also, it reminds me of hospital chair pleather.

4. Two...
the number of cups of coffee I've had this week. I could go for a Cappucchino, dry.

5. Boris...
is the fictional boy that I created with the Berry kids. His grandfather is a Russian onion farmer. Boris has a very disproportionate head and a hairy mole. I want to write a children's story about him.

6. To West Texas...
and "Remember me as a Time of Day" by Explosions in the Sky, along with "Theme", "Phone Call", and "Elephant Parade" from the soundtrack to Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, are my favorite songs to turn on while I'm taking a walk. Incidentally, Eternal Sunshine has only further convinced me of the beauty of color and of life and of laughter...of sharing those, and of not forgetting anything that you can help remembering.

I'm exceptionally exhausted. My quilt and sheets smell of fresh laundry. Away I go, to sink deep within them and to dream ...and hopefully, in the morning, I can add them to my list of things remembered...

The Things I mooch off of Chris Brown...

Tonight, in my nightclass, when I should have been listening, I was actually reading Calvin Seerveld's "A Christian Critique of Art and Literature". I was blown away by the short section, "Art is Worship", which I am sad to say is all I was able to get through before dismissal. Seeing as I couldn't take it with me, I quickly scrawled an excerpt into my journal so that I could share it here in a timely fashion...


"...In the quiet of our hearts, we people here need to decide that a reformingly dedicated Christian artistic and literary activity is necessary because art and literature, whatever else they may be...and it does function in all spheres of human life, art is worship. Art is symbolically significant epression of what lies in a man's heart, with what vision he views the world, how he adores whom. Art telltales in whose service a man stands because art itself is always a consecrated offering, a disconcertingly undogmatic yet terribly moving attempt to bring honor and glory and power to something. This is my argument to you Christians: given the contemporary situation of clenched dispair and practical madness, unless you would be a pietist or synthetic Christian, in the spirit of childlike obedience to our Lord who has adoped us as His, encouraged by an unfolding and unifying Christian philosophy, how can you live openly in the world, God's cosmonomic theatre of wonder, while the (common) graciously preserved unbelievers revel color, a deafening sound raised in praise to themselves and their false gods, how can you live here openly and be silent? Are you satisfied with bedlam for God? Where is our concert of freshly composed holy stringent music? Our jubilant dance of praise to the Lord? What penetrating drama have our hands made? Why do we not break into a new song, not only ones from our slender archives? This is needed to show our God we love Him here too, passionately. We must not make a joyful noise just not to hear the other (although it is blessed not to have to stand around with sinners or sit down with mocking, scoffing company--(Psalm 1); but we must make all manner of art because we do hear the tales told by these idiots, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing. That men of darkened understanding can make merry under God's nose and curse him with desperately, damnably forceful art should hurt you. God is not dead. Christ lives! Man is not absurd. He glories in the image of God. The world is not a curse, it is a good creation, struggling under sin toward final deliverance! And only different art, not censorship, will take this antithesis earnestly and meet it. "

Wow. Btdubs. This was written in 1963.

Celebrated Jumping Frog

"He's good enough for one thing, I should judge -- he can outjump any frog in Calaveras county."


He’s there, great bulk that leapt
from the water-log, sidled stiffly
in a body of brown-tipped cattails,
a collection of claves, playing with the wind.
He, great green and gold-leafed god
of the pond, sings a song,
Barry White of the night, and calls
mocking from the brown backwater,
skirting along the depths of the delta’s
slick safe-haven. Waiting to rise
with coined eyes and watch
me watch him off.

As the Sun Sets

“Insects are born from the sun. They are the sun’s kisses”
-Alexander Scriabin,

on his 10th sonata, known as the “Sonata of Insects”

When the great sun sinks
low into the Josephinal fields, where
sticker-weed tears the feet
and Johnson Grass stands like hunkered
drunks, full of that green, sticky
alcohol, the summer insects
sing the last call. All Insects are born

from the sun. They are the sun’s
kisses, calling back to her with trilled
cadences— lamenting her decent.
And when she lowers herself,
Steadily down into her western bed,
They dance among the great-boozed grasses,
Rubbing legs and eyes for her return.

________________________________

Today's song's are: Scriabin's 10th Sonata, and Julie Lee's "Will There Really be a Morning", adapted from the following Dickinson poem.

