Hey everybody! My awesome sister Tina has started a blog, and thusly has she been assimilated into our chaotic realm of online journaling. You may find this vein of virtual gold at www.blue-tipped-carrots.blogspot.com. She's cute, she's spunky, she's got an excellent sense of humor AND she's a redhead, which may or may not be the summation of the first three items.

Go. Go now.

(The Blue Tipped Carrots is our family band name. We do a lot of talking about doing things, but none of them have quite come to fruition. Some possible songs in the making are "The Red Square Bush Song", "The Blue Tipped Carrots", and "The Waltz of the Chinchilla". And probably an opera.)

べんきょう を しましょう

Benkyo o shimashou! (Let's study!)

{In Art of Color we learned that color is relative, that the relativity of color subsequently produces headaches, and that Nerf guns are the taste of lemons.}

{In Tai Chi we learned that you can use Pung energy to make yourself look intimidating, and that someday we'll be able to shoot Chi energy from our fingertips.}

{In Natural Disasters we hone the fine art of napping}

{In Pacific Northwest History, we discover the Pig War, also known as the San Juan Island Boundary Dispute, fought over a dead pig, and that eating an entire buffalo is nutritively valuable.}

{In Honors Project of Boils and Frothing Curses, we learned that coloring in dim light is bad for both eyesight and artistic quality. (And that a flying octopus is an easy answer to the question "What is art?")}

In life, we learn that God is love.

Pearl-stringing

Margaret, are you grieving?

On that day it shall be said to Jerusalem:
Fear not, O Zion;
let not your hands grow weak.
The Lord your God is in your midst,
a mighty one who will save;
he will rejoice over you with his gladness;
he will quiet you by his love;
he will exult over you with loud singing.

Where shall the word be found, where will the word
Resound? Not here, there is not enough silence
Not on the sea or on the islands, not
On the mainland, in the desert or the rain land,
For those who walk in darkness
Both in the day time and in the night time
The right time and the right place are not here
No place of grace for those who avoid the face
No time to rejoice for those who walk among noise and deny
the voice

You have never talked to a mere mortal.

Aunque la mona se viste la seda, mona se queda.

"Honourable Father, very good; Honourable Son, very good; but Honourable Bird I do not understand at all."

Even in Kyoto--
hearing the cuckoo's cry--
I long for Kyoto.

Delight yourself in the Lord, and He will give you the desires of your heart.

Bonus est.

Today's show has been brought to you by the letter Argyle, and the number Cephalopod.

Both are lovely.

Er, hello!

I stopped writing posts for awhile, and then everybody else's got exponentially more amazing so I was intimidated. I like your blogs, O Genteel Folk of the Internet realm.

Hrm. What's up?

Well.

I really don't know what to write.

Actually, wait! Here is something:

*hem hem*

Ten Things To Do During My 17th Year of Earthly Existence:

1. Make a strange-looking artifact of some sort and place it on an innocent person's doorstep.

2. Learn katakana (argh) and at least 100 kanji (AAARRRGGHH).

3a. Learn the Russian alphabet.

3b. Say something in Russian to our lovely Russian neighbors. Correctly.

4. Eat sushi.

5. Make panda bread!

6. Read the whole Bible.

7a. Read the Divine Comedy!

7b. Additionally, learn how to spell Alighieri without looking.

8. Paint a real painting. With paint.

9. Finish every picture that I start before I turn 18!

10.


That last slot is God's call. I dunno exactly what He wants me to do yet, but I'll bet it's a heck lot better than anything else on that list! Dattebayo. (Of course, every item here should be done in such a way as to reflect His glory, so every slot is His anyhow. Nevertheless! :)

L'chaim!

In sad news, our chinchilla passed away on September 11th, 2009, which is also my brother's birthday. In happier news, my favorite professor is supervising the completion of a graphic novel that I'm pretending I can do.

In mediocre news, I have to test into Math 99 by the end of the week. Jeepers.

In awesome news, the Tran writes epic run-on sentences. (He was going for the Locke effect).

Be well, friends! (Also, if you feel so inclined, ya'll should make your own 'To-do' Lists and post them!)

