Joy and Sorrow Part II

Have you ever had just an amazing day? One where you feel like nothing can go wrong, and nothing can hurt you? How about the opposite? A day when only bad news and sadness seem to follow you, whispering in your ear and coloring your sight. The past weeks have been filled with days like these. Days where it seemed the world stood still for a moment - frozen in sadness, or suspended in joy.

Joy

..................

There has been so much sadness in the past few weeks.  Several people I know - several people very dear to me - have suffered losses in the past two weeks.  There have been more condolences, flowers, and black dresses then I ever want to experience in such a short time again. In addition to these losses, there has been a bitter-sweetness in the air as Boys Next Door (our Spring straight play) completed it's run.  This May will have a particularly important graduating class - the first BA Theatre class from my school, and Boys Next Door featured a large part of that class.  When closing night came and bows were taken, an entire generation of performers had their last round of applause on a stage that is "home base" for all of us.

Even with all of these things happening around me, I cannot say that these past few weeks have been bad ones.  While each moment of sadness has been big - huge, even - they can't undo the overall warmth and joy I've had.  The happiness comes from a hundred small things through out the day, and I think it is because of the big sadness that I've been tied to I've been able to feel the joy all the more.  The feeling of relief as you open an exam and realize you know the answers to a question.  The homey feeling when an old nickname is used in a new scenario.  Or the peaceful rhythm of completing silly routines and rituals.  For instance, every Saturday is cleaning day for my roommate and I.  We scrub the condo from top to bottom, doing dishes, cleaning the bathroom, clearing off the always-cluttered table.  This Saturday when we finished cleaning, we took a few minutes and made breakfast together: bagels, turkey bacon, hot tea, fried eggs, and an 80s music playlist.

Happiness this week was opening my mailbox to retrieve my stolen-and-then-found-and-sent-home-to-Mum cellphone and finding not only my phone, but a big red box of chocolates waiting.  The best part wasn't the first nougat filled bite, or the satisfying crinkle of cellophane.  It wasn't the candy apple red sheen of the box as it poked cheerfully up out of my heavy bag.  Happiness was opening the white package and seeing something - anything - inside.  The thought.  The extra bit of love.  I think that's maybe the biggest part of happiness: seeing, feeling, sharing, giving, knowing love.  At least, it is for me right now, at this particular moment in this particular life.

. . . . . .

Joy is different things to do different people - or even to the same person at different points in their life.  I'm so lucky to be in a place in my life where joy can take more than one form.  It's a real, tangible thing, being happy.  Something I think every sense can experience - for instance:

*I tasted joy in shared spoonfuls of creamy icy green, as me, Rob, and Karly split a bowl of mint chocolate chip ice cream in the caf.

*I heard joy in a voice lesson that went better than anticipated: another song learned, putting me two songs ahead for the semester.  Hearing notes soaring out of my own throat that I was so afraid of so very recently - feeling their resonance in my chest and their lightness in the air.  

*I smelled happiness all around me as the first truly spring like weather reached out and held the east coast.  The first hint of melting snow and sap stirred trees mixing with that special something only spring time has.

*I saw happiness in a friend's smiling face as I turned a blue dress, a sheet of shiny yellow fabric, a black bubble skirt, and a spool of red ribbon into a snow white costume, complete with train and bows.  She looked so beautiful!

*I felt happiness in my first trip in the car with the windows down - it was only to the grocery store with my friends, but it was long enough for the sun to warm my face and the wind to tug my hair loose from my tight, sleek, winter ponytail.  

Everyone of those things is so small - especially when compared to the weight, size, breadth, and depth of the sadness that has touched our (me and my friends') lives recently.  Isn't that the beautiful thing about the human spirit though?

It takes a hammer to break us but only a single laugh to lift us back up again.  

Wishing you Joy, dear readers.

Merry Christmas Music

Maybe it's the good Catholic girl in me, who loves Midnight Mass with its softly glowing tapers and rapturous hymns.  Maybe it's the dancer in me, whose spirit responds to song like an autumn leaf responds to a breeze.  Maybe it's the singer, who needs music to live.  Whatever it is, music is an integral part of my Christmas.  So my Christmas present to you my few, dear, wonderful readers, is below:  some of my favorite Christmas songs.  For whatever reason, many of my very favorite carols and hymns are actually set on Christmas Eve.  Enjoy this blessed night my friends!

"Fall on your knees - oh hear, the angels voices!"

