So apparently my roommates are trying to vote me out of our suite because I’m coughing so much. Or at least make me sleep in the closet so they can’t hear me.
Now I can take a joke, but this is a bit much. Because I never complained about all of them being sick, which is what got me sick in the first place. I was the last of us to catch anything…I just can’t help that the various forms of medicine I have been taking for the past 3 weeks haven’t done anything.
And now they have the audacity to give me shit because they are all healthy again.

At the end of the day when all the dust settles, even when nothing gets done(even my elusive to-do lists)–one thing remains the same, tears do dry on their own.  Things end and life goes on.  Another journey starts and all the tears cried because of the last journey do nothing but wash away the dirt, wash away the frustration, wash away the doubt and the fear, and then like magic they dry all on their own.

lifetimes of paper rainbows…W

lil’ lagniappe: link to my 3 weeks graphics

So I have been in the middle of this bit of clarity.  I have ben deciding what it is that I need and want in my life.  I don’t know that I have anymore answers than I did 18 days ago.  I have, however, made one decision.  In 4 months I will be pledging allegiance to rock nation.  That’s right. I will be at a Jay Z concert.  I am super pumped.  Jay Z and I have been in a love affair since he was big pimping.  I am super excited.  Probably more excited than I should be for Jay Z.  I am already planning on being a Yankees fan for a night. 

But really…the clarity.  This is the last weekend of my 3 weeks of clarity.  Friday, Saturday, and Sunday.  You may ask, Dear artichoke, what is it exactly that you have gotten from this 3 week look within.  Well, as much as I would like to list out the innermost workings of my mind, I am not going to. I will tell you this though. 

I am just a girl. A girl who is rocking out this weekend in a split team football jersey, with a tu-tu, wine, and my best friend.  I am girl who in 4 months is rocking out with Jay Z.  I am a girl who dances very badly even when the world is watching. I am a girl who read 3 books in 3 weeks, just because she could. I am a girl who writes down the lyrics to songs in the margins.  I am a girl who falls in love just like the rest of them. I am girl who has a heart that can not be controlled, it wants what it wants.  I am a girl with a head that has the ability to argue both sides, equally and convincingly. I am a girl who can rationalize even the most irrational situation.  I am a girl with a bad, bad dog. I am a girl who hates to fold clothes. I am a girl who wants to start running again. I am a girl who wants to cut her hair. I am a girl who loves the feel of a paint brush in her hand–in her favorite jeans, and white v-neck.  No matter how much I try to fight all the emotions and neurosis that come with it, I am just a GIRL.

Who knew?

Lifetimes of paper rainbows…W the girl Artichoke

In 1939 as a last case senario during WWII the British Government created the “Keep Calm and Carry On Poster.”  The poster was never used, as the NAZI forces never invated Britain.  In 2000 the poster was rediscovered and sold to private sectors for various decorative purposes.  I want this poster. I need this poster.  It is on my Christmas registry.  I mean a cherry red poster with white font and a crown. It was made for me.  I stare at it everymorning on the computer screens, admiring its many homes. I admire it’s royalty.  I admire its simple confidence.

Day 17, with 5 days, including today of clarity left, was a day of simple confidence.  A day that I woke up knowing exactly how I felt, what I wanted, and what needed to be done.  You know what happened?  I got it all done.  Go figure.  Simple confidence goes a long way.

So tonight, I will say a bittie prayer for all of you my dear readers, that God my bless your life with simple confidence. 

Lifetimes of paper rainbows….W the confident artichoke

Lil’ Lagniappe:  My brother is doing a speech on confidence.  He asked me for my definition of confidence.  I defined and then asked Snark-a-licious.  Please compare our definitions, as it simply sums up the difference in our personality.

Arty: Confidence is the evil twin brother of Cockiness.  Confidence is a security that is based soley in Faith. A security in something, someone, or yourself that has no evidence of facts to support it.  It is based merely on one’s faith in said, something, someone, or themselves.

Snark-a-licious: Confidence is being sure of yourself.  That your actions are reasonable and appropriate and that you have the ability to carry out those actions.

So here we are today I woke up knowing that today there were 6 days left.  I woke up thinking of one single comment I made on Sunday.

Disclaimer: Sunday was a bad day. A bad day I needed. That bad day is over and I am truly a happy little duck again.  This post is purely about the power of a mother.  The power they have to heal even worst broken hearts and broken egos.

You see Sunday was a rough day.  I woke up knowing that I had one single phone call to make.  The phone call should be sweet and simple.  “Hey. I am really sorry about last night.  I approached it wrong.  Forgive me?”  Before I could roll out of bed my phone started exploding with texts–3 in a row.  It seems as if there were other plans for my day.  None the less, the day went on and before I knew it, it was 3 in the afternoon and I just had the same phone call for the third time in 6 months–the second time in 2 weeks.  It was about then I did everything I could to keep from throwing myself out of a window[sidenote: I only have first floor window so I would have been throwing myself a whole 8 inches].  It was not that I was upset, it was pure frustration.  Frustration is a tricky thing.  Tricky, tricky, tricky. [sidenote: I just sang in my head, 'it's tricky to rock around...']

