I Wish You Had Heard Me Sing

I wish so much that you had heard me sing

When I tipped back my head and listened to the throaty melody echo in the stars,

Soaring up note by note with its own harmony made by the notes striking each other in the air, moments apart, but together infinite.

And they were dancing waltzes of every dream I’ve ever had and it was so sad to see them fall back to the ground after watching them go around and around to the one, two, three of freedom.

I wish you had been there to hear my voice take flight and leave my throat for the night to bounce back off of the moon and fall amongst the stars, shining with them as a soft echo, the sound like their light.

But I have no witnesses for my magic trick, and it seems that at that moment I was never more myself than when I left myself and let me be something else. I wish you had seen me… soaring up note by note, harmony striking itself in the air.

A world apart, but infinite. 

I Carry Your Heart With Me

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go,my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
i fear
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)

e.e. cummings

Inspiration II

Antonin Dvorak's Romance for Violin and Orchestra in F Minor.

It's no secret that the violin is my favorite instrument, and this piece is like a merry-go-round of violins. I can rather imagine them all conversing about something. Waxing poetic. Singing and listening for love songs. I adore the gentle movement from quiet melody to musical tempest. The swaying repetition of the solo violin's lonely, lovely theme. Romancing.

Thirteen plus minutes of magic. Your ears will thank you. I thank Antonin Dvorak.

Inspiration I

Picasso's Nude Descending a Staircase. 

How do you seperate her from the staircase? Why do I assume that she is a she? Would we assume this was a nude if we were not told? Do we see a human being? If not, what do we see?

I see a wooden woman, a buck naked wooden woman. I see her gliding descent in fast forward and rewind. I see her as apart from the staircase, the blur before clarity. The most focused part of the painting is the top of the stairs and she is walking away from it.

The Top 5 Hottest Male Celebrities with Gray Hair

As I've often said, men are like cheese. They get better with age. Please enjoy the following photos of and commentary upon these five men who I feel are gorgeous with gray hair.

1. Richard Gere

He had to be number one because there is simply no other male celeb who has aged this well and made looking mature so freaking sexy. Favorite thing about him? His fabulous hair, of course.

2. Anderson Cooper

Piercing blue eyes, suave and ageless sophistication endear me to Anderson Cooper and makes some small part of me wish he weren't gay. Favorite thing: those eyes.

3. Pierce Brosnan

Why hello there, gorgeous. Next on our lovely list is Pierce Brosnan, who I find irresistible, young or old. My favorite thing about this handsome gray haired hunk is his voice. So sexy.

4. Patrick Dempsey

Patrick Dempsey is a fairly new addition to the ranks of grey haired hotties, but he fits right in. A rugged mans man and humorous actor, I find him charming eye candy. Favorite thing: his smile.

5. George Clooney

And last, but certainly not least, is the handsome George Clooney. I would say he's definitely gotten better with age. My favorite thing about this gray haired icon would have to be his style... so timeless. 

There you have it, ladies (I doubt it any gentleman made it this far) five studs with silver strands and heaps of sex appeal.  



Ten Things I Learned From My Mama

1. We're all good at different things.
Talent comes in different forms. It's okay not to be perfect at everything.

2. Adults are people with feelings too.
Something I was very slow to grasp.

3. Laughter is the best medicine.
My Mom can laugh even when things aren't so great.

4.  You are what you eat.
My Mom's a health nut, but she did make me more aware of what I put into my body.

5. Beauty is on the inside.
Confidence, patience and humility are far more important than a perfect hair style.

6. Sometimes you lead from the back.
But sometimes you still lead from the front...

7. How to crochet
A skill I didn't learn well, but even sort of learned life lessons count, right?

8. How to make amazing cookies.
I learned this life skill slightly better as it was slightly more important to me.

9. How to make the best of a situation.
Even when there isn't a whole lot to make the best of.

10. Don't sweat the small stuff.
Or else you'll pretty much be sweating all the time. And that stinks.

Sonnet to Sleep

O soft embalmer of the still midnight!
Shutting, with careful fingers and benign,
Our gloom-pleased eyes, embowered from the light,
Enshaded in forgetfulness divine;
O soothest Sleep! if it so please thee, close,
In the midst of this thine hymn, my willing eyes,
Or wait the amen, ere they poppy throws
Around my bed its lulling charities;
Then save me, -or the passed day will shine
Upon my pillow, breeding many woes;
Save me from curious conscience, that still lords
Its strength, for darkness burrowing like a mole;
Turn the key deftly in the oiled wards,
And seal the hushed casket of my soul.