"Oh Holy Night," as performed by Celtic Woman

"All is calm - all is bright. . . "

"Silent Night," as performed by Sinead O'Connor

"Listen to what I say: pray for peace people everywhere. . ."

"Do You Hear What I Hear?" by Bing Crosby

"I have no gift to bring, pa rum pum pum pum, Thats fit to give a King."

"Little Drummer Boy," as performed by The Harry Simeone Chorale

Just. . . Yes.

“I would rather be ashes than dust! I would rather that my spark should burn out in a brilliant blaze that it should be stifled by dry rot. I would rather be a superb meteor, every atom of me in magnificent glow, than a sleepy and permanent planet. The proper function of man is to live, not to exist. I shall not waste my days in trying to prolong them. I shall use my time.”


-Jack London.




Doesn't it sing right to your heart?

Post Irene (The Adventures)

"Luxury is not a necessity to me, but beautiful and good things are."
-Anais Nin

I was looking for a way to express how I felt about the power being out, and I stumbled upon this quote.  It so elegantly stated what I was trying to tease from my brain and to my tongue.

You see - aside from this foray into the outside world which brought us to the library - we haven't got any power.  And it's already been more than 24 hrs, with a day or more still to go.  At first, being without power always seems like a great adventure: forts! books! card and board games! conversation! candles!  

Then a few hours tick by, and you want to flick on the tv.  Or eat something warm.  Or shower.  And the adventure gets a little boring, because real life power outages do not have the sentimental soundtrack of movie power outages.  It can get tedious, especially for a generation raised with computers, MTV, and gameboys/PSPs.  

Lucky for me, I had just reread my beloved copy of "Pride & Prejudice," this week, and was well into my other favorite novel "The Three Musketeers," when Irene hit.  What does this have to do with a lack of electricity?  Well, P&P and Musketeers are my two favorite novels.  For most of my life I've known and admired the characters in their pages, and wished to live in a different time.  A time of refinement and and romance, or adventure and passion.  The older I got, the better I understood things like vaccinations, hospitals, literacy rates, and women's rights, but these essentials never quite drove away my wistful admiration of times gone by.  Times without power.

Which made me realize how very new  and modern a convenience electricity really is.  How recent the lightbulb, let alone the laptop, is to society.  The very novels I love, populated with characters I deeply admire, were penned by sunlight, candlelight, and maybe an oil lamp.  Like the Declaration of Independence.  And the Holy Bible.  The works of Socrates, the Magna Carter, Wuthering Heights, and anything/everything by Shakespeare.  Just like the Pyramids, the Great Wall, Notre Dame de Paris, and much of  Vatican City were constructed without electricity to ease the back breaking labor.  Some of mankinds greatest accomplishments were achieved without aid of something we now consider a basic need.

I'm not exactly excited to be without lights, hot water, or phone.  I don't live in a house set up with a stove or oven or fireplace workable without electricity, so much of my food is no good and I will incur either hunger pains or high costs for prepared food.  My packing will be slower, but overall I will have what I need.

Games to play with my family by candlelight.  Useful things (packing, sorting, tending my garden) to occupy my hands.  Someplace safe to sleep.

And always, access to the deep creativity that lives within us all, that spark of Divine that lit thousands of years without electricity.  

Here's hoping the power comes back soon, and that I never loose the appreciation of what is beautiful and good again.

Yesterday Was My Best Friend's Birthday

 And we're taking it very seriously.

I must confess, the above picture is not from yesterday.  It's from exactly 366 days ago, when she celebrated her last birthday, here in the little slice of wilderness we hail from.  Charming, no?  Basically, that picture is our friendship summed up in a single flash.  This is us, moments later attempting to take a non-silly picture.  She translated "non-silly," as "seductive."  I translated it into "boring."  Thus, we balance each other out.

 

I wish I could properly sum Arletta up for you in a blogpost, but that is impossible to do.  Mostly, because there is no "summing," Arletta up.  She isn't one thing - she's a thousand and one things.  She is the loudest laugh in the room, and generally the funniest joke.  She's a bellydancer and choreographer.  For all my classical training, I don't think I'll ever be able to understand just how to make my body m o v e the way her's does.  

She's a singer: anything the average person says outloud, she sings.  Even if it's a list of things she's got to do that day.

She's a hopeless romantic, which rather nicely brightened my vaguely I-don't-give-a-crap-about-the-male-species attitude through HS.  

Arletta is the kind of girl who chases her dream, chased it all the way to India for a semester abroad.  Which makes perfect sense, since she is after all a tigress. . . 

She is this poem: improbable, beautiful, and afraid of nothing.  