On this day, right in the middle of my frustration, my mom walked in.  I sat there on the couch staring at a t.v. that was not on.  She busted in the door as she often doesn in her overly charismatic(if possible) way and said, “why are you not watching the Saints game?!” Then she plopped down on the couch and looked at me.  She asked what was wrong, and I said, “Nothing.  Nothing is wrong.  I am just tired.  I am fine.”  As I am saying this my eyes are filling with tears. She didn’t think. She just took my head and wrapped it in her arms, just like I remember when I was a kid.  I then just folded.  It was one of those moments when you drop your face in your hands and don’t move. The time when you think, “if I move my hands, than I won’t be able to hold my head up.”  It was one of those moments when you know that 50% of these tears are out of pure exhaustion and the other 50% are things that could have been completely avoided.  I kept running all that I wanted to say through my head.  One thing came out,  ”Please don’t say mom things.”

I remember a time when I slammed my finger in a car door. It was a week before my mom was getting married.  I was 5 years old.  I slammed my finger in the door and did what would come to be an all to common practice for me.  I left my finger there and on the count of 3 I ripped my finger out of the door without opening it.  Thus, making the extent of injuries worse. At the time, it was all I knew to do. It was habit.  What wasn’t habit was that I didn’t cry about the pain until after I had removed myself from it.  It was about the time that I held my finger in my hand that I started screaming.  My mom ran to me instantly.  We went home and put ice on my bruised finger. That night I woke up screaming, as my finger nail was black and the top of my finger swollen.  We packed up and went to the E.R. and they drained the blood that had built up. I cried the whole time.  My mom just held me. She knew it hurt and she never asked me to stop crying.  She knew as well as I did that tears  sometimes are the only thing that heals. Tears are pain exiting the body.  We went home and she had me soak my finger in epsom salt.  To make it better she went and got me the magical scooby doo band-aid, and it was magical.  Somehow, that scooby doo band-aid made the pain go away.  It was replaced each day with one that looked exactly the same — everyday, till I was healed.

I only tell this story because my mom has this touch.  She has this hug.  She has the ability to make every hurt, physical or emotional, go away.  This Sunday I just wanted the hug. I wanted the touch.  I wanted the scooby doo band-aid. I didn’t want the words.  That day she gave me a hug, she rubbed my back, she gave me a scooby doo band-aid(metaphorically of course), and listened.  She knew on that day I needed a friend in my mother, not the mom advice.  She is the original paper rainbow.

Update: She waited a whole 24 hours before offering th mom opinion.  It was okay at this point…my wounds had healed.

Lifetimes of paper rainbows…W the scooby doo artichoke

I am a girl who has dreams to do it all. This is great in a lot of aspects.  I have to do list as long as the muddy Mississippi. Now this is more of a life list, not just an everyday get it done list–a life list.  Don’t confuse this with a bucket list.  It is just little things that I want to do. I shall share a small part of my list:

I want to write a book.

I want to open a cupcakery.

I want to open an art gallery.

I want to build my bed.

I want to teach art.

I want to get an MFA.

I want to read a book a week.

I want to learn to play the banjo.

I want to have an art show.

I want to create art worthy of an art show.

I want to own a nikon d70 without paying the 1000+ dollars for it.

You see my list is a list of things that should tend to interfere with the next.  If I aimed on any given day to achieve one of these I tend to ignore the other.  One thing I did realize is that this always tends to be the case with my lists.  My bullet points tend to either over-ride, contradict, or all in all overshadow the bullet point before.  Frustrating? Yes.  However, it allows my mind to work on overdrive, and here in the south, on my flat roads, I drive my car in overdrive everyday, so can it really be that bad to think in overdrive? Do you follow? If not it’s no biggie. I lost me somewhere around my the “new post button.”

My real thought today: death of glossies!

My all time favorite magazine was “Blueprint.”  It was a Martha Stewart publication.  My dear friend Batista got me a subscription to this magazine for Christmas in 2007.  The last issue was January 2008.   This really saddened me.  Tear.  My replacement magazine: Martha Stewart.  I hated Martha Stewart.  So my wine glasses are now wrapped in the pages of the issues in my Houston storage unit.  So yay for packing! Now if I have any broken wine glasses, than I am tracking Ms. Stewart down!

