kate is it

I'm Moving Out

2011-07-25T18:31:00.000-05:00

Dear Blogger,

I really like you. You're fun, organized, upbeat, and you let me be my creative self. But, the thing is, there's another host in my life. And now that I've had to choose between the two of you...well...you understand right? Don't worry! I'll still come back to visit sometimes! I've already exported all of my blogposts. So I guess this is goodbye.

If you need to talk, I'll still be around.

You can find me here: kateisit.com

Regards,

kate

A Fraction of the Whole

2011-07-22T14:30:00.000-05:00

"People are always saying that a person's character is unchangeable, but mostly, it's the persona that doesn't change, not the person, and underneath that changeless mask exists a creature who's evolving like crazy, mutating out of control...Honestly, anyone who says a friend of theirs hasn't changed in years just can't tell a mask from an actual face."

Alive

2011-07-11T23:35:00.000-05:00

The times.

They began with an idea at supper.

And they ended with the sun rising on my still-working hands.

I think those times are back.

Get ready for some changes.

2011-06-24T12:06:00.000-05:00

Beauty consists of its own passing, just as we reach for it. It’s the ephemeral configuration of things in the moment, when you see both their beauty and their death.
...Does this mean that this is how we must live our lives? Constantly poised between beauty and death, between movement and its disappearance?
Maybe that’s what being alive is all about: so we can track down those moments that are dying.

-The Elegance of the Hedgehog

Scott Mutter

2011-06-02T16:54:00.000-05:00

"Hanging chandeliers in the sky,

we would once again experience

the wonder of the night"

Dottie Angel

2011-06-01T23:37:00.000-05:00

The pristine queen of all home-made things dripping with adorable. Her cuteness is unrivaled, and her clever fingers have mastered a plethora of crafty challenges. Like a British Snow White, I'm absolutely sure Dottie Angel could charm small forest animals into eating from the palm of her hand and wear hand knitted, polka dot sweaters. I first discovered her blog while I was spending a semester in Ireland, and I was immediately fascinated by her unique "alternate reality" take for her blog. Click on photos to see her blog/etsy shop/etc.

2011-05-30T22:07:00.000-05:00

I found the perfect place

to watch the sunset

The Great Hush

2011-05-27T13:28:00.001-05:00

The end of a chapter has come. I am in the last page, walking slower and slower, afraid of the finality of the end, the blank space that will fill the end of this page.

This is the part of the story where…I don’t know. The part where self-reflection is a spot of blue sky and everything else has become a series of stratus clouds constricting the blue and stretching away. This is the part where I need to catch a breath. This is the part where my romantic self notices again the things that make life beautiful. Fragile and beautiful. The swallows that follow my car, the smell of thunderstorms, The children next door (they are human sunshine), the simple white coffee cup in my hand, the excitement of a good book, nighttime sounds in my ears, stars above my eyes, cool grass under my feet. This is summer. This is the sigh, the exhale, the great hush to separate me for a moment from this moving, spinning, leaping, consuming life.

2011-05-23T13:18:00.001-05:00

Big fan of This.

2011-05-14T17:52:00.000-05:00

Call a jack a jack.

Call a spade a spade.

But always call a whore a lady.

Their lives are hard enough.

Phrases like Weeds

2011-05-11T08:35:00.000-05:00

Sometimes I will read a phrase, and it just gets stuck in my head. I will often mouth it to myself unknowingly as I think about it, my sister catches me at it. Here is one that has stuck for months, I think it came from an Emily Dickinson poem.

"This weedish angel of boggy shade"

Not even a full sentence, but I often think on it. And now, maybe, it's stuck in your brain as well. Like a weed, you may never root it out completely again.

Summer Ambition

2011-05-10T14:58:00.000-05:00

Ishmael, by Daniel Quinn

The Principles of Uncertainty, by Maira Kalmon

Pride and Prejudice, by Jane Austen

A Fraction of the Whole, by Steve Toltz

The Name of the Wind, by Patrick Rothfuss

A Confederacy of Dunces, by John Kennedy Toole

This random conglomeration of books is one of my many summer plans. I hope I can finish all of them.

The Count Of Monte Cristo

2011-05-08T15:07:00.000-05:00

"I don't believe in God"

"It doesn't matter; He believes in you."

Love this movie.

2011-05-06T22:16:00.000-05:00

Hello Summer.

{Photo by Tim Walker}

Blur

2011-05-05T03:53:00.000-05:00

It's almost over. Almost.

Jolly Good

2011-04-30T13:38:00.000-05:00

Well folks, a beautiful brunette named Kate just married a prince.

My only question is, how could this NOT be the greatest day?

Rumi

2011-04-28T14:07:00.002-05:00

The minute I heard my first love story,

I started looking for you, not knowing

how blind that was.

Lovers don't finally meet somewhere,

they're in each other all along.

(photosource)

Junior Year Reflections

2011-04-27T13:57:00.001-05:00

Breathe. Just two weeks left. Less than that really. I'm at the stage where I realize how all the things in my peripheral vision that I wanted to do this semester are now impossible. Ah well.

