Rachmaninoff and Red Sox

Poem for you.

2011-11-27T22:59:00.000-08:00

At first I thought that the line on your hand was

the contortion of your skin, twisting to hold the book in your hand.

I didn’t realize that the line was just a shadow cast by the blue ribbon

connected to the small, blue book of the four gospels

that you are currently reading. The fabric on the book is rough

and familiar, it seems like all books of that size wear the same husky fabric.

What stuck me was not the beautiful arch of your hand,

so graceful and aristocratic,

or even the fabric of your shirt- rough, contrasting well with the book.

No, what makes my eyes widen at the fragile poignancy of the thing,

is the dark, falling shadow

cast by the rosary beads wound around your hand.

Shadow on shadow.

You wear shadows like they were diamonds.

2011-10-10T10:17:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I think life is like a rainy day

that you can't help but watch,

fascinated,

as the moments slide down the window

faster than you can count them.

Library books

2011-09-05T22:43:00.000-07:00

I like finding books at the library,

because I feel that same sense of

exploration that I do when I go book shopping,

that same discovery,

but I don't have the guilt of spending money.

I like returning library books because

as I drop the book into the slot,

I feel released from a burden

in the form of two mysteries and two books on writing.

I always skip on the way home.

2011-08-01T22:12:00.000-07:00

My idea of dreaming

is effortless gliding

through blue water.

Being able to play the music you feel in your heart

and in your ears,

but that you never see on the page.

2011-07-28T21:52:00.000-07:00

I wonder what God does with all those moments,
the ones that hurt but you know will be better by tomorrow.

Are they still significant even if they don’t last very long?

What does God do with hurt, with tears?

I like to imagine that maybe it’s like a garden

and pain gets used like compost.

I like to pretend that in the end, flowers will grow.

Watching.

2011-06-11T15:16:00.000-07:00

He sat with his eyes closed

and her blue crocheted sweater

on his lap.

And I wonder,

where the stars in his eyes go,

when he is asleep.

2010-12-18T00:11:00.000-08:00

Density of the morning weighing down

on my slight shoulders like a coat too large,

I push open the doors and look outside.

Delight freezes my mind and breath at once,

slowly replacing density with blood,

-warm and living- as I watch the wind fall.

Fall upon the swirling cold, pushing leaves

down upon the bike basket and car wheel.

A moment all complete unto itself.

-Sometimes that's just all you need for the day.

December at the Desk.

2010-12-15T22:58:00.000-08:00

The mind is elsewhere,

and I see,

one ant crawling on the laminate floor.

Listening as the quiet chords wash over the background,

infusing my ears with sensations of blended resonance.

I'm not really listening

and that's the best time

to be listening.

Like when you're staring

but you aren't really trying

to see.

2010-11-26T21:53:00.000-08:00

I could write you the

stories I've been telling myself since I was small,

the stories I would concoct in my head at night,

relishing the freedom of stolen time when

no-one else was awake.

I still remember because I

still tell stories to myself when I can't sleep.

Someday maybe I'll

tell myself a story when I'm awake.

But perhaps my stories

will melt,

simply melt into gentle murmurs

for the dream girl with golden hair

by the frosty window near the rose garden.

And what then?

I'll simply retire the rest into the embroidery on her pillow for a rainy day.

tango with three.

2010-11-07T21:52:00.000-08:00

Carlos Gardel singing (a recording) and

Ian and Ginger R. dancing

only not Ginger Rogers,

just Ginger Reynolds, the dog,

being tangoed around the room,

three in tango tonight!

Edge of summer: Pirates 7

2010-08-19T21:04:00.000-07:00

Sometimes it's good to make myself write, force the words to come wrenching out. I have been at Orientation for Torrey all week, and it's been wonderful and I owe so much thanks to the seers and coordinators who have made it all possible! They have worked so hard and been truly devoted.

It's been strange, because Orientation isn't camp. You don't really need to check in with adults at all times because, well, you are an adult. You can go off campus, and you are responsible for getting where you need to be on time. Having never done college before though, it feels enough like camp in my head that I keep thinking that tomorrow is the end and not the beginning! And, having grown already to have love for my group, that feeling is quite unpleasant. Yet, I know that we will all have the next four years together to get to know each other, to learn and to grow. Perhaps it would be a mistake to either take such a privilege either for granted or for dread.

Another thing that has struck me is how very ordinary my feelings at this time are. I am very nervous, like everyone is, very uncertain and filled with a mixture of too many things, sights, sounds and information. I'm sure we all just want the paper work and the technical details to be done and just get to work at this point! I don't like lingering on the edge of what is nearly the past, I'd rather learn how to adjust to the future.

All I can do is try, right? :)

2010-06-08T21:57:00.000-07:00

It's the struggle, always the struggle to stay above water and not descend into down into the
cold emptiness.

Pushing out before I remember as I write to
relax?

Just enjoying the music
and looking for sound slowly.
Running the rhythms through the
rep-e-titious aud-i-tory edi-tor
in my head.

Teaching, graduation, life, etc.

2010-05-26T17:17:00.001-07:00

One of the things that I love about teaching piano is that it allows me to participate in my community differently. Many of you reading are full time students and as such, I think it is easy for us to become accustomed to playing one note in the community, that of the learner. We are primarily at the tip of an upside down triangle, all the information and experience is being poured into us by our teachers who are gracious enough to interact with us. As students, it is normal and good that we are in that position of learning, just as I hope we will one day invest in others as other have invested in us.

However; even as students, it is, I believe, important to remember to teach. In the grand scheme of things, we are souls created in the image of God, beautiful and unlimited in the sense that we can always seek to love God better. Because God's love is infinite, we can always be experiencing our community in new, yet familiar and deeper ways because we do not run out of love to experience. Thus, even though I certainly know less than my teacher did at 9, I know more than the person who has never studied, and I can give that knowledge away to that person, let them love something a little more. By doing so, we enrich our community, becoming more interesting and allowing us to take our talents and approach different things, things in which we are terrible! Therein lies the excitement though because the things I am worst at are the things I have the furthest to go. Even if I never make it past page 6 of math, those 6 slow pages will be novel and challenging in ways page 209 of music may not be.

Anyways, all that to say that I think it is tempting to think of younger people as students and older people as teachers, and primarily that is true. However; in a sense, everyone is always learning and teaching and entering into that cycle deliberately. This 'entering into the community' the few times I have done it has truly enriched my understanding of the community and my appreciation for those who are more talented at giving than I am. On that note, thank you, my dear teachers. Whether it has been in Algebra, or poetry, music or laundry, I have learned things under your gentle, patient guidance that have truly enriched my soul. Thank you for letting me enter into your communities, friends and teachers, souls created by God, truly beautiful souls.

2010-05-23T22:25:00.000-07:00

I have no words.
Not a single one,
to get me through the evening.

So instead of words
I will throw at you,
paper cups and
torn tinsel,
yesterday's profundity
that now seems so
little.

2010-05-10T21:04:00.000-07:00

Ridden down rose,
under the bicycle tire

the chain caught on your white dress

the sky asleep on your front porch
like a cat, that's forgotten its home.

explaining to the wall

2010-03-12T21:28:00.000-08:00

And I wouldn't leave,
if I didn't have to leave,

And I wouldn't go if tomorrow didn't need-
some other room in which to live;

different from the room in which I'm sleeping now.

2010-03-04T21:42:00.000-08:00

Ink splattered violently
on the page,
glistens for a moment and rolls down.
Strange, disspadic lost angel,
with sharp and ragged edges.

Tree in spring.

2010-02-24T21:38:00.000-08:00

I envy the trees
and find myself in absentee
in regards to the peace they possess.

My eyes dawdle for a disproportionate amount of time,
as I observe the solitary chime
of the wind rustling against the burrs on the tree.

The burrs look like stars on the delicate fingertips of the sky,
and even though I am just a coincidental passerby,
the beauty wells up inside of me.

This post is not about Owl City,

2010-01-22T22:08:00.001-08:00

but my sister is awesome. And pretty, but that is besides the point.

She is my listening to guilty music partner in crime.
We are not listening to Taylor Swift. Or Owl City.

We are virtuous.

A plea to the internet gods.

2010-01-19T18:16:00.000-08:00

Dear semi-academics,

Greetings! In my search for secondary source pertaining to an issue in a certain Shakespeare play, I often find that you prologue your sentences with phrases like, "many critics" and "many authors" say xidy and y. While I appreciate your mystique, all I want is to find out who some of these critics and authors are. I am beginning to think that these scholars do not exist and that entire field for this issue is dominated by highschoolers writing about imaginary scholars. This would disturb me. As I do not have access to Oxford libraries, please magically improve the quality of my academic internet search life.
Thank you.

Sincerely,
a non-oxfordian-interneter

2010-01-19T10:47:00.000-08:00

When I was,
oh, little enough,
I would sit cross legged in my room.
I liked playing by myself in the afternoon.
I liked the way the sun came through the window that took up a whole wall.
It was very warm.