Next in line was Domino.  Domino always ran a close second to Blueprint.  It shared the same qualities of Blueprint.  Most of what they introduced me to was obtainable. If I couldn’t purchase it, I could make it.  Domino and I spent 3 long years together.  I saved every issue for 18 months, when I realized that they had fun quotes on the spine.  My favorite issue was the Green Issue 2008.  It even had Ms. Spitzer before her husband, Elliot, gave up the governor seat and the mansion for Ms. Dupree.  Ms. Spitzer told the Domino community how she made the New York Governor mansion more eco-friendly.  I thought I could do that.  It inspired me to make my own paper, and the random spurt of recycling that I was rocking, was amplified.  I thought Snark-a-licious and Batista were going to cut me off as a friend.  January 2009 was my last issue(i think) of Domino.  I was sad. It was even sadder when the publishers tried to replace it with Glamour. I wear t-shirts and jeans and rarely make-up…enough said.  Domino and I had a nice healthy relationship. I still read past issues, it makes me feel like Domino is here again. Until I think, “haven’t I read this somewhere before?”

I still have one left.  ReadyMade.  Money has been tight so I gave up my subscription, but today on my to-do list was, find a new project(because you know that is just what I need, another bullet point and another un-finished project).  This lead me to the ReadyMade website, I then ordered a 2 year subscription.  Cest la Vie, eh?  I didn’t find a project, but it did bring up fond memories of my time with my glossies, and thus inspire a random post.  As if the posts are not random enough.

In my random fond thoughts of my fallen glossy friends it was a nice day. A day that I thought about nothing of importance.  I didn’t even have to remind myself to breathe.  I just rocked and rolled.  It was phenomenal!  It was the first day in many days that I can remember just breathing and thinking of nothing.  I even laughed in the face of drama…sorry about that Batista…so this weekends bag of wine is for you!  We will laugh together, in TU TU’s and Jerseys!

Hope you all had a fabulously awesome Monday of nothing-ness. It is a truly liberating and awesome feeling.  Now if you will excuse me I am going to let Ida wash me away while I sleep.  Hunker Down! (ha ha, it’s a freakin’ rain storm people!)

lifetimes of paper rainbows…W the hunkered down artichoke

Hope as defined by Merriam Websters

1. to desire with expectation of obtainment

2. to expect with confidence

Expect is one of my least favorite words of the English language. I only take the time to define hope as it is one of my favorite words, hope and serendipity.   Rainbows, paper rainbows, junior rainbows, my puppies wet cold nose all represent hope to me.  However, hope is defined with my least favorite word. How ironic. But cest la vie. As always, it is what it is.

Day 10: Friday nights are supposed to be full of fun and excitement. Mine was full of working on marketing for my friends Cakery. Which as boring as it sounds was muy exciting to me. I was excited for the calm weekend to follow.  (definitely wishful thinking) Back to Laura, she does some phenomenal cakes!  Below one of my faves.

{this is my favorite one. It is a strawberry cake with vanilla icing and sliced strawberries. The fondant is on top of the yummy goodness! All hand made flowers and I love the addition of the quilting.}

Saturday:  I had some 10 year reunion things to handle up on and then a day of more graphics and marketing and making some awards for my mom’s Veteran’s Day ceremony. One of my best gals came by and it was nice just to hang out.  We had a small fashion show.  Meaning she laid on my bed while I pulled out the few clothes that were left in my closet and then picked up a couple from the floor to try it all on for her and get the well sought after girl advice on clothes for future wedding festivities. Then some bridal tea goodness at the Windsor Court.  I worked really hard on the wrapping of the gift for this shower more out of pure laziness as I did not want to get in the car and go purchase moe paper, so I used what I had.  Cest la vie!

{the fruit of my labor}

The nice little junior rainbow image above is from this little adventure to the south shore as well. If I only knew the day that would come about the next day, my oh my would I have really taken it in.  Alas, it is here in picture form for me to enjoy each and every day.  So I am grateful for that.  I keep reminding myself, “Whit, you are an easily distracted little artichoke, but you need to focus. If it means putting breathe on your to do list than do it!” So Today I have added breathe to my list. I am good at lists.

Sunday:  Can we skip today. It was not my best day(besides putting breathe on my list), but being the neurotic, yet optimistic gal that I am let’s focus on the positive:

In celebration of this blessed night, may we all raise or drinks, “Heres to HOPE for a Black and Gold super bowl”

I know all of you feel like better people knowing my random thoughts and activities of the weekend.

lifetimes of paper rainbows…W the breathing artichoke

tell you the story of where i’ve been…

{I wish I could take credit for this phenomenal photo, but this is Maile over at The Daily Relish. I did take it and play and add my own flair to it}

There is something liberating about walking around without shoes. Just letting the grass and dirt wiggle between your toes.  It makes me happy when my toes can breathe without having on socks and shoes or just shoes, or even something wedged between them. I just want to feel everything. I want to touch everything, with my fingers and my toes and figuratively with my thoughts and actions. I think it goes back to just wanting to make an impact on this world. I just need to learn to make an impact like a feather, soft and graceful and less like a cannon ball.

