we are ALL OVER THIS

December 24, 2009
One of Them
Maternity Leave
The Whole Truth
Lockdown

December 26, 2009
9:30 PM - 11:59 PM
Dave
S.O.S.

December 27, 2009
12:00 AM - 1:50 AM
Two For the Road
Question Mark

12: 15 PM - 2:30 PM
Three Minutes
Live Together, Die Alone part I
Live Together, Die Alone part II
A Tale of Two Cities

to definitely be continued

Katie is taking everything much more calmly than I did my first time around.

I've requested Season 5 to rent but at this rate we're going to have to just go out and buy it... or steal it.

Jack would never let me do that.

have a holly jolly one

O SOURCE OF ALL GOOD,
What shall I render to Thee for the gift of gifts,
Thine own dear Son, begotten, not created,
my Redeemer, proxy, surety, substitute,
His self-emptying incomprehensible,
His infinity of love beyond the heart’s grasp.

Herein is wonder of wonders:
He came below to raise me above,
was born like me that I might become like Him.
Herein is love;
when I cannot rise to Him, He draws near on wings of grace, to raise me to Himself.
Herein is power;
when Deity and humanity were infinitely apart
He united them in indissoluble unity, the uncreated and the created.
Herein is wisdom;
when I was undone, with no will to return to Him,
and no intellect to devise recovery,
He came, God-incarnate, to save me to the uttermost, as man to die my death,
to shed satisfying blood on my behalf,
to work out a perfect righteousness for me.

O God, take me in spirit to the watchful shepherds, and enlarge my mind;
--let me hear good tidings of great joy,
and hearing, believe, rejoice, praise, adore,
my conscience bathed in an ocean of repose,
my eyes uplifted to a reconciled Father;
--place me with ox, ass, camel, goat,
to look with them upon my Redeemer’s face,
and in Him account myself delivered from sin;
--let me with Simeon clasp the new-born child to my heart,
embrace Him with undying faith,
exulting that He is mine and I am His.

In Him thou hast given me so much that heaven can give no more.

How I feel at 2:50 AM after a night of good writing and happiness in general

CRANK IT UP

true story

I bought myself eighteen pairs of socks today.

My mother was channel surfing in the other room.
Mom: “Peri, come here! It’s your best friend!”
me: “BOB ROSS!!!”

I watched him paint happy little trees for thirty minutes.
“What the heck. Let’s have some fun.”
me: “I can’t wait for him to make it beautiful and then ruin it!”
Mom: “This is putting me to sleep. I’m going to go do laundry.”
me: “It looks like an atomic bomb went off behind that tree!”

me: “Bob Ross paints with knives.”

BOB ROSS + CHUCK NORRIS = BFF 4EVA

“Maybe there’s one here…” [paints enormous dark line right down the middle of the canvas]
me: “NOOOOOOO”
“Shweeoooop. [chuckling] You have to make those little noises or else it won’t work.”
me: [Laughing so loudly my dog ran in]

“Put some white there so this little rascal sparkles in the sun.”
TWILIGHT FOR TREES.

“Maybe in our world—yep, you’re right! There’s some happy little grass right there.”

my favorite Bob Ross quotes here

you're the reason that i decorate my yard

dear scotland,
please scoot a little closer. dani and alex are way too far away.
loooooooooooooooooooove,
peri

megan and i make a pie

THIS ONE'S FOR YOU, PIEMAKER.

Meego and I baked a pie the other day, since she’s somehow managed to grow up in America but never eaten apple pie before. I know. What. Seriously.

It was my first time making pie crust from scratch and all I have to say is that making a lattice-work topping is VERY DIFFICULT, especially when the pastry is crumbling in your hands, dang it. We also had trouble peeling the apples and had to resort to using steak knives.

"Come on knife, work with me."

"They're slippery little suckers."

"You've got--like-- this little pile of tiny pieces...!"

"If we were doing this with Monica she would have made the perfect pastry."
"And all the apples would be peeled and cubed already."
"And she would have all these little baking tips..."
"And she would make the top in the shape of an angel."

"I feel like I'm whittling."

"YEAAAAAAAH!!! I GOT ME SOME BAKING TIPS TOO!!!"

"How many of these do you think I need to do?"

"Ok. Lattice top is not happening. It's going to have to be like... this."

"It's a Star of David!"
"It's a Jewish apple pie!!!"

I'm so sorry. This is hilarious to me. We were laughing hysterically the whole time. The rest of you are like PERI SHUT UP GET TO THE POINT.

The point is, all I want for Christmas is The Pie Hole.

The point is that we were triumphant. The result was a little awkward looking but it tasted wonderful. Three different kinds of apple, loads of brown sugar, flaky crust-- I could start a bakery* with this.