Anyways, I sat there, very pleased with my white and green kitchen.
It had a black chalkboard in the back, but the back was always against the window-wall,
so I hardly ever saw it. Sometimes I would become adventurous and push the kitchen around,
(it stuck on the carpet, but I didn't mind)
to see the unknown blackboard. Not that I ever did anything with it, but I liked that it was there.

So I sat on the carpet, very seriously. I was baking, of course.
I only ever used my pink plastic, round pan. Sensible 5 year old girls know better than to use anything else.

I liked baking. I would find necklaces, the kind with coloured, shiny beads, all the way around.
Then, very carefully I would wind the beads down into the pan, making my pastry.
Wind, wind, wind in a tight little circle, enjoying the cluclinkity noise the beads made in my state of the art plastic pan.

When I had finished this serious occupation, I would get my hair things,
and select the very nicest ribbon clip to put on top. It was a deliciously perfect pie.

This morning, as I did laundry and cleaned up the dead rat on the lawn,
I reflected that possibly, I was a very sensible little girl.
After all, here I am, at least three feet taller than I was,
and I'm still playing at being a grownup.

I pretend to be a student, and I giggle over my typos as I pretend to write a Shakespeare paper.
I pretend to wear heels and click impressively, like a grownup,
but I laugh at the strangers, 'cause they don't know that a five year old is walking around in heels!
Sometimes I even play in church. During sermons, I sit up very straight, and I dare myself not to move.

And, I'm very shy and awkward with strangers, but I pretend to be a secretary
and smile warmly,
and take your coat,
but I'm just playing hostess.

I like playing.

2010-01-12T22:24:00.000-08:00

Aunt Mathilda was,
very quiet that summer.

Partially that was because her fingers trembled too much to really play her violin.
Probably it was because her husband died that last spring.
Certainly she bought more Kleenex than she used to do,
but she grieved very quietly- and the thick walls did her justice.

After the funeral, we sorted through her belongings,
yellowing baby blankets,
carefully cut newspaper clippings
and pages,
pages of her thin, careful handwriting
books and books of journals.

She wrote about the fall,
and all the scarves she knitted during her classes,
and she wrote about meeting Uncle Robert.

They met at the grocery store,
the one next to the laundry mat and the library,
She didn't know how to knit yet,
but she still had wide blue eyes.
and they got married the following spring.

She knitted when she got nervous,
she knitted all the time.
She never got nervous after Uncle Robert died,
but she couldn't get out of the habit.

Aunt Mathilda was very quiet that summer,
except for the click-click of her needles
and the occasional, latent sigh.

2009-12-30T13:31:00.000-08:00

There is a strong temptation to block the past,

time makes me cringe at former acts.

But your eyes were beautiful.

My memory is uncertain at best,

and perhaps it's all the work of a dreaming mind at rest,

But you were kind.

And you are real.

And; also,

we are out of time.

Factually speaking,

that's rather regretful,

but regret is better than

forging what time it is,

trying to fit elapsed seconds back in a box that we already recycled.

It's okay, dear.

Sometimes remembering goodbye is better than

filling our hellos with cynicism and chagrin.

don't worry. I'm glad our calendar pages once collided.

2009-12-29T23:56:00.001-08:00

I blurred my eyes,

and looked ahead.

In the burnished darkness, all I cared to see was light.

The Christmas tree had vanished, and the string of lights acted as bones floating in space,

without the benefit of a body, the tree invisible and mute.

Golden drops, twisting in a confident, haphazard line of light,

up, around and up again.

Up, and around in my memory, down and around in the clock.

Tick, tock, drip drop

the needles on the tree are falling,

weighed down by the chime of the clock.

I do not hope to forestall time.

I am not even asking for an apology.

All I ask is that time goes by the cuckoo clock,

it's a quarter of an hour slow.

Poetry

2009-12-27T13:20:00.001-08:00

Perfect, beautiful words.

Crisp, elegant, I sink into the luxury of the language gratefully.

I note the texture of the page, the shade of black that the ink wears,

appreciate the shape of the letters.

Observe the breathe of the phrase,

I read silently and out loud.

The words are always suprising me,

when I read out loud.

I didn't expect the syllable to be sharp,

I didn't know it would rain in line 31.

And wouldn't you be startled if you read a poem about roses,

and the words caught harshly in your throat?

Poetry makes me want to read it on a swing,

upside down and on the carpet. I've never read poetry in the grocery store.

Maybe there's poetry to be found there too though,

mixed in with the labels and the coupons.

Poetry has a way of finding itself, I guess.

The moon ate a rose and turned into a daisy.

2009-12-19T22:21:00.000-08:00

Merry Christmas!

And a Happy New Year!

I am much grateful for all of thee, good checkities. :)

2009-12-12T11:21:00.000-08:00

Rusted roses growing in your

golden mechanical garden.

Rain falling on the silver leaves,

sliding down the stem

into the gears and wheels.

Rapid fluttering

sounds in your ear,

as the humming bird

flies away.

2009-11-24T23:19:00.000-08:00

Rhapsodastical silence,

blank stares at a white wall.

Traveling into netherspace,

watching raindrops trickle into a slow drawl.

Heavy eyes, blinking abstractly,

not really looking at anything.

colours drifting through your eyes,

melancholy teasing your taut smile.

Close the blinds,

force your frame to become erect.

Tear your eyes away from nothingness

and wrap your dark whimsy securely away,

in a safe, conventional drawer.

Twilight. Tada!

2009-11-21T01:12:00.000-08:00

:D

The second twilight movie,
soooo fun to watch in a full, loud theater with some of my dear friends! :)
Really, it's hard to beat audience interaction- opening weekend is one of the only times that I think film can hold its own as a community experience with theater.

Heh. Twilight is seriously fun chickflick material. O:D

2009-11-09T16:18:00.053-08:00

My poor little blog! I hadn't realized I had abandoned her for three weeks! Things are progressing about on schedule though, but I need to make sure I force myself to do at least three hours of piano. Mondays are easy, since it's easy to be scheduled and organized but by Friday it's much harder to stay motivated!

Otherwise, swing dancing is going well I think and I'm enjoying it very much. :) Oh! and my Shakespeare class is really starting to mesh. It isn't easy to have comprehension among 6 people, for as my Biola Wheatstone mentor pointed out this summer, we can all be using the same words but do we mean the same things by them? That is the danger of using words that aren't precisly the right size for the idea. Great discussions are not analogous with a one-size-fits-all clothing department but rather with a tailor. Such a beautiful fit is not without cost though. Of course if you settle for average, you don't have to pay as much.

So ending question: What do we sacrafice for great discussions/communities? Is the cost always worth it, or are there instances where one should invest only an average amount?

2009-10-14T21:31:00.001-07:00

Listening to Nat King Cole,

(in the rain)

is something one only does in the movies.

The heroine of the above pictured vignette would certainly be wearing a beautiful dress with a

very full skirt,

and black heels which she can somehow wear without tripping,

in the rain.

(don't ask me, maybe she got a stunt double.)

I imagine her strolling the boulevards as the camera features subtle colours, grey-blues, blacks- all the colours that the rain provides a grateful audience.

Our heroine is certainly alone, dreamily eyeing the trees and the concrete;

[weathered and smoothed to the scene as the script called for.]

At this point the rain starts to pour, and so Attractive Man In Suit is allowed to come to the rescue with Black Umbrella. Please proceed to nonsensical waltzing in the empty streets- followed by lady losing the heel off one of her shoes.

End scene as Charming Man waves for a Bus.

[Music dies out slowly]

Sunday afternoon walks.

2009-10-04T16:04:00.000-07:00

Walking in the wind, in the autumn,

so undilutedly lovely.

My hair being blown back, soft and fine, unworried.

I never worry while I walk, in my soft red sweater, jeans, white tennis shoes.

I breathe in,

pushing out, stretching deliberately, slowly.

I enjoy the luxury of being barely lost, ambling through streets which are dressed in concrete, through a neighborhood I know because I always go here when I want to go somewhere I don't know. Dear, straight trees, white skinned, so fragile and elongated, these I understand.

I like singing, very carefully expanding my tiny, little voice with its tiny range, and I am exuberantly content. Of course, I have an equally minute memory, so I must be content to sing snippets of songs I love, switching rapidly as I can only remember the sounds of the words, and not the words themselves.

I breathe in...

'Cause Boy asked me to,

2009-10-01T19:41:00.000-07:00

I figure what goes around comes around, no? ;)

<3,

MKR

Progress!

2009-09-29T21:39:00.000-07:00

After being a generally unfocused piano student, I am finally getting back into the swing of things! :)

Yesterday and today each got three hours of practice and my playing is really starting to show improvement for it. For awhile I had just been doing an hour a day, but it was not really going anywhere, which was frusterating. I think that has to do with levels, if, as a beginning student you do an hour a day, you are in great shape. As a slightly more advanced student though, I just wasn't getting enough time in to make progress. However, after a lesson, I decided I just needed to risk a wrist injury and get in the time. The thing is, if I play it safe, than I certainly won't make it. At least this way I have a shot at it. Of course, the way I am practicing is very careful, it's just the amount that might be a problem. Two days are through though, and I think I'm okay?