-John Keats

Prayer of an Alien Soul

O Center of the Scheme
Star-Flinger, Beauty-Bring, Shaping Dream!
Now as the least in all thy space I stand
An alien in a strange and lonesome land.
I lift a little voice of pigmy pain;
I hurl it out - up - down - and shall I cry in vain?
Hear thou the prayer that struggles in this song-
Let me not linger long!

I crave the boon of dying into life!
Extend a pitying knife
And let these flesh-gyves part, let me be free!
Are we not kin? Am I not part of Thee?
Am I not a ripple in a cranny of Thy Sea?
What part have I in sequent wretched eyes,
Bleer dawns, dull noons and the budding and the falling
      of leaves?
Why must I drag this chain of years,
Long rusted-red with tears?
Why must I crawl when I have wings to fly?
Behold thy child - The Winged One - it is I!
Was I not made to sing?
Yet here I lisp and twang on one unbroken string!

At times here in the dust
I lift my head, I strive to sing - I must!
The miracle of growing wraps me round
Light! Sound!
Form! Motion! Upward yearning! Outward reaching!
A universal praying, dumb beseeching!
I feel that I am more than flesh and futile,
A being ultra-carnal, super-brutal!
I understand these growing green beseechers,
These hopeful climbers and these ernest reachers!
I understand their yearnings every one,
How each tense fiber hungers for the sun!
I lay my hand upon the sturdy weed
Whose darkling purposes burst the prison-seed,
Who cleft the mud and took its light and dew,
Looked up, reached out, believe in life - and grew!
I know that we are kin;
That hope is virtue and doubt is sin;
And o'er me comes a hungering for a song:
I lift my voice - I falter.  Ah the long
Dumb years, the aching nights and days!
And yet I raise
My unavailing cacophonic cry.
Thine erstwhile singing child - behold! - Tis I!

In this strange, wretched prison of the soul
Shall I not lose my swiftness for the Goal?
It seems I must
At length become too much the kin of Dust.
Ah me, the fever born of Hate and Lust!
Ah me, the senseless unmelodic din!
Ah me, the soul-hope sick with fleshly sin!

And in my prison ancient dreams grow up
To fill with dust my cracked and thirst-betraying cup.
Dreams mantled in the purple of dead glory
That filled the aeons of human story:
Not always have I worn these dusty rags!

The Purpose of my being falters, lags,
And I am sick, sick, sick to live again.
Yet not because of this poor dust-born pain
Do I cry and grope about for Thee.
I hear the far cry of my Destiny.
Whose meaning sings beyond the farthest sun.
I faint in these red chains - O let me 'rise and run!

How long shall leaves grow green and fade and fall,
How long shall Night chase Day and Day flee Night,
How long shall my far Purpose vainly call
Ere I remingle with my native light?
O Center of the Scheme,
Star-Flinger, Beauty-Bringer, Shaping Dream!
Hear thou the prayer that struggles in this song-
Let me not linger long.

- John G Neihardt

Daffodils

I WANDER'D lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the Milky Way,
They stretch'd in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.
The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed -- and gazed -- but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:
For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.
 
- William Wordsworth
 
Out my window, I can see a charming little group of daffodils, tossing their heads in the breeze as though conversing amongst themselves. It reminded me of this poem, which is actually one of my favorites. Thought I'd share it with you today. After all, whats says June like daffodils?

Do You See What I See?

I smile so sweetly at you

I seem so pretty, so kind

Little do you know

I'm counting down the seconds

Until I disappoint you

And I don’t even know

Your name

~~~~~

"You are beautiful."

You called me beautiful? What were you looking at?

~~~~~

"You're so nice, Anna!"

Is she really?

I don't know. This is you we're talking about. Are you?