She is my best friend in the world.

On A Rainy Sunday

"I want to think again of dangerous and noble things

I want to be light and frolicksome

I want to be improbable

beautiful

and afraid of nothing

As though I had wings."

-Mary Oliver

The Wedding (Part 2)

After the group photo (such a sweet idea, no?) the whole wedding party scooted away for more pictures, and we all began to mill about while the trollies rolled up to whisk us away.  After a few minutes, the bride and groom again appeared, this time on the balcony for more pictures - much like Prince William and Princess Katherine of Great Britain.  We oohhhed and aaaahhhhed some more: cameras flashed, the newlyweds kissed, the sun shone, and I felt an amazing swell of peace in my heart.  Because I have known this particular princess my whole life.  And I have never known her happier than she is in the arms of her Marine.  As he dipped her in front of the cameras, she laughed and from two stories away we could all here her joy.

Back to the "carriage house" we went for the ceremony, where Mum was already busily smoothing things along (she was on the first trip down: I was on the last, typical).  The fiddlers played, and the candy was devoured: the guest book was signed, the bar was opened, and Mum and I went around lighting the candles/tea lights that dotted everyone's candles.  It was nice to hear everyone's comments on the ceremony: everyone seemed to find it as enchanting as I had!  The new couple was introduced, and shared their first dance, a moment as perfect as you can imagine.  He sang to her as they swayed.  She smiled and leaned into his chest.  I silently thanked God for their slice of joy, and prayed that it goes with them always. . .

Toasts - spoken tributes to her artistic spirit.  To his service in Iraq.  To all of our delight that they have each other.

Dinner was served: garden salad, pasta, the most tender and delicious fish.  Delicious potatoes, and sweet chicken with peppers.  Steak, and bread with cinnamon butter.  Heavenly.

They cut the cake with his sword (is that against the rules?  Should I not post it?  Oh dear. I'm sure it's fine, after all there are going to be all sorts of damning pictures.) and rather than mash it in each other's faces, she smeared his cheek with frosting, and he dolloped some on her nose.  He caved first, though, and hastily cleaned it off before stealing a kiss (I'm quite sure they forgot all about us for just a little while).  And who wouldn't want to save every bit of that cake?  Buttercream frosting, vanilla & chocolate cake, and fillings that included strawberries 'n'cream and chocolate-mint.  Cake not your thing?  Never fear!  There was strawberry shortcake and fresh whipped cream too.

Then it was time to dance.  The first person I was able to coax onto the floor was not Boyfriend.  He's not a fan of dancing, and absolutely not a fan of dancing in public.  But I digress: my first dance of the evening was of course with James.  And Sissy, and Brother both joined.  Then Boyfriend was suddenly on the floor too, and so was one of my other childhood friends.  In some combination, we all danced all night: silly, sprinkler style dancing.  Step-clap-step-clap dancing.  Laughing and spinning and holding hands like children dancing.  At one point, Boyfriend lifted me over his head, to my delight.  At another, Brother took on the bestman (also a Marine and veteran of Iraq.  From the bottom of my heart I thank these men for their service. . . but that is another post).  Mum said the moment that made her cry was seeing us all there: me, and Sissy and Brother and Boyfriend, the bride and her brother and his best friend.  Aside from Boyfriend, we had all grown up together, and under her watchful eye (at the daycare she used to run, which is how we all met).  First dance classes.  Paper dolls.  Pretending to be Power Rangers. Marching in parades. Cheering at football games, attending art showings, running races uphill at night, with glowsticks to guide us.  And now we stood in a circle, decked in our finest, celebrating our big sister.  In many ways, the first of my mother's babies to leave the nest, though none of her own children was getting married that day.

I will never forget hugging them both: kissing Shauna on the cheek and squeezing Jake's hand, before they descended the stairs and set off.  Into forever and a day - together.

My prayer for them is simple:

May you always look at one another with the same joy you did this weekend.
May God continue to bless you.
May you always be each other's joy & shelter, best friend & confidant.
May your love stay steady and bright
And your friends faithful and true.

The Wedding (Part 1)

I wish I had the words to describe to you how beautiful the wedding was.  I wish I could convey to you how perfect the ceremony, the reception, the food, the music, the dancing, the laughter, the couple, the love was.  I was so sad and frustrated that I don't have a camera, to snap shots of the whole amazing day (bad blogger!  bad blogger!  bad!).  I was so grateful to share in the bride & groom's special day.  So inspired to witness a union I fully believe will last forever and a day.  So giddy to dance with my Boyfriend (he's not a dancer.  This was such a huge step in our relationship, silly as it sounds!) and my brother and my childhood friends all night.  Here, let me start at the beginning of the day. . .