Today has been a beautiful fall day. Like seriously, I couldn’t ask for more. Just a little victory in my 3 weeks.  Now if only I could make big victories by completing my to-do list!

I keep saying this but I was just telling my wittle pimento that I would get it all done this weekend. Hefty claim, but I am sure I can do it. I have to do it! because next weekend is the LSU vs Tech game.  Good times with my bestie-ette(as in the other bestie besides Snark-a-licious) and a great DIY jersey! The real question about next weekend, to where a tu-tu or not.  Thoughts?

But really people when do the to-do lists end?! When will I get back to my “studio” and paint? When will I get the Christmas presents under control?!

Speaking of which: Snark-a-licious and I will meet again this December, we have 2 Christmas’ to catch up on, so that means double the cocktails in the red stick right?!  I think the correct answer is “oh-my-awesomeness” yes!

I am going to wrap this up with 2 thoughts:

(1) What happened to pen-pals?! I have a cousin who has decided to join the military and I was writing him a letter the other day and I thought, oh how I love paper letters.  I believe in letters. This just got me thinking, what in the world happened to pen-pals?!

(2) My thoughts and prayers are with the soldiers of Fort Hood and their families. This is just so awful and there are just no words…

Lifetimes of paper rainbows…W the artichoke longing for a pen-pal

]]> http://redcouchgraydog.wordpress.com/2009/11/04/it-lacks-magic/ Thu, 05 Nov 2009 02:36:16 +0000 Artichoke http://redcouchgraydog.wordpress.com/2009/11/04/it-lacks-magic/

dream no small dream, it lacks MAGIC. dream big and make it happen.

we love you.

That stinkin’ tennis ball is magic. It arrived at the perfect time tonight.  It filled my lungs back with air.  It came with the perfect little note.  Simple, to the point, and, dare I say it, perfect.

I have been slacking in the blog world. This I know. I feel like this is a perfect time for excuses.

1. Life. Really nuts.  So much on my mind and that is really nothing new, but it is the first time in my life I have really wanted to take action and do something about it.

2. I type blogs that never get published…I don’t really know what is up with wordpress. Who knows when this one will actually appear.

3. I have no excuse, I am just sucking it up.  Whoops!

Hope everyone’s hump day was full of paper rainbows and tomorrow is even better. For you end of Wednesday Evening/Thursday Morning I am sharing a super duper song for with you.

lifetimes of paper rainbows…W the magical artichoke

I shall not be afraid.  That is the theme today.  13 days left of the 3 week clensing.  I go into this day off of the Saints stressful win.  I come into this day with high hopes of good things to come. I go into this day having almost hitting a lady in a land rover and having my 16 cupcakes I made for work this morning flying forward to what I was sure would lead to cream cheese icing and strawberry cupcake all over the dash, but nope!  Saran is the best!  All my cupcake were perfectly fine!  Icing was a bit flat but it looked good.  So bring on 13!  I don’t believe in your stinking bad luck. 

The weekend could not have been a better end to an extremely stressful week.

Friday:

Better Than Ezra with my lil bro + the lady friend.  Good times! We even decided upon a brother sister theme song.  Let me just say that me and the bro make the best brother sister pair ever. I am neurotic and a bit crazy and he, he is level headed and a bit sane.

My cousin was having his bachelor party the same weekend so even though I was not supposed to take pictures, I snuck one in.  These are my favorite cousins and by far my favorite uncle with of course my favorite brother!

Saturday:

Halloween!  Ahhh a night with the ladies.  I only wish there was a way to put here a story to tell, but I don’t think my words could do it justice. I was a shotgun bride with two of my very favorite girls.  But a night of pat’0’s, time change, and a full moon and it was good times!

Sunday:

Despite the “extra” hour of sleep I am a pooped out artichoke. So with all this, tomorrow night I will post the some pictures of the fun had by all, maybe with a good story, cause trust me there are some, but I find that I tell them much better than I can write them.  Till then…be patient and remember, you get what you give, so give GOOD!

lifetimes of paper rainbows…W the artichoke

1.  Halloween is my least favorite holiday.

2. Banana Republic is my favorite clothing store.  Followed a close second by J.Crew. I can not afford either.

3. Today is pay-day.  Thank goodness.

4. I so excited to hang out with old friends on Saturday.

5. My life has been in a holding pattern for years.

6. I think white cherry icees are the best things in the world.

7. I would love to get flowers for no reason at all, no sorry, no nothing, but just because I rock that hard.

8. Gray is my favorite color.

9. I am super pumped about projects I am working on right now (a) personal assistant marketing (b) cupcakery marketing (c) collaboration post cards

