I am leaving.
very soon.
for Germany.
*deep breath in*
O
*and out*
o

Painting

My first actual painting,

Previously I didn't know I could paint or that I enjoy it.

't was a lovely discovery.

If you double click on this lower picture you can enlarge it and see the fun texture.
I love texture!

The Outpour of a Romantic's Poetic Soul when Surrounded by Nature

Arthur Rackman - "The Song of the Lark"

Being surrounded by and moving through the beauty of nature, the mountains and forests, meadows and streams, causes a desire to press up from inside me as a mountain spring presses through the ground and pours forth. As I walk through the forest, catching a glimpse of a hidden meadow here, a group of wild flowers there, and step through a little stream rolling playfully over my path... I long to be part of a story.
I desire sometimes to be the breeze that flows above and smiles in delight upon the stream running along beneath me. I fancy being the river or a naiad within it, gliding gracefully, playfully, or peacefully from mountain spring to lake, and even, perhaps, to the sea, always singing along the way. Singing. Sometimes a sad song which strangely comforts the lonely dreamer who knows that the water speaks to him with understanding. Sometimes a song rippling sweetly with peace and serenity that causes a soul, though filled with the greatest terror ere sitting by the side of this wide river, to soon be released of dread, and wonder how such fear could have held him with so strong a hand, when all the while the world contained a beauty that speaks of great unending love, flowing as endlessly as the river, sweeping far away all fear and torment from the soul of any man who will but sit and listen and believe its song. And sometimes still, a song of joy, ringing on the stones, rushing over and around boulder and tree, urging all to join in its endless praise and delight. Then leaping from simple delight to zealous passion, a song that soars from broken earth to dive deep among the rocks below, surging in strength and power that makes the strongest man appear weak, but urges him to yet grow stronger, mightier, and humbler.
And so, as a river, I would sing a song for every man if he will but leave the noise of life and listen.

But if I cannot be the water and its song, I wish at least to follow one of those little streams, discover its patient course through obstacles and the life that it has nourished in all colours and shapes growing gratefully by its side, and finally find its source. To drink from a mountain spring… where the birth, the giving of life, is continual, and the life that comes forth leaves its source only to give life to all it meets allong its chosen course.

And, if it were possible, I would, indeed, like to become the night sky. With the folds of my cloak and the locks of my hair flowing far over the world, wrapping it in darkness. My care would go out to those exposed to my gaze. I’d see all that went forth thought unseen. Some men cower and shiver, filled with terror at night, but they know not that I watch and them keep. Lovers gaze at my beauty in awe and delight, foolishly comparing the light of my stars or my silvery face to the one they hold close to themselves in the closeness of night and the intimacy that I provide. I would see those who wander, lost from the light of the fires and candles that wait for them in the places that they call their homes; though the wisest of these know the help they can find in the signs I provide as their guide, and these look with peace and a joy at my lights, rather than dwelling on the darkness at their feet. Then there are those, who sit ever still, neither lost, plotting, nor seeking a place for to hide away with the one whom they love. These lay under my gaze for its sake alone and adore me from their place below. They marvel at my beauty, find comfort in my covering, and appreciate the silence I bring that allows their quiet thoughts to come forth. Then I hear things that no one else will ever hear; quiet songs that rise gently to my ear; heartfelt confessions that bring release to the soul; earnest prayers and genuine praise; lines of poetry read for the first time aloud; till they finally sneak back to bed.
Perhaps it is because I am of this last sort, that I should like to be once the night sky. Her beauty draws the spirit nigh to the point of awareness that sight has in the day.
To be, for but one absence of sun, the night sky….

And so nature’s beauty surrounds and overwhelms me and, as it has done to Romantics throughout the lifetime of Man, it pulls nearer the surface the poet that lives in my soul that desires to express the Beauty it knows and sees, and to thus praise the Creator who is more Glorious than all of His living creation.

