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sorry friends. life=busy. i wonder if anyone was missing my posting however.

first let me call to attention that it is the 27 of MARCH!!!! my favorite person is coming today!! :D

yesterday was the last day (forever) of my co-op classes. FOREVER. this event makes me so happy. so happeeee!!

this february i joined a site called where you swap postcards with people across the world. very much something i would immediately join after hearing about. if you don’t know me, know this: i really love postcards.  i found a great one at a antique store a couple weeks ago. (did i already talk about this one?)

haha :) the other side was fantastic too:

here are the postcards I sent to other countries:

I sent about 3 more..don’t think i took pics with those.

oh yea, heres the backs of a couple more :) i got slap happy sending so many postcards.

here are my favorite postcards i’ve received (some from very special people) :

heres a stack of postcards ( amy and i used to collect them) :

here are the postcards i’ve received from psotcrossings; two from Finland, one from Ukraine, Japan, and China! :)

So there we have it :) a long overdue post about postcards. maybe i’ll post more now i finally have this done. kudos!


And when I look to the shape of the sky,
I give thanks for this hollow chest of mine,
that I no longer feel, the great weight of ordeals,
that can make this life so unkind

If there’s any love in me, don’t let it show,
oh and if there’s any love in me, don’t let it grow.

I wanted to embed this music video but it won’t let me, sadly.

but watch that one! that is what this post is about. then watch the other one.

here is another one thats equally awesome.

that one will surprise you i think :)

there are so many hidden topics in this conversation i had with my friend on my phone. including: resolutions, feeling, new year, males, love, music and art and inspiration and all the while i was drawing something that i see as fantastic, while i listened to amy seeley, while i cleansed from bawling my eyes out. so here it is. you won’t understand it, but i have to share its briliance. (beginning with my friend & ending with me)

-i do understand, i do. getting sleep always helps me though. you want your body to mirror your mind, if only for a while.
-well, tomorrow will happen. i’m looking forward to it. i have nothing to do, but at least that will always change
-what is tomorrow?
-nothing, just a new day and a change from today.
-“give me new, give me thrill, kill the cliche, forget a hero to dave the day” it seems fitting
-i like that. right now, i’m sort of cleansing myself by listening to my favorite music and drawing. you inspire.
-i suggest regina spektor. do you listen to her?
-yes absolutely.
-she is almost idol worthy (forgive me god!) do you listen to the yeah yeah yeahs?
-haven’t listened to those. but i love finding new music.
-check them out(:
-i always check out the people you tell me to. you know, what, random, but i need to find myself another guy. pronto. even an awesome friend that’ll talk to me.
-eek! slippery path! don’t rush, or the catharsis he provides will make you like him
-very. true. i just want a different guy to step into my life. cause i’m wasting my time with the old ones. i’m not meaning to be desperate for a guy. just forNEW.
-i know how you feel. new boys. new adventure,new clothes,new chance.
-i kinda feel like i was wishing for this ‘new year’ to be a new chance. yet the past three days have been me living in the past more than ever.
-a date never means an emotional divorce. you need closure love
-i think my ‘resolution’ should be to find that closure
-that seems like a good one(: hes going to to say something to you, or you’re going to have an epiphany, and then hes going to bore, and even disgust you a little bit.
-yeah, you put it so eloquently, yet again.

i am thankful for so many things. food, family, friends, letters, music, guitars, texting, wifi, sisters, gravy, best friends, lovers, star trek, books, halfprice books, rice, turkey, beef, cows, fruit, gum, cameras, christmas lights, spongebob, toothbrushes, tongues, couches, cold weather, gingersnaps, slippers, thrifting, macbooks, tortellini, cooking, pencils, socks, boys, (boys? what is this doing on this list?) boys, redbox, cars, paint, aunts, ukeleles, birthdays, apples, gala apples, shoes, taylor university, pennyloafers, stamps, porcupines, sand, journals, & tea.

..head gear(:

p.s. i knit.

good god, if i could play this on the piano, i could die single and happy.

mouthwash-kate nash

I can’t express myself sometimes in words, and I often borrow the words of others; others that have had so much more experience then I have; others who I look up to. Here is some excerpts from the book, A Circle of Quiet, which is by Madeleine L’Engle. She is my favorite author. Please, sit back and bask in these words.