For the first time, I think I have a shot at making auditions if I keep working like this; here's hoping! :)

This is a long post. You have my full permission to skip it now. ;)

2009-09-16T15:41:00.000-07:00

*These are about three years of thoughts on the subject of home. I must apologize, both for the length, and for the inevitable borrowing of ideas that occurs in this process. Any borrowing without crediting the author is unintentional. :P

"What we call the beginning is often the end
And to make and end is to make a beginning.
The end is where we start from.

[...]

We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time" (T.S. Eliot, Little Gidding, part V).

The concept of home is rooted so deeply within the soul that no human innovation can escape its siren-like call. A prevalent example of this occurs in music theory. With rare exceptions, the piece beings on the tonic chord from where it will progress to sub-dominant, dominant and finally tonic again. Following this pattern is inherently natural, hearing an unresolved chord begs for the resolution. It is unnatural to not return to where you began.

The paradox though, is that though in one sense the tonic chord, home, is the same, in another sense home is utterly transformed to the listener. Has the actual beginning changed? No. What has changed is our perception and understanding of the beginning. The richness of the experience has caused us to know what we first heard, but to find the richness, we must journey away from the place of our we began, the place of our birth.

This has been a concept I have struggled with before and I am sure, will continue with which to struggle my whole life. One experience that helped me understand the nature of home came from trying to come to terms with my personality. When I was young, I was so happy, chatty and outgoing. As I grew older though, I had to deal with depression, something that seemingly essentially changed who I was. I wanted so very much just to go back to what I had been, but there is no way to return to home the same way that we leave it.

The solution? I am not sure what the solution is. I know though, that the happiness I had when I was small was limited. Not bad, but limited, so while I experienced very little serious pain, I never understood beauty so well that it drew tears from my eyes. Somehow, when I return home, I will be more essentially me, not less, but deeper and fuller, more able to experience and understand the place into which I was born.

So much sadness though occurs when we try to deny our beginning home. None of us chose the place we were born into, and yet we must cope with the circumstances and results of it. Either we reject or accept our home. If we reject it, we are trapped into being defined by our home as a result of negation, always acting against what we hate, but never free from its shadow. Or, we can accept home and if we do that, we must accept the ugly as well as the beautiful. Must we be satisfied with the ugly? No, but the ugly will have to be corrected and faced. This will inevitably lead to terrible pain. If we endure the pain though we will finally see what we always knew, but we shall see more truly. We shall, "arrive where we started/

And know the place for the first time" (Elliot).

It's that time again....

2009-09-15T21:50:00.000-07:00

Alright sports fans, let us examine the situation.

The Red Sox, thanks to a lovely outing by the newly returned Dice-K, are 5.5 games up on the wild card. I'm going to say that they probably won't win the division, though I suppose it's still vaguely possible.

Now that means that most likely the AL playoffs will be Angels-Red Sox and Yankees-Detroit. (shades of 2004, anyone? I wish :D)

This would be kind of interesting because this line-up could yield a very familiar ALCS. If the Red Sox beat the Angels as they have frequently in recent play-off history and the Yankees beat Detroit, then we have the doomsday match up of Yankees-Red Sox. Not only would that be stressful with the rivalry but the media would go crazy and heavens knows we don't want that. :P

On the other hand, if Detroit beats the Yankees, which would be ideal on just about every level and the Red Sox win against the Angels, THEN I WILL BE CONFLICTED! I mean in the end I will of course want the Red Sox to win, but it would be slightly bitter-sweet. :P I prefer undiluted ownage, when at all possible.

Or we could have the Angels-Yankees, which would be shades of 2002. In which case we want the Angels to win. Or if it's Angels-Detroit, then I think probably we want Detroit to win as vengeance for the Red Sox.

There. I think I have hashed out every possible situation. Unless Texas becomes awesome, or... I don't know, half the AL East gets kicked out for steroid abuse. :P

Baseball, how I love thee. :D

2009-09-13T20:21:00.000-07:00

Death is such an empty laugh,

now that light is here.

Tears dry so quickly,

gone is the fear,

"Lamb of God, who taketh away the sins of the world, have mercy upon us."

Though I have seen death openly creep,

stealing the colour out of saint's cheeks,

I know what is real.

Sometimes, sitting on the concrete, I see the leaves silhouetted black against the sky

and it is so beautiful

and so familiar.

I cannot touch that beauty, but it comforts my soul.

In the same way, the more death I see the more I feel the presence of the Church eternal.

The saints will not be silenced,

and sometimes I experience, not just remember, them.

"Lamb of God, who taketh away the sins of the world, have mercy upon us."

I still feel pain of death. But, I would not, could not shy away from a single tear, because my love is not dead.

If the past tense were our only hope, if my dim memory was my salvation, I would despair.

But, the Church is alive, she is vibrant, and beautiful, strong and serene. Joyful and ever young.

So, it is not that I loved, not that I was loved, but that we are always giving and receiving, always loving, always moving in the silence, in the laughter.

"Lamb of God, who taketh away the sins of the world, grant us they peace."

Win

2009-09-06T15:41:00.000-07:00

Today:

the Yankees lost
the Red Sox won
the Tigers won
Texas lost
Angels won

Which means pretty much everyone I know is happy and the Red Sox had a perfectly ideal day. :D

EDIT:

AND the Reds won, Calvin. ;)

Sheesh, I feel like I'm making this up! No, it's just all good. :D

State of the Union Address

2009-09-03T10:22:00.000-07:00

Ah, September baseball. On the whole, I'm not sure what happened that the Red Sox got 7.5 games behind the Yankees! It was all going so well! 1.5 games in first place, cruising. :) But, as often seems to happen, I leave with everything totally under control, and when I get back, not only have David Ortiz and Manny Ramirez been having... er, PR issues, the Yankees have taken over!

Now, the Red Sox have been playing very well recently, but the Yankees seem incapable of losing on any of the days the Red Sox win. :P It is possible I am imagining this, the-Yankees-never-lose-phenomenon since no-one is writing about it. Hard to say.

At least the wildcard is still in good shape, right?

Having now bored 9/10s of my readership.... maybe the Red Sox will win so I can retain the last 1/10? :)

2009-08-14T10:31:00.000-07:00

Don't want to play the Rangers, Don't want to play the Rangers... Reject Rangers! :)

AAAAAAH!

Danielle is coming Danielle is coming Danielle is coming...

Yaaaaaaaaaaaaay!

BoUnCe, iF, i, HaD, StAiRs, I, WoUlD, bOuNcE, dOwN tHeM! :D

Entering out of the Twilight closet. :)

2009-08-13T13:40:00.000-07:00

In case I have managed to hide my deep dark secret well, I confess to intensely enjoying Twilight. As the market demographic, I realize such a confession is hardly going to create a respectable academic reference! Still, (and I do not say this to be trite) Twilight strongly resonates with me in a way that has popped up before in various things. Possibly this is just a symptom of my being a romantic. However, since I care about Twilight, I want to challenge the text and see how it stands up for itself.

My initial question is one of grammar & adjectives. Bella consistently misuses grammar, something that bothers me a good deal. My theory though is that this is intentional and stylistic feature. If this is true, I would expect Bella to misuse grammar, but Edward to be impeccable on that front. (unless there is a progression where Bella influences how Edward speaks).

As far as adjectives, I have heard complaints before that Twilight is poorly written just as far as writing technique goes. I want to look at how words are used, and again, see whether the writing changes based on different character's range of speech.

You may now mock me, if you wish. ;)

100 posts.

2009-08-03T22:52:00.000-07:00

I'm rather glad to be at one hundred posts. It's probably miraculous that I ever got here given how slowly I post and how many poetry entries I never post here.

This is one of my favorite pieces I've written, from early last year. Sorry that the correct font isn't translating over, and sorry for the slightly uncheerful vibe! Thank you for reading through 100 posts. :)

decoupage

Sometimes when I sleep, I go to work with scissors and with glue,

to decoupage a dream out of the scraps and ribbons of today.

and yesterday. and the week before.

The end result is smooth and mesmeric, and actual life would impose most harshly,

at least, it would, if I could remember more clearly.

Does it count to say that it was lovely to see you last night? I suppose you were not

actually

there, but your name was, a refrain from, complete absence?

Or maybe the pain drives me neurotic,

zooming forward and back in, watching the lens sink and spin...

I’m not upset, but the keyboard isn’t working.

Forgive because I’m not really,

awake.

Good health: Water and Wheatstone.

2009-07-20T09:51:00.000-07:00

Water has no taste, smell or colour. If you tried to describe water to someone who had no concept of what water is, how would you do it?

How would you articulate the grace, the strength and the translucent beauty of water?

Perhaps you couldn't do it, but that wouldn't make water less beautiful.

Wheatstone puts me in a similar difficulty. I could describe to you the elation that I felt when my small group began to really become a group, I could tell you how magnificent opera coerced tears out of my eyes numerous times-but that wouldn't explain Wheatstone.

Part of the beauty of Wheatstone is in fact, that it has a certain amount of transformative leeway. There is no way to plan what 10 people are going to discuss, no way to know just when that defining moment of painful joy comes and gives strength to the individuals.