So, as a lutist bows to the king he sings tales of when his song is done and his lute silent, to the King I bow to the ground from which springs all the creation of which I have sought to paint a picture as it is a reflection of His Beauty. And if this is a disfigured reflection, as I am a distorted image, how much more Beautiful and Glorious will be the New Heaven and Earth which we long for, though we may not know for what we groan.

So I bow to the ground, which points to the sky, and sings ever of His Glorious Name.

Somewhere, in a World Outside of Yonkers...

Some favorites from my many many photos taking during Biola Chorale's European tour last spring break.

Germany, Austria, and the Czech Republic


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Friends, Tea, Scones etc, a History Lecture, and the amazing Westminster Abbey puzzle

Dear Diary...
er...
Hello.

I had a wonderful day yesterday, especially the evening, and this is why:

After spending the morning reading, I got myself ready and went to the grocery store to get some ingreedients for the scones I was about to make. Why was I planning on baking scones? Well, four delightful friends were to be coming that evening and we were to have a full tea, with a few ideas but no set plans regarding what we would do after that.

After making the first set of scones as I usually do, cranberry sour cream scones, I felt creative and wanted to try something new. So I made one more simple set with apricots and a bit of cinnamon thrown in leaving the last set to use as an experiment. I added Autumn spices and some pumpkin butter and heated up honey with pumpkin spices in it to use as a glaze. To go allong with it I created a whipped honey topping with pumpkin butter and spices in it. We all enjoyed it that evening so it was a success!



Anna Milczewsky came over early and read her book while I finnished the scones, then I joined her. She later went to the store to get not just milk, and not just whole milk, but very bold, very proud VITAMIN D Milk and Millano cookies, not to mention having already brought the amazing Ginger Peach tea.


Then Jill came with the beautiful tea set that she bought in Oxford, as well as cucumber sandwich makings and ham and mozzerella cheese just for me! (because I don't like cucumber or very much cream cheese... I try to like things! there are just a lot of things I'm not at all fond of..)

Once everything was prepared and set up (scones, whipped honey concoction, whipped butter with cinnamon, jam, sandwiches, rassberries and black berries, millano and shortbread cookies, and tea!) Ashley Romero and Holly Vander Wall came. We picked our tea (a mystery tea from Oxford that ended up being Earl Grey, and Ginger Peach).


After eating and drinking we cleaned up and decided to put together the puzzle that Ashley brought and requested that Jill teach us history! so as we sorted pieces and pieced together the puzzle, she explained what lead up to WWI, what happened as a result of the war, how that lead up to WWII, what went on as results of it, and how that has lead up to our current situation, especially in the Middle East. It was very enlightening and enjoyable.

We drank herbal tea and ate cookies, and I told my guests that they could not leave until the puzzle was completed! Ashley left anyways because she needed to keep grading term papers...

However, the rest stayed till 11 or 11:30 and finnished the odd Wesminster Abbey puzzle!!!

Except.........

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..

.

One piece was missing....

We suspect that Ashely stole one piece and took it with her so that everyone would be stuck here looking for it all night.

However, we were satisfied with our almost complete puzzle, so we said our farewells and good nights and the others departed.

It was a lovely evening. I stayed up cleaning up, doing the dishes, destroying the puzzle, and then finished a chapter in the book I'm reading and also a chapter in Isaiah and went to bed at 2 am.

Thank you my dears for a wonderful evening!

Poems for My Dear Roommate Who has Left Me for the Summer

Rather dramatic, silly, lovey dovey poems written for my roommate spontaneously on her Facebook Wall.



Having Not Seen Her for too Long, I Miss Her
(a poem written after busy days of only seeing each other unconcious. She seeing me alseep late at night when she comes home, and me seeing her early in the morning when I get up for class)


at 12:00am on March 14th, 2008
Dearest swan,
Oh, roommate mine.
Thou art to me so dear and kind,
Though you are gone, your work to do,
I know you will come home.



If it be dark, and I in bed,
The green light and your quiet steps
Will stir in me sweet dreams
(tho truly, in reality,
I'll likely be disturbed in sleep,
But I don't mind a fig or less,
Glad that you're home I'll be)

And when you up to bed have climbed,
Beside where I have lay my head,
I hope you dream of sweeter things
Than metal being sawed.