-

Will there really be a "Morning"?

Is there such a thing as "Day"?

Could I see it from the mountains

If I were as tall as they?

-

Has it feet like Water lilies?

Has it feathers like a Bird?

Is it brought from famous countries

Of which I have never heard?

-

Oh some Scholar!

Oh some Sailor!

Oh some Wise Men from the skies!

Please to tell a little Pilgrim

Where the place called "Morning" lies!

_____________________________________________________

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oFn6202nrqk

Wordage, Adage, Blurbage

I have been having a lot of trouble with spelling lately, which never happens. I attribute this to one of the following hypotheses:

1. A lack of sleep over the last two and a half to three weeks is finally catching up to me.

2. I have a case of early-onset Alzheimer's. This is too terrible to contemplate and nothing to joke about. It's probably least likely, anyway.

3. I am slowly succumbing to Bob Pennebaker's desire for mankind to function solely in the right brain.

Hmmm. Here's to coffee, drawing, and spell checks.

____________________________________

Of late, my friend and I have been enjoying "song of the day", which usually turns into at least three songs of the day. Today, it did just that. I think I might start including lists once a week. Here are today's:

From the Musical Taste of James "Sharpeshooter" Sharpe, and which I have yet to listen to:

-"Thank You my Twilight", The Pillows
-"Greenbird", The Seatbelts

And, for good measure, my choice of the day:

-"Primitive Man", Fruitbats

____________________________________

And now, the part where I list some words. Good ones.

*elutriate-[ih loo tree eyt] v. to purify by washing, straining, or decanting.
*facile-[fa sil] adj. moving, working, proceeding with ease; affable, agreeable, mannerly
*milchig-[mil khig] adj. a dietary law of Judaism; consisting of, made from, or used only for milk or dairy products.
_____________________________________

On random things:

1. Magnetic words...

are amazing. I am doing project 365 with my friend, Natalie. She's making a different guitar pick shaped cut out every day, and I am making five new magnetic words each day, which I hope will continue until I am able to construct a wall of words for my house or our potential coffee shop, ect.

Here are some phrases that I've put together from the ones which already exist.

-The rubber pavement grew enough clover to actually merit seclusion.
-Maybe they won't hand you my creative being...just my marbles.
-Cover the grass with shrink-wrap.
-These things become like bone-marrow * stimulating me to life.
-Hundreds of planetary heads read puns.
-Your baggy halogen eyes filled the street a brilliant white
-The tenuous green one despises beautiful shoes.
-She's standing at an increasingly excruciating and otherwise entirely disappointing distance.
-Even the manliest mustached human softly maintains a thunderous heart.

2. Glue Sticks...

are ever helpful. Right now, I'm sporting a Scholastic Stick, made by the publishing company. Nice.

3. Eric Clapton...

makes me weep. "Unplugged Blues". Listen to it.

4. Veranda Magazine...

is wonderful for chopping up and interesting to look at; has impossibly decorated houses that I can't imagine being comfortable living in.

5. My brother...

manages to amaze me every time there is a science fair. How does he keep winning? How?

6. Sharon Olds' Strike Sparks...

Olds writes beautifully. In this book of selected poetry from 1980 to 2002, she delivers strong vignettes of her life. She pulls me through her poems effortlessly with her images. I love that she writes about herself and her family. Her poems are individual, delicate autobiographies. Be warned, she writes a great deal about her sexual escapades. I recommend "Looking at them Asleep" and "Rite of Passage"...

7. Babies...

are being born like crazy right now. I want one. Or seven.

8. Ferns...

come in five main varieties. ( 1. tender 2. semitender 3. semihardy 4. hardy 5. very hardy)
The difference is that the tenderest need a nighttime temperature of no less than 65 degrees and the very hardy can withstand minus 25 degree temperatures. The others are somewhere between. I love horticulturists. ah.

9. Men's Soap...

smells better.

Ramblings and Utterances

I find myself tripping along in front, hand on a chipping banister, up eighteen stairs to a landing and a door facer— “David” scrawled erratically in pencil on a lower panel—the second “d” backwards, making his name appear to be “Davib”. And there he is, a child, tight-knit cotton pants (red) and a white tee shirt, scrutinizing me imploringly with a no. 2 Ticonderoga in his left hand. He wants to hand it to me, but I take a step forward in time, turn the brass knob, and push the door into a swinging peal. Beneath the whine somewhere, Norah’s low shatterable voice, “His door sings for an oiling.”

