Home Alone

It's happening, the phenomena of being home alone. 

I love my house. My mom has created a haven unlike anything I could have imagined. HOWEVER. The parents are out for the night and I am home alone. *Oh Snap.* Suddenly every sound is a footstep, avery light beam is some other worldly creature. "Is it nice? Malicious? Here to kill me? Need a pick me up?"

What the dogs don't know is that I have rallied them around me for courage. I cleverly shut the bathroom door where they love to sleep and have forced them to encircle me on the couch. It's probably from all the ghost talk I had with mom and Mindi about a week ago... Since when was this house built in the 70's? Why do I feel like I can hear 8mm film flickering somewhere? I should put on country music, no ghost would stick around for that. Why is it that the only night in a month that it storms in Baton Rouge is the night I'm home alone. I'll just have to pull a Kelsea and sleep with Hamilton the hammer under my pillow.

Oh boy, morning can't come soon enough! The power of the imagination is INCREDIBLE. I started thinking about that, how the brain can illicite an actual physical response from the body-sweating, pounding heart, heavy breathing, pretty powerful stuff. Therefore I am desperately trying to get the ghoulish face of a ghostly old man out of my head. Aha!! I'll watch cat videos! I bet even the ghoulish old man would get a kick out of those

Gloria

Modern Family is a TV show that I can't help but love. Meet Gloria, she kills me.

The Answer

     I stand with my computer in hand, screen propped up, balancing the bottom like a waitress. The charger, which Apple has managed to make as obnoxiously large as possible, is piled on my keyboard, along with my USB and phone.
"Come on Shaft!" He looks up at me from the couch with those pouty brown eyes. "Let's go outside!" His tail begins to beat against the leather as he slides off nice and slow, picks his toy squirrel up from the carpet, and follows me to the door. Holy bejeezus it is cold. I think the weather gods like to get drunk right around this time of year. I can see them up there, glass of some mystical drink, "Hey Ed, let's make it 40˚ tomorrow! That'll throw these gripy bastards for a loop!"

     So here I sit at the kitchen counter, watching Amelie stare outside through the lowest pane of the back door. If you open it, she goes halfway out, and when she realizes you're not going with her, she pauses, turns back around, and walks back in slow huff. And stares some more.
I started today with a bang, waking up with a call from Andrew, hopped right into applying for jobs and sending emails, and that's when I came across an email from Grandad. In the email he quoted St. Stephen, and at the end, asks us all the have hope for humanity. I loved that phrasing. People constantly want to argue, "you're wrong for thinking humanity is good, it's mostly bad." And then the counter argument  "Humanity is still good, there are some really bad humans out there, but as a whole, we're alright." Forget the argument. It's not about all good or all bad. Have hope, whichever way you lean, have hope. To address each person you encounter with hope, that's a strong, beautiful thing. To give them the occasion to rise up, that is the answer. 

Delightful

Don't say it was delightful; make us say delightful when 

we've read the description. You see, all those words 

(horrifying, wonderful, hideous, exquisite) are only like 

saying to your readers, "Please will you do the job for me."

-C.S. Lewis

Source: 25.media.tumblr.com via BookMachine on Pinterest

Tender

Being tender and open is beautiful. As a woman, I feel continually shhh’ed. Too sensitive. Too mushy. Too wishy washy. Blah blah. Don’t let someone steal your tenderness. Don’t allow the coldness and fear of others to tarnish your perfectly vulnerable beating heart. Nothing is more powerful than allowing yourself to truly be affected by things. Whether it’s a song, a stranger, a mountain, a rain drop, a tea kettle, an article, a sentence, a footstep, feel it all – look around you. All of this is for you. Take it and have gratitude. Give it and feel love.

- Zooey Deschanel

The life of line work

Often times when I'm looking at something that I want to draw, whether it's a picture or a real life image, I get caught up in the realism of it all. How does that line sit? Where does this shadow end? I obsess over each aspect, and yet my favorite style is anything with loose flowing lines, splotchy ink and waves of overlapping color. Then I found this picture, I absolutely love the way that it is done.

Source: julia.blogg.se via Collette on Pinterest

Look at the small trees along the sidewalk. They have no tops! No limbs, no leaves, nothing. Because if they did, they would ruin the vibe of the doors and steps and windows. He didn't draw them because he didn't have to if he didn't want to! Look at the two buildings with the gate in between them. He separates the buildings in order to have the gate and create a break for yours eyes, but up top near the roofs he brings them back together to keep the crowded illusion of the buildings. So dearest readers, here is a reminder to always see things in a light separate from the obvious, and always challenge yourself. Happy Tuesday :)

Chief

Today, I got paid.
I took part of my paycheck and went down to Michael's, leaving with a new set of charcoal, new pencils, a sketchpad, and a wonderful  sense of contentment.
Now I sit at Starbucks in those closely placed tables I had mentioned in a previous post. I'm about three feet down from an older married couple eating marble pound cake. They talk about his love for chocolate and their children's Facebooks. They laugh often at one another. The wife is very funny, and her husband thinks so. He has a soulful voice and a large thick mustache.