Finals week reminds me of steaming milk. (Yes I know, I frequent coffee shops a bit more than what is healthy) You begin the semester with fun and games-with big bubbles. Then the milk really begins to froth, but everything is under control. And then gradually, but faster and faster, the thing gets hot. And right when it's too hot to touch and you can't hold on; it's over.

Done. Semester completed. Latte ready on the counter.

But in all of this, in all of the lattes, art projects, coffee dates, non-gender neutral dorm supplies (thanks a lot, Target), missed classes, school events that I usually avoid, nose piercings, semesters spent abroad...I've learned a few things.

Don’t be selfish with your time.
Think twice before you steal a mug. You might want to make it a habit.
Double filter what you say.
Go on great walks, with or without people. Find fields of flowers to think in.
Make friends with the librarians.
Eat salad.
Own sturdy slippers. (I've worn out three pairs already)
Keep your secrets. Leave some things to the imagination.
Take your vitamins.
Pray. A lot. Every day.

And there you have it. The wisdom of a 21 year old. Go.

2011-04-19T13:11:00.000-05:00

Realizing

how little

I know

finally

admitting it

has never made me feel

free

Daily

2011-04-18T20:36:00.000-05:00

Several things have happened in the space of a couple days. I swam in a triathalon, my first. And maybe not my last. But I'll definitely train for the next one.
I miss racing, though I am not overly competitive.
I just love to be around other people that love to swim.
My sister's dance group put on a fundraiser/awareness program for social justice.
It was beautiful. She was beautiful. Dance is such a powerful tool. [that's her below]
The program gave me inspiration for a body of work.
This summer may see the birth of something.
Something beautiful, and gutsy.
And heartbreaking.
Fingers crossed.
Finals are in the forecast. Stress waters are rising. I repeat this verse to myself daily:

Be anxious for nothing

but in everything through prayer and supplication

let your requests be made known to God.

Cloudy Day Pick-Me-Ups.

2011-04-13T13:29:00.001-05:00

What are those little things that you turn to when the view from where you sit turns gray? You know the ones, the days when you're so introverted you don't even notice that you haven't spoken to a single person. Except to order the latte.
Here are some of my pick-me-ups:

Grimm's Fairy Tales. Bon Iver. Lord Byron. Iced Breve Latte. Red Nail Polish. Fun Scarves. Facial Masks. Pride and Prejudice (BBC version). Late Night Baths.

Best of This Sunday's Secrets

2011-04-10T14:18:00.002-05:00

I Thank You God For Most This Amazing

2011-04-05T17:44:00.000-05:00

i thank You God for most this amazing
day: for the leaping greenly spirits of trees
and a blue true dream of sky; and for everything
which is natural which is infinite which is yes

(i who have died am alive again today,
and this is the sun's birthday; this is the birth
day of life and of love and wings: and of the gay
great happening illimitably earth)

how should tasting touching hearing seeing
breathing any--lifted from the no
of all nothing--human merely being
doubt unimaginable You?

(now the ears of my ears awake and
now the eyes of my eyes are opened)

-e.e. cummings

A friend recommended this poem to me, and I've read it several times in the days preceding this one. Today is my birthday, I am 21. I don't feel any older or wiser, and I'm beginning to finally understand that I probably never will. Life is still confusing, people still are selfish. Hurt people will hurt people- compassion should be (but still isn't) our priority and strength.

This may sound depressingly pessimistic for a birthday post, but for me it isn't. Understanding human nature and that life is hard only puts a stronger contrast to how beautiful the good things in life really are. When I realize how little I deserve, I am so much more thankful and optimistic about my situation.

So, I thank you God for this most amazing day. I am 21, healthy, happy, blessed, and life hasn't finished with me yet.

2011-04-03T22:42:00.000-05:00

"What lies behind us and what lies before us are tiny matters compared to what lies within us."

.Ralph Waldo Emerson.

Old Banners. Old Friends.

2011-04-02T13:43:00.000-05:00

Astronaut and firefighter dreams are put away as we mature. But some people still grow up to do amazing stuff. There's this band called Old Banners, and I know two of the members from childhood. Drew and Daniel, I fought and played with them often. I think I even had a crush on Drew sometime in elementary school. It's an interesting thing to lose touch with someone and then to find them living in your car's CD player. It brings back so many good memories.

listen to their stuff! [Old Banner's Facebook Page]

I Have This New Job

2011-04-01T15:14:00.000-05:00

And I don't have much time. But I'm enjoying it all the same.

2011-03-25T17:17:00.000-05:00

A lover's a liar,

To himself he lies.

The truthful are loveless,

Like oysters their eyes!

A little blurb from my reading.

This week has been a blur, I have inspiration for everything except blogging.

2011-03-17T23:49:00.000-05:00

Dearest Spring Break,

I have only just survived a year without you. Let's become reacquainted.

Last year we saw the Chicago sights, this year I propose we relax in a house by a lake. A little boating, a little fishing, a little swimming. A lot of reading and a lot of sun.

I'll put my phone and computer away if you promise fair weather.

Well now, I'm just about packed.

Shall we go then?

In the bookbag:

Cat's Cradle, by Kurt Vonnegut

Ishmael, by David Quinn

And Pride and Prejudice.

