Nightmares beware
What happens when my two talented daughters decide to create something?Magic!This time magic took shape in a huge dream catcher.
Left-over willow branches, yarn, found glass baubles, crow’s feathers.
Then the sun caught it and it ignited.
Only sweet dreams in our house tonight.
Missing something
Several hours working, 95 odd photos and still missing that something Dr. Livingstone-ish.Hmmm...fresh start tomorrow.
About Camellias
April 15th four years ago, my father turned 70. A few days later on April 22nd he died. We were lucky, we tried to tell ourselves, he was given eight months and he actually got eighteen. My parents were in Greece on holiday when he felt the lump in his side. It turned out to be a deadly, metastasised carcinoma. For a doctor to know that there is no way to heal himself, no way to save his life, this knowledge is a terrible burden.Isn’t it funny that the most vivid memory I have of that day is that out in the garden his camellias were in full, pink, glorious bloom.That day I took care of mom, I called the funeral home and I helped lift his body onto the stretcher. I lifted him for the last time. Why is it that a body feels so heavy once the spirit is gone? Is it because we lift the dead with heavy hearts?I wonder what I would do if I found out I possibly didn’t have the time I was hoping for. I wonder if I’d even want to know. Probably not. I don’t think I would ever know to such a degree as my father knew. That way I would be able to hang on to precious hope; something he couldn’t manage in his last year.It often occurs to me now that we are left here, in the land of the living, with such a fragile hold on existence. We hoard it, we rip it away from one-another, we promise ourselves to live fully until we no longer live. We forget to love what we have and, when what we have dies, we always realise we loved it more than we knew we did. And we live on with the sharp memories of the dead lodged in our throats.Over time, those memories dull and eventually the sadness fades and all that is left are the camellias blooming each spring, pink and bright, celebrating a moment four years ago in the garden. A moment of birthday cake and chicken wings and champagne and family and sunshine.I saw my son on the 22nd of April. We hugged and talked about the generalities of our lives. It was all lovely and convivial. And, as I walked back to my car, I couldn’t help but wonder if there will come a time when he will help lift my empty body with his heavy heart.
What to do after the last final exam
Jump for joy
Roll around on the grass
Play with the cat
Take some time.
How to study
Scary bio final in 2 hours…no excuse for not looking at your cutest potential.
Good luck Clover, we love you!
Aloha Nui Loa (unless you're evil minded)
Aloha kuu aikaneHi my friend[s]Pehea o’e?How are you
Wau ‘imi he puke olelo HawaiianI got a book to [speak] HawaiianKuu aikane Dallas kuleana he ma'ama'a puke hale-kú ‘ai maiMy friend Dallas [ownership] used book store hereA’u hi pili ho’oipoipo me pukeI have a love affair with her books
Hana ‘oe aloha puke?
Do you love books? ‘o au puSo do iA’u pupule na pukeI’m crazy for booksA’u ‘lke mea ‘oe mana’o I know what you’re thinkingPupule au li kepu ka moaSilly I am as a bird
Just pick up a pencil
Spoke to R this morning about balance.More specifically, where the balancing point is between intellect and emotion.
I can tell you right now that my intellect is so not dominant.Not at all, at all.I’m super emotion dominant. If you knew me you’d probably say that’s too true.That’s why I experience such a shift in mood so quickly. I can feel myself folding up emotionally, like one of those 18thC nautical telescopes, folding up into myself even if my intellect is yelling at me to cut that out right now.
R said that in creating is where I find the balance point.He said that when I make something, I’m finding the balance point because neither side has a chance to be dominant.My intellect tell me which paintbrush to use, which angle to photograph from, while emotionally I’m wondering how will one swipe of the brush affect another or how can I express what I feel thru the photo.So in my worst mood possible it’s best for me to grab a pencil, or a camera, or a brush.
R is someone who makes such incredible sense; the one you want to talk to all the time.
How (not) to study
What the hell, there's an Ingrid Michaelson concert on tonight...
AND it's Sunday!