Watching North & South was even more wonderful. Megan is officially inducted.
First sight/shot of Thornton...
Megan: —Oh.
me: [smiling proudly upon her]

For the patient among you, a reward (IF THE IMAGE ABOVE IS NOT ENOUGH): I have a recipe for you with which to wow and astound your friends. I got the filling here. The crust recipe is from my mom and I don't feel like going upstairs and calling it forth; I'm sure the Pioneer Woman has a good one.

1/2 cup unsalted butter
3 tablespoons all-purpose flour
1/4 cup water
1/2 cup white sugar
1/2 cup packed brown sugar
4 Granny Smith apples, peeled and cubed

Preheat oven to 425F (220C). Melt the butter in a saucepan. Stir in flour to form a paste. Add water, white sugar and brown sugar, and bring to a boil. Reduce temperature and let simmer. Place the bottom crust in your pan. Fill with apples, mounded slightly. Cover with a lattice work of crust. Gently pour the sugar and butter liquid over the crust. Pour slowly so that it does not run off. Bake 15 minutes in the preheated oven. Reduce the temperature to 350F (175C). Continue baking for 35 to 45 minutes, until apples are soft.

As a note, Lee Pace, I love you.

My continuing mission of converting the entire world into ardent lovers of North & South, status update:
Strickler - check
Megara - check
Arrika - check**
Johna - check
Cathy - check
Gloria - check (plus a miniature Victorian suit for baby Jack)
Meggo - check

__________________________________________________________
*It is one of my goals in life to work in a bakery.
** I can't take original credit for this. But I'm doing it.

SondRAY LerKA

I practice saying his name every day.

how to fail at a prank in 15 minutes or less

Print off dozens of tiny pictures of Robert Pattinson as Edward Cullen; dimensions should be around 1"x1". These are excellent options:


Cut them out and double-side-tape the backs.

Take full advantage of the fact that this morning your boss's daughter picked her nose and somehow caused a fountain of blood to spout ceaselessly from said nostril, causing her to decide that she is dying. While they are at the doctor, sneak into boss's office and stick all the tiny pictures onto the 50 tiny ornaments that are dangling from the ceiling. Position the faces on the ornaments so that they're all facing her desk.

Randomly hide the leftover pictures around the room, like on the back of her door or over her husband's face in one of the photo frames.

Test the theory that the size of the pictures will keep them from being noticeable upon first entering the room by leading other coworkers into the office and asking what they see. Blank stares and "Uhhhh..."s are satisfactory confirmation.

Cackle quietly. It looks amazing. Her Christmas decor will never be creepier.

After racing time in order to keep from getting caught [triumph!: printed and pasted in under 15 minutes], wait impatiently for the arrival of aforementioned boss.

Smirk like the Cheshire Cat when she walks in an out of her office multiple times, totally oblivious to the scowling vampires hanging above and around her.

Two hours later, lose patience again. Discuss the situation with your other boss (who helped put tape on the pictures).
"This is ridiculous."
Gloria: "If it weren't for the Christmas party she would have seen them by now."
"She's not going to notice until tomorrow morning--"
Conversation is interrupted by a sudden squawk from next door:

"I LOVE MY OFFICE!"

Fail. Utter, utter fail.

paging all cute coffeehouses

COME CLOSER TO ME.

In Dublin one was just a stone's throw from the next. Options upon abundant options. Three on my block, mere steps from my blue front door. Multitudes along the busy streets I traversed daily. Candy Cafe--I miss you. Insomnia(s)-- I miss you.

In St. Louis, these are my lousy options:

St. Louis Bread Co. [Panera] (makes my hair and clothes stink)
Kaldi's (15 min drive)
Starbucks (stingy with their wifi)
The Daily Bread (cold)

All I want is to kick up my feet in a plushy chair, preferably by a fireplace, hot drinks at easy access, and write and read and do my daily trolling of the internet. Which leaves... my living room.

I guess I'll go to Walmart and buy some shaving cream and that pine candle I've been needing.

desmond & penny

One of the most moving scenes in the history of Lost. It has made grown men weep. And it still makes me cry, every single time.

"I won't call for eight years." (youtube)

FEBRUARY 2, EVERYONE!!! I HAVE ONLY BEEN WAITING LIFETIMES.

PDA

Look left! Opa.
Look right! New yaller coat.

find the tree and put it in your house

Wesley: MY TREE I MADE IN SCHOOL IS BROKEN!
Mom: So fix it.
Wesley: I CAN’T FIX IT! THERE’S TAPE ON IT!
Katie walking past me: Tape as strong as steel!

me: Mom, listen to this. This is a dancing tealight holder. Haha! Dancing!
Mom: Uh-huh.
Katie tapping me: I thought it was funny.

Katie: Wesley, what do you want to put that you did this year?
Wesley: I struggled in school.
me: He went to Kanakuk and won that thing!
Wesley: The Invisible Hero award. You can just put Hero Award.

long-suffering

deservedly trapped

secret santa

strongest mother IN THE WORLD

the conifer of glory

sister winter

hey guys! it's christmas time!

we are a family of pirates and asians

the things that stay the same

388 years. Almost four centuries and the pilgrims and I still share things that we're thankful for. Religious freedom. Their lives and the lives of those they love. Unexpected friendships arisen from unexpected circumstances. Food and the assurance of continued provision.