Desk Portrait

2011-03-16T19:55:00.000-05:00

A desk can be as much a self portrait as a painting.

2011-03-14T15:40:00.000-05:00

2011-03-13T19:00:00.000-05:00

Spring has returned.

The Earth is like a child that knows poems.

-Rainer Maria Rilke

These daffodils were growing in a nearby and obliging field. They were too pretty to leave alone. Spring and break are almost upon us, it is time to transfer the dust from the floppy sun hat to the textbooks.

2011-03-11T21:56:00.000-06:00

My beautiful sister modeled for the latest photography assignment.

I don't know what I would do without her.

Hindsight

2011-03-09T17:13:00.000-06:00

“Kate, there are three different kinds of attractive girls. There are hot girls. There are cute girls. And there are just beautiful girls. You are a beautiful girl.”

Three years ago, when this was said to me, I actually took offense. Back then, I thought that when someone called me beautiful it was because I was too fat to be called hot or sexy. Beautiful was the cop-out word people used when they were thinking something else, when they were skating over the reality.

Back then, I didn't know anything about value. Or truth.

It’s amazing how much we can change in three years. I am so thankful.

Present Flavor(s)

2011-03-08T11:44:00.000-06:00

With inspiration from:

una bella vita

things organized neatly

2011-03-07T17:02:00.002-06:00

The Fragrance Bible

2011-03-06T16:16:00.001-06:00

Michael Edwards released the 27th edition of his “fragrance bible” Fragrances of the World 2011 in January. The new guide lists approximately 8000 fragrances (with over 900 new additions) classified by fragrance family, and includes over 900 niche fragrances from 60 perfume houses. The reference book is used by numerous retailers to help customers find fragrances they might like based on the scent(s) they already know and enjoy.

Also included in this year’s edition: images of scent notes provided by Givaudan. The book is $195 USD.

Who would like to give this to me for my birthday?

Tea-Types

2011-03-05T12:13:00.001-06:00

Hot baths used to not appeal to me. You fill this porcelain hole that is too shallow for swimming with hot water and sit for about an hour in your own sweat and dirt. Baths only became appealing when I began to view them differently. I don’t remember when it started, but I began to think of a bathtub as a huge teacup. Of course, this would make me the tea bag (or tea leaves, depending on how dedicated a tea lover you are). The analogy could have stopped there, but of course it didn't. The tea-types began. I started by typing myself, and then it moved to randomly creating tea-flavors for people based upon their personalities.

For instance, the Kate flavor would be something like this:

-Solid, blunt, black tea base. English or Irish breakfast perhaps.

-Romantic and sensitive, wild rose.

-Sweet and understated, vanilla.

-Spunky, stubborn, Ginger.

-And finish with something subtly odd, like a moss that can only grow underwater.

Not only do I myers-briggs everyone I know, I also tea-type them.

I should probably think about getting a different hobby.

The Bell Jar, by Sylvia Plath

2011-03-03T22:30:00.001-06:00

She is the portrait of a woman confined by what her society says is best. Esther Greenwood comes to a place where she begins to truly discover herself; And when her ambitions don't match up with what others tell her is acceptable, she loses hope. Thankfully, the story doesn't end there. Her journey from depression into a suicide attempt is painful to read, but her metamorphosis post attempted suicide is beautiful. Her story is tragic and raw, but she ends it fiercely as her own person and ultimately content that way.

I savored the last page today in the middle of our busy student center.

I was ready for it to end, but I wanted the last page to be just right.

And it was.

"There ought, I thought, to be a ritual for being born twice- patched, retreaded and approved for the road."

La Douleur Exquise

2011-03-02T01:01:00.000-06:00

Haecceity

2011-02-28T20:59:00.000-06:00

hek-see'i-tee, n (Latin, from haec, this)

The aspect of existence on which individuality depends; the hereness and nowness of reality. First coined by the philosopher Duns Scotus, haecceity is that sense one gets of being in the present tense, the pure experience of a single moment in time.

Added To Portfolio [click on foxy to see more]

2011-02-26T13:53:00.000-06:00

This post is related to and explained in This Post.

Words From Una Bella Vita

2011-02-25T09:03:00.004-06:00

"it’s easy to date a girl who reads. Give her books for her birthday, for Christmas and for anniversaries. Give her the gift of words, in poetry, in song. Give her Neruda, Pound, Sexton, Cummings. Let her know that you understand that words are love. Understand that she knows the difference between books and reality but by god, she’s going to try to make her life a little like her favorite book. It will never be your fault if she does."

I check This Lovely Blog almost every day, and today I just had to "re-tweet" part of her post. It was just that good.

2011-02-23T15:46:00.000-06:00

Just discovered these beautiful dresses by Sarah Seven.

I want to wear one and take a walk in all the sunshine outside today.

[who cares that they're wedding dresses, they are beautiful and should be worn quite often]

Alas, I have neither the money nor the time to spend out of doors.

Someone else go soak up some vitamin D for me.

Okay thanks.