That's the fun of Wheatstone, life is an adventure because everyday you interact with immortals. Even if you aren't with an immortal, you cannot escape nature's presence. Stretched out on the grass I looked at a tree and realized that the sight of a single branch was enough beauty to last me a lifetime.

So of course I can't define Wheatstone, but I would be disappointed if I could. And, lest you think that makes the power of the thing less, I am in fact, still going to drink water, and I advise you to do the same.

Baby Poechella

2009-07-06T18:38:00.000-07:00

Let me preface this by saying I do not like salmon. I do not quite loathe salmon, but I also fail to understand how anyone can spend 25 dollars for a plate of it and simultaneously avoid grief.

On the other hand, anything that comes from the store lovingly wrapped in brown paper and tied with a sticker must be good. Even better when this object is soft and squishy, and pink.

So, cooking it is a great joy. Dicing garlic, [becoming obsessive compulsive over dicing said garlic perfectly symmetrically...] putting it all in the sauce of olive oil and lemon, all good.

By the time I got to the stage of lovingly rubbing the salmon in the sauce, I had named the pink gooey thing: Baby Poechella. It was about at that point that Mom kindly suggested I was becoming overly attached to our prospective dinner.

I tried to convince Mom that we shouldn't cook Baby Poechella, but it was a futile endevour, and Baby Poechella was sliced and roasted over a hot grill.

My relationships have a habit of not working out well, at least insofar as they involve Mom wanting to eat my new friends.

holding Simone.

2009-06-21T16:14:00.000-07:00

Tiny, unknowingly serene,

curled up unaware of and inside the world,

dreaming voice tucked inside her sleeping eyes and curled fists.

Baby three month old girl.

You are resting like a rose on the water, little girl,

so light that I can hardly feel your weight at first,

teetering on translucent, you weigh so little.

Little sonatina growing into a sonata so effortlessly.

Curling eye lashes, beauty unforced, sans truculence

trusting that the world around you is safe and sighing,

your diaphragm expands in a tiny burst:

as the syntax of sleep dictates.

Never let me near a music store.

2009-06-19T22:21:00.000-07:00

Originally, I was going to buy clothes with my birthday money, or maybe shoes! I had it all planned out down to a science.

Science; however, could not save me from my inevitable fall in the music-store-of-glory. Within maybe an hour I had spent all of my money. :P Actually, I had almost made it out of the story with some of my money intact, when I found a book on film scoring. That was the end of the potential shoe shopping as we learn that a musician and her shoes are soon parted. :D

I'm nervous about music though, it's hard to focus, and I really need to work harder, my fingers are kind of stiff. That means lots of Czerny. :) Difficulties, difficulties... Hopefully I will buckle down and concentrate, this year especially! In the meantime though, there are books to be read, at least four the last time I checked. :) :)

Back to the topic at hand.... the film scoring book looks very interesting, and I am very excited to learn how music needs to adapt to meet the needs of film.

Night checkities! :)

These shoes...

2009-06-11T23:58:00.001-07:00

are really cool. :D They are half named after me! What's not to like? O:)

http://www.payless.com/store/product/detail.jsp?skuId=063692090&productId=61519&subCatId=cat10270&catId=cat10088&lotId=063692&category=&catdisplayName=Womens+

Torrey Banquet

2009-05-29T23:08:00.000-07:00

My greatest honor and my greatest joy,

was being a part of your community, (you the noble, true and brave).

And if I ever understood joy in fact, or pure gladness in tears untainted by sorrow,

it was tonight, in a pure moment of gratitude.

It's so wonderful, I could never forget how right the moment was, how perfectly right. Justice not forced to met out punishment is the sweetest kind yet, perhaps.

And our tutor? Who has shown us poetry, light, beauty- who has sifted through miles of written chaff in order to pull out a single golden grain, a grain so dear after the labor it has cost.

Mostly my words are muddied by tears, but maybe the tears are appropriate even so.

Dear, precious class, my thanks.

2009-05-24T23:47:00.000-07:00

Language is terribly vague,

and there are not words to describe the slight tremble of tears

or the subtle elation of the rain.

Instead we play at alchemy,

mixing adjectives and gerunds while we try to find gold.

Even a fool's gold shines brighter than brass.

Perhaps poetry suffers from lonely musings devoid of the muses,

as emptied virtues play at beauty,

but maybe that's all the muses ever were.

So quality remains hidden; not dead,

and there's still time before the dark to revise despair.

Not to advocate universal genius by any means,

but if apathy doesn't paralyze the majority into deafness

there may be room for genius yet to sound.

If then, all cannot be great, all can learn to recognize reality,

and by doing so, love those things worthy of love.

Leaving faceless idols to crumble away in light.

2009-05-20T07:08:00.001-07:00

MY PAPER IS

done! :)

Term Papers

2009-05-10T23:57:00.000-07:00

I find writing term papers to be most stressful! What I should be doing is relaxing, and just writing a first draft. If I go thousands of words over the word count, that's okay. I will just evaluate what words are necessary after I finish! :) Theoretically anyways. I find in actuality that writing this Aquinas paper is more likely to send me into paralytic stress where I don't want to push my fingers into typing letters. :P

I'm just so scared of not being argumentative, or citing too much, or accidently plagiarizing. Outlines are so much simpler!

I don't know if I should care less, that seems like a strange thing to do! It would be easier to feel things less at any rate. Still, there are papers to be written. Perhaps this is a case of needing to do my duty to the best of my ability, and not worrying past that.

Well, that's the theory anyways. :)

Saturday rides

2009-05-06T21:21:00.000-07:00

Driving down the freeway,

I spy:

lost trash,

weeds and stubble

and stained glass over concrete.

Stained glass in this case is made by the apathetic, the angry, and the poor in spirit,

who resort to expressing their souls through graffiti.

Through ugliness they ask us to read into their souls.

It doesn't quite work however.

You see,

especially at sunset on the freeway, or early morning,

I can see through the pale lines

and find a multi-dimensional beauty, acting like the lead,

of a forgotten frame.

The reds, the blues, shining purely.

Accidently mimicking the glass of a cathedral window

lost in downtown LA.

Riding under the concrete arches

of our strange industrial pathways

to our silver cities,

I wonder at the beauty hiding behind empty molecules.

When it rains, it pours, straight into your crème brulée, putting out the fire.

2009-05-02T19:16:00.000-07:00

Oh, Bay, why??

Having acquired the flu, I am surviving on a steady diet of tylenol. Taking tylenol is a lot like being Cinderella. One moment you are ready to concede the Devil, excuse me, Rays are going to win the world series, and the next minute you -coming into sanity once more- realize that the Red Sox will probably never lose again.

Luckily, with the Red Sox up 10-5, Jason Bay is keeping me from drowning in Tylenol fantasies. Look at this headline and weep:

Bay leaves Red Sox game with injury

Left ankle contusion benches outfielder in sixth inning (mlb.com)

...I would just like to say that this seems marginally unfair. Also, it should be noted that whenever your team's website has a square box entitled, "Injury Report", (in cheery colours none the less) it may be time to go back to bed.

On the bright side, I think the rotation is trying to relive the glory days and morph into The. Jones. Baseball has got to be the perfect sport! If only I could reconcile it with figure skating. Maybe someone will do a routine to, "Take Me Out to the Ball Game"

To grieve for grammar

2009-04-27T22:56:00.001-07:00

To split or not to split,

therein lies the quandary,

does an infinitive divided against itself,

still stand,

or is it as with houses?

2009-04-24T11:28:00.000-07:00

Trace the intellect's journey,

through the winding stair-cases of philosophy,

theology, musicology.

I wipe away the dust off the keyboard and begin to play,

as my fingers frantically tries to recall a chord I knew months ago

knew like the colour of your eyes.

wandering through the straight soldier's line of keys,

white and black, pristine, unbending.

I want the keys to curve, to stand at the different heights their sounds represent. The tiny notes that cry out reminiscently, they would be the tallest, narrow and wavering. At the other end of the spectrum I would place the base, almost distorted, so low. Strangely comforting.

Why are sound and feeling, sight and essence separate?

Find an accidental so perfect it's necessary,

colour your tears silver and blue

and the best you can do

is send your emissaries through the keyboard-

as you sigh.

Why you need to support Coraline

2009-04-11T08:27:00.000-07:00

A warning before you read this post: there will be spoilers in here and you should watch Coraline, so don't read this if you haven't seen the movie. :)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Coraline is a fairy tale, genuine and without irony in the core of the story. Though the movie is beautiful, it is beautiful in a strange way, constantly juxtaposing a mundane, unappealing world with a world that is at first sight charming and whimsical.

One thing I drew from Coraline is that the soul needs to be careful in what it chooses to grasp. If you give up your soul (eyes) for anything less than the Divine, you have chosen to embroil yourself in pain. This is because the soul is eternal and even if the passions are temporarily appeased, if they are directed to a goal too low for the soul's ultimate potential, the soul is trapped in a sort of hopeless circle.

