You can't have my marbles. Get your own.

My Mom's brother died when he was fifteen. He had been riding his bicycle when he was hit by a car. But Mom has kept a lot of his things. She still has his ancient toy cars. And all of his marbles, too. My brothers and sisters and I used to love looking at all of those marbles.
For some reason, one day I was looking for her jar of marbles. Mom wasn't home, so I asked Dad, who was fixing himself a cup of coffee in the kitchen.
"Hey, Dad, where did Mom put her marbles?"
Dad stopped. He paused... he grinned...
... and then I realized what I'd just said.
It was the silliest thing, but all the same, I couldn't stop laughing.

The Secret Life of Keys

"Well, my good man. If you're so clever at finding things, then how do you manage to lose them in the first place?"

By Jove.
I've lost it.
Not sure what 'it' is.

Perhaps my sanity.

remove the plank in your own

You know what's fun?

Hearing people tell you all the things that are wrong with you.

Words

Albir Elderberry of Farwood

Apparently and unbeknownst to me, I am- or else I have become- mentally unsound. Those were the words of Uncle's own private apothecary. His diagnosis is due to my apparent lack of sleep and appetite, erratic behavior and inability to concentrate.
Father is in a rage, though he has finally stopped shouting. Uncle's patience grows thin.
I can tell the news has spread to the gossiping House servants. Whenever I encounter a maid or manservant, they stare. The maiden who brought me my tea and medicine stepped right up to my bed and stared down at me, squinting, as though she were examining me. As she finally left, I watched her take a furtive look round the room. Hmph. At least I still possess some dignity. And when one thinks on it, mental instability is rather dramatic and adventurous. Almost dashing and romantical. Many a novel's hero has struggled under the suggestion of insanity before accomplishing some daring, life-saving deed.
I think.

Trapped beneath my sheets for days now, I am striving to be optimistic.

My ghost has not come back.

Words

Elsapatience of the Great House

From Thera I learned Duke Elderberry has sent for an apothecary for Prince Albir.

From Cook I learned that the apothecary diagnosed the prince to be delusional and very ill. He recommended a two week seclusion. I am afraid this did not bode well with Elderberry. He demanded a second opinion and then a third opinion. Apparently, this two week seclusion interferes with the arrival of General Lauphinstok (and his daughter.)
King Gerald finally intervened, or so it would seem.
The good doctor has made certain things clear to me. Prince Albir's strange behavior of the other night was not due to a case of sleep walking, nor of an odd change of character and sensibilities; it was a minor case of psychosis. I can't say whether this news distresses me or not. I can't tell whether it concerns or even interests me. For once in my small experience, I am completely and erratically uncertain.

I do know that the mentally unsound prince still possesses my blue ribbon and my letter. And I still plan to retrieve them.

Sun seeking: Step two

Sending my clouds home

Sun seeking: Step one

Words

Elsapatience of the Great House

Oh, heaven and earth.
The strangest and most ethereal of nights.

I awoke in the night with a terrible pain in my chest and stomach. It drove me from my bed, from my room, from the servant's quarters.
The pain seemed to lessen and grow in turn, and in the latter moments, I was nearly doubled over in pain. I scrambled blindly up and down the stairs, through the hall, clenching my teeth to keep from sobbing.
Finally, I sat down where I was, clenching my stomach. It was a long time since last I was ill like this. I'd no idea what I could do, I just kept praying and hoping it would cease.
I didn't realize where I was until I heard a creak that made my heart jump.
There in the dim hallway, stood Prince Albir. He leaned a little against the wall as if he were drunk, or sleep walking. He looked half-asleep, I say, but his eyes were clear and awake, as though he hadn't ever slept.
I bit my lip to keep from whimpering. Half my mind was fixed on the horrible hurt in my stomach, and the other half worried about what the prince was going to do, finding me there outside his door, dressed only in a nightgown.
To my utter and complete astonishment, he bent over and slipped his arms beneath me. He picked me up in one sweeping motion, as though he expected I weighed no more than a small cat. My surprise gave way to the terrifying idea that he might, indeed, be sleep walking, and thus as likely as not to drop me at any moment. I could do nothing but remain perfectly still and silent.
As my mind was wholly fixed on this thought, I didn't notice where he was carrying me. But he laid me down on a sofa in a room somewhere down a long hallway. And then he just knelt there, as though he expected something. He had an unearthly look in his eyes, like the kind of look one has when one has suddenly seen a bright light or perhaps a ghost.
And he just knelt there, for hours. He didn't even speak.
Close to morning (for the light that began to stream across the hallway) I realized my chest pain had gone. The poor prince's head had sunk down across his arm, where he remained kneeling by the couch. Terrified of the circumstances I might find myself in if I stayed on, I crept out of the room. Eventually I regained my room and my bed, upon which I promptly collapsed.

And now I must avoid him in order to avoid trouble.

I must confess, shamefacedly, that I have been a complete git.

Words

Albir Elderberry of Farwood

Father reminded me three times today that General Lauphinstok and his daughter Ariella are arriving at the end of the week. I received an hour and a half lecture on how I was to behave.

Last night I dreamt of my ghost.
I could hear her footsteps traveling back and forth past my bedchamber door. They were light steps, but I could instinctively tell they were agitated. Without even thinking, I got up out of bed and crossed the room.
There she sat, down the hall, hunched over. Her dark hair spilled over her knees, and she was hugging her stomach. She appeared as if she were in terrible pain.
For what purpose, I'd no idea, but I knew she needed help. I quietly crept closer to her, and she looked up quickly, a terrified expression on her pale face. Her large, wide-set eyes were glossy with tears. I could tell her jaw was clenched tight against the pain.
Quite carefully and comparatively easily, I lifted her up in my arms and carried her down the hall. She lay completely still. It occurred to me to be surprised that she was, in fact, substantial; that I could indeed lift and carry her just as I could a human girl. It didn't directly puzzle me, and I didn't really bother to wonder about it until later.
To a small room with a large couch I carried my ghost girl, though I hardly seemed to pay any attention to which direction I turned, which corner, which hallway. Perhaps I was only drawn by any light that succeeded to guide my footsteps. It really was strange; so dreamlike, and yet, I remember everything so clearly and so detailed.
Without protest, she permitted herself to be lain on the couch. She no longer clutched at her stomach. She looked relatively calm and easy. She simply lay on the couch, gazing up at me. I don't know if I even wondered what I was to do next. The look in this ghost's face seemed to impart to me that I had done all that was needed. So I knelt down and remained where I was, now and again reaching out to stroke her hair and allowing her to gaze at me as she did.
Then that strange dream was broken, and I seemed to awaken from a stupor. I had been sitting beside an empty couch, my arm propped up, and my head resting heavily against my arm. Hazy, pale morning light filled the room.
When I finally awoke, exhausted and bewildered, I was in my own bed. And I was cold.

I was chastised for falling into a dead sleep during an ongoing lecture from Uncle on parliament history. I am afraid Uncle does not hold out much hope for me. He seems to grow increasingly wearier every day. Hmph. My failure to digest the knowledge daily bestowed on me only makes Father angrier.

And so I wonder now if my duties are done. It seems such a simple thing. Nothing, really. I had expected a burdensome task from this ghost girl, something that deserved the term unfinished business. And it was all done in a dream.
It does not feel like it is over.

Sweet David

"You've got a very interesting face. Would you mind if I painted it?"
"What color do you want to paint my face?"

"I'm Sophie, by the way. What's your name?"
"David."
"Oh, that's too perfect. Well, Michaelangelo had his David. So you've got to let me have mine."