Progress

2011-02-23T01:18:00.000-06:00

Pantone has released its "Spring Color Prediction"

And in the excitement of springtime, I decided to make a series of little illustrations based on the predicted palette. Nothing brilliant, just fun. I'll post the rest when I've finished.

This Will Be A Waldo Week

2011-02-21T18:39:00.000-06:00

I can already feel it.

Outside of class and coffee dates, I'll be hard to find.

It's Almost Sundress Season

2011-02-20T14:17:00.000-06:00

♥

Tea Time

2011-02-19T12:58:00.001-06:00

I missed my friend Zack

So we had some tea

And the light was lovely

Quite lovely

And I got to know this kid a bit better

He was very obliging.

And that, dear friends

Is the end.

A Little Revaluation

2011-02-18T23:21:00.001-06:00

I’ve been thinking. This usually happens during my swims or long walks.

Valentines this year had a new flavor, the flavor of decision and of contentment. 2010’s Valentines was my first to spend with an actual, serious, boyfriend. In 2010 I thought I had everything.

But somehow, as a single girl spending her 2011 Valentines with other girls, I felt like I had even more. There were so many beautiful moments on that day, like waking up to the sunrise peeking through my teal curtains. Like carrying daisies around the grocery store, and feeling beautiful just holding them and being excited to give them to my beautiful friends. Things like that, days like that, though they ooze with clichés and cheese- those are the things that will define this semester.

That is the contentment flavor, the decision is simply this: I am twenty, I am single, and I love it. Really, I do. I am inebriated on independence.

I’m sure one day I’ll get around to finding that guy with Jimmy Stuart charm and a Tom Hanks laugh. I’ll know I’ve found him when he’s the kind that can write to me about bouquets of newly sharpened pencils, bring me daisies instead of roses, and not be afraid to scrape all the garnish off that dish just because it gets under my skin. (I’m referencing You’ve Got Mail a bit today, I think it’s time for me to watch it again.)

But until that day gets here, I am decidedly content to be Kate. And that is it.

Photo Via

Postsecret from Sunday

2011-02-17T12:41:00.002-06:00

I couldn't have said it better.

2011-02-16T08:24:00.000-06:00

When you begin your day by turning off your alarm in your sleep and so missing that much needed shower or time to finish an assignment, you know that you are

Now.

Officially.

Stressed.

I sincerely hope everyone's week is going better than mine.

Love & Creative Juice

2011-02-14T00:26:00.001-06:00

2011's Valentines are Jane Austen themed. I seem to be sticking with one source of inspiration these days. Some of the quotes may not be perfect for the holiday, but I find them rather amusing.

What has been greatest about this holiday is realizing how many people I want to send my love to. It makes me feel very blessed, despite the extra work.

A Conversation with Darcy

2011-02-12T17:39:00.001-06:00

"And your defect is a propensity to hate everybody."

And yours," he replied with a smile, "is willfully to misunderstand them."

-Jane Austen (Pride and Prejudice)

Darling Jane has done it again. Words from 1813 continue to reflect my own life experiences.

Song Of Soloman 8:6

2011-02-10T15:12:00.000-06:00

Set me as a seal upon your heart, as a seal upon your arm, for love is strong as death, jealousy is fierce as the grave. Its flashes are flashes of fire, the very flame of the LORD.

Every day it seems that I fail at letting Christ be the center of my heart, the seal upon my arm. And at the end of every day, when I am reminded of my true intentions, I think: how is it that people struggle to love me, when if they could actually see my heart- they would never stop running.

But you see all of those things, and you are the most constant of friends, fathers and protectors. You even want me to take part in your plans. You could see Mary Magdalene's heart better than anyone else, and you still chose to love her and accept her when no one else would even touch her. You see the condition of my heart, the vile selfishness, the pride, and you still command that I place you as a seal over it.

I really and truly know nothing of love.

I'm the greatest Pen-Pal.

2011-02-08T19:20:00.000-06:00

Trouble is, no one else likes to put effort into the art of creative snail mail.

Bucket Birth

2011-02-06T22:16:00.000-06:00

I am a list person.

How else can I get my thoughts organized?

Pie charts work well for my plethora of emotions and their strength (in percentages)

I have a list for everything that I don't trust my memory with (which is a great deal)

But until recently, making a bucket list wasn't something I was ever interested in. I thought that people shouldn't go through their life with a checklist of what they believe to be the most important and fulfilling things to see or experience. They should simply live "to the fullest with what they've been given" or something along that trail. (And I still believe that, to an extent.)

But then one day, I discovered that my bucket list was already made- it was hiding within the List of Ambitions.

And I thought, how can I justify ambitions and not bucket?

Hence, the bucket has begun. On a graph paper pad, no less.

2011-02-05T23:24:00.003-06:00

I think this is an admirable start. From my perspective, however, it may only be a band-aid on a much bloodier wound.

From the pages of "Speak", by Laurie Halse Anderson

2011-02-02T18:48:00.001-06:00

I crouch by the trunk, my fingers stroking the bark, seeking a Braille code, a clue, a message on how to come back to life after my long undersnow dormancy. I have survived. I am here. Confused, screwed up, but here. So, how can i find my way? Is there a chain saw of the soul, an ax i can take to my memories or fears? I dig my fingers into the dirt and squeeze. A small, clean part of me waits to warm and burst through the surface. Some quiet Melindagirl I haven't seen in months. This is the seed I will care for.