Today was the delightful experience of the chinchilla jumping onto my lap and trying to eat the recently purchased copy of Weight of Glory in my hands.

School starts on the 22nd.

(Now you all probably think we let chinchillas run wild in our house.)

Wahoo desu.

OKAY WAT IS DIS.

It is currently 90 degrees up here.

90.

NINETY.

I know you dear California people are like "Pshaw that's like December weather", but our summers rarely get up past 80! This is so ridiculous! We're melting like Peeps in a microwave.



Speaking of which, has anyone ever actually put a Peep in the microwave? They don't actually melt, they explode! :D And if you want to have Peep wars, stick two of the disgusting little birdies directly facing each other, arm them with toothpicks, set the time for 35 seconds and behold the glory.

Here is a random unfinished picture! (I have a lot of these, heh. Please full-view because the small version is horrible!)



I hope ya'll are having a marvelous summer! Please don't laugh at my wimpiness when I come down to California...:)

Poechella is the new pink.

Truly, it is.

(Dear Miss Mouse,

Please forgive me for mooching off your brilliance.

Love,
Danielle.)

These dumb pictures are my excuse for not having anything good to say. :P

(But then, a picture is worth a thousand words, so consider yourself TERM PAPER'D!)



Um, I think that guy has a mouth on his hand. 0_0



Those three-piece suits contain an unholy amount of fabric. And I'm not sure any person in real life could survive that much yellow. (But hey! They match my blog, hah!)

By the way, the text reads "Areleous and Blythe", after the characters. (Front is Geoffrey Areleous, back is Corwin Blythe). They aren't from anywhere but my dysfunctional brain. Everyone thinks Geoff looks like Ron Weasley, BUT HE IS NOT, I TELL YOU!!!

Sometimes I wonder if media such as Photoshop or markers hinder the artistic experience? They're super-fun to use, but they also complete a picture in a fraction of the time another medium (such as colored pencils) would take. Markers especially are like, the Medium of Instant Gratification.

I dunno! Have fun at all your camps, everybody! :)

Carpe artem!

It's summer! Jobs, SAT scores, new markers and lots of cookies!

I bought 48 markers, and they're wonderful, but the fumes are particularly overpowering if one is working longer than half an hour. (As with the following pictures...*_*)

Pardon the wacky proportions!



(I have no idea what they're sitting on; what do you think? The brother says construction site, my sister and I say demented Ferris wheel.)






The name Eliot Smyrl, which has been bestowed upon the young lad in the stripes, was stolen from the end credits for Up. Which you should all see, because it is masterful; among Pixar's (not to mention the general cinema's) finest.

Hope you're all enjoying your summer!

Cue High School Musical!

YAY SUMMERZ HEEERRE!!!! :D I don't have to wake up at 5:45 on Tuesdays and Thursdays anymore!! :D

I have no idea what these grotesque little gentlmen are called. (Though 'Troy Bolton' comes to mind). They just...pop out, I guess.

Happy Summer Everyone!

P.S. In other news, I got a haircut, my poem 1999 is in WCC's 'literary journal' and heyguesswhat IT'S SUMMER! :D

Happy Birthday Kakie!

So, I had all sorts of noble aspirations to art and chocolate and fancy gifts and whatnot, but I didn't take into account that I had the SAT today! And that was like, four hours. And I am lame.

Actually, the SAT is lame! WHO MAKES YOU TAKE A STUPID TEST ON YOUR BEST FRIEND'S BIRTHDAY?! THE STINKING GOVERNMENT, THAT'S WHO.

All my personal lameness aside, I hope that you, dear Mary Kate, know that you are beautiful and talented in so many ways. You have been such a dear friend to me and I can't thank you enough for your grace and patience! I love you and hope and that you have a very blessed and happy birthday today.

In testament to how much I miss you, here is some art that reflects the state of my soul:



I really, really, really, really, really REAAAAALLLLY can't wait to see you this summer! :'(

HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!

Ineffable

You may laugh at me writing words to deliberate on the ineffable, or that which words cannot touch, but I hope it reflects the futility of the human goal to name everything.