"That doesn't mean you can't move your mouth. Talking won't ruin the painting. I'm not that bad."
"I don't really have anything to say."
"Oh, then you don't have to say anything at all. There are an awful lot of people in this world who have nothing to say but seem to spend all the time talking. You're right to conserve your words. It means you'll be a man of great power."
"I don't want to be a man of great power."
"Then you don't have to be. Just be happy that you're the kind of person who could be if he wanted to."

Clever, Creative and Evilly Mischievous? Me? Never.

Someone has it out for you.

Words

Elsapatience

He's stolen my blue ribbon! That rat-faced weasel. Horrid little mouse turd.
Now he has my letter and my ribbon. What does he think he is, that he can just take what doesn't belong to him? And carry it round like a trophy. Augh I hate him.

Albir Elderberry of Farwood

Perhaps the book is a load of rubbish. Haven't seen or made any contact with the ghost, and it has been nearly a week.
I did, however, find that my new leather boots have been in the slop bucket since yesterday morning. I can't quite get the stink out of them. And there was grit in my tea this afternoon. And a maid tripped me with a broom as I went to join Father and Uncle in the drawing room.
Bad luck, perhaps? An onslaught from the impatient ghost?

Forgetting and Remembering

"I doed it again!"
She hops up and down on the sofa cushions. She looks so funny, only one side, the curly side of her hair bouncing as she hops. The other side, straight and stubborn, remains limpish. She mis-steps and lands on her bottom on the floor. Immediately, she gets up, struggles back onto the couch and begins hopping again.
"Again. I doed it again."
She keeps hopping until her sister plucks her off the sofa and carriers her down the hall. She kisses her sister on the shoulder (missed her cheek). And her sister says goodnight.

Words

Albir Elderberry of Farwood

I decided something must be done.
Visited the library after Uncle retired to bed early. He looked rather ill.
I searched the endless shelves for books on ghosts and poltergeists.
There was only one.
It was thick and heavy and ancient, smelling of mold and thick with dust along the top. Its pages were terribly yellowed.
I read through the interesting parts. Am not quite sure whether the advice it gives is sound or not. But I've decided it's worth a try. In any case, the book explains that ghosts only haunt in order to request help. Unfinished matters and all that. The sooner one discovers what the ghost wants, the sooner one can finish it's unfinished business, and the sooner it will cease haunting. Therefore, the book suggests the victim of the haunting should carry around any article the ghost has left behind, in order to draw its attention and command its presence as often as possible, and thus discover what it needs done.
And so I've taken to wearing the bright blue ribbon tied beneath my belt, where it is slightly exposed.
What fascinating business this all is! It has almost succeeded in helping me pay attention to uncle's lectures. Mayhaps I'll not have to visit the garden so often to escape.

Music in my sleep. But it was different this time. Familiar, almost.

Uncle informs me that General Lauphinstok is arriving (with his daughter) in a fortnight.
Lord I hope she isn't cross-eyed. Or wears rouge. Or snorts when she laughs.

Words

Elsapatience

I can't find my blue ribbon. It distresses me so much, I can hardly concentrate on Cook's instructions for lemon tarts.

Bloody hell. I caught Prince Albir in my garden. On my swing! I wanted to hurl something at his head when I saw he'd discovered part of my letter. The wind didn't take it far enough.
It was rather amusing to watch him climb that great oak, though. He took off his boots (is not that improper? How scandalous) and stockings. He looked as though he were trying to walk up the tree. He would have done better to keep his boots on. It would have made for better grip, but I suppose he was weary of spoiling the things. He does not know much about climbing, that is certain.
When he reached a good thick branch, he swung himself upside-down. It was a ridiculous sight. His loose tunic of a shirt constantly fell down over his face, exposing most of his chest. When he'd finally retrieved all the parchment pieces, he made to swing down again, but lost his balance and fell. He landed hard on his back side. For a moment I was afraid, since I thought he might have hurt himself, but then he got up and rubbed it. Heavens, how I wanted to laugh! But I managed to stifle it.
If only everyone in the Great House were as amusing as Prince Albir.

Dream

I hate nightmares.
Especially when I wake early in the morning and it's still dark. And everyone else is alseep.
And then I can't remember what was so frightening.

Words

Albir Elderberry of Farwood

I escaped.
Father suggested I accompany Evangeline on her afternoon ride, but I could tell she wanted nothing but to be alone. She's still rather sulky. And I am not much for sympathy. Everyone must make sacrifices for king and country and I know not why she should be an exception.
This sounds rather ungraciously proud, I suppose. But honestly, it is only what I must constantly tell myself when I am trapped beneath uncle's thumb. And I don't mean it disrespectfully either, to be sure. But lord how I wish I could escape. For good.

Father and Mother took me to the seaside once. I was eight years old, but I still remember. It was the most glorious day, cool and bright. And there were the most amazing clouds in the sky. Phillip and I collected shells and flew kites all afternoon.
I want to go back.

I walked to the grove again and found the oak and the swing. Sat down on the swing. I noticed something on the ground by the tree. A white slip of something, caught in the grass. It was a small torn piece of parchment with the words, "music in my sleep" written in a loose, spiky hand. I almost dropped it, remembering quite clearly the girl on the swing and the music I'd heard at night. I looked up, and there, above me, tangled in the branches of the oak, were similar white slips. They stood out quite bright with the sunlight behind them. My breath caught in my throat.
I took off my stockings and boots and resolutely started to climb the tree.
Funny, I remembered climbing trees to be a much simpler task. I had to scramble up the trunk and hang upside-down across a thick branch in order to reach the pieces that clung amongst the leaves.
My leg cramped whilst I was snatching the slips and I fell. I landed on my backside, thank goodness. Though it still smarts.
I read, "remember you", "dark rose", "the swing, the wooden one", "to the seaside", and "dreamt." There were two other slips I couldn't make out, for the words had been torn in half.

I think I'm being haunted.

I found a bright blue ribbon in the gardens.
I'm certain I'm being haunted.

How much I love sunlight

kaleidoscope

Words

Elsapatience

Something seems worth mentioning.
But I shall not disclose it to Cook, who would dearly love to hear it, even with the promise not to tell a soul. It seems a very delicate matter to me.
Today I was given the odd duty of preparing the Family's mid-afternoon tea. It was a beautiful afternoon, and especially difficult today to concentrate on one's duties. But it suddenly sparked my concentration, when I realized only Princess Evangeline and her father were present for tea. They were arguing very heatedly. Well, Evangeline looked extremely upset. Her father remained calm and collected, as he always does. She was saying in an agitated, high-pitched hiss that he couldn't possibly force on her the type of men he chose as her suitors. One young man, in particular, she vehemently protested against. She accused her father of constantly hinting an upcoming union between herself and this horrid man. She refused, with quite loud emphasis (she abruptly struck her fist on the table, nearly making her father flinch) that she would never marry him. She would run away first. King Gerald serenely asked her to calm herself enough to think rationally on the matter. The marriage, he argued, would be beneficial to both parties considered. Tears began to well in the princess' eyes at these words, and she removed from the room, wailing that he would marry his only daughter to a horrible man she hated just to keep the Family well-connected.
I stood by the kitchen door contemplating on the argument I'd just overheard. I looked up quickly as I noticed Prince Albir step into the sitting room. By the look on his face, he had undoubtedly heard the whole of the conversation. And he saw me standing by the door. He caught my eye and positively glowered at me. I hastily removed myself from his most esteemed presence.

I began to feel quite sorry for the princess. Forced to marry a man she hated just to keep her family content? How horrid. I could just imagine such a union and I shuddered to think of it. Here I'd thought the princess, born to such a high status, was also born to a superior freedom. I had been jealous of her for the generous freedom she's been given. But though I'm only a common maid in the Great House, I have been given the awful knowledge of what an arranged marriage may be like. King Gerald can't realize how near he is to putting shackles on his own daughter, by forcing her into marriage.