10. I have to go to the post office today.

11. Concert with my brother tonight.

12. I am so tired.  I want to go back to bed.

13. I laughed out loud in my sleep twice. It was a funny dream, that or the boogie man was tickling me.

14. I couldn’t end the list on 13

15. Then I thought about the fact I want the James Morrison album, and Schuyler Fisk. “Hello” is fabulous song.

16. So is Tristan Pettyman’s “Madly” Yeah I like bubbly chick music.

17. Something just fell off my bulletin board.

18. On my bulletin board I have(4) post-it notes,  (3) pictures, (2) postcards I have received, (1) dead iPod,(1) auto cad scale set up cheat sheet, and  (1) letterpress art that reads, “she believes in Magic.” Because I do.

19. On my desk I spy: a squirrel holding my ring, a calculator, organic lotion, aspirin, home-made magazine coaster, gold sequins bow tie, a rock, a wooden tape measurer, anti-bacterial hand wipes, lots of sharpies, and a note that says “don’t let you boat go by to the waterfall.” (don’t ask me, below that it says 18 days with a crown on the 18)

20. I believe that faith has brought us here and we should be together. I play it off but I’m dreaming of you. I keep my cool but I can’t.  I try to say good-bye and I choke, try to walk away and I stumble, though I try to hide it, its clear my world crumbles when you are not here.  — Yep I just sang to you.  But just so you know I am not listening to Macy Gray. I am listening to Ben Taylor(son of the amazing James Taylor) cover Macy Gray’s “I try.”

21. Now I am listening to Brandi Carlile.  ”I lite my secrets one by on.  I put them all away when I am done.  I would really love to hear your voice some time to close a little distance in my mind”

22. I will stop singing.  I will leave you with this: This is your life. It may not be all that you hoped right now, but it is your life.  Sometimes life is a smooth fall day full of bridges and cane fields, sometimes it is a donkey kick between your legs. But you have to create. You have to laugh. You have to love. You have to LIVE!

Don’t let your mind get weary and confused
Your will be still, don’t try
Don’t let your heart get heavy child
Inside you there’s a strength that lies

Don’t let your soul get lonely child
It’s only time, it will go by
Don’t look for love in faces, places
It’s in you, that’s where you’ll find kindness

Be here now, here now
Be here now, here now

Don’t lose your faith in me
And I will try not to lose faith in you
Don’t put your trust in walls
‘Cause walls will only crush you when they fall

Be here now, here now
Be here now, here now

{Be Here Now, Ray Lamontagne}

Day 19 was a doosie of a day.  A better day, but rough.  I have made plans to keep creating.  I miss creating, I wasn’t creating enough.  I have mucho lined up, and we have a huge deadline at work.  I am on top of it and will be up early tomorrow morning! I will be up, I will be up!  For anyone who would like to deliver a double espresso mocha to a little firm on Columbia street, I will not complain.  I will need it.  The gallon coke may not be enough.

Day 3 of the 21 days ended with a blast from the past.  I asked my friend who is a brilliant writer to send me the quip he wrote about me way back in college.  In his story, I was Melanie Broussard.  I read it.  I still laughed just as hard and then printed out and highlighted everything I wanted to change about myself.  The final result, was well very highlighted.  I read it aloud and I realized that this little writing was probably the most honest and humorous description of me and much-needed right now.  So please dear friend do not think that my tearing it apart with my highlighter is me taking offense.  One of the things I love about who I am is my story.  It is a good one, a very embarrassing one, but a good one. Without further ado

A mere four doors down from Johnny (and Socks) and I was Melanie Broussard, a senior in interior design who had worked with Johnny at Spicy’s until the fateful night that she became so infuriated that she informed an assistant manager that he was, in fact, the sorriest, most incompetent bastard who had ever worked in the food service industry, and that everyone thought that he looked like a duck.  Before the man-duck could wrap his beak around the words, “You’re fired,” Melanie threw her apron at him and stormed out amid the applause of the wait staff and several patrons, giving the hostess a high five on her way out the door.  When she called me to tell me this on her way home from the restaurant, I dubbed her a champion of the workingman and called her, “Girl Lenin,” for a week afterwards.  Now she worked for the School of Architecture and Design, answering the phone, printing building plans, and informing freshmen that the admissions office was on the other side of the building.

Melanie was scatterbrained.  Socks maintained that she had adult ADD, but I think he was being sarcastic.  Melanie had brief spurts of organization, but the rest of time she was surrounded by clutter and chaos.  She enjoyed exercise, but, like the rest of us, she did not have the time to do it regularly, nor to eat decent and nutritious food.  She was curvaceous, but she did not really care.  Nor did anyone really notice it, because the force of her personality was what immediately caught your attention.  To put it simply, Melanie was a conversational puma…a conversational puma with a desire to win an Oscar for best actress in the drama category.  Melanie was the most histrionic of us, but her dramatic paroxysms kept us amused.  We all had problems, but Melanie’s problems always seemed to twist in the most improbable directions, ending up as something that a team of soap opera writers would have given their right feet to dream up.  She was always getting into, getting out of, or trying to repair one relationship or another.  