And wake, when light thru blinds may sneak,
Refreshed from a most peaceful sleep
With joy to live courageously
Poll questions to defeat.

You then will I see in a conscious state,
And glad to live another day
Being loved by and loving because of grace
My roommate dear, with a pretty face.

Goodnight.

Ich lieber dich.


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at 8:58am May 20th, 2008
A Mushy Love Note from your Roommie on your Birthday:


Oh, beautiful swan full of grace and light,
May you glide smoothly through your day.
If the waters may churn and cause you plight
Let faithful wings carry you away.

Away and over the silver blue lake
That seeks to reflect your eyes.
In the morning the tullips will gladly awake
To see you spread your wings to the sunrise.

'Sun rise!' and 'Come forth!' is the call of your voice
As its promised warmth glows in the sky.
At its appearance in song you rejoice,
A clear echoing and melodious cry.

Drops of soothing gold light respond to your voice,
Every feather glistens with light,
'till the golden beams stream without any choice
Thru the still lake, rippling now with delight.

Delight you have brought and joy to the heart
Of every creature and friend you to see,
Love and thanks may we, in return, impart
By a means that brings joy to thee.

with all the love I can muster,

-Your roommie

Go under the Mercy

Music Theory IV: 20th Century Music - Aural Presentation analysing the music of Maurice Ravel

To compose
To sit at the piano and pour into the keys
To express and form impressions through technical devices
To create
Music

To write
To let words flow out in ink
To let thoughts escape and ponderings take shape
To create
Poetry

To draw
To pick up a tool with my hands
To allow them reign over a blank page so the eye can respond
To create
Art

To create
It is a part of me, a desire of mine
Unfortunately I haven't much time and must focus
To supress
My soul.

Homework calls....

Stray

Why... do lives go so wrong?
Where are you wandering...?
You ought to come home.

Veneration of the Night

Place on me thy cold hand,
Oh beautiful night.
Still my body, my soul, and my mind.
Wash over me gently
In soft rustling breeze,

To remind me that in you is life.

For your presence, you see,
So clear and so still,
Makes it easy to think you have died.
But the truth is that joy
In silence you find,
And hear every heart beat and sigh.

You moan with the weeping,
Caressing the lonely,
And whisper sweet words in their ear.
You gaze on the lovers,
Giving hope to the dreamers
That a love of their own will appear.

Oh sweet night, are you watching
All the lives of your children,
All the secrets that they never tell.
Do you have your own story?
Are you not very lonely?
Or content to look down with deep care?

Well, dear night, I will tell you,
That I look upon you,
And admire you well from down here.

Liquid on Velvet

Vibrence on a beautiful grey day.

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Every Rose Knows a Story

An old poem of mine. One of the few that is not complete rubbish from high school.

Shadows shift. Petals fall.
Time goes by in slow withdrawals
Steadily stripping each crimson lobe
From a stem that won’t be held
By tender hands such as these are.
Thorns will pierce; this beauty mar.
Scarlet bandages, crimson wounds
Scars made and hidden by the same bloom.
It’s joy and pain that keeps them here
Where they’ve been this whole past year.
Here they will stay to watch these eyes
Fill and spill in quiet demise,
As thorns pierce the tenderest part…
The steadily living and beating heart.
They’ll watch also, tears splash down
That fall from a heart where joy abounds.
As roses fill these eyes with love
Soft and gentle but bold enough.

Now that it's time to be Christmasy I'm posting my Autumn leaf pictures.

LIQUID AMBER

The Euphoria of Baking

Cranberry Orange Bread

Pumpkin Bread

Pie Crusts
Pumpkin Pie
Peanut Brittle

Warm Melodies

Mostly recent
The candles and roses are from a wedding this summer.
And the wine is from the summer, as well.

Daddy has cold feet.
I'm a monopod!

The Dream Corner