Albir Elderberry of Farwood

Uncle and Evangeline are at it again. Apparently she is refusing the union Uncle has prepared for her. She positively threw a fit. I caught a cheeky young maid eaves-dropping on their conversation. This House is so full of gossipers.

Words

Elsapatience of the Great House

I dreamt of Mother again last night. I haven't dreamt of her in nearly five years. When I awoke this morning, I was terrified. Mother's face had become so cloudy... so vague. Was I forgetting her? I had always had such a sharp memory.

I wrote Mother a letter. It isn't a letter really. I put my thoughts down on paper, I wrote down my memories. It is to help me remember her, but also an exercise to resharpen my memory. I can't forget. I won't. Memories of Mother before she died are the only beautiful things left for happy dreams. I had enough haunting nightmares after my mother died to last the rest of my life.
I took Mother's letter to my garden at dusk. I had to sneak because I knew I might be more inclined to be missed. I sat with my back to the swing and closed my eyes. Slowly, striving to remember every tiny detail of her face, of her eyes and her smile, I ripped the parchment into pieces and let the wind take each word from my open hands. I prayed the wind would take them up to her and that she might bless my dreams.

Albir Elderberry of Farwood

Father told me late last night after dinner with the Family that General Lauphinstok is coming up to the Great House. Apparently this is Uncle's way of instructing me further on matters of war, in preparation for... er, kingship. Oh boundless joy.
Father also mentioned, in passing, that the General's daughter Ariella will be accompanying him. I swear, the people in this House have absolutely no sense of subtlety. For heaven's sake. I suppose she has freckles and squints, too. Joy of joys.

Long Forgotten Sails

One small sigh

Friends are the best.

Words

Albir Elderberry of Farwood

Another four hours stuck with Father, uncle and uncle counselors, and it isn't even noon yet. Lord! It takes all my energy just to keep from dozing. Which means, of course, despite all my will power, I've barely taken in an hour's worth of what uncle has had to instruct. It isn't uncle that disgruntles and bores me; it's Father. Every word uncle says Father must stress and lecture upon. Heavens, he drones on! Sometimes I wish uncle would just tell him to shut up, instead of the exasperated looks he gives Father behind his back.
It's been nearly two weeks at the Great House now. I saw cousin Evangeline off on her morning ride. It sounds horridly pathetic, but I am jealous of her. She has no trying duties or obligations to struggle with. Nearly nothing is demanded of her. I long for that freedom. It's ironic how one takes such freedom for granted until it is slowly taken away, piece by unrelenting piece.

Secret Life of Daydreams

You have bewitched me body and soul. I love—love—love you.

One small sentiment

I went to heaven—
'Twas a small town,
Lit with a ruby,
Lathed with a down.
Stiller than the fields,
At the full dew,
Beautiful as pictures
No man drew.
People like the moth,
Of mechlin, frames,
Duties of gossamer,
And eider names.
Almost contented
I could be
'Mong such unique
Society.

Emily Dickinson

Words

Elsapatience

My life seems a tedious, stretched-out pattern.

Before she died, my mother had a book. It was her favorite book, all about places she could never hope to see. And there were pictures of these places as well.
When Mother died, all of her things were taken away. I've no idea where they've all gone. Her book was one of the things I tried to steal away with me. It wasn't just for the memory of my mother that I kept it; I was just as mesmerized by those glorious, far away descriptions as she was.

From Mother's book, I keep a tattered picture of the seaside, a long-ago forgotten coast. Sadly, age has taken away the beauty of the little watercolor picture, but the lovely, faraway dream of the place still remains every time I look. Sometimes it tells me that perhaps I have a hope that Mother never did. A very small hope, but still, it's there.

Cobblestones. What's wrong with grass? It's so much more pleasant under the feet. Especially bare feet. I confess I have this constant yearning to go out again to the grove, to my little garden, to my swing. Especially considering my almost daily chore of scrubbing the damnable cobblestones.
I've another. I confess myself horribly jealous of Princess Evangeline. The freedom! To go about wherever one pleases, any day, any hour. However, I content myself with my little garden, and the fact that it seems it has been made official, finally, that Prince Albir has been claimed heir after the death of his uncle. That ought to keep him busy. No time to scamper about in the garden.

Even as we gaze

Sunrise
sunset
Sunrise
sunset
Swiftly flow the days
Seedlings turn overnight to sunflowers
Blossoming even as we gaze

Sunrise
sunset
Sunrise
sunset
Swiftly fly the years
One season following another
Laden with happiness and tears

The Voyage of the Dawn Treader

Words

Elsapatience

Why were my feet wet?

what I've seen and what I've told

Words

Albir Elderberry of Farwood

Father asked if I were ill when I told him I wasn't hungry. I wasn't ill; the truth is I just couldn't stand to be near him, or the Family any longer. I needed out. Just for the evening.
I slipped out into the courtyard. I suppose my hours of imprisonment in the house with father and uncle and uncle's grand counselors put me in a savage mood. And those stupid cobblestones were spotless again. I poured out a bucket of dirty water lying outside the kitchen windows behind the courtyard gate. It was a lame and a stupid thing to do, but for the moment, it satisfied me.
On my way to the grove, I happened to look up just as something white darted between the trees. Curious, I followed it. Perhaps it was just a bird. But then I lost sight of it through the thicker of the rose bushes.
I wanted to find that wonderful old oak again. I wanted, I'm sure, to be out of sight of everyone. To be alone.
I stopped short as I passed the wild roses.
There was a girl, dressed in white, swinging back and forth on the old wooden swing. She wore a bright blue ribbon around her waist, and no shoes on her feet. Her thick dark hair wrapped itself around her soft face as she swung back. It streamed behind her as she swung forward.
I suppose I was surprised--or mesmerized, or maybe just amused. In any case, I stood and watched her. I didn't even bother to wonder who she might be. She could very well have been a figment of my imagination, for all I knew. In one moment, she kicked up her bare feet and reached forward to touch a leaf just out of her reach. And suddenly, and in mid-air, she slipped off the swing and fell to the ground. I started. Had she fainted? Was she hurt? She lay on her back, looking up at the sky. For some minutes, she didn't move. Finally, I got up to see whether or not she were hurt. My movement made a noise that startled her. She sat up and looked frantically around her. I didn't want to be seen if I could help it, so I instantly ducked back into the bush. She didn't see me as she swept quickly past the roses and out of sight.
I'm rather superstitious, and perhaps I'm being haunted; I heard music again in my sleep.

Bridge of Sighs

Words

Elsapatience

I finished helping Cook peel the potatoes and clean and dress the chickens for dinner. Cook kept smacking me on the back of the head with a wooden spoon because I couldn't stop daydreaming. It wasn't my fault as Cook had no interesting news to circulate, and I am easily distracted.
Finally, Cook scooted me out of the kitchen, exasperated.
I eluded Thera, who I suspected was searching the House for me, in order to claim a favor.
I wanted to visit the gardens again. It was the perfect hour of evening, and the very air called me.
But though I'd worn a thick cooking apron in the kitchen, the whole front of my servant uniform was spotted and smelly. I knew Thera might be hanging round the washroom for me, so I very well couldn't wash the silly thing, else I'd never escape.
Reasonably, I imagined the Family and the other servants busy with the dinner I had helped prepare.
So I decided to put on my nightgown and slip outside. It was thick, and if I tied my special blue ribbon around my waist, it looked very like a light evening gown, or so I imagined.
Barefoot, and thoroughly enjoying the soft, cool air against my skin, I skipped through the courtyard and out into my garden. When I reached my swing, I giggled at the thought of Thera or Lady Verna catching sight of me, barefoot and clad in a nightgown. How very scandalous.
From hours of imprisonment in the hot kitchens, the breeze and the dusk and the soft, dreamy light put me in a very silly state, indeed. I swung so high I could just reach out and touch the leaves of the highest oak branch above. Then I slipped off the swing in mid-air and landed in the grass (non too gracefully). And then I just lay there, staring up at the kaleidoscope sky through the dark leaves.
I think I heard a snap somewhere off. Thank goodness, for it brought me back to the place and time. It would be terrible trouble for me if someone were to catch me in the garden here, or caught me on my way back in.
I left the garden with that feeling one gets after waking from a particularly pleasant dream and realizing it is morning.