Despite her disorganization, or maybe as party to it, Melanie was very artistic, and her designs showed her talent.  She would always try to explain her motivations and interpretations to us, but, being only superficially acquainted with artistic theory, I understood only a little of what she said.  Socks and Johnny did not understand at all; Socks, in fact, kept confusing interior design with interior decorating, which, I am told, is a cardinal sin in he world of interior design.

Melanie hosted all of our parties.  Johnny and I did the physical work, like raising canopies, getting the ice, and rounding up enough charcoal to cook burgers for twenty to thirty people.  Socks made sure whatever party beer we had in the fridge did not disappear by drinking it, himself.  I also served as the party organizer representative to our landlord, who was not all that fond of parties.  Two days before any scheduled event, I would call him, let him know, and assure him that I would keep everyone in line and supervise the clean up so that no one would ever know it had happened.  He trusted me because I was older than Melanie, and, for some unknown reason, he believed I was more levelheaded.

Melanie’s philosophy of life was enjoyment before advancement.  She was fashionable, but not a fashionista.  She loved New Orleans.  She loved boxed wine.  And she loved weenie…dogs.  She told everyone she was French because she was born on Bastille Day, and tried as best she could to lead the sort of laidback life that she thought would convince us that she really was French.  She had ambition, but not so much that she spent every waking moment planning her career.  Her relationships with other people took precedence over professional development.

Thank you Snarky for sending it to me, it had been way too long since I read this.  My highlighted version is now up on the mirror and I hopefully you will need to correct a few things before my final story is written.  I will be glad when I can say, ” this is the way that I used to be.” {john mayer “split screen sadness”}

Now to bed I go for an early morning.  A day of creating railings and correcting elevations at work and all in all just getting through another day.

lifetimes of paper rainbows…W aka Melanie “the artichoke” Broussard

Disclaimer: I have often wondered how much is appropriate to share in the blog world.  I never wanted this site to be an open letter to the world, but alas I read back and find that sometimes it is.  So today I am going to dive in.  Today there is no cryptic message, this is the black and white of it. 

Life has been in an uproar now for a good 3 weeks.  It started with medical melodrama, followed by boy melodrama, all-encompassing the little dramas that live brings.  Point is for 3 weeks I have completely ignored what makes me happy, what relaxes me, what makes me, well me.  For the past 3 weeks I have created a total of one piece of art, if you can even call it that. I have created nothing but the superficial to hold off questions from others.  I have done just enough to get a B and at the end of the day, no one is ever happy or upset with a B, but I never set out to get a B grade in life.  I set out to be the best at my life.  There is no competition, just me living this life.  I have for the past 3 weeks really screwed it up.  I fight like a ninja in the night for myself, and at the end of the fight it is always the same solution as the day before always the same problem as before, it is always the same. 

I am embarking on a journey.  A journey that I have been on many times before. A journey that I have tried to embark on but never had the push to quite do so.  I have the push. I have the drive.  I looked in the eyes of someone who is just as broken as me and for the first time thought, “My foundation is cracked.”  I always knew it was.  I always knew I held on to tears a little tighter, that I held on to pain a little tighter. I always knew these things. If something bothers me, I hold onto it with a death grip for the pure purpose of remembering so that I never question why I don’t put myself in bad situations.  It worked in a lot of ways.  I built the wall. Not just a brick wall. I built a wall with layers.  There are bricks and metal walls and the only places you see in are the carefully placed windows and the far to occasional hole from the cannon ball that came flying through.  It is if nothing else exhaustively lonely and unmistakably annoying to others.  I push and I pull. I climb over the wall for only hours at a time.  When it gets scary I quickly escape back over to the other side.  Sometimes when feeling especially self righteous I stand on top of the wall and find myself spewing my opinion on the world as I see it.  Truth be told, I see the world in one way and one way only: This wold is truly a remarkable place.  A place created by a God that I wish I could comprehend.  A God that invites me into his arms on a daily basis through a little girls eyes and her magic tennis balls, through the sunrise, through the nuzzle of my dog’s nose that lets me know she is right there with me, through my favorite song, through the guy that breaks my heart.  A God that I invite in on a limited basis.  Truth be told I am terrified that I will let him truly come into my heart and I will lose site of my escape route in life.  I will lose site of my wall.  What if everything is good, and I lose the pain and then get hurt again?  Some strange part of me things that holding hard onto the pain, keeps more from coming. 

