Interludes of Tired Dreams

                     These days seems so long, as if meant for lulling around on the green, sun soaked grounds, with the blue, blue skies above, and the song of the birds mingled with the murmur of trees. But instead they are filled with nothingness of another kind, as our minds, longing to play with Spring, are forced to bend to very different tasks. And there we find ourselves drooping over Dryden's Absalom and Achitophel, or a chapter of philosophy concerning the moral argument; or, in order to rouse ourselves from unintended slumber, we throw  ourselves whole heartedly into baking muffins. Two dozen, wrapped in tin foil, and tossed into the freezer like coal into the the coal bin to be used on another day.  

                     The 'B' post is almost done, but I'm waiting for a card reader so I can get pictures off my camera. It should be here by Thursday. I'm busy trying to hem my dress for the ball next Saturday, while trying not to fall behind on my studies. And during it all I find myself dreaming of May, weeks spent with my sister, and imaginary vacations to mountain tops. Perhaps listening to "North and South," and Mrs. Gaskell's descriptions of a country life is not the smartest thing to do in this situation, but I have put The count of monte Cristo on the back burner for now, and, having ruled Hulu out, am forced to fall back on English novels. Besides, I've never read it before, and I hear the movie is very good. As to this ailment, I know it's cause. It does not spring from beautiful but chilly days, no, it's a natural outcome of the sun crossing the equator. That's right, Happy Vernal Equinox day. 

What Begins with 'B'?

Beautiful, Bountiful, Braids, Bento and Bikes.

                   Spring has sprung. Again. It's Beautiful. I accidently stumbled upon this poem by Traherne, who I had never heard of before, but now that I've read it, "Wonder," I really want to read more of him. Flying down the hill on my shiny blue bike to come home and read "How like an angel down I come!" Can there be anything more breathtaking than words matching soul?

I within did flow

With seas of life like wine;

I nothing in the World did know

But 'twas Divine.

                                   – Wonder, Thomas Traherne

                       As if spring as awoken something crafty within my soul, I woke up on  Thursday morning and decided to make this: 

                That's right, it's my first Bento. The bottom compartment holds the traditional rice, and the upper tier plays host a ham stir fry, leftover from last night (actually, I think I made enough of it to last me a whole week of bentos, if I could stomach the monotony). I'm loving the cute, plastic, muffin molds, especially that bright blue against the yellow pineapple. The meal was a complete success, only 1) I can't eat rice with such short chopsticks! Next time I'll pack a longer pair, and 2) by the time I opened my bento the shortbread had become a little soggy. Everyone say  "eww!" No, it wasn't that bad, but I guess I'll have to remember to wrap breads and cookies separately to keep them from getting damp. 

                I've finally shot pictures of the overskirt, which I need to start working on. My mom has sent out the rest of my dress and I can't wait to finish all the fiddly little details. Bountiful is the Lord, they say, and that my soul knowth right well.

I'm still flabbergasted at the amount of work my mom has put into this dress, it's going to be mind-boggling. Completely white – or, to go with the 'B' theme, blanc – the overskirt is gauzy goodness, with little, silk ribbon roses sewn on to it (well, it will be like that. I'm still sewing them on), and larger roses pinning it up to make elegant drapes.  These drapes will be imitated on the bodice, and their will be a rose on each sleeve. Of course, their are matching shoes, white ones, to which roses will be attached. It's all going to be gorgeous when it comes together, which needs to happen before the ball on the  28th. 

                   In honor of the ball I had my hair braided. That was my official excuse, really I was just bored with the regular french braids I do. It's really hard to take pictures or your head, do you think this one came out okay? ( I colored it a little, forgive me)

         Oh, least I forget, the photos which this post is just full of are all courtesy of this cute little card reader. I ordered three, because some people complained about duds. Only the highest praise so far. No more camera trouble, yay!

A is for......

              Atlanta. She was the alarmingly aberrant lady who didn't want to get married after her first love died (his mother killed him by burning a log. A surprising effective, long-distance murder). But her father refused to have her stay single, so the two struck a bargain. She would race her suitors, with her hand as the prize. The version of the story that I read as child described her as faster than the wind. I can close my eyes even now and see her, her hair streaming out behind her, laughing as she outran that elusive element. 