Keane

Dream

July 27th

I really have no clue was what going on. I just remember trying to call somebody on my aunt's cellphone that had a plastic bag or a rope attached to it. We were in someone's driveway, and my cousin was dressed as a bridesmaid. I guess we were going to a wedding. Hm.

More words

Elsapatience

I'm going to the gardens today.
Oh, I'm not running away; I bribed Thera to clean the washrooms and scrub the marble in the Great Hall and the Chapel. She's not very clever and I bribed her quite easily with the divinity Cook saved for me last week.
Cook won't tell a soul, I'll be safe.
I dreamt I was in the garden last night. It was a soft, washed-out, half-light dream, the kind I always remember, since the oddest things prick me with that left-over dream feeling. It reminds me of a rose; a dark red one. I know that makes me sound very odd.
In my dream, I was swinging in the old wooden swing hidden between the grove and the over-grown wild rose bushes. It's my garden.

I saw a dove in the gardens. I'd never seen a dove before. Just as I'd never seen a falling star until the night I dreamt of my mother, and couldn't sleep.

Albir Elderberry of Farwood

I heard music in my sleep last night. I wasn't really sleeping. It was one of those funny half-sleep nights, in-between dreaming and awake. But I swear I heard music and it gives me a funny feeling. I suppose it's just because I'm sleeping in an overly-stiff bed in a strange house far from home.
But this morning I walked in the grove and I thought it wasn't such a bad funny feeling. I do like the grove. It's quite nice, not very well kept, and wonderfully over-grown in some places. Around some spots, the proper Royal Gardens have been neglected, and the flowers grow wild and have spread everywhere. I did always hate the stupid orderly rows of ram-rod straight flowers. Looks so much more like an army of soldiers than a garden of flowers. And the unpruned trees are brilliant. I climbed because no one was looking.
Discovered a swing. Hidden behind an immense bush of roses, hanging beneath an immense, fantastic oak.

Elsapatience

That stupid Prince Albir has discovered my garden and stolen my swing.
The devil take him.

Albir Elderberry of Farwood

Some of the servants in this blasted House are uncommonly rude.
A maiden scrubbing the courtyard stones splashed her bloody bucket of muddy water all over the cuffs of my leather boots.
Why must they scrub the damnable courtyard stones anyway, since the place exists out of doors and is constantly weathered and trod upon? No one notices if the damned cobblestones are spotless. Hmph. It is unnaturally ridiculous.

Dream

This was July 23rd.

This one definitely needs an explanation. My family pretty much doesn't believe in sleeping in. Ever. So, 9am this morning, everybody was up slamming doors and yelling and what not. I swear, my older brother has a voice three times louder than a normal human being. So I fell asleep again listening to Gregorian Chant, as I had no good classical music that would help me sleep.
I dreamt I was at college. But it was most definitely not my college. It was really strange. I went for a walk with some strange person and we walked around this campus, until we came to this... maybe it was a roof or something. I don't know. As we were walking we went past a kid, who I recognized as a real person from GAC, and apparently he lived in a trailer instead of a dorm, in my dream. By the time we got to this really high roof place, it was pretty dark and there were lots of kids climbing up. So I did too. It was incredibly scary, because people kept warning me that other students had fallen and died from trying to climb it. I thought for a horrible moment that I was going to fall. It was really dark, and I couldn't quite see what I was doing. But I managed to scramble up the thing. I have no idea what we were doing up there, and I don't remember thinking why in the world I would want to be up there. I was just there, for no reason at all. I remember dropping all my pencils down a crack in the roof. I also remember looking down the roof and seeing these students on the ground, dead. Apparently they had fallen and gotten dashed on the ground, smeared like a bug on a windshield, honestly. There was a girl with long blonde hair lying face-down on the ground. It was horrible. But no one else seemed to mind, they were all dancing and yelling and partying. Then all of a sudden everybody started leaving. I was left with a couple of people I apparently knew. I scrambled to grab my things, and realized music was playing. This Gregorian chant music was playing from somewhere. I guess it was my CD boombox, because I grabbed it and shut the music off. Then the people I was with showed me how to get down some stairs into the house that belonged to the roof. But I got lost in the house. It was really fancy and dark and quiet. Sitting on the couch was a man dressed as a jester. Then I ran into the apparent owner of the house who got miffed with me, but I told him I didn't know how to get out. He showed me two glass doors, but there were no steps or anything, it was just a wall with two glass doors and a thirty foot drop.
I don't remember what happened after that.

All my wildest dreams came true

Just some words

Elsapatience

I’m not that much of a pessimist. It’s really only something I was thinking of one day, while scrubbing the paving stones in the courtyard. I started by thinking, Why do the paving stones have to be scrubbed when they are constantly trod upon anyway? It is the courtyard after all, a partially enclosed section of the garden, and not a place in dire need of cleanliness. Scrubbing made my knees, my back, my hands all ache. There you see plainly the good against evil. It only evolved from there.
Apparently there is some gossip threading its way throughout the Great House. Undoubtedly, it started with Lady Verna (the most notorious of gossipers) and from there thread it’s way down to the bottom of the line, to us lowly servants. I was most likely the last one to hear it, and I had no one to pass it on to.
The gossip had to do with the King’s long waiting for an heir. When he and his wife despaired of producing a son, and feared marrying their daughter to a man outside the bloodline, the king began to search for the next in line. Supposedly, the position fell upon the king’s second eldest nephew-- son of his younger brother, Duke Elderberry. The eldest son of the Duke had gone into the church, and therefore was not eligible for er... heir hood. The second eldest boy was called Albir Elderberry, but now I suppose is referred to as Prince Albir, The Heir of King Gerald of the Kingdom Vistle. What a handsomely pompous title.
I heard all this from Thera, who is not always the most reliable source, and doubting its truth, asked Cook for assertion. So it is true, the King has found an heir, and the Royals can all let out their breaths in relief.

More gossip… that’s all that keeps the long monotonous days interesting. I heard it straight from Cook, and is thus perfectly reliable. Apparently Prince Albir, Heir of King Gerald of the Kingdom Vistle, Son of the Duke Elderberry, preceeding as Governor of the Province Farwood, is coming for a visit. Well, it shan’t be just a visit, for he is to be king someday, and must learn all of that royal nonesense. You know, all about ruling and drat. We’ll see if the boy lasts a day before trying to escape.



Albir Elderberry of Farwood

Hmph. Hear we are, second day of our journey to the royal palace. It is raining harder than yesterday, and the horses are all knee-deep in muck. The roads here are atrocious... they've been properly washed away with the constant wet. So now, it takes twice as long to make headway, and that knight, my uncle’s escort, says it will take another day to reach the Great House. Rats. The riding clothes that I’ve never worn before, along with the heavy wool cloak Mother made me wear, are all soaked and clinging to my skin. The cap that is too small is inadequate for keeping the heavy drops that especially fall from the leaves above, from running down my nose.
Hmph. Mother always says I complain too much. But she would too, in my situation. Father still hasn’t completely explained why we are on this ridiculous journey, why we are visiting my uncle and why there is a knight as our escort. I’m having a very funny feeling from all of this, and I really don’t like it. Thankfully, the bothersome rain that keeps falling on my face keeps me from thinking too much of it. Blessing in desguise. I wonder if someone will be able to get a fire started tonight, or if we’ll all have to hunch and huddle in our blankets to keep from freezing all night. Oh boundless joy.