Now don’t get me wrong.  I laugh louder than any girl you have met.  I play like anyone else.  I smile because I do know that I have not given up on me.  More than that I smile because I know that God hasn’t given up on me.  I am a blessed little girl, who isn’t so little anymore.  I have learned more lessons in this lifetime than I ever thought I would.  I long for the point when I will not be living amongst the invisible people, but I will become the invisible person with a story to tell.  For those that lost me there, A Love Song for Bobby Long is my favorite movie.  I watch the movie and connect not with Bobby, not with Pursy, but with Lawson.  I am not a writer, but I know what it is like to find your life lost.  I know what it is like to go through and look for your redemption.  To want so badly to make up for something that you know was not all due in part ot you, but you none the less feel completely responsible for.  I know what it is like to want to escape somewhere and just be able to not put it all behind you, but be able to rise above and be all the wiser, all the more talented, all the more respected because of the past.  I know what it is like to want to be a better person because of the characters in your life, not in spite of them. 

I guess all of this sounds a bit heavy but I am getting somewhere.  I have, with a bit of a push, been placed in an interesting time frame.  It took 3 weeks to lose complete control of a life that I had little control of to begin with. I see these past 3 weeks pretty clearly.  What isn’t too clear is the third of my life that came before.  From the age of 18 I slowly watched myself make bad decision after bad decision, only to be held afloat by my ability to bounce, laugh, create, and make an amazing choice here and there.  I am in love with a world that has everything to offer me and I lose site of that thought each and everyday.  So for the next 3 weeks, I work on me.  I re-evaluate.  There will be prayer, faith, lists, art, work, most importantly, there will be life and the responsibility that comes with it.  It will be my 3 weeks, unedited, uninhibited, unscripted. 

Should you have any thoughts, stories, songs, anything to share don’t hesitate to speak up.  November 15, 2009 will be the conclusion of 3 weeks.  Till then I marinate….I will create….I will dance….I will pray….I will trust….and when all is said and done, I can only hope that there will be no decision to be made but only a path to follow. 

Wishing you a lifetime of paper rainbows and smooth peanut butter…W the digesting artichoke

Lil’ Lagniappe: A song to start it off–

Hey guys, long time no speak!

I’ve been pretty busy in all fairness. I’ve been to a bunch of lectures and they’ve been… interesting to say the least. I haven’t had any seminars yet, but I have been given my first formal piece of coursework. I have to write a 1,000 word essay on the balance between freedom of speech and personal privacy, which provides me with 40% of my final mark for the first year in that module! Yikes!

I’ve spent quite a lot of time reading up on law books that I’ve now spent a grand total of £250 on. As far as I can see I’ve now bought all the books that I need to, but apparently the final figure for 1st year books is closer to £400, which doesn’t exactly fill me with hope over the issue.

On top of my reading, I hopped on a train to see my girlfriend last weekend; which ironically did turn out to be a good place to do some extra reading. I can’t escape it! Why oh why did I chose a Law degree?! It’s been a bit difficult with the distance, and she’s coping with it far better than me (or at least she seems too!) and I’m often the one left worrying about her when she goes out on nights out. I trust her 100%, but I don’t trust the male population on the whole, and I’m sure there’s some guys out there reading this who are in the same sort of position as me right now. It’s not fun, huh?

Over the 3 weeks I’ve made a whole bunch of acquaintances, and a couple of close mates, all of which I’m very happy with as it is. I can’t remember if I mentioned this before, but I actually started University knowing a couple of people before I went, which made the whole thing much easier. On a side note, now that I’ve had adequate time to sample the nightlife at 2 Universities, I can safely say that the experience you will have will be very similar. Basically what I’m getting at is for you not to base your decision of which University to go to around which city ‘apparently’ has the best nightlife, and yes I’ve sampled Nottingham Trent’s University nightlife, it’s no different. I promise.

Planning to go home and see the parents this coming weekend. This does come with a couple of bonuses, as on top of getting the opportunity to see the misses once again, I also get free food & board, on top of some free washing! Score! Don’t underestimate how much washing you need to do. Dark washes, light washes, bedding, to say the least. It all stacks up, especially at £2 a pop for the washing machine and a quid for the dryer! How much!?

Right well, thats me. I think I’m gonna go jump in the shower before I head off for some pre drinking round the corner, before we all head into town. Asda Value Vodka is a cash saver when you mix it with Asda Value Redbull (which is very affectionately referred to as Blue Charge). There we go, that’s my tip of the week to you!

