Crying out for Syria

For the first time, in many years, today I seem to be feeling older. Of course there are the normal creeks and cracks of my joints, but there is no new physical ailment to attain to this phenomenon; rather, I feel as though I have been enlightened beyond my human (age-permitting) capacity. 

Why? I met with a young man from Syria today. He told me of the horrible occurrences his country is facing. His people are being tortured by a morale-less, abhorrent, brainwashing, dictator, al-Assad: a repulsive man who will go down in history next to the likes of Hitler and Stalin. While I will never put my new friend at risk by exposing his identity, I must confess that he poured out his heart to me, nearly in tears, over the anguish of his life, his family, his friends. Without flinching, he told me a of story in which a friend was tortured for two weeks by the Syrian government. He was an innocent man. His throat was gauged, his family still mourns. We talked at length today, for over two hours, about what Americans can do (yet haven't done) about this situation. The Syrians are crying out for our help, but for some reason the mass media has labeled the citizens of his country as "Terrorists that cannot be trusted", and so we Americans have yet to act. 

Factors in why we have yet to take action include the invaluable efforts of our media to keep us at arms length from helping the Middle East. Or so it seems? I have been continuously annoyed by the new generation of anchors like Erin Bernett and all the other stuttering, negative, attacking, news people about. CNN is just the tip of the iceberg. Can we not get over attacking everyone? According to mass media: Middle-Easterns are all terrorists, blacks are about to kill me, and the Hispanics are all illegal. Where is the truth? The unbiased viewpoint from each side? Where is the positive story? How can I actually use my time and effort to help the world? That's the news I want to watch.

While I continue my search to get to the bottom of this, I must also wade through the other back-trodden waters of deciding which politician I can actually trust with my vote. Should I choose the one who talks the talk, but fails to (convince congress) to walk the walk? Or that guy who claims HE can make this country avoid another earth-shattering recession? The guy who is lax on Syria and plans to stay out? Or the guy who, at least, wants to arm someone (be it rebels) toward the fight against the malicious dictator?

While I am still in flux for the latter, I know my heart goes out to my new friend, his family, and his country. If anything, maybe these roads toward Damascus can bring a new light to things as they did for Saint Paul some 2000+ years ago.

And as I feel older, I will contemplate the anatomy of my hair. It is a strange thing... our looks, how we see ourselves as we begin to age:

Revisiting the past

When I knew less.

Or maybe I knew more.

Film, natural sunset. Germany, apples. My life, for nearly three years. Now gone, almost forgotten.

Making that living

After quitting my job nearly three months ago, I've realized all the opportunities I've missed as an entrepreneur. Currently,  I have a few top secret plans in the work for San Francisco that would have only come about by way of having this extra free time. I have also reopened my jewelry box and created a monster of myself. You should see my dining room table. I can make a mess like nobody's business!

A few of my latest creations (whimsical tribal stick mobile included - possibly for sell; I should make more...) :

I'll be at  Art in the Park in  Kingston Springs on October 6, 2012. Please let me know if there are other craft fairs in the Nashville vicinity in which I should sign up. It would be greatly appreciated :)

By no relation

I originally heard of Dan Deacon when I visited Brooklyn for the first time in 2007. My band was playing Cake Shop, and of course, being in a record store pre-Spotify, I HAD to by a new album. I asked the counter guy what he recommended. He pulled out an album near-by, and as I asked him why this one, he gave no other reason than the fact that he designed the cover. I agreeably bought the record - Spiderman of the Rings - and it soon became my go-to jam whilst doing homework or designing on my computer.

No matter where I am or what I am doing, I have always seemed to find a way to re-visit that album. In a way, I think it is why I have an unconditional love for electronic music  (even though Mr. Deacon would refute such a term, as he would imply it is simply - just music). I am relived by the space it brings. I need it sometimes in my busy life - this space to breathe.