Elsapatience of the Great House

Prince Albir, with his father and heralds and knightly escorts, and all his bloody servants and followers arrived this afternoon, a whole week late! Duke Elderberry explained that the roads washed out and greatly delayed their journey. Good lord! He has such a loud, whiny voice that gets higher and higher the more he goes on. I got to hear his complaints from the top of the second staircase past the great hall. Indeed, it is probable that everyone heard the fool, he was so horridly loud.

Cook told me the funniest thing this evening when I helped to prepare dinner. Cook says that Prince Albir doesn't even know that he is to be king! It just makes me laugh to think. What a shock he will have when they finally decide to tell him! The funniest thing is that he hasn't (as far as Cook knows) figured any of it out for himself! The originality of his great title fits the cleverness of his mind, I suppose. What a king he will be.
I for one would have guessed right away with all the to-do that's been going on for weeks that someone had big plans for me. And I would be jolly glad to get away as soon as possible. If I were that stupid, snooty prince I would get as far away as I could. But I suppose he wouldn't have the brains for that escape, either.
If I were Prince Albir, no one would make plans for me except myself.

Albir Elderberry of Farwood

I have a bad feeling. A very bad feeling. But why should I be considered? I am not next in line... am I? I can't possibly be the closest of bloodline, the king's second and least talented nephew. Doesn't he know how unsuitable I am? How untalented and careless? Surely not. And all these years I thought I was safe. I thought with all my poor abilities how surely I would be safe from any title other than nephew of the king. It... simply baffles the mind.
Hasn't quite sunk in yet.

Memorable quotes

Grace Polk: I'll see you later. I'm going to go... run with scissors.

God: Good is relative. Beauty's relative. Everything's relative. Except for me. I'm absolute.
Joan: I thought that was vodka.

Joan: Let's see a miracle.
God: How about that?
Joan: It's a tree.
God: Let's see you make one.

God: Stop underachieving. Stop squandering the potential I gave you. Have some pride.
Joan: What about humility?
God: Humility isn't actually humility unless there's something you're good enough at to be humble about.

Joan: What should we do first?
Grace: Ask your brother for the answers.
Joan: To be humble you have to be proud.
Adam: Wait, aren't those opposites?
Grace: Ah, ask him ask him.
Joan: No, no let's just break it down ok. Is there a chemical formula for twigs?
Adam: Uh
Adam: Cellulose is c6h12o6
Adam: Uh, I have an eidetic memory.
Joan: What's that?
Luke: Photographic.
Grace: He can barely remember his name.
Adam: Listen, I know a lot, I just can't put it all together.
Joan: Ok, what about a chemical equation for fire?
Grace: Wood doesn't actually burn.
Joan: That's insane.
Grace: What burns is the gas released when the wood gets hot. Therefore the reaction would have to be gasification, through oxidation reduction, then combustion.
Luke: It is so hot that you know that.
Adam: Dude, are you smart?
Grace: Just because I refute the whole formal-schooling-equals-knowledge crap doesn't mean I'm stupid.
Adam: Nice.
Joan: Ok, so what about gas?
Adam: Cha, like I know.
Grace: ...And Rainman back to underpants.

Helen: Number one... Andrea, work on your mother's voice before you try that out on me, and two: don't use a disease you can only get on a pirate ship.

Joan: You don't think she is right, do you?
Adam: Uh... I usually don't listen to what's going on unless I hear my name.

God: Oh Joan, it would have been so much easier if you just read the book. Now I'm gonna have to send you to the basement.
Joan: You mean like, Hell?
God: No, I mean, like, the basement. There's one in the school. Check it out.

Adam: I talk to angels.

Adam: Well, nice work Jane.
[He leaves, Helen looks at Joan]
Joan: He calls me Jane sometimes when he forgets that my name is Joan.

Joan: So what do you want me to fail at this time?
God: Now what makes you think you failed? You did exactly what I asked you to do - you observed.
Joan: Hmm! And what good did that do anybody? Ramsey's going to jail, Adam hates me even more...
God: Observation is a more powerful force than you could possibly reckon. The invisible, the overlooked, and the unobserved are the most in danger of reaching the end of the spectrum. They lose the last of their light. From there, anything can happen.
Joah: Okay. Fine, I observe Ramsey, his life is still ruined.
God: His life wasn't the only one at stake.
Joan: What do you mean?
God: There's Laura Eason, ninth grader. She plays the flute. She would have been one of the first to go,
[gunshot sound]
God: coming out of Orchestra at the wrong time. And Andrew Bayer - he would have tried to save his friend Lawrence DiStasi and lost his life... and Gavin Price and three other students in the cafeteria. And Mr. Harvey. And Ms. Schmidt in the library. And finally, Steve Ramsey himself. And for each of these faces Joan, there are twelve more whose lives would have come to an end today - lives altered forever by you. By the simple effect of being present, by entering the light, by joining the dance.

Just the best

"Do you mean to frighten me, Mr Darcy, by coming in all this state to hear me? Never fear, for my courage always rises with every attempt to intimidate me."
"I know you take great delight in expressing opinions which are not your own."
"Your cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, will teach you not to believe a word I say. That is ungenerous of him, is it not?"
"It is indeed, Darcy."
"Impolitic, too, for it provokes me to retaliate and say some of his conduct in Hartfordshire which may shock his relations."
"What have you to accuse him of? I should dearly like to hear how he behaves amongst strangers."
"The first time I saw Mr. Darcy, was at a ball, where he danced only four dances, though men were scarce and more than one lady was without a partner."
"I feel I am ill qualified to recommend myself to strangers."
"Should we ask him why? Why a man of sense and education, who has lived in the world, should feel ill qualified to recommend himself to strangers?"
"I... I have not the talent which others possess in conversing easily with strangers."
"I do not play this instrument, so well as I should like, but I have always assumed that to be my own fault because I would not take the trouble of practicing."
"You are perfectly right. No one who had the pleasure of hearing you would think anything wanting. We... neither of us perform to strangers."
"What are you talking of?! What are you telling?! I must have my share in the conversation!"


"I have been a selfish being all my life. As a child I was given good principles but left to follow them in pride and conceit. And still I might have been, if not for you, dearest, loveliest Elizabeth."

Dream

Tuesday or Wednesday, July 18th or 19th. (I've got to keep better track of the day.)

I guess I liked this dream, since I didn't wake up crabby and groggy.
It involved, primarily, a guy at college whom I happen to have a crush on. Maybe that's why I liked it. I don't remember much of it, just the feeling it left afterwards.
We must have been in England. I only say that because it was just like the English countryside sort of thing I've always wanted to visit.
I think we were in a garden. There was an old-fashioned swing, and tall bushes, and a lawn, and flowers and little dark alcoves with impressive-looking statues. It wasn't very bright, kind of dusky and soft and pale and very sweet. All very Jane Austen-like.
I had my younger brothers and sisters with me-- or at least one of them. I think it was Bridget, my little sister, who's two now. She was being extremely cute and sweet. I think I was pushing her on a little swing in a little alcove. She loves to swing. I remember her sweet little curls going back and forth as I pushed her.
This boy, (I won't say his name for privacy's sake... or whatever, you know) walked by with some people I didn't know. They didn't talk to me, even though I'm pretty sure we were the only people in the garden. He was wearing a white outfit. I think it reminded me of the sort of weird outfit that fencing people wear. He noticed Bridget on the swing. He said something to her, and she was all cute and cuddly and whatever. He smiled. Then he noticed me, and looked a little bit awkward or something, and smiled. I don't think he said anything. And then he walked away to join his friends and I watched them sitting on the lawn some ways off, just pushing Bridget back and forth on the swing.
And that's all I really remember. Just being in that garden and feeling very happy and kind of dizzy.