I like hanging sheets on lines strung under the apple trees—the birds like it, too. I enjoy going out to the incinerator after dark and watching the flames; my bad feelings burn away with the trash. But the house is still visible, and I can hear the sounds from within; often I need to get away completely, if only for a few minutes. My special place is a small brook in a green glade, a circle of quiet from which there is no visible sign of human beings. There’s a natural stone bridge over the brook, and I sit there, dangling my legs and looking through the foliage at the sky reflected in the water, and things slowly come back into perspective. If the insects are biting me—and they usually are; no place is quiet perfect—I use the pliable branch of a shadblow tree as a fan. The brook wanders through a tunnel of foliage, and the birds sing more sweetly there than anywhere else; or perhaps it is just what when I am at the brook I have time to be aware of them, and I move slowly into a kind of peace that is marvelous, “annihilating all that’s made to a green thought in a green shade.” If I sit for a while, them my impatience, crossness, frustration, are indeed annihilated, and my sense of humor returns.

I suppose the perfect isness of anything would be frightening without the hope of God. An oak tree is, and it doesn’t matter to it—at least Sartre thinks it doesn’t; it is not a thinking oak. Man is; and it matters to him, this is terrifying unless it matters to God, too, because we are sufficient unto ourselves—I am not: my husband, my family, my friends give me my meaning and, in a sense, my being, so that I know that I, like the burning bush, or the oak tree, am ontological: essential: real.

When we are self-conscious, we cannot be wholly aware; we must throw ourselves out first. This throwing ourselves away is the act of creativity. So, when we wholly concentrate, like a child in play, or an artist at work, then we share in the act of creating. We not only escape time, we also escape out self-conscious selves. The Greeks had a word for ultimate self-consciousness which I find illuminating: hubris: pride: pride in the sense of oneself in the center of the universe. The strange and terrible thing is that this kind of total self-consciousness invariably ends in self-annihilation. The great tragedians always understood this, from Sophocles to Shakespeare.

The kind of unself-consciousness I’m thinking about becomes clearer to me when I turn to a different discipline: for instance, that of playing a Bach fugue at the piano, precisely because I will never be good enough pianist to play a Bach fugue as it should be played. But when I am actually sitting at the piano, all there is for me is the music. I am wholly in it, unless I fumble so badly that I perforce to become self-conscious. Mostly, no matter how inadequate my playing, the music is all that matters: I am outside time, outside self, in play, in joy. When we can play with the unself-consciousness concentration of a child, this is: art: prayer: love.


Today I went to a baby shower and the theme was Noah’s Ark; therefore I inherited four fish from the decor on the tables from the numerous other gold fish that were going to be used for cat food when taken back to the pet store. Friends helped me pick out the names. Penelope was originally Portia. But we loved the name Penelope.

meet my family in the pickle jar:


Leopold has a mustache, Pierre is the angry grey one, Max is the nerdy gold one with the clear tail, and Penelope is the plain gold one.  (can gold be plain?)


Penelope rolls her eyes at the boys.


a good look at Leopold’s mustache and Max’s tail.


haha, Pierre’s angry face.

Lemon Rosemary Chicken

3 chicken breasts
1 tablespoon olive oil
1 onion, chopped,
4 small red potatoes, chopped
2 carrots, chopped,
1 lemon, cut into chunks*
Sprigs of rosemary, torn apart
1 garlic clove, minced
1 cup chicken stock
Salt and pepper to taste

In a large wok-type pot or Dutch oven sear the outsides of the chicken breasts in oil. Add onion, potatoes, carrots, and lemon. Cook for a few minutes on high and add chicken stock, rosemary, garlic, salt, and pepper. Simmer on medium-low for an hour or until chicken is cooked through and vegetables are tender. Stir occasionally. Serve with a little rice or with rolls.

I find that the beauty of cooking something like this is that you can add anything you have in your vegetable drawer or modify it to your tastes. Experiment; that is my only request. :)

*I seeded the lemon and after the chicken was cooked the lemon rinds were soft as they had been simmering in the chicken stock for an hour. I didn’t eat them and picked them out though you could eat them; more vitamin C, no?

I made this up last night for my mom and dad’s anniversary and they loved it. It has a tangy lemon-rosemary sweet taste that is not to overpowering.

Tell me what I’m s’posed to do,
With all these leftover feelings of you,
‘Cause I don’t know,
And tell me how I’m s’posed to feel,
When all these nightmares become real,
‘Cause I don’t know,

And I don’t think, you see the places inside me that I find you,
And I don’t know, how we separate the lies here from the truth,
And I don’t know, how we woke up one day somehow thought we knew,
Exactly what we’re supposed to do.

So leave me, at the Roadside,
And hang me, up and out to dry,
So leave me, at the Roadside,
And hang me, up and out to dry,

And I don’t think, you see the places inside me that I find you,
And I don’t know, how we woke up one day somehow thought we knew,
Exactly what we’re supposed to do.

So leave me, at the Roadside,
And hang me, up and out to dry,
So leave me, at the Roadside,
And hang me, up and out to dry,

‘Cause I don’t think, you see, the places inside me that I find you,
And I don’t know, how we woke up one day somehow thought we knew,
Exactly what we’re supposed to do.

Exactly what to do.