The Plymouth pilgrims: I admire their fortitude. Squanto and his tribe: I admire their generous giving and guidance. The fact that these attributes are still recognized and lauded past elementary school teachings and are celebrated yearly by an entire nation: I am thankful for that.

Thanksgiving 2009:

23, yo.

"i'm laughing at clouds"

Come on with the rain, I've a smile on my face

re-enter the apricots

I waltzed into work bearing a dozen warm lemon-poppyseed muffins in my arms. Despite having just smashed my car door into my face (top and bottom lip are a pretty sight) I was in a t-double-e-rrific mood. I opened the door and walked down the hall, eying my desk curiously and warily. There was something hanging above it. From a blue string dangled what looked liked a deflated balloon. 'But my birthday isn't for another two weeks,' I thought (and subtly hinted at here)... and then I realized.

It
was
an
APRICOT.

Mentally popping one of these sticky, withered lumps of preservatives and fleshy sucrose into my mouth makes me mentally barf. In every family there is the distant cousin who claims kinship while the rest of the clan wonders whose brilliant genes produced this freak specimen. In the fruit family, this member is the dried apricot. Nobody likes the dried apricot. They look, taste, and feel like something a vulture just downed and regurgitated.

"Have a fruitful day!" crowed the post-it.

She hid them all over my desk.


Cathy, the battle lines have soooo been drawn.

As he hurried along, eagerly anticipating the moment when he would be at home again among the things he knew and liked, the Mole saw clearly that he was an animal of tilled field and hedgerow, linked to the plowed furrow, the frequented pasture, the lane of evening lingerings, the cultivated garden plot. For others the asperities, the stubborn endurance, or the clash of actual conflict, that went with Nature in the rough; he must be wise, must keep to the pleasant places in which his lines were laid and which held adventure enough, in their way, to last for a lifetime.

-The Wind in the Willows by Kenneth Grahame

This half of me wants action and excitement, to go exploring with Cousteau or Sir Edmund Hillary or Neil Armstrong.

This half of me only asks to live quietly without much disruption, in my own version of Cranford or Stars Hollow.

Will I have adventure in the great wide somewhere?

Might I to keep to the tilled fields I know and function well within?

Or
is it perhaps possible
that the explorations and the frequented lane
might turn out to be one and the same?

exclusive exclusive - read all about her

MEGAN: Peri. How do you feel about me as a person… as opposed to… something else?
…It’s kind of a serious question.

PERI: I wish that you would shower more often.

MEGAN: CRAP!

PERI: Next question.

MEGAN: I wish that you would not push the alarm snooze button so many times. Just saying. Okay. Next question. If I were an animal, what animal would I be?

PERI: One of those bugs that flies into the light.

MEGAN: Okay! Different animal.

PERI: … I don’t know what animal you would be but you would definitely be a tangerine if you were a fruit.

MEGAN: Why?

PERI: Because that… was the answer the first time, we asked this question.

MEGAN: Okay. Ahem. Next question. If you could describe me with one song, what would it be?

PERI: “Gaston.”

MEGAN: ‘I know!!!’ That one?

PERI: Yes. You tromp around in boots… and you decorate with antlers… And you definitely—I mean, those twelve dozen eggs, they’re really paying off.

MEGAN: You know I feel like that’s actually kind of relevant because I eat eggs every other day. Just so you know.

PERI: I don’t. I wish that I did. Because then I would be like you.

MEGAN: If I were a Sims character, what would I be like?

PERI: This is not a good question because there are no typical Sims characters! You make them up as you go.

MEGAN: Well, in my Sims game I have some typical characters. I’ve got the slut… I’ve got the good girl…

PERI: Oh… okay.

MEGAN: Okay.

PERI: You would be one of those ones that eats the Instant Breakfast. A lot.

MEGAN: Maaaaan. And you’d be the one that’d make the mess every time you ate. Every single time. You know how the food flies everywhere? Yeah. Well that’s you.

PERI: But I would also be the one that goes to work in a helicopter.

MEGAN: That happens?

PERI: You see? Obviously I would!

MEGAN: If I was a guy—an attractive one—what would I look like?

PERI: You would look like………………………………… Clive Owen.

MEGAN: Nice. Alright, because I can’t think of any other profound questions right now, this interview is over. Until next time.

Emma: THE EVALUATION

Tonight I watched the BBC’s latest 4-hour installment: Jane Austen’s very own Emma, starring Romola Garai. I liked it more than I thought I would; I ended up disliking it more than I wanted to. For any lover of costume dramas, the 1996 film version starring Gwyneth Paltrow is a basic. There are elements of that version (to be referred to here as Gwyneth’s version) that I love and dislike; same said for the new 2009 version (“Romola’s”). Here I have the complete evaluation of general film elements, specific scenes, and characters that I prefer in one version over the other.