Another idea I think may have been hinted at in Coraline is that stories are real, not with the same sort of reality humanity has, but stories and their characters still exist. In the film, the other Wybie shows to Coraline that his substance isn't permanent, he would collapse if he tried to go with Coraline to her world. Still, he is able to feel pain. Even stronger than that though, the other Wybie is capable of rebelling from his creator's will. He is more than a puppet, for puppets' wills are the will of the person who controls them, they cannot choose to disobey. (unless they are named Pinocchio!)

Lastly, in the art of story, one must follow the natural rules of movement. I am taking these thoughts from what I read of Aquinas, forgive and correct me if I am misrepresenting him! We all must follow the natural order of things and move towards an "ultimate end". This order is no different in stories. A poor story is a story that tries to come to a conclusion that is unmerited by the journey. If by the end of Coraline, the mother had suddenly become an optimist, cheerful and hyper, the end would not have matched the progress of her character's journey. You couldn't justify the transformation based on what the movie did, and somehow, I think her essence would have been altered.

Another example of this is in discussion, the elation you feel from deep, profitable discussion is not suitable at the beginning; rather it is often the natural consequence of hard work. If we make stories that jump further along the end then is really truthful, we will have a poor film and a lack of cohesion. In an age that values instant gratification more than patience or perseverance, we cannot allow our desire for the end to defeat us. For in demanding the end at the beginning, we will destroy the fiber of the story for ourselves, making us unable to see what we actually wanted to see.Coraline was particularly good about following a good progression of movement. The end is not happier then is warranted; its beauty suitable.

Feel free to make corrections to these thoughts. :)

This is why Danielle is awesome...

2009-03-31T21:32:00.000-07:00

http://miscellanyandetcetera.blogspot.com/2009/03/extremely-scientific-comparison.html

Awwww

2009-03-03T09:33:00.000-08:00

This, http://mlb.mlb.com/news/article.jsp?ymd=20090303&content_id=3910334&vkey=news_mlb&fext=.jsp&c_id=mlb, gives me very warm and fuzzy feelings.

Back in 2003, when I was only slightly shorter and significantly less aware of artichokes, I really liked this one baseball player. That may have been an understatement. We must now pray no-one is here with blackmail stories. Amen.

The good Nomar is probably the reason I like the Red Sox. I learned about him first in Backyard Baseball [2000 edition?]. Ian liked Derak Jeter, (and consequently the Yankees) but I knew that Nomar was a way better shortstop. ;)

I had, I think, 5 different baseball cards of Nomar, and would industriously clip out the pictures in the newspaper. Once I almost got to see him play, but he was injured, and didn't come back till 2 days later. :P

When Nomar got traded in mid 2004, I knew my happy, carefree days were over. I would have to like the Red Sox WITHOUT Nomar. It was numbing. Tragic even.

I rely these stories to explain nothing. Actually, the only conclusion I can make out of this pointless story is that Adrien Brody and Nomar are not without similarities. Glad to have enlightened your morning. ;)

Lisping thoughts

2009-02-16T13:56:00.000-08:00

I like rain because it takes the familiar and leaves it lost, change the key and we cannot find the melody.

I like rain because it makes the sky the counterpoint of snow, we cower beneath the glaring whiteness, fighting to retain colour against the white overhead. At best we are paradoxically paired as elegant, bedraggled creatures, the rain lending both grandeur and destroying the look of our normality, leaving us entirely different then when we came.

I like the rain because of how difficult it is to speak against the magnificent vastness of a landscape tinted by rainlight; cars splashing water up in the air, water flowing like blood by the side of the street. The people forming a precipitous pantomime, and we keep walking in and out, back and forth.

I like the rain because it forces me to feel the numbness of my fingertips, as I cradle a leaf filled with water in my hands.

In defense of a, (gulp) Yankees player

2009-02-12T13:49:00.000-08:00

Today I do what I have never done before...

defend a Yankees player.

Please do not faint, nor think that I would ever commit the sin of even vaguely liking the Yankees. :P

But read this article!

"Baseball star Alex Rodriguez, who admitted this week he had used steroids, "shamed the game," the commissioner of Major League Baseball said Thursday.

"What Alex did was wrong, and he will have to live with the damage he has done to his name and reputation," Bud Selig said in a news release (CNN)".

Woaaaah. Hold it just one second! Since when has A-Rod "shamed the game" in comparison to all the other players who cheated? Barry Bonds and Roger Clemens haven't even been officially disciplined, let alone "shamed". After all, neither of them have admitted they did anything. Yet, because A-Rod came forward and admitted his guilt, apologized(! horror of horrors!) he is told he "shamed the game".

.....

Humph. You know something is wrong in baseball when I have to write in defense of A-Rod. :P

2009-02-10T15:49:00.001-08:00

I love Eisley.

That is all.

Thaaaank you Holly V. :)

Presuppose

2009-02-09T20:47:00.000-08:00

If you were to type, it would be hoped that you had ideas,

spinning and twirling, concentrated down into the click of the keyboard.

When you concentrate frigid orange crystals all together,

and add water,

you get orange juice,

lovely, bright, shining optimistic light encased in glass usually,

so that it can be drunk.

Ideas are much the same,

wound* together and solidified with

the inertia of emotions,

compressed into ink,

so that the mixture can be swallowed deeply or cautiously,

however quality deems best.

* past tense of wind, yes? I really don't understand how English works, how can it be distinguished from wound? :P

Winter Formula

2009-02-07T15:17:00.000-08:00

Er... Formal! :)

I think the above picture is fairly incredible because my eyes aren't even closed! It's Gabriel caliber squinting! ;)
Spiffy, no? :)

Mmm. :) Wonderful evening it was!

Winding driving thoughts.

2009-01-23T20:06:00.000-08:00

The afternoon will direct itself placidly through Queen's Creek Tunnel, (circa 1952),

if you happen to be driving the way we drove.

You might even realize that the truck grade is 6%, so do be careful! It simply would not do to commute with a grade of only five point two.

In addition, the surroundings are dressed in mossy green, and rusty peach and brown, these scant sentences should be enough to recall the landscape's hue and tone.

However, should it be not, look back and conjure up the ironic, graying electric towers, so remotely placed, and proudly purposeless for the current landscape.

Several miles later, a sign dully communicates that there is, "Blasting up ahead, 1-20-09"

"Is it 1-20?"

we asked confusedly? It was, it is, so we take our turn in the halted line of traffic.

Past the blasting, rather anticlimactic to you, maybe,

rests an isolated village, filled with mobile homes and dilapidated houses,

strangely content with themselves.

We enter into a faded town, containing,

two churches,

Southern Baptist and a Roman Catholic palace

and besides that, an antique car shop, rusted to a halt.

For a rather prolonged moment, I wished I lived in this faded place.

An equal proportion of antique stores and churches,

a single proud high-school.

I wish I was born here, married here, and buried here,

a sort of Our Town playing in my mind.

Still, we must continue, hum a requiem for our memories, and the life we will never have.

Perhaps it is just as well, for that is a town that sells the wares of the past, no merchandise made today to fuel the antique stores of tomorrow; those stores are empty, and dust rests thick on the shelves.

And you know you're in either a small town or a recession when McDonalds says, CASH ONLY!

.....

Freshly painted red bridge further on, separating a canyon.

Towns and shops long since gone, replaced by marbled rocks and silver rails.

Morning soliloquy

2009-01-09T01:15:00.000-08:00

I discovered Jane’s paper moon one day,

dragged it out from the dusty attic sky where it had been hiding.

Coerced it into being quite accidently,

when my impetuous fingers abbreviated the name

of a certain paper.

I have cause to believe it was about the moon,

that seemed to be the verdict anyways,

and so I saved the document,

and it became, “Jane’s paper moon”.

An absentee comma giving birth to

imagery.

Does Jane’s paper moon exist in the same land,

where the sky is as blue as twilight in the rain,

and as innocent as dawn in December?

I imagine there, that Jane flies kites, beneath her paper moon,

and perhaps her kite is made of pearl,

to balance out the whimsical flimsy of the moon.

Certainly she’s beautiful,

looking like she always does,

some things cannot but be!

The rest of this land is inquisitively silent, but soon it may have company,

for after all,

it’s twelve past one, and I just titled a paper,

“Celtic synopsis”

quite unthinkingly.

So perhaps I’ll just name this document,

“empty”.

Just to be safe.

I-Tunes

2008-12-28T09:27:00.000-08:00

I think it is a peculiar palindrome that

Rubinstein distilling Rachmaninoff,

earns just as many stars as Switchfoot,

as many stars forward and backwards,

or sidewise and skywards.

And, were I to look at the ratings alone, I could not distinguish a difference,

yet, surely they aren't the same, was the training of R. for nothing that he is of the same caliber as the following letter [S]?

Dear Rubinstein, what are we to do with you?

Forgotten in a mental drawer somewhere,

superseded by centuries who forget Brahms like yesterday's rain.

Bach is a misspelling, according to the omniscient spellcheck, but Disney is an accurately typed truism.

Somewhere, we've lost the need for shoe polish,

with our shiny plastic shoes.

Poetry & Pillows

2008-12-27T15:46:00.000-08:00

Scanning through the isles, fingering the shelves,

working my way to back of the sunlit side of the store.

Finding delightfully dear books, and realizing I could afford,

not only two lithe books of Billy Collin's poetry,

but Donald Hall's words as well.