Dear friends, may I confess that I was extremely jealous of the collective insights I've heard thus far about Torrey Banquet? And what a horrible thing, too; to covet my neighbor's past, present and presumable experiences! I regretted moving to Washington more than I have in a very long time, and that was probably the greater sin.

I only mention this so that I can, with clear conscience, express how overjoyed I really am for the growth and joy of each of you! It is an unspeakable blessing (no pun intended) to reach for the ineffable as a community, and that's why I am writing this post.

Lately I've been wondering what the purpose of friendship is exactly. Modern America hasn't exactly provided the best environment for fostering sincere interaction with other people. Betrayal, gossip, verbal and physical abuse, downright rudeness and whatever the heck anyone else can pull out of a hat are all fair game for so-called 'friends' nowadays. (It's the same with marriages, families, workplaces...). As a country, it seems that we've lost our respect for other individuals, drowned in the American dream for personal happiness.

However! You lovely Torrey people get to be the joyful anomalies in this sea of frightened discontent. AND IN SCHOOL NO LESS. (Shouldn't everyone be required to learn decent argumentative courtesy before general science and math?) The obsession of our culture with seeing through everything has made our fellow humans invisible to the scientific eye. American culture has taught to see other not as 'whom' but as 'what'.

I wondered what this transparency effect had to do with our understanding and love of God. As John writes,

"No one has ever seen God; if we love one another, God abides in us and his love is perfected in us" (1 John 4:12).

...

...

Okay. Now, it would be a logical fallacy to state that, if we don't love one another, God's love will never be perfected in us...

BUT SERIOUSLY. THAT'S LIKE, NOT SPELLED OUT FOR MY THICK FAT HEAD AT ALL. We can at least infer that, if we refuse to love one another, our relationship with God is going to be radically stunted. And...and...and!!

*sigh* Voy a callarme ahora. ^_^ Please rip apart this delirious post as you feel inclined, and do correct me!

Last thoughts:

By reaching further up to God's head, heart and hand, one is enabled to reach further in to the soul another, instead of through them. But it's hard to make that journey alone. We must continually be doing both to strengthen the other!

Congratulations to all hard-working Torrey/high school grads; and I miss all you a lot.

Descent into hell (with cookies!)

AAAAAAGHH.

Nota Bene! It is strongly advised to not write blog posts right after registering for classes, finding out that a lot of your credits probably won't transfer to your potential universities and that you're not as good at life as you thought you were. (Granted, the experience of humility is a good one, but it doesn't encourage very thoughtful, thankful, joyful, gracious, appreciative or well-balanced blog posts. In fact, about the only use I can see for the previous post is perspective, which is good despite its tendency towards painful recollection...:P)

In other news, Washington is still as rainy as ever. If you happen to be downed by the rain, however, a good remedy is to make and eat gluten-free peanut-butter chocolate chip cookies, which are crafted as follows:

1 cup of sugar
1 cup of peanut butter
1 egg

Preheat the oven to good ol' 375. Mix all ingredients thoroughly in medium bowl, and slap dough in whatever size you'd like onto the modus operandi (aka cookie sheet/stone. Was that the right Latin form, by the way?). If you'd like, you can press the dough down with a fork for both aesthetic and practical purposes, though it isn't really necessary. Cook for 9 to 11 minutes, or until the cookies are slightly browned. Or slightly more brown than peanut butter is to begin with.

Also, a double batch is recommended, because little munchkins will filch them from your cupboards and devour them at the speed of light! :o

Have a blessed day under the Mercy, friends!

{tabula rasa}

And then
There are the Days.

Obviously,
I am the center of the universe.
This rain is all my work;
The emotional billboard for
My sore, aggriev-ed soul.

For, since I do poorly,
So must everyone else.

Obviously,
This day is bad because
I
am bad.

God must watch over the sparrow
Because I am too selfish to care.

The sparrow cannot help me with
Transfer degrees
Laundry
Moral inventory
People skills
and the fact that I forgot my fork for lunch.

God forgive me.

--------

Selfishness is lukewarm. This half-poem, half-monster is despicably written, but it isn't the worst of anythiing because it unworthy of such a grand title.

Hell is much cleverer than and closer to the human psyche than we'd like it to be.