Enjoy yourselves

Photographed by angela7dreams

“The mountains are calling and I must go.” John Muir

– License

Hey sons and daughters,

Below are a few questions to assist a critical analysis of  4 Months, 3 Weeks and 2 Days. While reading you might notice that I say that “Mungiu”, and not “the film”, does this or that. I encourage you to think of directors as the true authors of films, even though doing so always opens up a big ol’ can of worms. For example: Is director Arthur Penn the “artist” of Bonnie and Clyde, or was hands-on producer and star Warren Beatty more responsible for the film’s form and content, the final product? (It’s said that Beatty was the architect of crucial scenes, including the ultra-violent finale.) While such conundrums of true authorship– if it’s even possible in film– may discourage you from endorsing a “cinema of directors” in academic contexts, on our blog and at CFS meetings I encourage you to place all emphasis on the director’s credit, for the purposes of categorizing and humanizing films. So let’s talk about what Mungiu is doing (to great effect, I believe) in 4 Months in the same way we talk about what Quentin Tarantino “does” in any of his films, ‘kay?

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How would you describe the camerawork? When are you most strongly reminded that someone is manipulating the camera? Do you think this is intentional? If so, what purpose is served by the camera being “present”?

How are scenes framed? On average, what is the distance of the camera to the actors? How often are close-ups used? When Gabita and Otilia are talking, are their conversations presented in conventional “shot/reverse-shot” fashion? Are the (physical) distances between characters important to each scene? What techniques does Mungiu use to emphasize them?

Does Mungiu employ elaborate or glamorizing lighting? Why or why not? Is the set design carefully considered?

How abrupt are the scene changes? Are there on-screen actions that anticipate a cut from one scene to the next, or from one locale to the next? (Pay special notice to the first 20 minutes.)

In which scene (or scenes) is sound– not dialogue–most important to the telling of the story? How does the audio being amplified contribute to the particular feeling these scenes are meant to evoke?

How is colour used within the film? Is there a colour which stands out– a motif? If so, what ideas, feelings or themes does it connote?

How is Otilia treated throughout the film? What sort of tone do the “adults” take with Gabita and Otilia’s boyfriend? What distinct societal differences are being portrayed? How might they be split? What is the general mood of the film? Do you think we are meant to compare it with a specific mood or atmosphere enveloping Romanian life at this time?

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Hopefully there are enough humdingers and brainbusters in there to cultivate a Saturday night of quiet study and sober reflection. If you wish to respond or comment on the film, the Internet allows you to do so below.

See you next week!

Scott, Gaddafi of CFS

Clarity Comes Through Confusion

“The word for Lamenting and fixing are the same in Hebrew, ‘kinot’ are the same letters as ‘tikun’ which means fixing”

- Rebbe Nachman of Breslov

Likutey Mohoran 247

On Tisha B’av morning throughout the world, the  Jewish people sing, hum and meditate on the kinot. The Kinot are poetic lamentations written in utmost beauty and glory, describing the destruction of Jerusalem and exile of the Jewish people. They are a collection of poems and liturgy written over a thousand years ago by holy Rabbis and Jews brokenhearted and spiritually shocked at the reality in which they live compared to the reality which had been.

The Kinot when translated are like food without spices or taste, it has a lost effect. The experience is almost lost without the genuine richness of the original poetic Hebrew – something in and of itself to cry and lament over; the reality that the power and grandeur of Judaism cannot be experienced by so many.

Even in English though, when going through the kinot one can taste the soul of the Jewish people, the soul of the Land of Israel, the soul being in exile and yearning for Tikun, fixing and redemption. That is the secret of the kinot.

Rebbe Nachman in that teaching is teaching a secret about the nature of redemption and the secret to fix anything that needs fixing: by going through, and by feeling and experiencing the destruction. That in and of itself brings about Tikun. Kinot are Tikun, they are the same word, the same essence, the same reality.

If a person ever finds themselves in a place and reality of brokenness, of destruction, of exile – the secret to find completeness, building and redemption is by fully being in the reality of exile – by saying kinot, by absorbing that reality – and by understanding why we are there.

“Said Rava: If a person finds that sufferings and frustrations have come upon him – he should look at how he has been living and acting; as it says in Lamentations, ‘We shall look into our ways and analyze it, and return to God”

If a person were to look and not find any reason in his actions – then it is because of not having studied Torah…and if not because of Torah, then they are sent from God out of love to refine the person to grow”

- Talmud Brachot 5a

For things beyond our control – such as what kind of families we were born into, our personalities – that is part of a Masterplan of the Creator. But for things withinour control and we find ourselves frustrated and broken – look into our actions, say “kinot” over how we might have acted, see what we have been lacking in and misguided about – and when we say “kinot”, then we will find Tikun.

Our saying Kinot on Tisha B’av is in order to fully enter the reality and experience of exile – only to come out of it with a vision of what is deeply missing in our lives and how we can attain it.

Let this Tisha B’av be a time of clarity and vision where we experience the deeper lackings in our lives and the world and come away with an understanding of how we can bring the Tikun about.