Dream

I've been having the strangest dreams lately-- the strangest thing about them, as far as I'm concerned, is that they actually make a little sense. By that I mean, they aren't completely random and nonsensical--and by that I mean, they're representational, if you know what I mean.
Do dreams ever really mean anything? Or are they simply the result of your subconcious imagination taking everyday thoughts and experiences and mixing them up?

I think this was Wednesday-- July 19th.
I don't remember how this one started out.
I was at a school, or a meeting house or something, and standing in front of a muddy yard in the rain, walking up to a chain-link fence. There was a strange little girl there. When everything was dark and wet and dripping, she was bright and cheery and colorful, with a happy face and red curly hair, and a big red bow on the top of her head.
Then I was in my house, just coming into the livingroom, and there was an enormous thunderstorm. You know how you can poke your finger through rubber, but it just bounces back without making any kind of permanent hole or dent? Well the lightning during this storm was just like that--huge bolts of lightning poking right into the living room, almost touching the floor, and kind of bouncing back again. My older brother was in the room. He was the smart one, apparently. Wherever this lighting struck, he would quickly go and sit in that spot, since he knew lightning doesn't strike the same place twice. The lightning just kept coming and coming. I was the stupid one-- I ran around, kind of freaking out, and a lightning bolt struck my outstretched hand. My hand turned bright red--or pink, maybe. It shook like crazy. It hurt like heck. When I looked at it, there were these shards hanging right out of my thumb, like ripped blood veins or nerves or something. I remember thinking how strange that was.
I went outside. It wasn't my family's backyard. It was something from the country, with a little dirt round going round in a circle past the back door, and woods behind. Apparently, the Nazis were occupying. This didn't strike me as so strange, but it made me nervous. The president of the U.S., Matthew Broderick, apparently, tricked the Nazis by pretending to send our troops south, when they actually went north, and ended up meeting them in a circle and taking them out. Whilst all this was happening, a rich wealthy, blond haired woman took my brothers and sisters and I in her limo--or maybe it was a plane, but then again it could just as well have been a boat or something. In any case, she gave us all this fancy chocolate. There was this box made of chocolate and wafery-stuff, with little chocolate envelopes. I remember the woman was very sad.
Then all of a sudden we were back at my family's house, except it wasn't our house, it was strange to me. I didn't like it. We (my sister and mother and I) had to babysit these two horrible little bratty girls. I couldn't stand them. My mom left somewhere, and the minute she was gone, I told the girls to get out of my house and walk home. After that, a friend of mine from highschool, a nice guy I went to the prom with, came over with his father (who didn't look a thing like his real father) and told me he had his liscence. Apparently that was good, because then he could take me to a dance on Tuesday. He was wearing a football jersey--or maybe that's what he really looked like. I don't know.
There was a girl, older than me, I guess. I had joined some kind of club or something, and she told me they were having an important meeting on Tuesday, the day I was supposed to go to this dance. I had a fit and told her there was no way I would go.
Everything that came after that was all muddled up. I don't think I could describe it very well.

Puddleglum

"Don't you lose heart, Pole," said Puddleglum. "I'm coming, sure and certain. I'm not going to lose an opportunity like this. It will do me good. They all say–I mean, the other wiggles all say–that I'm too flighty; don't take life seriously enough. If they've said it once, they've said it a thousand times. 'Puddleglum,' they've said, 'you're altogether too full of bobance and bounce and high spirits. You've got to learn that life isn't all fricaseed frogs and eel pie. You want something to sober you down a bit. We're only saying it for your own good, Puddleglum.' That's what they say. Now a job like this–a journey up north just as winter's beginning, looking for a Prince that probably isn't there, by way of a ruined city that no one has ever seen–will be just the thing. If that doesn't steady a chap, I don't know what will." And he rubbed his big frog-like hands together as if he were talking of going to a party or a pantomime. "And now," he added, "let's see how those eels are getting on."
-The Silver Chair

Steve McCurry: Afghan girl, refugee camp, Pakistan. 1985
(National Geographic)

Blegh.

I hate summer sometimes.

It's freaking July already! Where is all my time going?

Sunlight through a summer filter

Radiant

CATCH.

Värme

Solamente amore

Se tu fossi nella mia anima un giorno

Sapresti cosa sono in me

Che m'innamorai
Da quell'istante insieme a te
E cio che provo e
Solamente amore

Backwards, Inside-Out and Upside-Down

Everyone's always so concerned with 'turning the world upside-down.'
That's the last thing the world needs. The world needs to be turned right side-up again.

Drive

Take a drive.
Just go.
Where? Anywhere. Just go.
C'mon, you know you want to.
The road is calling your name. Get away. Just go.
What road? Which turn? Follow the clouds, the blue sky, the horizon, the moon. Light and wind and everything you see. Follow the birds. Just go.
Change is inevitable; you can't escape it. Go with the flow; travel with time. Enjoy every moment. Dance. Sing. Dream. Drive. Just go.
Ignore directions. Live a little, be spontaneous. Don't worry so much about 'not supposed to.' Trip, fall, get up again and keep on. Just go.
Learn from your mistakes, don't dwell. Don't always look over your shoulder. Just keep moving, just go.
And when you're tired, turn around, all the way. Look back and remember the drive. You didn't stop, you left a new road in your wake.
This is life.
Just go.

Revelations with coffee. Oh yes.

So, I just had a revelation about myself. Yes. At eleven thirty on a Friday night after swigging a mug of really... weird ... coffee, I've come upon an inspiring realization. You know in cartoons when the lightbulb appears above the cartoon character's head (right now I'm thinking specifically of Goofy for some reason) and the light turns on, zing! They've had an enlightening idea! and then Goofy reaches up and pulls the little cord and turns off the lightbulb and does whatever the revelation has just told him to.
Wow. That was a tangent. What was I saying?
Yes.
I've had a revelation about myself. It doesn't necessarily have anything to do with my life. You know I'm getting REALLY tired of people constantly contradicting what I say about myself. I say something like, "I get really stupid. I confuse myself altogether too much." and then the person will say something like, "You're not stupid. You're a very intelligent person. It just has something to do with your creativity level." As if this person knows ALL about me and can tell Me all about Myself. Okay. I guess you have been living in my brain for eighteen years and can suddenly tell me more about how my mind and body works than even I can. I guess you're right. NO. See, when I say things like that, it's because I am revealing something about myself that I've lived and grown with. It's part of my personality, take it or leave it. And if you can't take it, then screw you (and I mean that with the highest and utmost respect, of course.) Once, my mother and I were talking about a situation my sister once found herself in... I'm not sure what it was. My memory isn't so great. But I remember my reply was something like, "I would just never be comfortable with that." and my Mom's answer I will never forget. She simply said, "You know, Hannah, I think that shows that you really know yourself." She told me that I was clear-minded enough to just know. That reply in itself made me realize how incredibly intelligent and wonderfully admirable my mother is. I've always known she is intelligent and admirable, but what she said to me really hit it home, and I won't ever forget that. Who knows you better than... yourself?
Okay. That was an even LONGER tangent. You see, I'm explaining things to myself. Coffee is a good thing.
My point of all this is that I've come to an interteresting conclusion about a characteristic flaw about myself. It is that I don't drive myself hard enough. I don't go the extra mile. Okay, so I've always known that about myself. It's hard for me to reach out of my comfort zone. (Right now I'm picturing this big pink bubble, and pulling myself out of it, one arm at a time, then my head, now a leg, and I'm yankin myself out of that stupid pink bubble that I've been building around myself for most of my life.) It would be so easy for me to be creative, to inspire people with the talent God has given me. But I'm too afraid of going over board. I'm afraid that if I do go the extra mile, but it turns out to be the extra mile and a half... or even the extra two miles, people will basically think I'm stupid and pathetic.--She goes way overboard with everything. She can't be sensible and stop, she always has to go further. It's like she's trying to out do everyone.-- I've realized tonight, that THAT is what's wrong with me. I could do so much more with the "talent on loan from God" but I'm too afraid, too timid, too worried and obsessed with what people might think of me to be different. That's why I admire those people who (at least on the outside) never give a second thought to what other people think. --It doesn't matter. My life is my life, and only I can make something truly wonderful out of it. --It's like the particular duty God put before us when he gave us the gift of a certain talent. My problem is I need too much pushing. I have to be pushed or coaxed into everything. People eventually get tired of pushing and they stop, and then I'm in a rut, and I can't go forward and I can't go backward. I'm that bandwagon person people always talk about. The person who holds on to the wagon with a vice-like grip and refuses to fall off. Maybe... my grip is slacking a bit. I hope it is. The problem is which bandwagon I WANT to fall off, and which one I DON'T. Well, I kind of know which one I would like to fall off... but which one do I want to stay on? That's a dilemma. That's what my life is all about. Deciding which bandwagon I need to secure with a vice-like grip, and which one I should just tumble off of. If God has given me a special ability, perhaps he will also give me, or show me, what and where that ability goes in the whole scheme of... LIFE.
What a scary thought. Because really, for me it depend so much on the people in my surroundings. Maybe God is telling me I shouldn't be on a bandwagon at all. Maybe I'm supposed to make my own. Maybe not even a bandwagon for lots of people... maybe just a bicycle, built for only me... a bicycle that only I pedal. I don't know... I just keep guessing.
But maybe... the solution lies within a mug of really strong sugary coffee at eleven thirty on a Friday night. Maybe.