I reread parts of the book a night ago. I am not Melinda, and I haven't had her experiences, but this passage spoke to me. Like Melinda, my pain and fear has made me dormant.

But it doesn't have to stay that way. The time has come to speak.

6am Thought

2011-02-02T00:18:00.001-06:00

The man

braved every gust of wind, sleet, snow, and ice

only to face water in its chlorinated form.

braver than the regulars

braver than the swim team

This man

is the reason I had to leave my bed

with only five hours of sleep

and trek through a foot of snow

to watch him thrash through water.

But.

I won't regret it

he does it for a woman.

One day. Two people.

2011-01-29T19:37:00.000-06:00

Michelle, my belle.

Sont les mots qui vont tres bien ensemble,
tres bien ensemble.

Nineteen years ago, on my dad's day, he got his belle-Michelle. Like liquid sunshine, the loudest, blondest, best gift he (and I) could have been given.

Today is both their days, and I hope it was a good one.

Happy birthday dad and little sis.

2011-01-27T12:24:00.001-06:00

Today, in the land of university library

I was given the task of erasing pencil marks from the pages of a recently returned book. I was sad to erase them, the student had obviously read every page and her thoughts wouldn’t be passed on to the next reader.

Yes, I am one of those people that likes a book to be underlined, favorite passages starred, and small notes scrawled in the margins. {unless the typeography is too perfect to ruin- then I want it spotless} I like my books marked up for the same reason that I like freckles and scars: stories. That sprinkle of freckles across your nose tells about the summer in Cape Cod where you read The Catcher in the Rye for the first time {and have read it many times since}

I have a scar on my knee that tells two stories in which I fall painfully and dramatically- once in Russia and once in Mexico. Tattoos, though they are often quite unfortunate looking, can be redeemable if they own a good story.

So I was thinking all of this while erasing another student’s story out of the library book. And when I finally finished erasing all 130 pages of underlining, starring, and scrawled notes…I decided to plant a tree for the one cut down. Hence, I’m marking the world wide web with my story and my thoughts.

Maybe that’s what blogging is about today- it’s not simply a sharing of information. It is taking something that’s everyone’s and making your own tiny marks in the margins.

Today's Favorite Things

2011-01-25T17:33:00.000-06:00

The everyday mug

A spritz of this lovely scent

Carrying this book everywhere with the hope of finding a free moment to begin reading.

Watering my window friend, Herman

Humming this song to myself. It has practically cemented itself into my brain.

To dance is to be out of yourself. Larger, more beautiful, more powerful. -Agnes DeMille

2011-01-22T21:51:00.001-06:00

I went swing dancing over Christmas break. Until then, I had forgotten how much I love ballroom dance. I miss it. It's a shame that so many guys are not well-versed in this activity.

2011-01-21T16:57:00.001-06:00

For of all sad works of tongue or pen, the saddest are these:

"It might have been!"

-John Greenleaf Whittier

Dear Future

2011-01-19T16:48:00.000-06:00

Just so you know, this is my future man. He and I will be living the ultimate of hipstamatic lives together. In old England. We will meet at approximately age 25 and marry by 27. This is non-negotiable, so a reply will not be necessary.

Regards,

A persnickety and pleasantly piquant planner.

2011-01-16T20:22:00.001-06:00

"Beware of artists, for they mix with all classes of society and are therefore most dangerous."

-Darling Queen Victoria

Classical Favorite

2011-01-15T17:51:00.000-06:00

When I was in London, I spent most of my time independently looking for bits of art that were probably only really important to me. One day, Debussy wandered into my ipod playlist. I remember my first listen. I was walking next to some beautiful white buildings with columns. There were tall trees stretching into a canopy over my head. The street was out of the way and absolutely quiet.
This song remains one of my favorite classical pieces of all time, listening to it brings me back to that shaded street in London.

Librarian-ing Again

2011-01-12T19:23:00.000-06:00

The World of Marcel Duchamp. It was on the end of a row of books. So available. So obvious.

And then later, I was shelving a thick, gray, book and I couldn't find its place. I finally checked the title. The Brothers Karamazov. In my hands, not just waiting on the end of a row. Shelving books is such a temptation for me, sometimes I wonder if the library is scheming to get me into trouble. It would love nothing more than to entice me into sitting down in the aisle with a favorite artist or a new story and forget about the 20+ books still sitting on the cart. So many things have changed at this school within my semester of absence, but this is definitely not one of them.

Dusk

2011-01-10T21:39:00.004-06:00

I did a little painting while home, it was slow going. These three are belated Christmas presents for my Mammaw & Pappaw, Grandma, and my darling Susan.

The awkward time between events has started, like the calm before the storm.

Tomorrow morning I am leaving early for the beginning of another semester, this time in the states. I can't say that I'm excited for it, only ready.