Today we celebrate the release of his new album America. I will leave you with this video, which although drives me crazy at times and I want to yell at the people, "NO! You're doing it wrong!" - the music makes me oh, so happy :) 

P.S. side-step guy at 2:35 may be my favourite part.



I wonder if I will ever meet Cake Shop designer boy again. If so, I would give him a thanks for the recommendation. 

I'm neither here nor there, but at least I know where I want to be.

I'm moving to the oceanside,

Where the air is pure and clean.

I'm moving to the oceanside,

Where I can hear my dreams crash into me.

I'm moving to the oceanside,

Where the ground is thick and green.

I'm moving to the oceanside,

Where the sound is a misty sheen.

I'm moving to the oceanside,

Where the songs are born from the sea.

I'm moving to the oceanside,

Where I can look out endlessly.

I'm moving to the oceanside,

Where the dolphins swim freely.

I'm moving to the oceanside,

My love, won't you come with me.

Dearest San Francisco:

take me back.

"The price of anything is the amount of life you exchange for it."

  - Henry David Thoreu

Pain. Thoughts.

"The self-lover is busy; he shouts and makes a big noise and stands on his rights in order to make sure he is not forgotten - and yet he is forgotten. But the one who loves, who forgets himself, is recollected by love."

- Søren Kierkegaard, Works of Love, ed. and trans.

Where am I?

What am I supposed to be learning about this confinement I’ve been subjected to? I’ve spent enough time alone to know that I don’t want to be alone anymore yet I am continually placed into circumstances in which I find only myself. God knows I love community and being around active cities. Why do I keep finding myself in sleepy towns – without my friends around? Even as I plan to move somewhere, I am pulled away as if conjoined to my despair shouting, “Don’t leave me!”

Sorry despair, I want to go. I’m done with you and your reminders of who I am. I am sick of myself. There I said it. I am sick and tired of me, myself, and, I. I am sick of talking to myself to keep from going insane. I am tired and warn out from tying keep myself entertained. I can’t do it anymore. Isn’t that someone else’s job?

God, why am I here?  Is this some kind of test because I feel as if I am now failing... I feel as if I am worse of today than I was yesterday. Shouldn’t I be growing and changing?

I guess there is nowhere else to go but up from here.

The cliche 4th of July post.

I study injustice, social change, poverty, sustainability – the good, the bad, and the ugly – on a daily basis. It is rare that I come across something in that sphere that is worthy to share (other than the things I produce – oh, like the video for the Koshe project. You remember that one don’t you?) Quite frankly, most of the things I uncover are simply too depressing to talk about.

But I think it is appropriate I came across this video today. The stark contrast between freedom and being a refugee is presented in this film as a reminder of my great blessings, but also that not everything has to be as bad it seems. There can be happiness in the ruins, in other’s mistakes, and in enduring the most disheartening of circumstances. What is happiness? It has been defined in this country by how many Apple products you own, how much press your indie-rock band gets, by paying off your student loans so you can finally take that hot chick out to that fancy restaurant Yelp followers have been raving about, the list goes on and on. But in reality it is so much more (or so much less, depending on the way you look it). I am mature enough to understand my happiness does not come from owning stuff or having it all together. Rather it comes from community, family, and (in essence) freedom.

I am reminded that even though I am free, my brothers and sisters all across the world are not. I admire the hope that this video embodies. These scenes in Africa are all so familiar to me. While I’ve only visited Africa (Kenya and Ethiopia) for a total of five months, I am given a little nostalgic reminder of the dirt, the jerry cans, and the plastic sandals. These images may seem exaggerated, but the truth is, that is the life of so many people. And yet, despite our standards for happiness, these people can also find joy. By no means am I saying this is a place to live. No one should be forced from their home. And that is where I come to my first point: Because I’ve been surrounded and saturated with facts about war, poverty, and refugees for years, I am uncertain if this is news to anyone. Do you know about this? There are civil wars going throughout most of East Africa and quite frankly, I don’t know what to do about it other than share what I learn and pray for peace.