There was a slightly resigned moment, only instants before, where I thought that Hall was out of my reach, but I,

underestimating my temporary monetary worth, was overjoyed to take Hall home to my room, past the hall through the white door,

that is my room.

The next store was much less mysterious and profound, and so I opted for,

a pillow?

My brother thinks I've lost my reason,

that it is at last the season,

for the insane asylum,

but it was soft!

Nothing quite like redeeming, delightfully practical gift-cards

for practical presents,

or isn't poetry practical, after all?

"You have to listen to yourself!" [play, that is!]

2008-12-08T21:59:00.000-08:00

There are few things worse than mechanical, mindless,

poorly played, polyphonic

Bach!

Certainly I can understand my gracious teacher's patient sighs, when she hears my,

oh so very stumbling, fumbling, frightened notes!

I can understand this because, tonight I played a note correctly.

A note?

Singular sound?

Indeed, and it was nothing short of intoxicating!

Trying to roll the melodies off, through my hands, trying to voice two melodies, tying my trying together in the time of half an hour, I had eight minutes to go before I, quite accidently, dropped down on a note.

Trying cannot masquerade as the real thing when you do the real thing, at home. The note sang, it sounded it rang, through the hallway, or at least my head, and without the tiniest dread, I dropped the note again!

The piano always catches the notes you drop, you have to trust your piano, after all, and not try to carry notes on your own!

So. Can I play Bach? Is my polyphonic piece shining?

No. It's still a slightly scared, fumbling piece, but tonight I heard an apparition, of Bach to come.

Gentle Cycle only.

2008-12-01T09:16:00.001-08:00

Labels on clothes are liable to sarcastic irony.

Sitting in the hamper, the skirt obviously needs to be soaked in water,

the pleats replete in confusion.

However,

upon opening the label, it says, “turn over for washing instructions,

on the other side”

And on turning that over,

DRY CLEAN ONLY

those words and nothing more.

Arranged like the punch-line of a bad joke, all in

capital letters.

Thus is the life of a label,

pleased to unload the amount of laundry to be loaded.

Letter Etiquette?

2008-11-11T16:05:00.000-08:00

Poll question!

Has using "Dear so and so" at the beginning of letters or emails generally become a social faux pas in today's society, or is it determined based on individual preference?

*This blog is not due to social conflict; it is not a make-shift Dear Abby question! :)*

Sunday Morning

2008-11-09T13:33:00.000-08:00

Praying in the morning, it's very bright inside, and I can hardly see.

Perhaps that's an attribute, really, for it leaves me quite free-

to believe in angels, and Christ, and communion, to believe in the people around me,

because I cannot see anyone, or anything, I am quite blind, so I can believe it all exists visibly, eternally.

Faith because I'm blind and silent in light.

Ethics Egoistic

2008-11-07T23:38:00.001-08:00

Or in other words, Robin-bird, Jane and I have started a band.

2008-11-06T14:38:00.000-08:00

I suppose, the first thing that struck me post the 2008 election, was how very sorry I am for Mrs. McCain. From what I have read, she seems to be a very private sort of person, and going through such a campaign could not have been anything short of grueling.

I do realize how many political issues were at stake, how very important this election was, but when it's all said and done, I hope Mrs. McCain can find consolation somewhere. :(

An admirable woman, severely tested by adversity. If nothing else, I very am glad to know about her now!

2008-10-30T08:49:00.000-07:00

"Accept, O Lord, my entire liberty, my memory, my understanding, and my will. All that I am and have Thou has given me; and I give all back to Thee to be disposed of according to Thy good pleasure. Give me only the comfort of Thy presence and joy of Thy love; with these I shall be more than rich and shall desire nothing more."

I referenced this prayer briefly yesterday during my presentation, so I thought I would post it here for reference. It is entitled, An Oblation of Self.

I am not sure I can say it honestly quite yet, but I hope someday to be able to. I wonder what this prayer means? What does it entail?

The Red Sox

2008-10-19T21:19:00.001-07:00

are not going to the world series.

Love Lost

2008-10-06T09:40:00.000-07:00

Little Foozy-girl is bereft,

she lost her favorite friend.

Her friend's name was Winifred, and she came to an untimely end.

For Winifred was very stupid,

to be born a duck,

And Foozy does not think that Winifred should have gotten run over by a truck.

So Foozy will morn, and Foozy will cry,

Winifred will no longer reach the sky,

And more importantly,

Foozy is missing the main ingredient to lunch.

*(this story is completely fictional, only representative of what my cat would prefer for dining experiential bliss.)

recollecting Rachmaninoff

2008-10-04T23:47:00.000-07:00

Tonight, maybe ten minutes ago, I sat down and listened to Rachmaninoff's third piano concerto. Originally I had wanted to listen to his second concerto, but I could not find the disc anywhere! It was very sad, but Rachmaninoff's third is no small consolation.

Anyways, I was listening to it, with my eyes closed, and my hands in front of my eyes so as to block out any possible color from the outside, and it was, as always magical. It had been a long time since I had heard the piece, but I could never forget such a dear companion. It is rather the nuances that startle me, shock and amaze me.

Often, I have trouble listening to Rachmaninoff. There are very few ways to realize what a little person, how very small, and untroubled you are when you listen to the sheer vastness, the weight of Rachmaninoff. As in the Great Divorce, I am too translucent to walk on these grounds! This music is infinitely too real for me!

Yet, while I listen I remember why it is I struggle and grapple with piano. It has to do with music, true music not being a recording. It's the same as with pictures, if I have a picture of you, I am seeing the impression of you, as recorded in one solitary moment. Of course, it is much more accurate than my memory would be in some respects, but that doesn't mean it's you, nor is a recording music. The odd thing is, I am not sure a live performance always mandates music's presence either. I wonder, if in the end, the greatest of musical compositions are not just a stronger recollection of music. Maybe when we hear Rachmaninoff, we are only hearing, as best we can hear (so dimly!) the recollections of music. I think anybody who has ever played music before, or strived to do anything well really, can remember the glimmering moments where we understood, where we could almost touch the thing. Glimmering indeed, because we cannot quite reach, nor quite keep up with the thing. However, just being able to see the thing, for a moment is enough to carry on. Being a musician isn't, perhaps, just being able to play perfectly, or even being expressive, but chasing after that thing through the medium of notes, rhythm, and time.

I cannot say if what we are looking for isn't ultimately the same thing, only seen through different shapes and colors of the same lens. I do know though, that somehow that music is a magic. In one way, we interpret the music, we interact, but in another way, we bring ourselves to be emptied and used for the sake of music. Why do we need to pedal well for example? Not for the sake of our enjoyment alone, but so that we do not obstruct music.

But enough for tonight, it's rather late! :)

:)

2008-09-30T07:58:00.000-07:00

I'm very happy.

The end. :)

How are all of my favorite checkites today?

2008-09-22T08:05:00.000-07:00

Drizzle, drazzly drazzling

Tizzy, Tither, here or hither?

Watching the trees from the ground up, in the park by the swings.

Pretty much frivolous, since black dresses and swings don't cohere,

not so well anyways!

Skip, skip, skip. Twirling in the kitchen, and making a mess of piano music.

I think the goal was,

to stay in the right key?

And it took a quarter of a moment, to take all the bobby-pins out of my hair,

but on the other hand, the dryer was still warm,

so of course the pajamas were still warm,

so of course I went to sleep,

so more of course I woke up!

And it's time for breakfast. :)

Heffalump and Woozle, Humph.

2008-09-04T17:10:00.000-07:00

At this point I have concluded that my rhythm/counting skills are equivalent to those of a Moose lost in a jar of pickles. Or something like that. Can you be born counting-blind? Wait. What would counting have to do with sight? :S :)

It's so sad though, because you have Debussy, and he's supposed to sound effortless, and magical. Impressionism however seems to rely even a little more heavily on proper rhythm than other periods I have played, because it is dreamy sounding. Otherwise you lose momentum, and you get tangled up, and it sounds stilted. I am masterful at this.

It's very interesting though, because, (and I think Chopin was really the catalyze for this?) inside an almost rigid form you can break all the rules! It fills me with almost indescribable glee when I think about how hard rubato hit the musical world. It is a strange concept after all! I think it's like Augustine, and his 'love God and do whatever you want' principle; know the rhythm and you can do pretty well whatever you feel like. ;)

When I can play this song in about eighty years from now, I am going to severely rejoice. :)

On a less complainitory note, Couperin is just about done! It sounds pretty great! :)

September third

2008-09-03T08:18:00.000-07:00

I have not updated this blog for two weeks??

How very sad for it! Okay, update, update, update:

The Red Sox are 4 games behind the "Rays" as opposed to the Devil Rays. and 7 games ahead of the Yankees. >:) This puts the mighty Sox in first place in the wild card race. Not an ideal situation, but I'm almost willing to put up with it because the Yankees are not in a playoff spot because of the Rays. It's a joyous season.

FooF is starting Friday! Rather exciting that school is starting. :)

Piano is going well. Teacher-ful says I get to have a new, harder piece next week, when I finish off Couperin :) :) :) Maybe Beethoven or Mozart she said.