After an argument with the GPS, we finally arrived at Castle In the Clouds (Yes, thats really what it's called.  Yes, it really is as beautiful as it sounds).  We headed to the reception venue in the early afternoon, hours ahead of even the earliest wedding guest as Mum was helping coordinate the wedding, and I had been asked to help with decorating & sundry preparations.  The bride's mother, who I have known my entire life, was at the top of the stairs, beaming and frazzled and sweet, while the bride's brother, James, and his best friend, roamed the hall arranging centerpieces.  Boyfriend and Brother joined them, while I helped the mother of the bride, and set out candy dishes (they had a candy bar, joy!).  After much prepping and oohhhinnng/aaaahhhhiiinnng over the bride (and several games of round robin, as we tried to get Shauna into her dress, do her solo/bridesmaids pics, and back into the room without her groom seeing her) it was time to polish ourselves up (I arrived in most unglamorous flip flops, tank top/jean short combo and a bright blue scrunchie) and get ready to board.

Board what, you ask?  Oh, well since this castle is on a mountain, the guests were all ferried up to the top in trollies.  Romantic times a thousand, I assure you.

We then traveled the flowery path around the magnificent building, out onto the lawn/balcony area where the service was to be conducted.  I gave the nervous groom my biggest smile as I went by, and proceeded to admire the view of the ginormous lake and rugged mountains provided when one looked over the balcony.  Boyfriend had this silly notion that I would fall down and roll to the bottom of the mountain. . . he seems to think I'm clumsy or some such utter truth nonsense.  Did I mention the rose bushes?  Or the fiddlers who serenaded us?  Eventually the ceremony began, and the bridal party/groomsmen made their way down the aisle to music written by James (He's one of the most incredibly talented people I've ever met).  Then it was the moment: the bride appeared.  The music changed, and now James played the song he had written just for this moment, just for his sister on her wedding day.  To call her a "vision in white" would be the silliest and most cliche understatement of the century.  Her dress was vintage, lace & rhinestones, with a slight, pooling train.  Strapless, it elegantly hugged her curves, extending her lines.  She wore a custom fascinator in lieu of a veil, and a single strand of pearls.  There may have been tears that required blinking away.  Her father escorted her down the aisle, and somewhere between very reluctantly and beaming with pride, he gave her away.  Her almost-husband took her tiny (seriously tiny.  the girl is barely more than five ft!) hand in his, and the ceremony began.  The whole thing, from entrance to you may kiss your bride, was over in fifteen minutes.  They had written their own vows, brief and sincere.  Her's rang of poetry and love and faithfulness, with all the flair an artist has.  His were solid and true and heartfelt, quietly passionate and resonantly fervent, like you'd imagine a Marine would be on his wedding day.

More tears that required blinking.  A request for all those in attendance to turn and face the main building, where the photographer stood on a balcony, to have a picture of all of us who had come to celebrate their union for the new bride and groom to keep. . .

Do More Than Exist.

A lovely idea, no?  I think it's the goal of every perfectionist, performer, and artist. . .

60 MPH Winds

60 MPH winds.  That is what is screeching through my bedroom windows (my beautiful, picture windows, larger that my armspan.  That are set in the wall of my second story room, on this three-story-plus-finished-basement colonial house.).  Whipping the trees all around campus into a frenzy.  Pounding into the speaker of my phone, so Mum asks if I am standing outside in the rain as I walk back from rehearsal.  It was 50 MPH winds earlier, tugging whisps of my hair from my neat bun.  Blowing against my bag-o-books and making it strain against my shoulder.  Driving autumn-gilded leaves and menacing clouds across the sky.

It's beautiful.  And loud.  And it feels so perfect tonight.  Because this is exactly how my life has been lately. . . gale force winds.  Everything blowing everywhere, and pressurepressurepressure.  Tonight I had rehearsal at 7.  And rehearsal at 7.  Two different choreographers, two different pieces, styles, and rehearsal locations. . . then I had rehearsal at 8, for a third somebody.  And rehearsal at 9. . .

Exams, tests, quizzes, journal entries, homework, reading, notes, notes, NOTES.  choreography, new choreography, dance journal.  Gym. Trainers.  Creating blogs, giving tours, maintaing websites, attending club meetings, sending club-and-business emails.  office work.  memorizing lines.