“So often refugees are forgotten because the problem seems too overwhelming. Our intention was to have two worlds crashing together with the hopes that in the mash-up both worlds’ beauty would shine through in their purest form.”

 – filmmakers, Paola Mendoza and Topaz Adizes

I’d admire their efforts, and I would have to say: mission well accomplished, boys! This organization is doing fine work and I hope someday I can have the audacity to leave home and do something like this again. This video makes me want to go back to the field to help others, hands on. I want to create. I want to be with them, the hold them, to feel their pain, their joy. Is something wrong with me? But most importantly I want peace on earth. It’s what we hoped for in our nightly prayers as kids or the message we fashioned together with Elmer’s glue and food-colored macaroni stuck to paper plates for Christmas decorations in Mrs. Wiggin’s second grade class. But is it attainable? And at what age did I learn that there really wasn’t peace on Earth? Should I simply ask for that innocence back?

But today, I remember I am free. So to my fellow USAer's: Happy Independence Day, Ya’ll

the 18 on Judah

Last Wednesday you travelled alone. You where in new place. But what else was new? You had made the journey before, many times actually, except mostly on different continents and under much more pressing circumstances. This time you were lost to all sensibility but somehow, still, had a semi-conspired plan in mind. However, you had not planned very well. Or maybe the not planning was part of the plan. You forgot to figure out in what direction to go or how long you would need to get there, wherever there was. 

The place was cooler than you imagined it to be, especially in a district called Sunset. Though you never really imagined to be there at all. It was a place which felt more like Portland than any neighborhood in California. That day the sun was missing - instead, replaced by a dreary fog and a coldish breeze. You weren't quite sure in which direction you were headed. The most you gathered was that you would hit the beach by sun down. You had the idea to someday visit the Golden Gate and once on the tram, above ground, you spotted it, but in the distance - too far of a walk to make with your already blistered feet.

The shore was ahead of you, beyond the East horizon. Each bus stop which passed you thought, "I'll get off at the next one", but instead you chose to keep riding. You had a quiet thought, hope, or wish, perhaps, that he was there with you. But that wish quickly subsided. For in the company of anyone else you wouldn't be this still, this quite. Your thoughts would have gone to him instead of to those frigid, serene moments.

The bus topped the final hill to the coast as you spotted mounds of sand in the distance. To your right was a laundromat that reminded you of him, but just barely. To your left you saw two grungy, half-baked guys sitting outside of a coffee shop. Outside the door were two chic girls atop an over-sized piece of driftwood - the first sort of style you've seen in blocks. You shrug the thought that they did not belong there - that they simply sat in places like these in hopes of making a statement - away.

It was 1pm. You had yet to have had your morning coffee, and as it was on your list of things to do, you started toward the door. From the looks of it outside, you half suspected Nirvana to be on rotation, the flannel-clad barista even hinted to the scenario. Though "Silver" or even "Lithium" did not resonate in your ears that day, you were delighted, none-the-less, by the owner's southern drawl. He had relocated from North Carolina to California to take up surfing.

The blithe owner of that shammy, grungy coffee shop assured you that you were in the right place and on that day you decided that's where you wanted to be - that somehow your unplanned plan came to fruition.

Water from the Pacific.

today

Thoughts. Procrastination. Wanting. Learning. Becoming. Being.

My new addiction

In need of the perfect dress? Look no further. If you're like me, you have a plethora of clothing in your closet that has not been touched in, dare I say, years. It's time to re-vamp your wardrobe this summer. 

#1: Be in the perfect forest wedding

#2: Find that white dress you just have no use for

#3: Pick your color. I chose RIT this time, but you can also use food coloring, Kool-Aid, or for colored fabrics... bleach (but that's next week.)

#4: For cottons/natural fabric you will need 1 cup of salt and 2 gallons of hot water

#5: Dip your garb in the mixed dye/salt concoction

#6: Find big spoon/stick and stir. Keep stirring/agitating for a good 15-30 minutes

* The label said 30-60 minutes but I noticed my fabric getting SUPER dark and I didn't want emerald.

and..... Voilà!

hurt.