What are you ON?

These people are such bloody hypocrites.

Var är hon nu?

Where did that person go? That girl who was so confidently strong in her morals, in her beliefs and in her faith, unsuppressed and excited for the future. That girl I knew last summer... where did she go? I can't say. But if you see her, let me know.

The Blue

All I could see was the blue.
I don't know why I thought it was blue, because it could just as easily have been green or gold.
I just remember thinking what a beautiful color it was.
Shadows, too.
Shadows flying (floating, racing, dancing) over my eyes.
They must have been closed. My eyes, I mean. The shadows were dapples from somewhere above and they were surrounded by light, flying faster. I suppose they couldn't have been shadows without that purest light.
Maybe that's the point; maybe there are two kinds of sight: a sense, just like smelling or hearing or tasting or touching. But then there is the sight so much like touching, like being overwhelmed by an emotion, so much so that it brings color and pictures-- maybe memories-- to your eyes and to your mind. And this sight brings the softest, happiest warmth.
Does your soul feel?
Is that a stupid question? (My friend said once, that teachers say there are no stupid questions, only stupid answers... but they're only trying to make you feel better when you ask one.)
Here.
Within.
Without.
Everywhere...
I still see the blue.

Nothin' but blue skies from now on!

Big Blue Eyes.





Blue skies smilin' at me
Nothin' but blue skies do I see
Bluebirds singin' a song
Nothin' but bluebirds all day long

Never saw the sun shinin' so bright
Never saw things goin' so right
Noticing the days hurrying by
When you're in love, my how they fly

Blue days, all of them gone
Nothin' but blue skies from now on
(Blue skies smilin' at me
Nothin' but blue skies do I see)

Never saw the sun shinin' so bright
Never saw things goin' so right
Noticing the days hurrying by
When you're in love, my how they fly

Blue days, all of them gone
Nothin' but blue skies from now on
Nothin' but blue skies from now on!

... laundry?

“I believe you should live each day as if it is your last, which is why I don't have any clean laundry, because, come on, who wants to wash clothes on the last day of their life?”

Tuesday laundry

So... waiting for my laundry, I decided to write some stuff.
I expected a thunderstorm all afternoon... nothing. This is so disappointing. I can literally smell the rain coming--when is it coming? A good thunderstorm would be the best thing! (Just... um, not during classes tomorrow.) K... going to check laundry.

April begins...

April 1st
April Fool's Day
National Atheists' Day

Phew! Glad I got that off my chest

I think I can safely say... that no matter what moronic things I've done lately...
I have never licked a spark plug.

"He had a mouth like a hippolatamus!"

The Pirates Who Don't Do Anything

Narrator: "Joining Larry are Pa Grape and Mr. Lunt, who together make up
the infamous gang of scalliwags, the Pirates Who Don't Do Anything!"
Larry, Pa, Mr. Lunt: "We are the Pirates Who Don't Do Anything! We just
stay home and lie around. And if you ask us to do anything, we'll just
tell you ..."
Larry: "We don't do anything!"
Pa: "Well, I've never been to Greenland and I've never been to Denver, and
I've never buried treasure in St. Louis or St. Paul, and I've never been
to Moscow and I've never been to Tampa, and I've never been to Boston in
the fall."
All: "'Cuz we're the Pirates Who Don't Do Anything! We just stay home
and lie around. And if you ask us to do anything, we'll just tell you..."
Mr. Lunt: "We don't do anything. And I never hoist the mainstay and I
never swab the poop deck, and I never veer to starboard 'cuz I never
sail at all, and I've never walked the gang plank and I've never owned a
parrot, and I've never been to Boston in the fall."
All: "'Cuz we're the Pirates Who Don't Do Anything! We just stay at home
and lie around. And if you ask us to do anything, we'll just tell you... We don't do anything!"
Larry: "Well, I've never plucked a rooster and I'm not too good at
ping-pong, and I've never thrown my mashed potatoes up against the wall,
and I've never kissed a chipmunk and I've never gotten head lice, and
I've never been to Boston in the fall!"
Pa: "Huh? What are you talking about? What's a rooster and mashed
potatoes have to do with being a pirate??"
Mr. Lunt: "Hey, that's right! We're supposed to sing about pirate-y
things!"
Larry: "Oh ..."
Pa: "And who ever kissed a chipmunk? That's just nonsense! Why even
bring it up? Am I right? What do you think?"
Mr. Lunt: "I think you look like Cap'n Crunch!"
Pa: "Huh? No I don't!"
Mr. Lunt: "Do too."
Pa: "Do not!"
Mr. Lunt: "You're making me hungry."
Pa: "That's it, you're walkin' the plank!"
Mr. Lunt: "Says who?"
Pa: "Says the captain, that's who!"
Mr. Lunt: "Oh, yeah? Aye aye, Cap'n Crunch!"
Larry: "And I've never licked a spark plug and I've never sniffed a
stink bug, and I've never painted daisies on a big red rubber ball, and
I've never bathed in yogurt and I don't look good in leggings ..."
Pa: "You just don't get it!"
All: "And we've never been to Boston in the fall!"