A whirlwind life.  But I like whirlwinds.  I like the music they make.  I suppose tonight could be described as having "howling winds."  Howling seems negative and frightening, though.  Though it is loud and tumultuous it's also natural, carry-you-away music.  And  I find it so intriguing, what a windy day does to people. . . who hunches their shoulders and tucks their head and scuttles along.  Who marches purposefully, scarf fluttering behind them, rain boots briskly chewing up sidewalk.  The ballerina's bun pulled piece-by-piece apart, until strands of hair tumble loose around her face.  The couples where one person walks slightly ahead, his body shielding hers as she presses to her side, neither of them cognizant of their positioning.

So to I find a melodic feel to this hasty, crazy life.  Rehearsal-to-rehearsal, meals hastily grabbed in between.  Showering while reviewing history dates, stretching with a script in my lap, always having my cell phone, id/room key, a pencil, and a highlighter before starting the day.  A few quite minutes, stolen in a corner of the kitchen as my roommate sleeps floors above, a phone held close to my ear, a stillness finally letting my tight shoulder lower.

For now I will dance in the wind.

Autumn

I've never been a fan of "Favorite Questions."  What is your favorite book?  movie? food?  memory?  board game?  insert-right-here? What if you don't have one favorite?  If you're an equal opportunity-enjoyer?  Or you have a small list of favorites?  Not just one?  I, in case you cannot tell, am not a single-favorite-haver in most cases.  This applies to movies, tv, colors, gemstones, memories, and seasons.  I think the closest thing to a very favorite season I have is Winter. . . but I love them all and have favorite parts of each.  Being indecisive enough to feel that way, I have a little ritual.  At the beginning of every season, I like to think about what I love about that particular time of year.  It's a gratitude exercise that makes me feel more connected: connected to nature/the season, to everyone who has ever experienced these same joys, to my own inner person.  I promise way down deep inner me is a very positive person!  This gratitude exercise reminds me to slow down, something I don't do often enough.  And it makes me smile. Honestly, some days, thats reason enough to do (almost) anything!


While it's not officially Fall yet, the temperatures and books and sweaters tell my poor little heart otherwise. . . so here is what I love about Autumn.

*Scarves!*

They're so warm and cozy and instantly make me feel somehow more fashionable.  I mean, who looks bad in a scarf?!?

*The way the air smells.  When you're walking as briskly as you can towards your car/class/job/grocery store and you take a quick inhale.  That sweet, clear, frost-is-in-the-air smell, without the sharpness and sting of winter air.  It's more moist, more earthy.  

It instantly calms me and elevates my mood. . . don't you just want to take a deep breath of that beauty?

*Mornings.  Ok, so I'm definitely not a morning person.  I'm more like a mid-day person, really.  But there is something about Autumn mornings that make me feel very alive and yet soothed at the same time.  That morning light, softer than at any other time of year.  The way it filters through the changing leaves, so they almost glow.  It's stiller, more isolated, less electric than a summer morning.  You can almost hear the tress breathing, if you listen hard enough. . .

*Books.  This is sort of the opposite of mornings, because I am a book person all the way!  I love turning pages in the sun during the Summer, skimming chapters in a window during Spring, snuggling with a book under the blankets in Winter.  But the fall is the very best time for  books!  Even if they are not textbooks/mandatory I love to purchase books in the fall, so I can enjoy the feel and the familiarity of a new book.  The joy of inhaling that beautiful air and turning the page, knowing there is something fascinating waiting for me when I do.  Honestly, I can't often afford non-mandatory textbooks.  Thank goodness the library is the next best thing!  If I get everything done I need to this week, that is how I am rewarding myself this weekend. . . a quick trip to the Library.

*The Foliage.  This is one of the greatest joys of living in New England!

Clark House, the Tour.

This is my housing for Sophomore year.  Can you believe it?  I've lived in three story converted houses every semester so far.  Man, adjusting to regular college housing will probably be tough!

The Front of My Home for Sophomore Year.

A shot of the side, from our drive way.

Right inside the front door.

Detail on the pillars

Some more detail on some more pillars

Living Room

Up the stairs . . .

Don't miss the window between levels!

As you enter the room, if you turn your head towards the left.

My side of the room

From the window towards the door.

My drawer + Pillows + Good luck kitty + Jewelry box + ihome +Bible

There are lots and lots and lots more pictures - like this one of our ceiling fan!

and of our kitchen, yard, wrap around porch, elegant trees, etc.  But I figure this is a good sample, yes?