To My Fallen Homies

On days like these, there is nothing more I want to do than keep my family close. My brother keeps asking me, "Why are you here?" He's confused as to why I would choose he and the kids over my friends. It's because I've realized the importance of family... and because I have the cutest, most ridiculous nieces and nephew on the planet. When I was close to death in Kenya (that story for another day) all I wanted to do was to see my niece one last time. I wanted to make her laugh while doing my silly dances in the kitchen as we baked cupcakes together.

Friends can always walk away, but family is forever yours. Don't miss your chance. Seriously, I don't care how cheesy that sounds. When was the last time you told your momma you loved her? When was the last time you gave your dad any time of day. They aren't here forever.

In memory of one of the most genuine souls, my7th grade crush, great friend, and all around amazing man. Daniel, you are forever missed.

<3
Steph

my GAWD, we're cute.

We celebrated the Cinco de Mayo, with tiny hats (sombreros diminutos), and bicycles (bicicletas), of course. It was almost the perfect night when I thought I had found Nick from the New Girl... I'm convinced, if anything, this guy was his twin brother. But I tend to see things in other's many people don't...

Homerun, Stephanie HOME. RUN.

Cute guy - "Have you ever seen Fever Pitch?"

Steph - "I think so. Is that the one with Drew Barrymore where she's never been kisse....

"oh, wait..."

Comic relief - 1       Stephanie - 0

Meet Elijah

This is my newest cousin. He was officially adopted last week by my dearest cousin Michael and his wife Amy. Elijah was found abandoned in the bush near the border of Somalia in Ethiopia. His mother left him in a bank parking lot for reasons unknown to anyone, but I can without a doubt say it was because of poverty one way or another. I am so grateful this little boy is alive and will soon come home to be a part of our family.

This precious little baby boy brings so much joy to my heart today :)



I made a map for those who are geography inapted.

Bachelorette Pad Recipes

I've been conjuring up recipes with the little food I have stored in my freezer. Most of the remaining parcels in my fridge are condiments or some sort of expired milk product. It's quite depressing. Tonight has been the best concoction: 

Curried Coconut Broccoli over Pan Roasted Marsala Chicken

• One can Coconut Milk
• 3 Tbsp Curry
• Kosher Sea salt to taste
• Black pepper
• 1 1/2 Cups finely chopped broccoli

Cook and stir together. Pour over cooked chicken seasoned in Marsala and pepper

This is the first time I've not lived in community in almost 6 years. I'm still learning how to shop for just myself, but quite frankly, grocery stores/products are not designed in a way which gives favor to the single - especially fruit. I try to keep fresh food around, but have found myself throwing away more than I purchase (which is not like me considering a large chunk of my current food is actually from the dumpster). Last weekend my best buds and I hit the jackpot at Trader Joe's. We made watermelon strawberry smoothies while juggling apples and hoola-hooping at 1 in the morning. Literally.

Wisdom//Tradition

My soul needed these words tonight.

Screw Coachella

We have bikes, bands, babes, and beer




from Daniel Kessler

my dream man when i was 8

I hope your innocence stays with you. You're so special :)

I don't deserve you

The people I love

Chucks, chops, chickens galore.... all in one place.

Not only a beautiful man, but a beautiful man with the right words.

"The chance to change or mold opinion is reserved to those who are not afraid of being isolated. By saying and doing the unpopular, by shocking, they... can carry their ideas to supremacy."

- Noelle-Neumann

I'm not afraid of dying, I'm afraid of not truly living.

How many degrees to Bacon?