We are losing one of my adoptatory siblings to that expanse known as Oxford, but Oxford is so Oxfordish, is very checkity.

And I need to clear out my room so the floor can be put down. Goodbye!

Episode #983214

2008-08-19T18:46:00.000-07:00

My room looks like something that Poseidon issued a deadly storm in, and then Lady Fortune sent to the bottom of the wheel.

It is not pretty. ANGST! NEED.ROOM.TO.BE.CLEAN.

Of course, doing this would probably require another ten and a half loads of laundry. The odds and ends! The books! The stuff I picked up off the closet floor last time!

On the other hand, my roommate is probably the cutest Janguwa ever, so you figure it will be okay.

But on the other hand, I could just decide to go ascetic.....

smile :)

2008-08-12T23:30:00.000-07:00

Tonight I realized I enjoy brass ensembles greatly. In continuation of the theme, brass ensembles that play Bach are semi-divine. :)

It's strange how a whole type of music I never particularly listened to before tonight is opened up! I cannot wait to hear more! Yes, admiration for Mummy is greater than before (though not so much as she merits), for she is a lovely musician, who not only plays trumpet, but allowed her trumpet to get rusty in service to her family.

What is not to love?

(she's also insanely beautiful, but some things are just generally understood!)

Poor, poor boy

2008-08-06T23:15:00.001-07:00

Tonight I realized my older brother is at worst, totally insane, and at best, sadly deluded. Sitting placidly in his chair, he has sworn to reply to every facebook wall post anyone has ever written him. "What's wrong with that?" you ask. Nothing. Except that he is sitting with the Complete Shakespeare and spending more than ten minutes on a single post. I jest you not.

He's also attired in a sort of Levin-esque outfit, a loose, white, long-sleeved peasant-ish shirt, (perhaps a strait jacket?) and underneath he has on a white t-shirt with the Imperial Russian emblem. And jeans. Maybe a modern Levin?

My older brother is amazing, and wonderful, but I'm thinking he's lost it. :)

By the way, I think someone should make Anna K, the musical. Either that, or a diet food, the Anna K bar!

Day two of the three hour piano marathon complete.

Arranging the minutes

2008-08-05T13:04:00.000-07:00

Hello! :)

Busyness in all its manifestations has begun, yielding a few rather unexpected benefits. In regards to piano last week for example, I began to force myself to practice two hours a day with a timer, and that went well, though I was a bit of a slacker the last few days. My lesson was glorious, and my teacher said I should really do three hours a day, and then advised me how best to accomplish that without injury. One of the oddities of practice is that if I need to practice an hour, it will actually take me an hour and ten minutes, because proper resting is as important as proper playing. So far today I have played an hour and a half, and realized I am really terrible! :) It's wonderful, by the end of every week I have made great progress, and then I realize how poorly I play. I adore that, because then I know just how to work for being that much better.

However, three hours is quite an expenditure of time for any one activity, and it does leave me rushing around! Instead of wasting some of the minutes where I used to just wait around, I can now often get an extra half hour of practice in, and I do. It is difficult working past the laziness and fatigue, but I do enjoy every minute of it.

I suppose the conclusion is, the busier I get, the more valuable time is, and so paradoxically by being too busy to get everything done, I am getting it... done?? It doesn't make sense!

Manny, Manny, wherefore art thou Manny? Deny thy "Manny being Manny" ways and stop stressing out the hierarchy of management! Hmp. See if I care if you disregard my team, I don't care, sniffle! And it was not nice of you to promptly say how you wanted to finish you career with the Dodgers, and you had better not have a Dodgers hat on your hall of fame plaque!

Reflections on the road

2008-07-30T14:13:00.000-07:00

While I was walking today on the road in my neighborhood I was considering the will, and should anyone wish to consider it with me, I would be most happy to dialogue about it!

I began by considering how the plants I was looking at were more than their parts, the precise combination of the parts creates a new sum. (The sum is more than its parts) Upon consideration, I believe it is the addition of the will from the creator that creates this difference. For example, when a house is built, it is made out of specific pieces. The instructions act as a guide for the work, but it is the will, which is then converted into actions, that causes the actual product: a built house. Though will is not visible strictly of itself, we can observe its effects, and has the potential to act as the glue for any given set of parts.

This led me to wonder; is the Holy Spirit inside of Christians the Will that gives us the potential to do good? Seemingly, the Holy Spirit cannot complete the action of moving towards goodness for us, if humans are to learn how to use free will. If that is true, than perhaps the Holy Spirit acts as the will, similar to the above example I gave. We can perform certain actions, but to ideally create a good action, the action ought to be derived from the impetus of the will. Is this line of thought heretical?

In a separate line of inquiry on the same walk, I was wondering what death does. If we are not just going to be spirits in the end, but in spirits in new bodies, what is the purpose of this initial living? We are given the opportunity to use our will to want goodness, truth and beauty, to want Jesus in essence. After we will to do this however, we still must convert our will into action, otherwise we are not fully actualizing our will, instead the will stagnates and decays as it pursues less goodly goals. What then are we trying to do? Involve ourselves in a perpetual struggle for motion of the will converted into action so as to seek the good? This reminded me of Plato, the Phaedrus, where Socrates says that

"Every soul is immortal. That is because whatever is always in motion is immortal, while what moves, and is moved by, something else stops living when it stops moving. So it is only what moves itself that never desists from motion, since it does not leave off being itself... (Phaedrus, 245C-D)"

Is this what our current life is giving us the opportunity to strive after, while being protected by time? If perpetual motion is always being ourself, could it mean that by a perpetual search after goodness, we become ourself? For if we ever thought we had found goodness, and stopped searching after it, we would no longer have goodness, because we would have stopped being ourselves, for we would have stopped being in motion. Does this mean that the Good does not actually exist? No, it must mean that the Good absolutely and necessarily exists, because it never stops moving. This is why we must always be moving after it, for it never stops being Good, itself.

Is that why in the Phaedrus, we must continually "catch sight of any true thing" if we are to remain pursuing True Reality? (248 C) For if we were to stop ever moving, then we would lose sight of Reality, and fail to be ourselves. Just as the person in love must keep loving more deeply, or that love be destroyed, we must keep moving further towards goodness. It is no unpleasant task, no endless monotony any more than being more deeply in love with the Beloved becomes monotony and punishment. I could not say that it is not a servitude, for it is a slavery, but of the most blessed kind.

2008-07-25T19:34:00.000-07:00

sometimes shadows seem so sturdy,

washed into the wall,

tall and undaunted,

by anything at all.

Watching the portrait of twilight,

that stands in front of my eyes,

sometimes. When I am there, and it is glimmering into the night.

Staring at the opaque lines of the telephone wires,

they are:

crossing and intersecting, seeing direction,

challenging the tautness of the sky.

120 :)

2008-07-20T21:42:00.000-07:00

Tonight there were 120 minutes of piano played. Not quite three hours, but two hours is close enough for now. Must keep building up endurance!

I have been rather slow at responding to email lately, but I have read them and I shall reply soon!

Wheatstone Academy

2008-07-12T10:08:00.000-07:00

Hello!

I just got home last night from Wheatstone Academy, http://www.wheatstoneacademy.com

and I cannot stress enough how true, inspiring and grand it is. It is terribly difficult to know how to describe it though. We got to hear world class speakers throughout the week, who did more than just inspire us, they confronted us with our sins, and challenged us to be more than consumer-driven and narrow people. Is there hope for us to successfully confront the ugliness, the falseness, and the bad in our souls? No, we were taught, but absolutely through the power of the Holy Spirit.

It isn't enough to be a generally good, nice person. I have never robbed a bank, and I sometimes do my laundry. :) That's not enough though. It's not enough to get good grades, and maintain a good GPA. We have to deeply want to learn for the sake of learning, not the grade. We have to be the kind of people who watch Shakespeare and enjoy him, and more than that, who learn to write stories ourselves. Not just people who listen to music, but who create music. Why do we let culture lead us to being content with being pretty happy when we should be the most dissatisfied? We have to change culture, and as impossible, and overly grand as that sounds, it is in reality a rather flat, understated rendition of the truth. We cannot do this, but mercifully, we don't work for ourselves, but through the power of the Holy Spirit.

So what is Wheatstone? I don't know! I met insanely beautiful people, but I have met beautiful people before. I think it's meeting beautiful people and then living in a community with them, not just being individuals. (Something absolutely necessary, as we will fall alone, community is vital.) I think partially what it is, is that we are beginning to share a vision, and to enact that vision of how the good life should be lived. Rebecca Fort could not be praised enough for what she has done, I have seldom met a person with her intelligence, fortitude (no pun intended! :) ) beauty, and wisdom. She is a remarkable person. The mentors, and the staff are wonderful, and you should meet them. Okay? :)

HOWEVER.

You need to go next year, whether or not you went this year. This was my second year, and it was more wonderful than even last year (which I never would have believed prior). This isn't information that you can get in a sound clip, it is the experience of living with head, heart and hand combined.