The Banana Phone Song

Ring ring ring ring ring ring ring
Banana phone
Ring ring ring ring ring ring ring
Banana phone
I've got this feeling
so appealing
for us to get together and sing - SING!
Ring ring ring ring ring ring ring
Banana phone
Ding dong ding dong ding dong ding
Donana phone
It grows in bunches
I've got my hunches
Its the best
beats the rest
cellular modular
interactivodular
Ring ring ring ring ring ring ring
Banana phone
Ping pong ping pong ping pong ping
Ponana phone
Its no baloney
It aint a phony
My cellular
Bananular phone
Don't need quarters
don't need dimes
to call a friend of mine
dont need computer or tv
to have a real good time
I'll call for pizza
I'll call my cat
I'll call the whitehouse, have a chat
I'll place a call around the world
Operator get me beijing jing jing jing
Ring ring ring ring ring ring ring
Banana phone
Ying yang ying yang ying yang ying
Yanana phone
It's a real live mama and papa phone
a brother and sister and a dogaphone
a grandpa phone and a grandma phone too - oh yeah
my cellular bananular phone
Banana phone
ring... ring... ring...
Its a phone with appeal (a peel)
Banana phone
ring... ring... ring...
Now you can have your phone and eat it too
Banana phone
ring... ring... ring...
This song drives me .... bananas
Banana phone
ring... ring... ring...
Bo ba do ba do do doob

MUAH HA HA!

BEWARE THE IDES OF MARCH!

I've been saying this to people all day.
Don't ask me why.
I like bananas.

Walking in a Winter Wonderland

SNOW DAY!

Oh! The places you'll go!

Congratulations!
Today is your day.
You're off to Great Places!
You're off and away!

You have brains in your head.
You have feet in your shoes
You can steer yourself
any direction you choose.
You're on your own. And you know what you know.
And YOU are the guy who'll decide where to go.

You'll look up and down streets. Look 'em over with care.
About some you will say, "I don't choose to go there."
With your head full of brains and your shoes full of feet,
you're too smart to go down any not-so-good street.

And you may not find any
you'll want to go down.
In that case, of course,
you'll head straight out of town.

It's opener there
in the wide open air.

Out there things can happen
and frequently do
to people as brainy
and footsy as you.

And when things start to happen,
don't worry. Don't stew.
Just go right along.
You'll start happening too.

OH!
THE PLACES YOU'LL GO!

You'll be on your way up!
You'll be seeing great sights!
You'll join the high fliers
who soar to high heights.

You won't lag behind, because you'll have the speed.
You'll pass the whole gang and you'll soon take the lead.
Wherever you fly, you'll be the best of the best.
Wherever you go, you will top all the rest.

Except when you don' t
Because, sometimes, you won't.

I'm sorry to say so
but, sadly, it's true
and Hang-ups
can happen to you.

You can get all hung up
in a prickle-ly perch.
And your gang will fly on.
You'll be left in a Lurch.

You'll come down from the Lurch
with an unpleasant bump.
And the chances are, then,
that you'll be in a Slump.

And when you're in a Slump,
you're not in for much fun.
Un-slumping yourself
is not easily done.

You will come to a place where the streets are not marked.
Some windows are lighted. But mostly they're darked.
A place you could sprain both your elbow and chin!
Do you dare to stay out? Do you dare to go in?
How much can you lose? How much can you win?

And IF you go in, should you turn left or right...
or right-and-three-quarters? Or, maybe, not quite?
Or go around back and sneak in from behind?
Simple it's not, I'm afraid you will find,
for a mind-maker-upper to make up his mind.

You can get so confused
that you'll start in to race
down long wiggled roads at a break-necking pace
and grind on for miles across weirdish wild space,
headed, I fear, toward a most useless place.
The Waiting Place...

...for people just waiting.
Waiting for a train to go
or a bus to come, or a plane to go
or the mail to come, or the rain to go
or the phone to ring, or the snow to snow
or waiting around for a Yes or a No
or waiting for their hair to grow.
Everyone is just waiting.

Waiting for the fish to bite
or waiting for wind to fly a kite
or waiting around for Friday night
or waiting, perhaps, for their Uncle Jake
or a pot to boil, or a Better Break
or a string of pearls, or a pair of pants
or a wig with curls, or Another Chance.
Everyone is just waiting.

NO!
That's not for you!

Somehow you'll escape
all that waiting and staying.
You'll find the bright places
where Boom Bands are playing.

With banner flip-flapping,
once more you'll ride high!
Ready for anything under the sky.
Ready because you're that kind of a guy!

Oh, the places you'll go! There is fun to be done!
There are points to be scored. there are games to be won.
And the magical things you can do with that ball
will make you the winning-est winner of all.
Fame! You'll be famous as famous can be,
with the whole wide world watching you win on TV.

Except when they don't.
Because, sometimes, they won't.

I'm afraid that some times
you'll play lonely games too.
Games you can't win
'cause you'll play against you.

All Alone!
Whether you like it or not,
Alone will be something
you'll be quite a lot.

And when you're alone, there's a very good chance
you'll meet things that scare you right out of your pants.
There are some, down the road between hither and yon,
that can scare you so much you won't want to go on.

But on you will go
though the weather be foul
On you will go
though your enemies prowl
On you will go
though the Hakken-Kraks howl
Onward up many
a frightening creek,
though your arms may get sore
and your sneakers may leak.

On and on you will hike
and I know you'll hike far
and face up to your problems
whatever they are.

You'll get mixed up, of course,
as you already know.
You'll get mixed up
with many strange birds as you go.
So be sure when you step.
Step with care and great tact
and remember that Life's
a Great Balancing Act.
Just never forget to be dexterous and deft.
And never mix up your right foot with your left.

And will you succeed?
Yes! You will, indeed!
(98 and 3 / 4 percent guaranteed.)

KID, YOU'LL MOVE MOUNTAINS!

So...
be your name Buxbaum or Bixby or Bray
or Mordecai Ali Van Allen O'Shea,
you're off to Great Places!
Today is your day!
Your mountain is waiting.
So...get on your way!

---Dr. Seuss

Will there really be a morning?

Will there really be a morning?
Is there such a thing as day?
Could I see it from the mountains
If I were as tall as they?
Has it feet like waterlilies?
Has it feathers like a bird?
Is it brought from famous countries
Of which I have never heard?
Oh some scholar!
Oh some sailor!
Oh some wiseman from the skies!
Please tell a little pilgrim
Where the place called morning lies!
Emily Dickinson

M&M's... taste the flavor explosion... literally.

This needs to be documented.
M&M's are literally dangerous... be careful who is in your company when you have an unopened bag.
Have you ever witnessed a bag of M&M's explode? The plain--not the peanut. That would've been worse.
Innocently, I mimicked smashing a bag (the full-size bag) of colorful-crunchy-shelled-milk-chocolatey-goodness upon my friend Geoff's head. Why? I honestly don't know why. I'm not a psychologist... and neither are you. Anyway... Geoff seemed to like this idea. I know now I should've been very afraid at this response. But, unfortunately, I wasn't. (again... I am not a psychologist and neither are you.) He innocently asked me whether or not I cared if he did indeed smash the bag upon his head. Innocently, I replied that indeed, I did not. Once again, a warning alarm should've been going on in my brain, and again... it didn't. So Geoff twisted the bag in his left hand and smashed it onto his head.
It exploded.
All over the caf. (The definition of 'all over' in this context means, from the farthest corner of the caf where we were sitting, right down to the first door into the food area... need I say that's a large area to cover.) I'm sure I'm exagerrating when I say it sounded like a small bomb going off... but it kind of did. M&M's littered the floor and tables.
So... the moral of this story is... primarily, anything (even innocent pieces of colorful-crunchy-shelled-milk-chocolatey-goodness) can be dangerous around insane people. Only later did I recall that this was the guy who innocently aided in blowing up a gasoline-filled watermelon. Hmm... sooner or later, I'm going to need a therapist.
I hope you have appreciated this highly-dramatised reminiscence of yesterday's main event. My hopes are that your friends are as incredibly, insanely awesome as mine.
Happy Monday!

Bloody Heck

Today, I am a disaster waiting to happen.

Ha ha

I love to laugh
Loud and long and clear
I love to laugh
It's getting worse ev'ry year

The more I laugh
The more I fill with glee
And the more the glee
The more I'm a merrier me
It's embarrassing!
The more I'm a merrier me!