An Ode to Spring Mornings on which the Sun is Shining and All the Dishes in the Dishwasher are Clean.

Today I drew open the door;
The White Gate
To a world of peril
Or joy.

I was afraid.

Afraid.

Unsure of what would stare at me:
The cold grime of past meals
Encrusted upon tumblers and plates alike,
Or the porcelin pearl
Of a mug well cleansed.

And so with ginger fingers did I
Creak open the Gate and peer inside.

And Lo!
Never in all of time
Paradise
Did I expect to see!
The purest curves of cups and bowls
Glowing demurely back at me.

O, ne'er have you, tumblers, with your
Circus colors and
Wild waves,
Glistened in the golden light
As such the sun provides today.

And you, dear mugs, of sweetest curves
Sing choruses of light divine;
Heralding the morning with
Your gently curving, quiet lines.

I reach into the rainbow,
Reveling
In the crystals of light on each dish.
Nowhere can I find the
Agony of dirt and grime.

You, O mug, I choose for tea.
And never has Earl Grey had a more worthy throne.

But
A cloud passes over
And in the cold second that follows,
I realize the
Blemish
On this 'flawless' vessel.

Vengeance via Doodles!

It was blindingly sunny and warm; and the most sublime of spring breezes was blowing through campus. The blazing silk grass and wispy blue skies bespoke our coming rebirth into summer...

At least, it was that way yesterday. Today Washington decided to live up to its stereotypical fickleness and BLESS US with a cold shock and frigid cloudy winds. >_<

So, in resentment *cough* of you California people who seem to have warm weather right now, I am going to throw a bucketload of various doodles at you. :D My apologies!

First up, a work-in-progress of some weird-looking people from Naruto (The samurai-turned-Batman fellow is my favorite):



Second, another WIP of Silver; the heroine of my imaginary graphic novel, Blight (named for and inspired partially by Hopkins' poem Spring and Fall):



And lastly, our favorite manly man (ahahah), Howl. This one I did while nearly falling asleep at school, which is why it's so horrible:


Whee! I hope you're all enjoying your warm weather! *not bitter* ^_^

P.S. If you click on the pictures, you can see their wretched mistakes even closer up! :D

On a Happy Note

EXCITEMENTNESS: You can get the sheet music for Howl's Moving Castle free at this site:

http://www.pianomoz.com/howl-moving-castle.htm
(You should all learn Merry Go Round Life and play it on your beautiful, sensitive pianos so I can hear it; Baldwin's pedal is malfunctioning. :P)

Did I mention that it's free?! And excellent quality?! And the bestest waltz ever?!

Also, if you have seen/liked Nausicaa, you can get the sheet music here (the advanced version of Requiem is wonderful, by the way!)

http://ichigos.com/sheets/n
(Yay for stretchy bass clef parts that wreck your pinky...:D)

Also, this is kind of irrelevant to the majority of this post, but my Logic teacher made a very interesting statement the other day that I've been trying to wrap my dense noggin around...

"Mercy is the perfection of justice."

What do you guys think? As far as the nature of God is concerned (which is pretty darn far, if I recall correctly :), does this fit?

I hope you are all having a lovely weekend! Spring quarter is ZOOMING by at unholy speeds...

An Extremely Scientific Comparison

"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. ;)"

In light of this recent post by our most venerable Miss MKR Mouse, aptly entitled "Awwww", it has come to my attention the need for a Comparison:



Mr. Nomar Garciaparra (Please excuse the presence of Miss Hamm, she means no harm).



Mr. Adrien Brody

In my personal, baseball-illiterate and extremely biased opinion, Mr. Brody is much better looking and more dramatic than Mr. Garciaparra, who seems rather Ken Dollish to me. But they both have epic noses and look nice in suits, so maybe this is besides the point?

What do you think, Madame MKR? :)

1999

We came home that day,
Ran through the iron-rung gate
And thought we were
Safe.
It was our everlasting summer.
Who could care? It was another day
Under a fiercely mediocre sun.
Until
A voice said “Where is she?”
In the ring that every child knows.
Knows, hears, and
Smells of fear.

The nectarine tree
Gnarled up out of the ground.