So if you've never been to Wheatstone, let's talk. ;) Coffee or something. :)

status quo

2008-07-04T14:48:00.000-07:00

Nomar is back to the Dodgers after 62 games on the DL.
Before you get out the party hats though... (I have no idea who I am saying that to, maybe my cat?)

"Garciaparra was a little more lukewarm about the condition of his calf muscle. His body produces too much scar tissue and he said there is only so much that can be done to prevent a recurrence.

"There's nothing they can do or tell me," said Garciaparra, who played two Minor League games at shortstop without getting a ground ball to field." (St. MLB)

Nomar is probably the original reason I became a Red Sox fan, so I of course follow his doings as needed, which usually isn't needed since he lives in the Disabled List of Doom. I think he is in the ever painful category of players who rrrrrrreeeeaaaally should go to the Hall of Fame, but due to injuries never satisfied their enormous talent. (also in this category would be Ken Griffy Jr., sorry Jane!)

EDIT:

Come to think of it, the Red Sox major in players who should be awesome but suffer horrible injuries, dooming the fans to lifelong heartburn medication. So Nomar is really just following in that grand tradition of, I-hope-you-have-a-really-good-hobby-because-you-will-live-on-the-DL- till-donuts-are-square.

Hello!

2008-07-04T14:37:00.000-07:00

Yosemite was beautiful. I had a wonderful time, but since I am extremely tired, I'm going to wait till later to post about it more seriously.

But less seriously...
Jason Mraz is so much fun. :) And listening to Jason Mraz with wonderful family friends is insanely fun. :) He's not always clean, so it works best to have someone tell you to skip track four. He's sprinkler music, the definition being the type of music that causes you to do crazy things like running through sprinklers or wearing red and pink together. :)

And I am really tired, and Wheatstone is this next week so,
Happy Fourth of July!

50! :)

2008-06-29T07:58:00.000-07:00

Dear chumberlys,

Well, we have made it to post 50 without anyone being absorbed by a bowl of angry jello, congratulations!

Welcome to June 23

2008-06-23T09:17:00.000-07:00

Dear Blog,

Summer is fun. It really is. But Kakie and I admit to missing probably the whole world, and it's not even July, so I have a brilliant plan. Part one of the plan has already been complete by the economic problems, thus there are lots of houses for sale! Part two involves all the nice checkity friends moving out here as fast as you can find a flying cat to transport your stuff here.

Part three involves admitting defeat and going back to keep working on Consolations of Philosophy and Phaedrus.

Which I enjoy reading! However.....

something has gone wrong when you decide to start working on your Reflection Essay skills. Or maybe I am just a Torrey

Academy student let loose in the wide world of vices, and giving into temptation when I SHOULD be working on a synopsis

skill.

Okay, I am going to stop being silly now. :)

May the flying aardvarks of Jamaica be with you.

Ramblings

2008-06-17T14:06:00.000-07:00

Lucid light got lost in a box of old letters, as the afternoon streams gold and

blue.

Light reflected for a moment, on the past inspirations and deviations, counter-

intuitions and smiled for the loveliness of yesterday.

Long since they have been disturbed, light picks up the letters, memories flutter

down, leaving the words emptied.

Light inspects the trinkets, old photos and scraps of fabric, synthesized with

dust.

Lingers over one picture snapped several years ago, a tiny girl with golden ringlets stands

by her godmother who’s hair shines red and curled; the later is dead now.

Light fades, the little girl’s dress is still in the closet, white and crinkled,

like the letters, poignantly silent.

Light is stilled, but not for long. There’s dancing still to do, before the day is

over.

Musicians do weird things...

2008-06-12T12:58:00.000-07:00

Musicians do strange things for their art! I am not a musician, just a student, but I was reminded this as I almost burned my fingers on a bagel. This is a capital sin of course, because fingers and piano are strangely relevant to each other.

Once I read an article about a woman who plays flute professionally, and she said she gradually learned never to chop vegetables before concerts, because if you cut your finger even a little and you play flute, the equation does not work so well!

And if you play baseball, there is always the infamous blister. Pitchers, brilliant, seemingly indestructible pitchers seem to be prone to blisters. Josh Beckett struggled for years over blister problems, and once he got them resolved he turned into a Cy Young quality pitcher. Not a very dramatic problem to almost derail your career!

Piano is going well for me right now, it's always hard when I begin to practice in the morning of course, because my fingers are so clumsy, and so useless! So I have to crack out the scale book, and just work. I only have 6? more pages of the major scales to learn and memorize, so that's three more key signatures, since each scale has another page of the relative minors, harmonic and melodics. It is however, very stimulating mentally to really work at scales. First, if the left hand and the right hand begin on different fingers, as is often the case, you have to remember to do cross overs and turns at the appropriate times. Essentially you get to run your brain two different ways at the same time. It's actually very fun once the gritty work is done. Czerny will probably kill me yet, but if it doesn't I am going to be very good. :) Otherwise, romantic, impressionistic piano is much easier than early classical! If Mozart or Couperin goes badly, it means my technique is lacking, and there's nothing you can do about except play Hannon. :)

Have a good day!

Victoria!

2008-06-12T11:17:00.000-07:00

By reason of general outrage from the public, Get Fuzzy and Pearls Before Swine have returned from the depth of gone-ness!
Ah, it's good to live in a democracy. :)

NNNOOOOOOO

2008-06-09T13:42:00.001-07:00

The Orange County Register has taken Pearls before Swine and Get Fuzzy out of the comics.
....
How could this BE?!????
Who caused this!?

How could they take my life's purpose away?
WHO GOT PAID TO TAKE JOY AWAY FROM THE GOOD CHILDREN OF ORANGE COUNTY!?!
What can we do!? Switch news papers? Move to a different state where comics have equal rights?
The sorrow is that those comics were replaced with two comics that are politically correct and annoying.
Where, sniffle, are the crocs?
Send in the crocs.
where are the crocs?

I am just going to have to drown my sorrows in a Miyazaki film.

2008-06-07T17:55:00.000-07:00

Having concluded my sixteenth birthday, it is officially time to blog. :)

I began the morning at 6:30 by opening a beautiful white smackage from one of my lovely friends.

White, padded, the latch is precisely glued
to the fold.

Opening it to discover golds and reds,
shocked if truth be told!

Beautiful blank book resting gently.
as I explore the ornate front fold.

Thank you friend.

The rest of my presents were opened at breakfast, in the company of some beautiful yellow roses in a glass vase, and the parts of my family that are here. :)

My brother gave me Castle In the Sky by Miyazaki. (DVD) A great deal of purring about that one. I then was driven to Borders to spend money from my other famerly members. Three lovely books on music are now sitting in the living room as a result. They are nerdy books, but they are fun books, and Kakie is filled with glee. :) Luckily I doubt anyone else will have to read them. (though they should want to because they are fun :) )

Facebook had bunches of people wishing me a happy birthday, and later in the evening two of the Torrey chum friends came to wish me happy birthday!

So just as I was starting to fall asleep in the living room today, a day after the festivities, there were a few loud raps at the door. This surprised me rather, because it didn't sound like a knock I had heard often. After my little sister opened the door I realized it was one of my loverly friends! It was extremely shocking actually, in the best possible way. :) And friend and their family gave me Schindler's List soundtrack! Terribly kind of them, and is much thankful!

I am still amazed about all of this, since I know I have wonderful friends, but they have the habit of being wonderful way beyond any common sense or reason. :) And I would give out hugs at this point, but none of you seem to be here! So I shall just have to continue to be very grateful for you all, you make my life a splendid adventure most every moment. :)

Debussy!

2008-04-29T22:59:00.000-07:00

Dear nice people,

Purrrr....
Piano is going so very well as of the last three weeks. Teacher thinks my piano will turn out very well. :) (I am a long term project, like a home improvement show!) It is so very much better than September though! My teacher, after next Friday won't be teaching me again till the end of June, because when you teach at Biola, you are not there all of the summer. So I will be on my own for a little while, but that will just give me lots of time to work on my songs, scales, Czerny Etudes and Hannon.
Actually, specifically:
4 Czerny Etudes, 2,7,9 and 11
Hannon
the first half of my scales book (all the scales with sharps and their relative minors)
Couperin song, "The Knitters" (don't ask me to spell the French name! :) )
Grieg nocturne (#54) pg)
Mozart Sonata in C (the very popular one!) all three movements
and new as of today....
Debussy!!!! The Girl With the Flaxen Hair
(Also I need to make sure I have Spring Song by Mendelssohn in good condition)

Puurrrrrrrrrrr
Piano always feels so good after lessons. Nice concentrated practice, if only my hands didn't get tired, and the clock did not move so much! :)
There, piano update. :)
Love,

Polka dotted!

2008-04-28T09:02:00.000-07:00

Hello :)
I apologize for having been gone so long, I just finished my computer sabbatical so to speak, so I should be posting more frequently now.

I would now like to introduce Davy. I figure all computers after all, even a mac, are in need of a Severe Mercy. George, my old computer, a Windows went to a better and greener land, where I am sure he will be very happy. That having been said, Davy is my new mac. :) She has a black bow with white polka dots on her head, but I think I may have to give her a bonnet if it gets too hot this summer!