Belated Book of the Week #2

Okay, so this is a day late, but here ya go...

I'm obscenely Irish and this has been one of my favorite books for a few years. Frank McCourt is easily my favorite author and I find myself re-reading his books out of genuine love of literature.

"Angela's Ashes" along with "'Tis" and "Teacher Man" paint vivid and evocative stories of McCourt's life as an Irish Catholic with a talent for words struggling to find his place in the world.

"Angela's Ashes" begins with a small explanation of McCourt's parents (Angela and Malachy) and his first few memories. The memoir continues as his family leaves New York for Limerick and faces many small but significant cruelties of life.

"'Tis" picks up where "Angela's Ashes" leaves off, with McCourt's return to New York at the age of nineteen. "Teacher Man" goes through his career as an English teacher at Stuyvesant High School, where he finally finds his place.

Exquisitely told, the story of Frank McCourt's life is a treasure and the impressions his years have given him are lessons everyone can accept and cherish.

Yellow Envelopes

I love writing letters. Whenever I feel the need to return to the good-ol'-days of snail mail, I'll pull out a plastic polka-dotted case in which I keep my envelopes and stationary. I'll write on a piece of stationary decorated with music notes, fold it once and slide it into a large, yellow envelope.

I found both the stationary and the envelopes in Staples about two years ago and immeadiately stocked up on each. I have sent hundreds of letters since, often covering them in stickers and sharpie drawings.

A good friend of mine is in Basic Training for the Army and is one of the few people who will send letters back. In his last, he wrote this:

You realize, don't you, that you've enchanted my bunkmates? None of them ever get letters, not even from their girlfriends and you send them twice a week. We get our mail just before lights out and we all wait for another one to slip underneath the door. I read them aloud sometimes and they ask about you, the girl with the yellow envelopes.

Crossing the Rubicon

My best friend got me into a band called The Sounds about two years ago and I never looked back.

Well, their new album just came out and I think I'm in love. Attached is the link to the first single off of the album (titled "Crossing the Rubicon").

Look, listen, love.

"No One Sleeps When I'm Awake"

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3Muci-5Yt0o

Other gems off of "Crossing the Rubicon" include "Beatbox", "Dorchester Hotel", and (my favorite) "4 Songs and a Fight". SO GOOD. CHECK THEM OUT!!!

Yesterday Morning

I spin slowly beneath the patterns of pear tree branches drawn upon the back porch. I lift my head against the thick air of Virginia summer and look around. The not-yet-ripe pears swing back and forth in a calm June breeze. My cheap, dark sunglasses slide down my nose as I tilt my head even further back to rest my head against the back of my swivel chair. I drum my fingers on the tiled surface of the table and breathe deeply in. My exhale comes out as a sigh. I love how everything smells after it rains. I can feel the coolness of leftover raindrops seeping through my jeans and the back of my thin button-down shirt, but I don't care. I cross my legs, close my eyes and cradle my coffee mug, silently wondering whether I could sneak a cigarette while Dad is out. He only just left a minute ago. I could pop inside and... maybe not. Henry and Alex will be home soon. Wouldn't want to smell like nicotine.
I take another deep breath, enjoying the clean air, banishing the thought of ruining it with smoke.

Boomer, my ten-year-old miniature poodle, is sprawled out in the concrete, soaking up the dappled light. I smile and shake my head at him.

"You've got it all figured out, haven't you?" I ask him, "Not a care in the world."

He's too tired to lift his head to look at me, the source of noise in the now-broken silence, but I know he hears me.

I set my mug back down upon the tile and uncross my legs to stand. Slipping off my sandals and removing my sunglasses, I cross to the very center of the backyard. I rotate slowly, taking in every smell, every sight. No blue jays today at the bird feeder that Dad carefully maintains. No squirrels either, bothering poor Boomer. Just a small robin hopping around the lily pond.

The gate leads out to the common area, a large field that looks like its own park. I recall games of catch with my brothers. Maybe I'll ask Henry to play when he gets home from school. I can't believe he's starting high school in the fall. I push that thought to the back of my mind while I gaze at the field, remembering the two of us playing catch.
I look down at my toes, tapping them gently against the damp grass. What a wonderful feeling.