I don't know.

~~~~~

"Elegant."

Me? The girl who trips over things in plain sight and claims they moved?

"Poised."

Me? The one who doesn't know how to smile correctly?

"Wise."

Now I know we must be talking about someone else.

But who?

I still don't know.

~~~~~

What do you believe? Your reflection in the mirror or the reflection in their eyes?



I don't know.

 

You know, you don't know a lot of things.

 

Yes, I know. I'm you, remember?

 

Of course I remember. I'm you.

 

 

~~~~~

 

Some days, World, I am your girl. Some days, I am no one's. I do not know exactly who that girl is, because she is unfinished. She's a work in progress. I see glimpses of who she is and who she will be, in the eyes of others and in my own. But there is more to her.

 

There will always be more.

 

I suppose that is her beauty. It lives in the eye of the beholder. In some eyes, it lives. In others, it has no place. Let there be at least two eyes that remember to see her. That keep a place for her...

 

And let those same two eyes make room for beauty found in others, everywhere.

 

So that wherever they look... it will be beautiful.

Blood, Sweat and Tears - Part I

"I have nothing to offer but blood, toil, tears and sweat." - Winston Churchill

Blood. Sweat. Tears. Three fundamental human elements. Three things that we make, that we create. Three things that make us what we are- human.

For some reason, this old phrase came to my mind today. There really is no reason for the way my mind works. If I tried to explain it, I would just end up confusing us both and it would be pretty much useless to my current purpose. I decided, in my usual instantaneous and haphazard fashion, that I would split up the three things in this phrase- blood, sweat and tears. (Be warned, I will repeat those words again... and again... and probably again. So get used to them.) I would take each one and give it a little thought. Roll it around in my mind and see what I could come up with. Feel free to add your own thoughts in a comment. We have been trained to think in narrow boxes and I, for one, am pretty sure that there is more in this world than my own box and I should get out a little more, at least in my mind.

~~~~~

Wiki says that "Blood is a specialized bodily fluid that delivers necessary substances to the body's cells – such as nutrients and oxygen – and transports waste products away from those same cells."

Well isn't that a nice, boring definition. But if you are as bad at remembering biology as I am, it was for your benefit. Blood... what is blood? In a deeper sense, blood is life. Without blood, you and I would not, could not work. Our bodies need blood to do all the amazing, confusing and thoroughly mysterious things they do.

Have you ever looked at you hand in absolute astonishment? I have. "What the heck... how does this thing even work...?" We could talk about the wonders of human construction for hours... but I am obviously not an expert and I have a topic at hand and I will not be swayed. Look at the strange thing connected to the end of your own arm. Yes, really. Don't pretend you did and just keep reading. Got it? Alright. See those bluish purple lines underneath the knuckles on your palm and on your wrist? Of course you do. They're called veins. Yes, I know you know that, bare with me. Underneath several layers of skin are tons of tiny little veins, a maze of rivers carrying blood, carrying life through your body. You knew that too. But how often do you think about it? How often do you remember that "specialized body fluid" that "delivers the necessary substances to your cells"?

If you answered "Um... not often, if ever." don't feel bad. I did too. We take it for granted.

But when do we remember blood? Not when it's doing it's job perfectly and normally, of course. No, we remember it when it isn't working right. When you get a cut, you remember your blood. Because suddenly, what works in secret, hidden and behind the scenes, is made visible. Heck yes, you'd better believe it's visible. The second it leaves those little rivers, it turns that beautiful, scarlet red. (I love that blood is red. Because if blood is life, I would like to think life is a vibrant color.) We're automatically alarmed by blood leaving our bodies... and since blood is a big part of what gives you life, it makes sense to try not to lose it.

If you have a disease like cancer or some other illness, you remember your blood. Do you know how many tests are done with blood samples? Me neither. But it's a big number. Your blood is full of information, if something is not right in your body, you can bet there are probably some clues in your blood. When something is wrong with your blood... it's like the very thing that keeps you alive has turned against you. The one thing you need more than anything is endangering you. Can you imagine that? I cannot.

~~~~~

You know how when you curl up and lay still, you can feel your heartbeat?

I love that.

Beat...beat...beat...beat...beat...beat...beat...beat...beat...

I...am...alive...I...am...alive...I...am...alive...I...am...alive...

BEAUTIFUL


You know what is beating? Yes, it is your heart. But what is beating in your heart? But what is your heart beating?

Blood.