Typing this, I realize that once things are out of my head and on paper, they seem less interesting, less ardent, less original or prolific than I thought. I have this stream of consciousness flowing in my mind at all times (part of the reason why I never sleep) – maybe James Joyce is in my family line somewhere? The drone and flow of the words inside seem much more poetic than when I read them aloud from a page. It’s too bad. Too bad you’re not in my head listening to this same voice as I. She’s quite amusing sometimes. It’s as if my brain remembers words read or heard and is trying so desperately to piece them together, but in a much more nonsensical way. Oh you silly frontal lobe.

My ride to Nashville Saturday morning for some reason prompted it to think of Dave Eggers, my favorite author. Ok, not really my favorite. Maybe 4th or 5th favorite. I really could not tell you my favorite since that seems to change daily depending on my mood or what I know of the world in that particular moment. But let’s just say, at that time, in that car, on that ride, Dave Eggers was my favorite.

It had just then dawned on me, during that drive for one reason or another: I am one degree from Dave Eggers. And, at that moment, I wondered if we will ever meet. Is it possible he could even stumble upon my art, or my writing (where, if such an event were to happen I would feel very sorry for him – attempting to endure the nonsense of these words). But he would see them, and realize our mutual friend means destiny. That we should become best of friends. To the point in which I would pop up in his stories, and he in mine- in ways that are so natural, casual. As in the time we have pancakes together and I burn half the batch, or lose half the batter because my elbow bumps the mixing bowl from the counter. That would be an unfortunate breakfast experience he would relate to another event and make it seem more interesting than I ever could. His writing being more detailed and all, with bigger, more descriptive words because he knows those kinds of words so well.

Maybe we could combine forces, my crazy mind and experiences, and his ability to tell stories. Oh what wonderful books we could make!

But back to how he will one day want to meet me – about our destiny, Dave and I.

A few years back, I was at the Lost Boys center of Nashville. For some reason, Nashville had become the location for Sudanese refugees in the Midwest and South to vote for the secession of the North from South Sudan. I went to take photos and try and get a few stories from Sudanese men and women. Luckily my good friend Aguto was there, vice president of the voting-committee none-the-less. A refugee who ended up in Nashville, becoming a good friend after I helped photograph for the non-profit he was in process of establishing: Hope Sudan with my dear friend Alicia.

So it was me, hundreds of refugees, and a few big shots from a few news stations I don’t recognize because I am too pretentious for any news that is not NPR. Aguto escorts me past all the local news channels and cameras, into the building where hundreds of dark black faces are gleaning with hope and joy, bodies packed close together in an organized zig-zag throughout the open room. I was the only white person inside the building without an official CNN press lanyard or government position. See Dave, I know people in high places too.

Aguto tells me to stand next to a group of his friends while he runs outside to coordinate and prepare another group of hopeful voters. I casually start asking the men questions. I’m not too prepared so I start with the basics: “What city in Sudan are you originally from?” “Where do you live now?” “Do you enjoy America?” “Do you have contact with your relatives in Sudan?”

One man is eager to be interviewed. He tells me his name is Lino. He now lives in Atlanta, has been there almost 10 years. I start putting the pieces together. Lino. Atlanta. Atlanta. Lino. The Sudanese have a funny tradition of renaming themselves so I think, it can’t be, there must be so many other Linos in Atlanta. But I ask anyway, “Did you ever have a roommate? A roommate named Valentino?”

“Why yes, He is my roomate.”

I am floored. Shocked. I almost drop my camera in disbelief. I start stumbling on my words, not knowing what to say. Just like the few times I hung out with Michelle Branch, trying to play it cool – but the knowledge that her friendship would mean being one degree from Hanson was all too much for me. I could not handle the pressure. Michelle and I are unfortunately no longer acquaintances even after that one time she came to my house – to my party. My party, she was there, I swear.

He’s THAT Lino. Valentino’s roomate. That time, sorry Dave, I was not thinking of you. I’m sure you are heartbroken. And it is not that Valentino and Lino are more important than any other refugees, for they all have gone through more horrendous things than most of us will ever even witness on television (ok, at least on television in the 90s). But I knew their story, thanks to Dave, and to me, they were famous. I was star-struck.