Half-Pint, Pa says.
The prairie is a good place
Golden place
With its whispering winds and
Flowering fields. But Half-Pint,
Do not go to the swimming hole
Without me.

I saw its blackly
Charcoal-dead trunk;
Amber blood encrusted
On branch and bough,
And thought nothing.

Beyond the gate
The peeling pale iron-clad
Wheels towards two years of
Just-walking Life. The vestige of
Humanity left in the truck
Stops
Before she is lost, and
Returns our baby to us.

My mother cries, and
Only hours later do I understand;
This is not a golden place.

----

Written in imitation of a Norman Dubie poem for Nature and Poetry. Who knew you could work Little House on the Prairie into a poem about your little sister almost getting run over by a truck? 0_o Also, isn't it strange how 1999 feels nostalgic already?

Here we go round the prickly pear

The sun rises as it sets
And dies as it resurrects.
My heart beats.

Does anyone else wonder if, in these times, art is superfluous? Of course, there are the arguments for it being the expression and even documentation of a culture, an outlet for creative energy and emotions we can't control otherwise. And, as always, there is the strong case for the search of goodness, truth and beauty in the world, with artistic expression leading the way.

When
Is Today.
When
Are you?
Are you,
Were you,
Will you be?

But I can't help feeling that maybe it's a bit wanton to be doodling various anime characters (though, whoever said that was art? ;), sketching out graphic novels and learning Tchaikovsky when

Silver chain across my skin
Binding time to sinew fast
Beat
fights
Beat
Blood,
And the second hand

America's economy is crumbling (yet again) and people all over are starving, being tortured for any number of reasons (Christianity, politics, sheer malice, etc), too desperate to continue life, too tired to enjoy life, or too angry or too bored or too confused to let other people continue enjoying life.

What are these never-ending shrines?
What are these rosaries?
What are these tools but to give a Face? Our
Monuments to shamed waste.

My dear friend had to separate with her fiancee, recently. Just after her grandfather died.

I watch my watch
Which 'keeps' this time
Faceless Time
Nameless Time.
(I fear that
Which I cannot name
And so I try
I name you time
And countenance your face
This watch).

It wasn't over anything stupid, like those random arguments that swell up into one enormous, dead absurdity. "Untimely matters," was what she said. Untimely.

Tomorrow is soon today, swans!

Have you noticed how, sometimes, the days go by so quickly? And then you wake up on Saturday morning and realize that the week is over? Or maybe it's Sunday night, and you are shocked to find that the week is beginning for the second time in two days. (It still feels like Tuesday! Monday!)

And the Next is Now, you alder trees!

Maybe art is our way of preserving moments. Why do we read books over and over? Why do we keep going back to a picture, photograph or not, and stare? What brings us, time and time again, to any song?

Why don't you hurry,
Why don't you flee?

Perhaps, for just a time, so that we can sink into another world, as well as be lifted above our own. For all the days that we feel stuck in a rut, where everything is so monotonous that it's impossible to grab a hold of any one moment, to pierce the fabric of the hour;

Flee
From
Time

novels, portraits, concertos, sketches, haikus, ballads, and all the sort give us something to cling to. Perhaps then they empower us to sort through the mundaneity of the daily, the minutiae of the second.

Because, quite honestly, I'd prefer to move past the prickly pears of the morning hour. ^_^

Oatmeal Cranberry Scones are Delicious! :D

Join Phi Theta Kappa, Honors Institute of the 2 year College, today! :D

Along with gaining scholarship information and exclusive access to other important-sounding stuff, you get to take part in a super-deluxe Pat-Yourself-On-The-Back-Because-You-Are-So-Smart Induction Ceremony.

Let me say that again,

Induction Ceremony.

In-Duck-Shun. Ceremony.

Sends a thrill of excitement up your spine, doesn't it?

---

Oh dear. I'm very sorry for that. I just attended the mandatory (and yes, it is called an) Induction Ceremony for this cult thingymajig called Phi Theta Kappa. Basically, if you have a 3.7 GPA or higher, you get a letter inviting you to join so you can get extensive ego-patting and/or scholarship info. Oh, and you get to wear a nifty little pin and bright yellow banner at graduation. *_*

They gave us Roses of Truth. I'm not kidding, they poker-facedly called them Roses of Truth. Or of something.