Jane Austen Stint

2011-01-09T23:12:00.000-06:00

Every few months I wrap myself into a cozy Jane Austen and relax. This time it is Emma. I don’t like to admit to this, but I am an Austen fan. Not a lot and not all the time, similar to my feelings concerning Helvetica. If there were a Jane Austen boat and an I Hate Jane Austen boat, I would be a lifeguard actively rescuing members of both boats. Or maybe I would bring a copy of Ulysses on stand and ignore the idiots in my ill-formed metaphors.

Favorite Emma Quote:

I thrice plucked the petals off of daisies to ascertain his feelings...I don't think we should keep daisies in the garden. They really are a drab little flower.

I Start Every Day With This Song

2011-01-08T14:49:00.002-06:00

∆

2011-01-07T15:19:00.000-06:00

Sickness, to me, has always been a weakness. Emotional sickness, depression, was the pinnacle of weakness. And maybe I have been right, maybe depression is a kind of weakness. But ignoring my depression for so long has been weaker. Ive been very self focused these past few months, drawn into myself, putting up walls and decorating my secret place with secret thoughts. They tell me to guard my heart.

Done.

Logic, snobbery, vanity, selfishness, anger, fear. They have been excellent guards.

I need a change of staff.

I hope I’m ready.

A Little Speculation

2011-01-07T14:25:00.000-06:00

I know that many people find red hair unattractive, but I hope I have a redheaded child. When you look at me it doesn't appear to be in my cards genetically- I have very dark hair and eyes. But my grandfather was a ginger. In a way, I've always thought that redheads know how left handed people feel. We feel that we are in the minority, we notice that many things were made for right dominant people. Most differences don't matter, but some are disappointing. For instance, it is nearly impossible for me to write with a quill pen or do any calligraphy. Most people wouldn't mind so much, but it was sad for me to realize. In the same way, my redheaded friends feel different, special, because of their hair. But not always special in a positive way.

photo

Hello Herman

2011-01-06T14:35:00.000-06:00

The seven-year-old Kate (she went by Katie) learned something important about herself the day she began talking to her dog. The big words Verbal Processor and Introverted weren’t in her vocabulary then, but she knew that when life was hard it was helpful to talk to something that wouldn't blab, interrupt, or give unnecessary advice. In those days her confidant was the beloved Snickers, or the neighbor’s horse.

Today some form of this little introverted verbal processing Katie has survived, and while at college I often prefer that something living be near. A living thing brings peace, no I don't talk to them anymore. Sadly, Swimmy the Fish could not survive my semester of absence in Ireland. But now a new semester has almost arrived, and I need a replacement for the now rotting beta.

Thus enters Herman. And welcome.

Kooser

2011-01-05T22:23:00.001-06:00

Alone by a

window or a door,

driving in a car,

sitting in a house

or when conversation

suddenly stops,

I am pulled close to

a fierce, hungry sunset,

I, a wild, lavender

weed of a woman,

push out of cement

cracks, leaves, stems,

sticky blooms radiating

city landscape,

lovely sky.

At Home With My Brother

2011-01-03T13:12:00.000-06:00

We Will Call it Word Blot

2011-01-03T01:03:00.001-06:00

mush gush go away feelings I feel no more for you come back logic I never knew we drifted apart hold me tight icy grip don’t slip freeze it off moles leave holes scars leave stories sever tear but don’t pretend it wasn’t there where wear leaves lines in lines we wait we live we stand we run in lines swim in lines lines make circles squares hexagons stars stand alone hearts break perfectly in half and make more lines but really just graphite on paper you can rip tear shred burn but you wont you will stand in that line that circle that square no tear no repair don’t complain you know its fair you know you sow thoughts but never movement never change it jingles in your pocket in your car under your step step step click clack smack on sidewalks crunch crunch on gravel crunch crunch cardboard cereal goosh smoosh on mush gush go away feelings

Focus

2011-01-01T16:01:00.001-06:00

With every new year, there are resolutions. I have come to see that a sense of unrest within a person can often breed beautiful things- the new year is simply an ideal catalyst. In hindsight I have labeled and organized each year in my life, usually stamping it with a single word or phrase to summarize those 365 days of experiences. This year I have stopped scoffing at the cliche notion of a resolution, I am simply tired of only categorizing everything in retrospect. A plan of action will simply effectuate my resolve (my resolution) to focus. There are many changes of focus that I wish to see. Here are a few hopefuls.

More tea & Less coffee

Grow Roses (and wake up to smell them)

Take Longer Walks

Read (at least 5 more books than in 2010)

Paint Like Mad

I'm Losing Things

2010-12-29T02:20:00.001-06:00

They are little.

A sock, a key, a hairpin.

I tear apart my room searching for the one little thing. I will be that woman from the Bible story, the one who cleaned her house looking for a little coin. But while trying to be that woman, that determined, detailed, clean freak- I've been ignoring the big things.

Today, I finally stopped looking for my slippers. I walked into my closet, and suddenly they were there. Put away. In their place. Some little things find their own way home.

Either that or I've been cleaning in my sleep, which wouldn't be surprising.

2010-12-23T12:30:00.000-06:00

I feel like a grinch this year. So motivation for optimism is great, right?