               This week I read Malcolm Gladwell's Outliers, which was amazing, and I thought I'd write something about the awkwardly average, just to prove that I do read outside of school. But then I spent the weekend glued to the hulu-dominated* screen of my computer while the dashing Remington Steele fought, looked handsome, and stole all Ms. Holt's credit. Now, Monday, I am all worn out. I feel like Atlanta. I was determined to run the race, I enjoy the race – though, in this case the race refers to writing an essay, and my enjoyment of that is debatable. But then I spied this curious, shiny thing and, as if drawn to it, I stopped and picked it up. Once. Twice. If I watch the third season I feel I will strike out, so I'm making vain plans to keep my self busy instead. I really hate feeling addicted to something, it's awful. 

 

                 One of the worst things is that I didn't get enough sleep, which makes me such a drama queen. I even woke up this morning and put tea bags on my eyes. Yes, I sometimes dream I'm Laura Lamount, that the world is my stage, and that I've a perfect right to mutter under my breath as I walk the hallways, or chuckle darkly as I type up the final version of my paper.I find my self shrugging my shoulder, my left one, constantly. My classmates can't be blamed if they think I've developed a twitch. 

                But, life is also good. When the sun comes out I'll give you all a taste of my overskirt for the Civil War Ball I'll be attending in two weeks. Three cheers to moms who know how to  sew and are willing to sacrifice time, sleep, and their last bite of ice cream. I hope one day I can have such love.   

*If you have never heard of Hulu, run for the hills! If you have experienced it yourself then you know just what a curse it is. "And the best part is there is nothing you can do to stop it. I mean, what are you going to do, turn off you TV and your computer?" (Hulu ad)

Look! It's the elusive Endpaper Mitt, 

clutching a japanese Sweet potato! 

Add a Little Weird and Stir

What a snow fall! At least ten inches. I think, looking back, that I probably will always regret not playing in it more, but I was too humiliated. I took a huge plastic lid outside, walked through this enchanting path, all evergreens and sparkling whiteness, topped the hill, sat on the lid, and sank. Sank right into the snow. I stood up, held the lid in front of me, took a running start, and dove down the hill..... about an inch in the half. My feet flailing in the air, shaking snow all down my legs; my socks and skirt completely covered with snow. I sat and pouted a bit, but I continued trying until witnesses arrived to the scene. Then it was time to pack up and go in. 

                         Oh, this is supposed to be my obligatory mid-terms-before-spring-break complaint session. Since it's expected, here goes:

Rant. Rant Rant. *Sob*. Rant. *Stomp Foot and Stalk Away.*

I hope that fills my quota, because I'm feeling too weird to complain. Like everything is a little surreal. Like "oops, I didn't mean to stare. I just happened to have my eyes focused on you when I zoned out."  I have such plans for Spring Break, and such apathy for the here-and-now, that I can't focus on anything unless it's random, tragic, or hilarious. Luckily, all my classes fall into one or more of those categories, so I'm safe. Well, not so much Philosophy, but that class has a very soothing quality to it. 

                   No, instead of complaining I'm going to rejoice. I have my new shoes. Oh, they are so nice. I was walking towards my room, carry  them and wearing my boots. Oh, these boots. They are good for walking in the snow, but unless you are wearing two pairs of socks, you will end up walking with a wad of cloth under you heel. Not comfortable. Halfway to my dorm I had a thought, put on the your beautiful new Merrells. So I did. Immiedate satisfaction. I was all a grin. And then the pain came. Man, after those flat boots, the craddling action felt almost harsh. I was a little worried. But I later walked down to dinner and they felt fine. Better than fine. If my Little Black Box was working I'd take a comparison shot between my brand new shoes and my old ones, but since I can't, lets just say my old one are very, very loved. Their heels are worn away, as if  someone took a sword to them and sliced off the black rubber. And the elastic on the tongue, one side of it's completely stretched out, probably because I  literally  kick my shoes off when I come home. 

                 Oh, heads up, in the next twenty-six posts I'm going to try to bring a bit of structure to my writing. I'm going to go for  content  first, and, if that turns out okay, I'll then start a serious study of styles. As they might say in, Japan まったね！(Pronunciation: ma-ta. Literally: again. Bunberry-ation: Until next time!)