Links and photos to come if I can get my act together.

GWYNETH'S

General
COSTUMES
Sets: Outdoors & TOWN

Scenes
Emma helping the less fortunate of the village (the antidote to her snobbishness)
Emma and Harriet’s friendship
Mr. Elton’s attentions at the Christmas party
The ball – all parts, particularly “Harriet is all alone” and her rescue, and “Whom are you going to dance with?”
The strawberry picking
Emma’s snub of Miss Bates (and any relating scenes that follow)
Harriet’s reaction to Frank’s engagement
Emma’s reaction to Harriet being in love with Mr. Knightley and the chance that he returns her affections (to both Harriet and Mrs. Weston)
[throughout] Emma’s jealousy – the clarity that she is in love with Mr. Knightley (R’s didn’t have acceptable chemistry until it was too late for me to consider it valid)

Characters
Miss Bates WIN – (even though I love Tamsin Greig—she was hilarious in Black Books) Sophie Thompson was annoying and pathetic, but somehow you sympathized.
Mr. Weston WIN – always so jolly!
Mrs. Weston WIN – I still want her to be my governess. Emma clearly wanted to model after her, and with good reason.
Robert Martin WIN – What a nice man. He had a little more screen time in Gwyneth’s, which gave us a chance to want Harriet to marry him.

ROMOLA’S

General
MUSIC – by FAR!
Book accuracy
Sets: Indoors and house décor (I loved the Woodhouse main room)

Scenes
Film introduction
The Knightleys – all family interactions (esp. the snow fight and any times Mr. Knightley interacts with his nephews)
Emma and Mr. Knightley’s fight over Harriet’s refusal of Robert Martin
News announcement of Mr. Elton’s engagement
Frank Churchill and Jane Fairfax – their entire relationship
Mr. Knightley leaving for London
Film conclusion: engagement announcement to Mr. Woodhouse (the hands), Harriet's wedding, the Churchills, Emma's surprise honeymoon destination

Characters
Mr. Woodhouse WIN – Michael Gambon, you did everything I didn’t expect of you. I raise my glass.
Frank Churchill WIN – the perfect mix of charm and assiness
Knightley clan WIN; John Knightley – DOUBLE WIN.
Jane Fairfax WIN – she had a personality!!!
Mr. Elton WIN – so, so, so full of himself [side note, I loved that both our Edmund Bertrams starred in this film]
Mr. Knightley WIN! Sorry, Jeremy Northam. It’s got to be Jonny Lee Miller. He WAS Knightley. Congratulations, Jonny—I’ll toast you right after Michael Gambon.

TIES

General
Emma’s hair. This would have been a total Gwyneth WIN (see the pretty curls and HEADBANDS) and Romola LOSE (see just MESSY and unappealing) but for those unfortunate times when all of G’s hair was severely slicked up into an ugly little knot of curls, and those rare times when Romola’s pulled back waves were quite lovely.

Scene
The Declaration, [way too] broken down:
-Emma meets Mr. Knightley for the first time since she’s realized she’s in love with him: Gwyneth WIN. It’s a great moment! "…Happy?"
-Mr. Knightley comforts Emma about Frank’s engagement: Romola WIN. Better delivery.
-Emma confesses her realization of her own faults: Romola WIN. Gwyneth’s barely does this.
-Emma stops Mr. Knightley’s announcement: Romola WIN. She handles it way less awkwardly, and much more believably.
-Mr. Knightley stomps away: Gwyneth WIN. He attacks the plants with his cane! It’s an image imprinted on all our minds!
-Emma apologizes: Gwyneth WIN. It’s better her way.
-Mr. Knightley confesses his love: Gwyneth WIN. Jeremy, I know I gave the character honors to Jonny, but you could have sailed away across the horizon on this moment.
-Emma’s reaction: Romola WIN. Her face is PERFECT.
-Mr. Knightley confesses his realization of his faults: Gwyneth WIN. Romola’s doesn’t even do this.
-The kiss: Gwyneth WIN. Wonderful! Wonderful! Wonderful! (Romola: boooooring.)
-“MY Mr. Knightley”: Romola WIN. I hate that line, and she doesn't say it.

Characters
Mrs. Elton: Gwyneth’s wins for being completely obnoxious and Romola’s wins for being a total bitch
Harriet Smith: Romola’s was both pretty and dumb as rocks. Gwyneth’s was less of both, but I actually cared about her issues.
Emma: Romola’s was more human—more selfish and vain and curious and gossipy and contrite and a little more self-examining. Gwyneth’s was a snob and selfish and affectionate and LIKEABLE. Romola win for Emma’s facial expressions. Gwyneth win for Emma being funnier.


AND CAN I JUST SAY: Gwyneth is an incredibly difficult word to type correctly. You have to really concentrate. … for those who care to know.

not sleeping

1. Listening to Chris sing "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas" many times over. Quiet, always a bit depressing, lovely.