Fears Fade

2010-12-21T13:10:00.000-06:00

I may be losing my arachnophobia. Today as I was lying on my front porch, soaking in sunshine so unsuitable for december, I watched a spider the size of a 50 pence piece climb onto my book and explore the page. My hands were less than six inches away, and yet they sat there unafraid. For the first time, when confronted with a spider, my body wasn't covered with goosebumps and I didn't shake.

How exactly do we lose our fear? Does a new sense of confidence push it out like a grown up pushing away childish habits? Or is my arachnophobia simply being replaced by a new and more ominous fear? Why do fears fade, and where do they go?

Recipe For Me, Running.

2010-12-18T18:25:00.000-06:00

1 Cup Boredom

1/2 Cup Frustration

2 tsp. Anger

3 Cups Motivation

1 Catchy Song

2 Tbsp. I-Don't-Care-What-I-Look-Like-Running

1 tsp. Let's-Do-This

1 Glorious Liquid Gold Sunset

Slowly mix all ingredients throughout the day, adding in the sunset and catchy song by 6pm. Keep in temperature of not-quite-freezing but not-warm-enough-for-a-t-shirt. Serve immediately before a dinner of garlic pasta and a book in front of a fireplace.

Oh, Glorious Water!

2010-12-17T00:01:00.000-06:00

Yes, i went swimming.

Yes, it was marvelous.

My inner fish is satisfied.

Segue

2010-12-13T17:16:00.001-06:00

I have stopped stopping to smell roses, stopped noticing if they're red or painted impostors of red. The eerie dreams have returned, now taking their cues from Plato's The Cave and Grimm's Fairy Tales. Today I spent my time doing white rabbit things, but tonight will see some change. My room is cleared and ready. I'll tie up my hair like Violet Baudelaire and begin the first painting of winter break. The first of many, i hope.

Like so many things that have to change, I want to spend my break feeling more like a contented to wander Alice- never fettered to a pocket-watch.

And it all begins when i move my white rabbit habit to the back of the closet.

Home is not where you live, but where they understand you.

2010-12-08T15:50:00.000-06:00

My parents brought flowers to the airport.

Flowers make even the most exhausted version of me feel fresh.

Today I'm baking gingerbread and listening to Sufjan's Christmas album(s).

It's good to be home.

Setting My Toes Westward

2010-12-04T12:58:00.000-06:00

The running conversation here goes something like this:
-So, how are you doing?
-(sigh) I'm just so ready to go home.
-Yeah, me too. I can't wait to see my family, it's been hard being away for so long.
People have been asking me if I'm ready to go home. And I've felt a bit conflicted about the subject. I feel like I have more than one home, every time I leave one I miss the other. My home is in the upstairs art classrooms at jbu, my home is in the pool, my home is the field outside of my bedroom window.
For the first time this semester I have begun to really miss things that are not locations. I miss walks with my dad, running errands with my mom, listening to my brother explain cell biology , laughing with my little sister...
The list could go on but I think it's obvious. People are what matters most, home is wherever I'm with them. Ireland is home, and these people are home.
But now I just want to see the people that loved me from day
one.

These were the lovely bones that had grown around my absence: the connections — sometimes tenuous, sometimes made at great cost, but often magnificent.

quote from "The Lovely Bones"

Best Christmas Song. Best Version. Enjoy.

2010-12-01T12:26:00.000-06:00

Welcome to Finals Week

2010-11-30T05:54:00.000-06:00

Snow on the ground outside.

Christmas music playing in my headphones.

Drinking some hot "spiced berry".

But

It is not yet over.

Welcome to finals week.

No sleep.

Welcome to frigid limbo.

"Gricks rise and Troysirs fall"

Oh, Nostalgia

2010-11-29T03:08:00.000-06:00

Sixteen.

Mexico for a few weeks.

Living with a crazy huge family.

Ranch.

Mountains.

Tiny cabin full of scorpions.

This was the night, the moment, that my brother Nathan and I created the "toothpaste monsters". It has been a reoccurring bedtime theme for years, and I will probably pass the great legacy on to my children.

I wish I wish I was a fish.

2010-11-28T14:50:00.000-06:00

Thanksgiving In London

2010-11-27T06:53:00.000-06:00

An ironic place to spend the holiday, but last time I was in this city I was celebrating the fourth of July. So I guess I just had to keep the trend going. I'm running out of holidays though.

This was the first Thanksgiving I've spent away from family, and I truly felt it. I heard a lady in the tube performing an operatic aria (one that my mom used to always play when i was little) and I just started crying. Right there. Surrounded by a million people, underground, and swarming like ants. I love this city, and I love Belfast, but holidays were made for family.

Today, Susan and I are doing homework in the gargantuan British Library. Could this new scarf aid with my lack of concentration? I wish life could work like that. All I want to do is keep walking all over this city that feels like home.

Limbo

2010-11-23T06:57:00.001-06:00

Fishermen at Ballyshannon

Netted an infant last night

Along with the salmon.

An illegitimate spawning,

A small one thrown back

To the waters. But I'm sure

As she stood in the shallows

Ducking him tenderly

Till the frozen knobs of her wrists

Were dead as the gravel,

He was a minnow with hooks

Tearing her open.