Book of the Week #1

As a habitual writer, I also read. A lot. And have therefore decided to incorporate a Book of the Week choice into this blog. Look forward to some fantastic literary recommendations every Thursday. ;-)

"The Saffron Kitchen" by Yasmin Crowther is a favorite of mine about an Iranian family in London. Much of the novel focuses on the love between a mother and daughter (an ironic theme for me, personally) and the price of freedom.

I picked this up last summer on the clearance shelf outside the entrance of Borders. To go along with the cost versus value motif that appears in the story, I bought this for less than three dollars, but wouldn't give it up for thirty.

"The Saffron Kitchen" beautifully describes London and Tehran, sweeping the reader away, and gives a unique portrayal of family ties.

A Girl's Guitars

I don't claim to be a great musician, but the strum of a good acoustic guitar is one of my favorite sounds in the world.

My own playing skills are somewhat mediocre. I'm always too busy during the school year and over the summers, what little knowledge I had has faded along with the callouses on my fingertips. Still, I plug along, hoping it doesn't sound too awful.

Below is a picture of me with Johnny, my acoustic and Jimmy, my electric. Not the most original idea in the world to name your guitars after John Lennon and Jimmy Page, but I'd rather have "Johnny" and "Jimmy" for my two favorite instruments than "Noodles," my brother's name for his.

Pictures of Dreams

Remember when I wrote that I only painted at two or three am? Yeah, I wrote that yesterday. Scroll down a little and go back over that part before you keep reading this post. 'Kay, thanks.

Anyway, below are three of my paintings. All are the same size, 16x20 inches, not too small to restrict me and not too big to intimidate me. Yes, that's me peeking out from behind each of them. Had to make sure the webcam got the whole thing.

I actually decided this one looked better rotated one-quarter turn clockwise. Or at least, that is the way it hangs in my bedroom. It's the last thing I see before I go through the door.

My favorite doodle is swirls like the ones on the left of this one. I added little frays or "feathers" as I like to think of them because for some reason, just the swirls made the canvas seem too empty. I left a lot of the rest un-swirled because I felt like that section had enough texture that it didn't need any more pattern. Does that make sense?

Color versus black and white. I find both equally beautiful, but they compete so often, I decided to integrate them. Chaotic, I know, but still compelling.

All have varying types of paper layered within them, some mod podge incorporated as glue for said paper, and lots of acrylic paint. Oil and watercolor paints frustrate me. So do pastels. I'm rather a particular painter.

Love Knots

Above is a picture of my basket of embroidery floss. To a stranger, I have plenty to last me the rest of the summer. To those who know me, I'm running low.

A favorite pasttime of mine while sitting in front of the television on a lazy day is making friendship bracelets out of this floss. I've made dozens so far with every intention of making more.

Below is a picture of a small box in which I keep... more floss. On the right - finished bracelets waiting to be sent in the mail. On the left - the extra string leftover from every finished bracelet I've made this summer. I tie the pieces and keep them with the sentiment that the person I gave the respective bracelet to is with me. A little cheesey, but what can you do?

Easy enough to put together. Basically, just a bunch of knots. I usually go off of a person's favorite colors, sometimes switching it up with colors I think describe them as people. Other times I just pick colors I like and wait for someone to come along who might like them too.

Whichever way it happens, the same amount of care goes into each knot. Whether I am thinking of a specific person or the people I love in general.

An Introduction

I am a theatre student, but seldom do I perform. You'll find me backstage or high above in a booth or a catwalk. I dress in black and wear a headset. I'll only perform if someone asks me to.

I have a hard time saying no.

I dance any way I want when I'm alone. It's one of the few things I keep from people.

I paint, but only at two or three in the morning. Probably because that is the only time I feel inspired.

I take pictures, but would hate to take a photography class, so it will therefore, never take me anywhere. I refuse to have someone else tell me what I discover to be art is wrong.

I write. A lot. That will never change. My harddrive and mulitiple journals are overflowing and so will all those I will come to own in the future.

I sing, mostly along with a radio. Often in a car. Someone else's car, of course. I, myself, do not have a car. I do, however, have a few radios.

I knit, macrame, braid, bead, stitch, weave... in a million colors and forms. And I love it.

For all the artwork I have made, you'd think I would try to sell it. Whether I am afraid it isn't worth anything or I am too attached to part with it, I still don't know.