2. Looking longingly at Where the Wild Things Are production stills.

3. Incredibly comfy, half sitting half laying on bed, propped up by pillows.

4. Why has no one yet married Sufjan Stevens?

5. Coraline, I wish you were real because I WANT TO BE FRIENDS.

6. More contributions to the Trashcan of Germs.

7. I don't want it to be dark and silent in here.

cub odddd, i wud do go do sleeeeeeeb!!!!

TRANSLATE THAT, INTERNET!

Dear world,

I have been sick in bed/couch all day. Not the worst thing when you throw in vital ingredients: sleep. tylenol. movies. mother who cooks for you.

But now it is past midnight. And my exhausted body will not let me sleep. It will NOT! But that's all I ask for!

Soon this person will be me:


Things could be getting interesting, and quickly.

it's about time!

Just got back from a sunset run. I can't wait for Halloween season to be over. Most of my runs of late have been at night, and I'll be making my way down the sidewalk, completely absorbed in "Map of the Problematique" and wondering whether it has the power to get me up the hill, when all of a sudden some vague shadowy human form will be looming there in the darkness ahead of me. We have really got some ghastly ghouls in our neighborhood this year: bodies hanging from trees, skeletons sprouting from the ground en masse, bloody appendages that are really horrifying. Last night I scared myself with my own shadow TWICE.

On a lighter note: photos, above. The rain stopped for about 2 seconds today... I took full advantage of that moment and went rolling down Manchester with my windows (half) down and Chris Thile's "Eureka!" playing. It is impossible for me to listen to that song and sit still, which never bodes well when I'm supposed to be steering or braking. It was such a perfect, gorgeous, gold-tinted-air, orange-tree-tunnel-street afternoon. At one stoplight I pulled up to this huge white van, and the driver was an old man with a full white beard... smoking a HUGE cigar. It absolutely made my day. Interesting people keep my world turning.

Be safe tomorrow, everyone. This will be my first Halloween in a long time that I haven't gone trick-or-treating around the mountain or dressed up with Megna and won Courtney's Halloween party contest. MeggoSTL and I are going to camp out in my basement with scary movies [probably just one will suffice] and all the candy we're supposed to be giving children, and of course Charlie Brown & the Great Pumpkin, which I already watched on Tuesday. I've suggested that Wesley carve a pirate skull face for his pumpkin. Has anybody heard the Trader Joe's commercial for their pumpkin pancake mix? It's so funny--it starts something like "In every family, there is always the prettiest member. In the gourd family, this member is the pumpkin." It made me deeply want to go buy a box of pancake mix ($2.99). Speaking of autumnal food, it should be about time for Jello's pumpkin pudding to start appearing on the shelves. Last fall, I would frequently eat a bowl of it as my entire meal. We had like 30 boxes in the pantry for fear that we would run out before the seasonal stock did. I keep writing my train of thought because I don't know how to end this post!! GOODBYE!!!!

what we do when it rains

BIRDS FLYING HIGH
YOU KNOW HOW I FEEL
SUN IN THE SKY
YOU KNOW HOW I FEEL
BREEZE DRIFTING ON BY
YOU KNOW HOW I FEEL

IT'S A NEW DAWN
IT'S A NEW DAY
IT'S A NEW LIFE
FOR ME

AND I'M FEELING...
GOOD.

I'M FEELING GOOD.

FISH IN THE SEA, YOU KNOW HOW I FEEL
RIVER RUNNING FREE, YOU KNOW HOW I FEEL
BLOSSOM ON THE TREE, YOU KNOW HOW I FEEL

IT'S A NEW DAWN
IT'S A NEW DAY
IT'S A NEW LIFE
FOR ME
AND I'M FEELING GOOD


DRAGONFLY OUT IN THE SUN, YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN DON'T YOU KNOW
BUTTERFLIES ALL HAVING FUN, YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN
SLEEP IN PEACE WHEN SAY IS DONE, THAT'S WHAT I MEAN
AND THIS OLD WORLD IS A NEW WORLD
AND A BOLD WORLD
FOR ME

FOR ME!


STARS WHEN YOU SHINE
YOU KNOW HOW I FEEL
SCENT OF THE PINE
YOU KNOW HOW I FEEL
OH FREEDOM IS MINE!
AND I KNOW HOW I FEEL
IT'S A NEW DAWN
IT'S A NEW DAY
IT'S A NEW LIFE

IT'S A NEW DAWN, IT'S A NEW DAY, IT'S A NEW LIFE

IT'S A NEW DAWN!
IT'S A NEW DAY!
IT'S A NEW LIFE!
IT'S A NEW LIFE FOR ME
AND I'M FEELING GOOD.

I'M FEELING GOOD... I FEEL SO GOOD, I FEEL SO GOOD.

Starring my brother Wes"Michael Bublé Jackson"ley. I CAN'T WAIT to show this video to his future wife.

so, peter o'toole's still kicking around.