~~~~~

Blood is not only what we are, it is who we are. We are human. (Humanity is a what, a who, a when and a why in and of itself if you ask me.)

"It's in my blood."

We identify ourselves by what is in our blood, where we came from and who we are. It not only gives us life, it defines our lives.

"All I have to offer is my blood..."

If you are made of blood, if you are blood, then what is a gift of self? When we love someone or something, we say we would give our lives for it. We would offer everything- we would bleed and die for it's sake.

War is war because we settle things with blood. Brothers are brothers because the same blood runs in their veins. Blood is what makes the difference between life and death. It is the tie that binds and it's loss is what severs.

We do not take blood lightly. Nor should we. How can we, really? It is what are, how we are, why we are and who we are.

~~~~~

Blood in my veins, pulsing through me at every moment of the day. Beating in my heart, circulating through my body. Keeping me alive.

Beat...beat...beat...

I...am...alive...

Thinking Pinkly

The appearance of this blog may be deceiving, but in truth, I really like the color pink.

I wouldn't dare say it's my favorite color... that's such a massive commitment I am not sure I can make. The idea of having one COLOR... That's practically like signing away a bit of your soul and sending all the other colors a letter saying:
"Dear (Yellow). I hate you and have chosen (Pink) over you forevermore. Have a nice day. -Sincerely, Anna".
No, COLORS is far safer. That way, if they are out of blue scissors at Staples you can always fall back on green. (If green and blue are your thing, anyway). Besides, if I made that promise to pink, red and orange might get jealous and I dearly love them too. As it is, we are like a happily little foursome of friends who thoroughly understand the loyalties each one has to the other without being jealous.

Reasons I love pink (yes, I am going to give you reasons for something that is without reason. I do that a lot, you know. I don't know if it's because I feel the need to explain and categorize every little thing or because I just like to chatter on senselessly. Maybe its a combination of the two? Either way, giving reasons is a firm habit of mine and one I don't intend to break today. Or probably tomorrow, either.)

Reasons for liking pink: Pink is a sunset. Pink is the better side of lemonade. Pink is a flamingo (and how cool are those things!). Pink is nail polish and lip gloss. Pink is your first plastic tea cup, which you probably lost a long time ago but have fond memories of it none the less. Pink is the inside of young watermelon. Pink is a flower. Pink is the flush in your cheeks on a fall afternoon. Pink is the frosting on the top of the cupcake and the paper on the side. Pink is the shortest crayon in a little girl's crayon box. Pink is ballet shoes and a tutu.

Pink is childish, girly and fun. Which is why my blog is pink. Which is why pink is on my list of favorite colors (right next to Red and Orange, of course).

I have some positive associations with pink. It reminds me of good things, sweet things. But Pink is also a sister to one of my other favorite colors, Red. Red is always rash and bold and exciting while Pink is shyer, gentler and more refined. Much like real siblings, both are beautiful, but different. Red is blood, roses, apples and sports cars. Red is hearts, ruby slippers and wine. Red is a go getter while Pink gives you her best come hither look as she batters her eyelashes and giggles. They don't always get along or work together but when they do... you cannot help but notice.

I suppose since we brought up Red, we should give Orange her bit. She is the wild card of the bunch, as it were. She is so special, they named a fruit after her and decided no other word was worthy to rhyme with her name. Orange is construction cones, marigolds and Cheetos. She's a bad spray on tan and a glowing Jack-O-Lantern. She's sort of between Red and Pink. She's not Princess nor is she Type A. She's a bit of a free spirit who nobody understands but everyone loves.

You might be shaking your head, laughing about how crazy I am to attribute such personality to mere colors. "Ha!" says you and "Ha!" says I. It is rather silly. It is pretty crazy. But that's how I like it. That's how I am. I suppose that's what I like about colors, all colors, not just my three besties. They can't help but be themselves. Purple doesn't try to be Yellow and Black can't be White. They are what they are.

So let us be, Pink, Red, Orange and I. We'll be ourselves and show our true colors for what they are.

Beautiful.