The poor siblings had to come along to watch the weirdness, too! At least we got cookies!

NIEVEEEEE!!!!

Jaja! Ah, la amo. Esta nieve en Ferndale, y en Bellingham, y esta mucho frio....

PERO NO TENGO IR A LA ESCUELA POR. LA. MANANA.

:D

Haha! Ah, I love it. It's snowing in Ferndale, and in Bellingham, and it's very cold....

BUT I DON'T HAVE TO GO TO SCHOOL IN. THE. MORNING.

Or all day, because today is a self-inflicted snowday and that makes everything extremely happy.

^_^

Today

Today is the sort of day in which the Weather never seems to make up its mind. One moment you're attacked by rays of the prodigal Sun, the next you must dodge for cover and the nearest tea kettle to escape the rain.

Today is a Cookie day.

Today is a good day to compose paintings in soap suds, to sing "Taylor the Latte Boy", to harmonize with a friend to VeggieTales, to drink tea...

To be alive, for Today is alive.

Today is the day that the Lord has made, let us rejoice and be glad in it

When we rejoice in Today, everday Today, we rejoice in Tomorrow and Yesterday too. When we choose to "be where we are", when we choose to rejoice in the When of Now, we are rejoicing in every moment.

There are days when the terrible good of God should turn our dancing into sorrow, and when the grief of this world, and our own evils, should render us silent.

But for Today, can we know the joy of the present?

Wisdom From the Pater*

(*My Pater, not our beloved Cult Leader from bygone days...;)

"Reverse psychology doesn't work with God."

-Dad

^_^

Dumbo and the Dilemma of Dreams

The bond between an infant and her most beloved cartoon character is strong, my friends. Let us observe the story of one child, a child who felt most achingly the kinship between herself and a lovably big-eared elephant...

Once upon a Whittier house, in a VHS player that sat upon the old unused fireplace, there lived Dumbo. The elephant. Now, Dumbo was a poor soul, mocked and bruised for his ears, which were in monstrous proportion to his body. He existed in misery, for in his cassette-tape world, there was only 'repeat', and 'rewind', forcing him to live every humiliation and every scornful snicker over, and over, and over again...

The injustice was unbearable.

Fortunately for Dumbo, his primary observer (though he had no knowledge of her existence) felt his pain, watched his every hurt, and yearned to rescue the pitiable pachyderm. What decent soul in the world could not hope for Dumbo's salvation? Who could ignore the cries of the innocent?

The more desensitized of our world might, but certainly not this five-year-old! One day, as she replayed the painful story yet again, she had had enough.

"This must end!" she cried, determined. And so she hatched a plan.

Which involved wresting the cassette from its VHS cave, uncovering its hatch, and attempting to rescue poor Dumbo from his constantly-repeated life.

Unfortunately for Dumbo, the little heroine's mother was watching this epic feat and wondering which mental disorder her daughter had acquired. The cassette was gently restored to its home, and the child was sadly resigned to watching the horrors of Dumbo's life yet again.

Ah, youth.

****

Okay, so my days of attempting to rescue the more tragic of Disney's characters are over, but I'm pretty sure my empathy for the fictional has not. (By the way, after my selfless--albeit failed--mission to save Dumbo, my parents actually went to my uncle-who-is-a-counselor-for-people-with-mental-difficulties to make sure that I wasn't crazy. He assured them that I was fine, but I have my doubts...)

What is the purpose of story? Of characters? Of sculpting words into personalities, with whom we can either empathize or despise?

Along the course of my life, I've had various addictions to various stories, ranging anywhere from Harry Potter to my most current phase, the Naruto manga. These characters, as well as 'people' who come from my own mind, pop up on sketchbooks, Nutrition or Communications notes, and pretty much fill up my brain.

One thing I've noticed is that I never gravitate towards the more realistic stories. As much as I respect Tolstoy, I can't really see anyone doing fanart of Levin or Anna Karenina (though his vivid imagery is astounding). I don't know who else has this 'problem', but I can't keep my head, heart or hands away from fantastical popcorn books.