Just thought it worth mentioning. These genes: they still walk the earth.
Also, he's Irish.

can we have him for supper?

"Have him over for supper, Michael. We're not cannibals."

away we go

I really want the Eisley ladies to start writing fairy tales. They would be guaranteed to instill all the otherworldly horror and wonder that needs be present in any good nighttime tale.


Away We Go is a song from their new EP Fire Kite, and it’s a story and a poem in and of itself.
There is not a wasted word, there are no filler spots of drawn-out syllables, and the music conjures up a truly creepy and mesmerizing image of dark woods and endangered lovers. I believe (not because I can tell, mostly because I want to since because it’s been declared that Chauntelle would be singing on this album) that there are finally three DuPree sisters harmonizing on this song.

It’s Hansel & Gretel meshed with The Snow Queen plus a foreign element all its own. It is every tale of being lost in the woods and captured by a witch that we have ever heard, complete with rescue and flight to freedom—the happy ending.


we will sing loud, bellowing out as we stride towards the sound
and we’ll hold hands just like children
on our path through the woods

sneak soundly
there’s bound
to be
a witch hiding somewhere
so we’ll bring matches
if she snatches i will rescue you

we saw the path before our eyes
we were taken by surprise
when she swept down upon you
and i
love
so just listen for my voice
and we’ll finally rejoice
when I’ve found you and smite evil

whisper my name in the darkness that
surrounds this cottage of
black bark
and foul smells
i’m waiting for you

come quickly, i feel my
red heart will
cease beating
your footsteps on dry leaves
tender kiss
will save me

sing loud
bellowing out
as we crash up through the trees
i have saved you
you have saved me
and away, away
we go.


It’s free here, for I don’t know how long.

I’m reminded of Emma Bull’s story “Silver and Gold,” a tale that I have loved for a very long time. It’s too long to post here, but if I give you a couple excerpts will you go here and read it?

In the Seawood the last edge of sunset was never visible. By then, beneath the trees, it was dark. So Moon built her fire and set water to boil before she took Alder Owl’s drum from her pack.

The trees roared above, but at their feet Moon felt only a furious breeze. She hunched her cloak around her and struck the drum.

It made no noise; but from above she heard a clap and thunder of sound, and felt a rush of air across her face. She leaped backward. The drum slid from her hands.

A pale shape sat on a low branch beyond her fire. The light fell irregularly on its huge yellow eyes, the high tufts that crowned its head, its pale breast. An owl.

“Oo,” it said, louder than the hammering wind. “Oo-whoot.”

Watching it all the while, Moon leaned forward, reaching for the drum.

The owl bated thunderously and stretched its beak wide. “Oo-wheed,” it cried at her. “Yarrooh. Yarrooh.”

Moon’s blood fell cold from under her face. The owl stooped off its branch quick and straight as a dropped stone. Its talons closed on the lashings of the drum. The great wings beat once, twice, and the bird was gone into the rushing dark.

Moon fell to her knees, gasping for breath. The voice of the owl was still caught in her ears, echoing, echoing another voice. Weed. Yarrow. Yarrow.

Tears poured burning down her face. “Oh, my weed, my stalk of yarrow,” she repeated, whispering. “Come back!” she screamed into the night. She got no answer but the wind. She pressed her empty hands to her face and cried herself to sleep.

* * *

There was no stone helm beneath, or monster head. There was a white-skinned man’s face, all bone and sinew and no softness, and long black hair rucked from the hood. The sockets of his eyes were shadowed black, though the light that fell in the clearing should have lit all of his face. Moon looked at him and was more frightened than she would have been by any deformity, for she knew then that none of this—armor, face, eyes—had anything to do with his true shape.

* * *

She plunged immediately into full sunlight and strangeness. Another clearing, carpeted with deep grass and the stars of spring flowers, surrounded by blossoming trees—but trees in blossom didn’t also stand heavy with fruit, like a vain child wearing all its trinkets at once. She saw apples, cherries, and pears under their drifts of pale blossom, ripe and without blemish. At the other side of the clearing there was a shelf of stone thrust up out of the grass. On it, as if sleeping, lay a young man, exquisitely dressed.

Golden hair, she thought. That’s why it was drawn in so lightly. Like amber, or honey. The fair face was very like the sketch she remembered, as was the scholar’s hand palm up on the stone beside it. She stepped forward.

Beside the stone, the black branches of a tree lifted, moved away from their neighbors, and the trunk— Not a tree. A stag stepped into the clearing, scattering the apple blossoms with the great span of his antlers. He was black as charcoal, and his antler points were shining black, twelve of them or more. His eyes were large and red.

He snorted and lowered his head, so that she saw him through a forest of polished black dagger points. He tore at the turf with one cloven foot.

It's a good story.