She waded in under

The sign of her cross.

He was hauled in with the fish.

Now limbo will be

A cold glitter of souls

Through some far briny zone.

Even Christ's palms, unhealed,

Smart and cannot fish there.

Seamus Heaney, you make me want to be a poet too.

Old, New, Borrowed, Blue... and Far Away.

2010-11-21T18:01:00.000-06:00

My beautiful cousin Amy was married this weekend.

I have officially missed three cousin weddings now.

It isn't like hearing about the cousin who lives across the country getting married, Amy grew up a couple houses away from me.

I think I am officially experiencing a bit of homesickness.

2010-11-19T15:09:00.001-06:00

"They all say 'the ordinary reader does not want Theology; give him plain practical religion.'

I have rejected their advice.

I do not think the ordinary reader is such a fool."

-Clive Staples Lewis

Soulmate In a Bottle

2010-11-18T10:44:00.001-06:00

Everyone has a secret, nerdy, interest. Or at least I think everyone does. Most are very adept at keeping it a true secret. For some people, it is an entire shelf of star wars paperbacks. For the more academically inclined, it's an obsession with prehistoric dinosaurs, the lives of civil war generals, or learning dead languages.

What is my nerdy interest? (among many) Well of course I couldn't bring up the subject without divulging this information. Let me preface it first. My childhood friend's mom always smelled wonderful, and it took me forever to finally realize that the wonderful smell was called "eau de rose" and it sat in a bottle on her bathroom counter. (note to Shakespeare, here is proof that a rose can smell as sweet by another name. Or at least without a name in my case)

When I was eleven I visited a perfumery, and the whole wide world of perfume expanded around me. No longer was it limited to my grandmother's Coco Chanel, my mother's amber colored perfume that I never knew the name of (though it reminded me of white diamonds), and my father's musky cologne.

When I couple these experiences with my already slightly heightened sense of smell, I know the nerdy interest blossomed here. I have been watering it since.

I don't believe that there are human soulmates. But I do believe in a perfume soulmate. You can laugh. I'm sure it is funny. But, to quote my favorite elf, "I'm in love! I'm in love! And I don't care who knows it!"

Today, I stumbled upon what may indeed be my bottled soulmate. I confess I haven't actually smelled it yet (more nerdy confession: I read perfume reviews and in depth evaluations, much like a sports fanatic will watch play-by-plays and read up on an athlete's history)

To conclude: my soulmate may have been found. When I get home I'll order a sample, and then the rest is up to fate. Or just my nose, for in the end it always knows.

That's enough melodrama for today. I have papers to write.

Satis eloquentiae, sapientiae parum.

2010-11-17T13:49:00.001-06:00

Irritation

2010-11-16T09:45:00.000-06:00

Is a person who makes no effort to understand an artwork, and yet believes their criticism to still be valid. If you don't know anything, try to not advertise your ignorance.

We Listened to This in Class Today- Ignore the Corny Photos

2010-11-16T09:35:00.000-06:00

2010-11-12T17:17:00.001-06:00

Big Sterile White Box

2010-11-11T10:28:00.001-06:00

I gave a long visit to the Ulster Museum yesterday. It is not solely an art museum, but I kept mostly to the upper art floors.

Art museums are so much more enjoyable to me when I can just pop in the headphones and not be dragging a boyfriend around.
{I saw many couples out on dates. They always looked so bored. Go to a movie and end both of your misery. Having a date in an art museum doesn't make you more cultured, wanting to be there is where the culture comes from.}

But this post is not about that. Excuse my cynicism.
I am always perplexed as I walk through the pure white rooms, wooden creaky floors, and silence. Always an eerie silence, unless it is crowded. My disconcertion arises because of this; when you take artwork away from its day, its setting, its brother and sister paintings, and put it in a white box...well it's like putting an exotic or extinct creature inside a white cube.

It is no wonder that people don't understand art. Without the proper habitat and knowledge of current events (an ornate Victorian manor, a Grecian temple, a Frank Lloyd Wright building, industrialization, world wars, civil rights movements, etc.) the paintings become obtuse. Art is just as much a historical artifact as it is brush strokes, composition, and canvas. A simple card with a few sentences does little to help the uneducated eye understand the importance of what they are perceiving. I know the big white box setting keeps things objective, but the objectivity does little to aid in understanding the rows of paintings behind glass and barriers. But, sadly, it looks like I'm simply complaining. I'm just tired of being excited and enthralled by a piece of artwork, but only because I'm educated about the artist and the method. I don't think I'm special in this; any person with a basic education and interest in what they are looking at would have a much similar response.
I just want everyone to love art, to feel art. I want people to look at a painting and feel a catch in their throat. I want them to stand in awe the way people once did in gothic cathedrals, feeling closer to God.
And how can we do this if we don't understand it?
This rational, sterile world isn't good for me. I want a renaissance.

2010-11-10T13:09:00.000-06:00

If I could live in a book, I would.

When someone says this to me, I always want to say

"My life is already a book; it just hasn't been written yet."

I guess that was just my fluffy way of saying;

Be happy with what you've got, you idiot.