There is something about the almost-but-not-quite "reality" of speculative literature that makes the imagination explode. There is something about characters who one could so easily imagine (but never see) in real life living in that sort of world that whisks you off your common-sense and into the fictional dream of another's hand.

It makes me go "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUUUUUGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHH".

When does the emotional connection become dangerous?

There are so many things that I want to ask but can't, because this is just a blog, but what do you guys think? I have this sort of moral dilemma and questioning of my grounding in reality every few years or so, and so far I think I'm at a healthy level of insanity...

ARGH that was a lot of rambling. Maybe I should start speaking in third person to reduce the quanitities of "I"'s in these posts...:S

In lieu of anything interesting to say...

I present to you Miss Mimosa Blue! Amateur Detective and Professional Daydreamer! :D



She likes unnecessary hats, Belgian waffles with fresh strawberries, and the 20's. She is currently being courted by the French author, Bernard Bonhomme, who makes his first appearance in The Adventures of Columbus the Pigeon.

Miss Blue popped out of my head after perusing a random fashion magazine, which announced that the color 'Mimosa' would be in major vogue last fall. Lo and behold, how can one resist such a wonderful sounding color?! Mimosamimosamimosa...

^_^

P.S. By the way, the blog's current color scheme is patterned after Mimosa. :D

One Year (commonly abbreviated as "OY"...)

Today, January 25th, marks the full year from whence we moved. January 21st was the day we left California, and the 25th was the day we moved into our first Washington house. (Probably one of the quirkiest little rentals ever! My room had awesome map wallpaper and ceilings that slanted to the floor.)

I'm not even sure why I'm writing about this now; I suppose because it's a marker of change? I guess it's a rather large change, too. :P

I think the thing I miss the most is seeing how you all have changed, and being not-virtually-but-actually-there with ya'll. The Internet is a frustrating substitute for people. :(

Frost at Dawn

When did it come?
Powder white from
Night’s long journey.
(She has left us many gifts;
Frosted ground-swords from that
Cold land, Dark;
And crystal branches hung out
Like clotheslines
To catch the Dawn.)
Trees drape the morning along their brightly twigs
And there are frozen stars in my window.

How did it happen?
For I had always thought grass was green,
Bark was brown, and
Water rippled.
But how clever of you, Night!
Who am I to say grass is green,
Bark is brown, and
Water ripples?
Who am I to know?
This world is jeweled;
These wild blades
Are every shade of a pastel sky
Saffron, shelly pink and sea.

Glow-limbs drip
With painted light
And from the canvas of the Night
Has Dawn brought forth her art.

Creation of a
A frozen breath
Caught forever in
Life and
Death.

Night is gone, and her gelid phoenix bursts forth.

CONSTRUCTION AHEAD

Just so ya'll know; no, I am not pirating Gabriel's blog, and neither is he usurping mine. Blog is currently in WIP mode and shall be reformatted soon! :)

In other news, Apple Strudel Bread is one of the most interesting pastries I've ever enjoyed. Particularly tasty buttered and with Earl Grey. :)

A Beautiful Tale

It will make your heart weep for joy, I am sure.

A Story: In Which a Girl Expresses the Love of Christ to Stupid College Boys

Once upon a time, it did raineth felines and canines alike. My soles wert soak-ed as my feet did patter to the bus stop. (I did remain in Poetry class too long, for my teacher hath many words of wit and wisdom, and thus did I dally to further hear her sagery).

It so happened, on that blustery twilight, as I did huffeth and puffeth, that I cross-ed paths with a jester. So dull wert his brain, that, as he beheld me huffething and puffething up the hill, his mouth did proclaim:

"YEAH, WORK IT!!"

Thankfully for his worthless innards, mine brain wert so preoccupied with catching the bus, that I didst not register his rude exclamation. Lo, it didst not cross my mind until he wert well away to safety.

Beware, O Fiendish Moron; thine doom approacheth thee.

The End.

In the Merciful Love of Christ,
Danielle

P.S. Just in case the invariability of plain text didn't convey this, I WAS TOTALLY JOKING about wanting to rip out his innards or plot revenge and whatnot. I think, when it happened, I was just sick to death of ignorantly flirtatious college students...