I am tempted to start constructing an anthology—poems and stories and songs that all deal with the same topic or at least make me feel the same way, think and see the same things. Sort of like my Give Me Something Good to Reads, but for more varied topics and smaller items—no novels for this one. If you have any to share, please send them on.

I love this God-breathed school.

A delightful weekend:
Campus and the Overlook with Eliz --- Lupi's own calzones with the fam --- The Office and cinnamon rolls with Megarama --- Kelsey's birthday cupcakes --- jogging the gorgeously leaf-covered back roads with Laura --- snagging hot tea from Admissions and chatting with Hannah VB --- freezing at the men's soccer game with Blu and Katie Mac --- not recognizing anybody anymore --- hot chocolate with Kat but more like Colby --- fried chicken with the fam + Megs --- a bonfire at the Weavers' weirdly sans my gang --- lounging around in the sister's room with her sweet and funny roomies --- church at my dear Chatt Valley with Will and E and all those others I love and have missed --- successful avoidance of ingestion of any food prepared by Chartwells.

Love is patient,
Love is kind.
It does not envy,
It does not boast,
It is not proud.
It is not rude,
It is not self-seeking,
It is not easily angered,
It keeps no record of wrongs.
Love does not delight in evil, but rejoices with the truth.
It always protects,
always trusts,
always hopes,
always perseveres.

Love never fails.

I CORINTHIANS 13:4-8

it pays to take photos!

Well, it does for some people. Not for me. But at least I get recognition, and that's the next best thing. RIGHT??

Schmap, which is basically a combination of a city guide + google maps, but more professional and informative, contacted me about using my photo of the view of the lighthouse from Howth Head for their Dublin guide Howth section.

This makes me feel very talented and special.

Here is the original photo on flickr.

If you have an iphone you can access it too, here. I'm everywhere!

HELLO FINALLY, OCTOBER!

cornucopias, hot apple cider, apple-picking with friends, banjos, fiddles, and harmonicas, carving pumpkins, gathering around the bonfire, fire-roasted apples, the glory of colors in the hills, bagged apples and gourds in barrels, that chilly-air cheer, apple bread, Indian corn, buckets of red and yellow chrysanthemums, leaf-crunching, Nickel Creek and Chris Thile in the speakers, baked pumpkin seeds, cinnamon and cloves simmering on the stove, down quilts, geese flying south, seeing my breath, scarves and jeans and hats, hiking along the creek, that smell—

conversations

ME: If they can afford a big house, more power to them.
MOM: No.
ME: I think you would have made a good communist.

MOM: It’s not so much about looking for it as it is keeping your eyes open.
KATIE: [looks snarkily at me] Coupon 101.

ALEX: Peri takes like 15 minutes to order.
DANI: “Can I have my mac and cheese evenly cheesed?”
ALEX: “Can you turn all my macaroni noodles in the same direction? I’d like to have them all smiling. At me.”

MOM: When you say “Mom where’s the applesauce” I see it, I think about it and oh I saw that on the second shelf behind the pickles. I see it in my head.
OPA: Isn’t that called memory?

MARVIN [making his country music debut]: "My dad and my dog died on the same day… What am I gonner do… I’m gonner love you."

You have to watch out for the bikers though. They get really feisty in Castlewood. They come up behind you silently and yell "On your right!" If you’re like me and don’t speak biker, you don’t know if that means I’m on your right or get on your right. That’s why we have NOUNS!
--the most fun walk ever with Meggo

ETHAN: It takes skill to lose at bowling. With bumpers, to get a zero, not hit any pins, that is hard to do. I did this. So did Colin.

[playing dinosaurs with Noah, 3 years old]
ME: The T-Rex force is growing! What will the Woolly Mammoths DO??!
RAND: [jumping in] They’ll FIGHT BACK!!!

JOHN (Headmaster): Hmm.
ME: What are you looking for?
JOHN: Your mom said there was an extra desk in here.
ME: Hmm.
MOM [walking in]: OKAY! … Hmm…
JOHN: How are those drugs working for you?

ME: [holding full wine glass] Ok. Let’s go watch The Wind in the Willows, where all they do is drink wine and eat cheese. And drive cars. I’ll fit right in.
WESLEY: But you do more than that, Peri.

honesty and david the drunk bum

I have never been so honest in my life as I was with a drunk bum in Dublin.

I don’t mean honesty as in the hard, ugly details of life—the ‘behind the scenes’ that everyone carefully hides. There is a reason those things are kept hidden. There are reasons you only share them with a few trustworthy friends. The world doesn’t need to know those things.

I mean honesty as forthrightness, bluntness, lack of approved social politenesses, honesty.

I had nothing to prove to this man. No peace to keep. No norms to preserve. No careful tread around edges and feelings. At most I had to be a representative of God, and I got to be myself. It was a giving and receiving of words stripped bare. An exchange of honesty.