[If you have no clue what I am talking about, please stop now and pick up the book What is the What. Even if you DO know what I am talking about. Please stop now. My ramblings may bore you to death.]

But Dave, don’t stop reading. I’m telling you how much we have in common. We know the same people, see? We both write about Africa, and injustice, and pancakes. Or maybe I should change that to tacos, yes, we’ll have tacos for breakfast. I’ll call up Lino and we can all talk about Sudan, and Valentino, and refugees. We’ll eat tacos and write about the mishaps that happen over the course of the meal. It would keep us entertained for hours, and that makes great friendships: keeping each other entertained hours on end.

So Dave, will you be my friend? You can’t say no to destiny, you know.

(Circle one)

YES NO

Tonight I sit alone in the quad outside the Library. Hoola-hoopers sway and oscillate in the distance. I position myself just beneath a tree whose leaves give way to the light of a lamp post above. They called for rain tonight, so I drove to campus. Windows down, feathers blowing in the wind. Summer is almost here, love.

He sits upright after awaking from a nap on the cement slab in front of me. He picks up his cello and begins serenading me and the warm air. I didn't even notice the huge apparatus beside him until it was in his hands. Groups of people stand behind, talking within their circles. He's playing just for me. I can barely make out his face even though he sits not 5 yards from me. I forgot my glasses tonight. Everyone looks faceless, especially in this dim light. I sometimes forget I can't recognize people from a distance without them. Which is part of the reason why I am here. I was supposed to be meeting classmates in the library to study for our exam tomorrow. But the library is too big, faces too blurry. I gave up looking. I think the air wanted it that way. My subcoscious mind wanted me to stay outside. It needed the break. A break from thinking. About school, money. Most of all thinking about Pop - my grandfather - who past away just yesterday. I needed to be outdoors. Closer to creation. Away from the static and drone of everyday, work, school.

It was almost as if God planted me here at this moment. I start conversations, talk about Jesus. His Love. His power. I needed this more than anything tonight, thank you Lord. Suddenly I am serenaded by an a capella group, a group of 3 guys, singing in unison underneath the library awning. There voices are resonating across the lawn. They're singing about Kentucky Bourbon, and its beautiful. I want to get their names. I want them and cello guy to serenade me every night.

30 minutes have gone by and another guy brings out his guitar. The angels must be upon me! I think. I am hopeful. Util I hear the lyrics leaving his mouth... "Today is gonna be the day... and after allllll, you're my wonderwalllllll."

I think its my cue to leave.

This is the last photo I took of my grandfather on his 80th birthday for my photo exhibition Going Home. His shirt rightly proclaims: "The older the fiddle, The sweeter the tune".



I love you so much Pop. You are already missed. I will always remember the smile on your face when I sneak into your house and press the button to the train crossing. "Oop, Steph's here!" You'd exclaim. We'd sit at your table in your living room, eating chili, or stuffed peppers, always with sweet tea, and listen to Linda talk about our family genealogy. How our ancestors were missionaries and martyrs. You'd just look at me and smile because you knew I was being bored to death. Dangled along for her hours of recapping our family history. But I didn't mind. I just liked being with you. Thanks for letting me stop by so often the last few months.

I love you so much.... we'll be together someday soon.

Steph

Back to my roots

Since leaving Nashville, I've realized how much I've taken my city for granted. I grew up around amazing musicians, a culture of politeness, sweet tea, and good 'ole boys.

But in high school I thought these good 'ole boys, or "rednecks", were annoying with their loud trucks and confederate flags raised proud. They blasted their tapes of, not Cash or Wagner, but George Strait and Kenny Chesney. Post 1994 (at least in my middle school mind), I felt as though country music lost its roots, as if the sons and daughters of bluegrass lost their hillside edge and welcomed in all those who were seeking. The music became accessible and too accessible for this 12-year-old's taste.