She doesn’t know what to do with me now that I’m here. She leaves. And I am alone in David’s room with his bedside menorah and the books on his shelves. His sheets and an old quilt are choking his mattress. I pull the folds out from between the box spring and top cushion. They are thankful for the loosening of that belt and belch a dusty response to my heaving atop it. My lassitude is all the blanket that I need. But, somewhere in the seven minutes before sleep, I look up and know that the last thing that he saw before he closed his eyes at night were the white underbellies of now yellowed paper cranes on a mobile, pushing and turning in the stiffly circulated air, arranging themselves, like his thoughts—in a sober cyclical motion.

Severance in the Old Barn

Tucked thickly between two beams
I found a vespine roost left vacant
and sustained by one limpet foot,
paper-like and fading gray.

Winged things once worked to
form the tessellated nest, drumming an endless
thrum as from a great throat. The wasps were motes
with their own direction- moving
with a purpose that made dumb the dust visible
in the light between the beams above.

A singular wasp crawled slowly
toward a hole and I pressed
a rock firmly to its back, dividing reaction
from reason. Then, as I watched,
the orange wasp- severed-
crawled into the sanctum of its own sacrificial
spittle, an empty nest save one half.

Winter Reflection

After the stillness of the snow, I took me
to a slough suspended and congealed
by the cold. And the bright ice
cast a blinding light on my wash-
room mirror-- as in the early hours
(when one claims the darkness
and dares wish deafness too).

Half-seasoned to the sun, I took me
to the edge, thick-laced, where I
met my gaze and reflected how
far I dared to go.

One foot upon the glass, I cast the other
forward and again, until I passed the fear and
fell hands down upon my wash-room mirror.

The Building of a Nest

The Spring Exhibition of student artwork is in two weeks. I have been blessed with a few solid concepts from which I am building up a small body of work. I don't want to go into any sort of detail for two reasons. Firstly, I would hope that you would come and see them for yourself in the Bitsy Irby Gallery. Secondly, I have an understanding of the work and where it is coming from, but I am learning so much as the pieces advance. I couldn't explain them to you well enough.

I will say, however, that the pieces are birthed from a series on insects and deal with relationships and socialization.

On the topic of art I will say this: It is fast becoming my lifeblood and I am overwhelmed by the fact that through it, God will provide for me and for others. I am excited to see how I will be used and what will be said through my art. I have not had any serious doubts about whether or not this is what I should be doing. Anytime I begin to lean towards insecurites at all, I am reassured that this is what I was created for.

Bring me an opportunity to think. Bring me simplicity. Bring me a deadline. Bring me the opportunity to fufill God's wishes- to be a creation after my own Creator. Let him use my hands. Let me build a nest.

"This should be your ambition: to live a quiet life, minding your own business, and working with your hands." I Thessalonians 4:11

Sweet Dreams in Pieces

My wishes to make a post everyday fell through in an incredibly swift and insupportable manner. I don't know how I feel about that or how I feel about restating that goal. I think I should take the advice of a friend and "just go with the flow".

After many strenuous hours of moving from home-home back to school-home, then from one dorm to another, I believe that my roommate, my suite-mates, and I have finally gotten situated--at least for now. I must say that any doubts about what moving would mean (mostly because I have left a bundle of wonderful friends in Caldwell Hall), have been subjected to the demolition of my heartfelt appreciation of Helen White. Glorious room 209 is not only spacious and quiet, but allows me to see the library and the wonderful scampering people who are walking across campus. My window has a false balcony. What is better? Only the fact that I live with Lauren, Rebecca, and Natalie. They are truly beautiful women. Someones are going to be very happy because of them one day.

This semester holds truths, realizations, struggles, fears, lessons, laughter, plans, work, words, and more. Each are to me, unknown and deeply anticipated with soaring hopes. I don't know where I am going. But, I do know, that where ever I will end up has points along the way; points at which I will arrive in some state with something to learn. This is going to be good.

As it is 2:26, I am falling asleep with James Taylor.