Our mutual disregard of civilities (his by unconscious choice, mine in reaction to his topics of choice) allowed for a most natural, if slightly bizarre, conversation. Armed with the knowledge that any subject was fair game, I was never surprised by any of the things he said. Offended, yes. Surprised, no. So I expected him to offend me, and because of this I listened more and condemned less. And when I in turn spoke, he listened. THIS is a conversation!

NO pretensions. There is inexpressible freedom in NOT PRETENDING.

Sometimes I feel like a chameleon—taking on the colors of those around me. It’s involuntary, and often I don’t see it happening until I’m looking back on the conversation and wish I had approached it differently. It has something to do with the phrase “don’t make waves.” Go ask a sociologist. I am plenty frank when I want to be. But saying a thing to someone’s face, especially when the offending topic itself is societally “acceptable” (drugs, casual sex, homosexuality) and I am condemning it, is easier said than done when I’m trying to preserve a relationship—let alone verbalize competently.

During my last week in Dublin I went on a day trip up north to Giant’s Causeway. That night as I walked up the hill to my flat, the church was lit up so beautifully that I wanted a photo. I halted and pulled out my camera.

The second I stopped, this middle-aged Irishman passed me and said “Will you marry me?” He was drunk—to what extent I don’t know, but he was coherent—and he proceeded to tell me all about his three girlfriends and how he was a better musician than Jimi Hendrix and Jim Morrison combined, etc. etc. etc. Set this scene three months earlier and I would have run away, but in this case there was an Out of Service bus (of course!) driver sitting right at the curb and the sidewalk traffic was steady enough for 9 p.m. so I wasn’t particularly worried; besides which, I think that Ireland mellowed me out so much that I was just like—whatever! Talk all you want!

We talked for 15 minutes and he beseeched me to marry him at least three times. I went home laughing and forgot all about it.

My very last full day in Dublin, here I am walking in beautiful, rainy Merrion Square, twirling my umbrella and looking at the tulips. As I walk down the path I see a bum sitting on a distant bench and it crosses my mind to avoid him (it’s one of those days when it’s easier to just avoid all such encounters) but I keep walking forward regardless—and all of a sudden this voice says “Jaaaysus, it’s the American!”

“Hello, David,” I smiled.

We talked for half an hour. About anything and everything—about his drinking and about suicide and about Christianity and about music (he kept serenading me with John Lennon which was embarrassing because other people were around, but it was also very funny and genuinely sweet), about the people walking by, about his ID card and about women. Drugs one minute, religion the next. He forgot my name literally every three minutes. I learned more about him in that one conversation than I ever did about some of the church members I greeted every Sunday or students I’ve sat beside in class every other day for a semester.

It was odd, seeing passerby from his side—he was really just harmless: not begging for anything, just breaking social norms. He would break off in the middle of a sentence to call out to people walking by and they would ignore him, but he was only trying to get a rise out of them (he proposed to two more women) and if they ignored him he would mutter “Germans.” I remember that if I laughed, the people he was calling to would laugh too (albeit uncertainly).

He said things that made me curious, compassionate, concerned, confused. He said plenty of things that made me uncomfortable. “Don’t say that,” I told him. No laughing it off, no hidden cringing, no pretending that what’s acceptable to him is kosher for me. There were no conversational restraints—on his part because he had no filter, and on my part because… well, because he had no filter. A little chameleonesque of me, perhaps. But it was freeing. If he got to say anything he wanted, then so did I. Remember that this man was in possession of three girlfriends and more musical talent than Jim/i. It was this sense of, If you’re going to be outrageous I’m not going to bother to bite my tongue about anything. If he got to talk about female physicality, then I got to talk about the goodness of God. And the difference—I think this is the foundational difference between this specific conversation and all others I have had—is that we didn’t stand there judging each other.

I stood in front of a park bench in the center of rainy Dublin and talked to a dirty homeless alcoholic, and I felt more myself at times during that conversation—more like the truth of myself was, for once, at the surface and clear and visible and audible—than almost any time I can recall in my entire life.

I wish I could experience that more often. Not the bluntness but the willingness to shed the constraints I wrap like nets around myself. The freedom to expose myself and know I am safe doing it.

I will never look back on that conversation and have to wonder if I said something wrong.

freezing friday

Jim and Pam's wedding in itself was a disaster but the event as a whole was wonderful. I might have cried a little. Now it is cold and rainy outside, even the episode of Lark Rise to Candleford I just watched was full of snow, I want to be getting married too, I still don't have the life basics crossed off the list of Life Basics, my toes are cold, Holliday screwed up, my dog is my only friend, I'm feeling sorry for myself in all things.
So this had to happen sooner or later:
Flambéd grilled cheese and mmm-mmm-good tomato soup, with a crisp apple on the side to negate the calorie count. It helps.

a nerf war is raging outside my door

Carnage courtesy of one over-armed brother and new recruit Kym "I only have daughters" Weaver.

Lindsay and I discovered that we both had our first pumpkin spice lattes of the season on the same day. Distance can separate, but only to a certain degree.

The Office wedding: counting down from 90 minutes.