But not many people know I grew up on this stuff. Unfortunately, I could have been caught falling asleep to CMT's Dance Club: Live at the Ryman. I do hate to admit it, but I was the girl who really did think true love could happen at 14 like John Micheal Montgomery told her. (Who by the way I met at Vince Gill's golf tournament when I worked as a cart girl at the Golf Club of Tennessee - dream come true). I wanted to someday be line dancing with the greats on that wood floor.

I had the joy of re-visiting some of those roots with weekend with a few great gals.

photo by Jennifer Joy Jameson:

Gah, just look at those dimples... http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lFQCtUM2ZYg&feature=related

in lieu of Valenstine's Day

I've picked up this book again.

"Love is thus, the soul's dynamic attempt to achieve oneness with the source of its being"

God is love and it makes sense that we are seeking, searching for that connectedness with him once more. It gets me right in the heart. Figuratively speaking. We are made in the image of God... in the image of LOVE! Does that mean we are love as well? Because it's around us like an aura, not just in our hearts. Haven't you ever felt it all over? That feeling that makes you want to quote Tom Cruise. That you are complete. I'm exploring to find out what this all means. But it makes so much sense that we would seek it, and find it in other people. That is why God gave woman to man. It's beautiful, it's perfect.

Oh, and this year, I've chosen not to be bitter. So, to all of you love birds out there... ENJOY! :)

i try not to complain. but i feel as if it is a fact

We live in a magical place

What I love most about these sounds is that I have visited all of these places. I can't wait to hear more...

Soundscapes - by Ace Norton from ISAAC HAGY on Vimeo.

For an insomniac,

there is no such thing as a good night.

Every evening –

even if it eventually, mercifully comes to an end – is shredded by anxiety. To reach sleep the insomniac must first pass through

terror.

I've never felt more understood.

My new pet

I found a new pet in my room today and I want to thank the Tennessee Wilderness for sharing her with me. We'll call her Lucy. I guess she thought it would be nice to wear a skirt. Amusingly it was the same skirt I wanted to wear today as well. As I was getting dressed, she scurried her venomous body across my floor, leaving me aghast as I leaped two feet into the air, chucking my favourite skirt across my room.

I'm taking a gander that the tornadoes of last week gave me more than just a hefty leak and semi-sun roof in my living room. The winds were also so courteous to provide a route for Lucy and her friends to come and go as they please.

Suffice it to say, Lucy has now joined the underground swimming club. It is quite unfortunate that she won't be visiting any longer, and I've taken precautions (with massive amounts of duct tape) to ensure her friends do not take advantage of the secret passage way either.

So long friend...

to you.

*original source unknown

I cannot explain why, or how I create. All I know is that I have to.

"The secret is that making Art, creating things, is a transformative process. The act of creation takes certain elements of our psyche, energy, if you will, and morphs it out of our heads and into the real world. Matter can neither be created nor destroyed, but it can be alchemized. The reason why Art works so well in therapy is that it allows for negative energy and/or trauma to be cleared out of our heads, and turned into something productive, without having to speak about things literally. Pictures can communicate energy without words, and in so doing, can tell stories that would be otherwise stuck in the murky world of the subconscious. The act of creation is akin to shining light on our shadows, (Jung again) and it enables the creator the opportunity to move on. Catharsis"

- Jonathan Blaustein

Sometimes I feel like a lonely boat.

Finally a guide I can follow

I'm not one to complain about being single. I've been that way the majority of my life. If I had a man, I would not have been able to experience the things I did in my life. Of course, sometimes I wonder what it would be like to have someone by my side... just sometimes.

The average age for an American girl to first marry is 26.5. I'd like to interpret that as me being above average :)

So, I have begun my research in how all of this works:

TIPS FOR SINGLE WOMEN, 1938









In summary, do not end up like this:



... I think I can do this.

Hello Summer Break

well, eventually.

John Steinbeck on Falling in Love: A 1958 Letter

"And don’t worry about losing. If it is right, it happens — The main thing is not to hurry. Nothing good gets away."

New York
November 10, 1958

Dear Thom:

We had your letter this morning. I will answer it from my point of view and of course Elaine will from hers.

First — if you are in love — that’s a good thing — that’s about the best thing that can happen to anyone. Don’t let anyone make it small or light to you.

Second — There are several kinds of love. One is a selfish, mean, grasping, egotistical thing which uses love for self-importance. This is the ugly and crippling kind. The other is an outpouring of everything good in you — of kindness and consideration and respect — not only the social respect of manners but the greater respect which is recognition of another person as unique and valuable. The first kind can make you sick and small and weak but the second can release in you strength, and courage and goodness and even wisdom you didn’t know you had.

You say this is not puppy love. If you feel so deeply — of course it isn’t puppy love.

But I don’t think you were asking me what you feel. You know better than anyone. What you wanted me to help you with is what to do about it — and that I can tell you.

Glory in it for one thing and be very glad and grateful for it.

The object of love is the best and most beautiful. Try to live up to it.

If you love someone — there is no possible harm in saying so — only you must remember that some people are very shy and sometimes the saying must take that shyness into consideration.

Girls have a way of knowing or feeling what you feel, but they usually like to hear it also.

It sometimes happens that what you feel is not returned for one reason or another — but that does not make your feeling less valuable and good.

Lastly, I know your feeling because I have it and I’m glad you have it.

We will be glad to meet Susan. She will be very welcome. But Elaine will make all such arrangements because that is her province and she will be very glad to. She knows about love too and maybe she can give you more help than I can.

And don’t worry about losing. If it is right, it happens — The main thing is not to hurry. Nothing good gets away.

Love,

Fa

Thinking of Ethiopia, trying to get outside of myself

Humble me, oh, Lord to do Thy Will. I need you more than ever to lead this broken heart towards yours. Oh, Lord, turn this heart away from worldy temptations, worries, and wants.

Wash me Savior, or I die.

Let me hide myself in The.



If you haven not downloaded this album, I suggest you get it.

Seriously, now! That's a command.

The albums' ardor and the guys' anointing has the potential to warm your soul.
And send the guys a little support if you have the means - they're good dudes.
If you're heart is not changed after listening to this, I'll give YOU your money back.
Promise.

{Album cover linked to free download}

LET US REJOICE TOGETHER: MY GOD, HOW GREAT YOU ARE!!!

Just use the force.

I've fully succumb to to the fact that I am - and will always be - a dork.

Tonight I visited my best friend since I can remember. Our parents' made us become friends since no one else's kids were to be caught alone wandering the streets, riding bikes, playing Sega, or getting into the spray paint after 6pm. This is the girl who, in high school, was the leader of the pack. The one who's opinion mattered. She was the captain of the basketball team. You know, that girl who's comments pierced you right in the [social] heart. And I was the girl who sought acceptance from Punky Bruster and got kicks out of watching Welcome back Kotter. But for some reason, we were insuperable. We followed each other from preschool til high school graduation.

But as life should, it fell upon us. For some reason or another we drifted apart. And for years! But tonight, something magical occurred. The realization of that spark, that recognition of something magical happened.

Mandy was in her routine - bartending and speaking of something alcoholic or drug related, as I chimed in with my never-ending-dork-references.

Mandy - "They never pay attention to me." blah blah. something about tips and liquor...

Me - [explaining to her that she CAN receive all the tips she requests if only she uses the force] - "...Oh, Sorry that was a Star Wars reference."

Mandy - "Heh, yea, I never get your Star Wars references. That's why I love you."

I know that God has a place for her in my life. I have an undying, every-resistant love for this woman. We will forever be [completely] different, but I accept that. And I will continue to love this girl with all that God has placed in me. I thank God every day for you, Amanda Lynn :)

Let's just hope there is not another Horshack in my class next semester. Yes, MTSU, he does exist :/