At my table, I search for images that would be conducive for a charcoal drawing. In my search, I found a picture of this chief. He jumped off of the endless Google Images page at me. There is so much pride in his look. It makes you wonder, what he was loosing, or had already lost, what he was trying to preserve. My Junior Seminar course in college was supposed to be on all forms of literature, but ended up being focused heavily on Native American lit and history. I've noticed that this happens in just about every class taught by someone with a Phd...the class always seems to be about exactly what they wrote their dissertation on. However, I learned a lot about the modern Native American. Did you know that 70% of their population lives below the poverty line? If you google poorest towns in America, almost all of the top twenty are Indian reservations. They are such a fascinating people to me. Maybe it's because they are so earthy. I think back to being little with the cousins at Gran and Grandad's house, playing orphan children. We would smear berries for paint and smash up little pods that looked like corn for dinner. (No worries, I don't think we ever really ate it.) Perhaps I like the Indians so much because their ways of life remind me of some of my best times in childhood.

It's painful to think of a people with so much history and such a love for the land, spending their days on a rotting reservation in North Dakota. Many of the boys play basketball, with little else to do growing up. And actually, many of them are incredibly skilled, but don't properly complete high school or excel with grades, and are therefor hardly scouted. That is why Sam Bradford is such an icon to the Indian community, he is one of the few successful athlete's of Indian descent.

Mostly, I feel there is so much about the Indian people we don't know. After all  we only know what we know starting with our own arrival. They are a fascinating people, mysterious and heartbreaking.

The man with the jar of honey

There is a crazy man in Starbucks. He is here most days that I am here.

He sits at a table near the door, allowing him to make contact with most everyone who walks in. He wears a short sleeve, orange button down shirt, tucked into khaki pants, and black walking shoes. These are resting neatly on the tile next to his sock covered feet. He boldly lifts one foot up and rests it on his knee, his sock waving back and forth to the beat of the music. In his hands is a paper he isn't reading, which he gives a nice loud pop to about every 30 seconds or so. There is a crinkled brown bag sitting on his table. Most of the time, he is talking quietly to himself in a nonsensical way. Every now and then I meet eyes with him, he sits upright with his reading glasses pushed down, still talking to himself, staring at my corner.

He once asked me what an Ipad was, and I tried to explain it to him. I give something of a half smile, no...more of a slightly polite quarter smile. Enough to say "Yes, I see you over there."

He reaches in his crumpled brown bag and pulls out a large mason jar, half full with honey. He holds it up to the light with admiration, turns it a few times, and presses it to his cheek with a look of pure peace.

O Captain, My Captain

Have you ever heard of the Caramel Brule Latte, dear readers?

It's one of the holiday Starbucks drinks. Yes, I am actually blogging about a Starbucks coffee. You'd understand if you had it. Sitting in my festive paper cup is the perfect blend of stout espresso and holiday cheer. The mixture is spicy and smooth. Sitting atop it is a wealth of whipped cream, ( not the kind that tastes like the inside of a can, the kind that tastes like its made with butter.) And atop THAT dear reader, is sprinkled the crunchy bits of a creme brule's top. As the sauna that is my coffee cup slowly heats them, they become more chewy than crunchy.

I sit at a most interesting table. Against the wall is a long, plush bench, probably about twenty feet or so. Pushed in front of the bench are four perfectly spaced apart tables. On the other side of each table, a small wooden chair. I love this set up. Most people sit along the bench, as it is much more comfortable. This puts everyone in a closer proximity than usual. Instead of all being tucked away on our islands of orange chairs and cluttered wooden tables, we are all squished together. I can see the concentration on the face of the girl to my left as she flips through a thick algebra text book. I can feel the struggle of the med student to my right, doing research and jotting down notes, probably for some end of the semester paper that every professor loves to heap on you all at once. A small, crazy part of me misses it.

It's been a wonderful holiday season so far, last weekend at Destin was incredible. I know my blog has been "lean" as of late, (Gran's kind wording once; I liked it) so here is a quick overview of all the lovely things that have been happening

:Flew with Andrew for the first time
:Went for a run for the first time in a while, felt great (who wouldn't running through that Destin neighborhood?)
:Had an in depth life chat with Lyns at the table over a glass of wine after Thanksgiving dinner
:Experienced my first game of 9 holes (I only drove the cart)
:Watched Andy harass Mrs. Joan throughout her putting attempts. She makes him laugh harder than just about anything, it's a delight to watch
:Gushing about Dracula with mom, it was SUCH a good book
:Actually sticking to a work out schedule
:Finding out I can teach at private schools with my major
:Phone calls with my Pops
:The urge to create
:Cold weather, and the kind of fall leaves I've only seen on Google Images
:THE SAINTS FALCONS GAME TONIGHT! BRING IT BABY!!!!!!! I hope we crush them again!

Earlier I was on the phone with Valencia (dad's girlfriend) and said I hope that we stomped those dirty Falcons. I became quickly aware of a few scowls thrown in my direction throughout the Starbucks vicinity. No matter, I took my seat and straightened my saints shirt around my waste. WHO DAT!!



For some reason, I cannot get this movie out of my head as of late. I think it comes hand in hand with the urge to create something. This is one of my favorite scenes. Is it sad that Robin Williams in this movie might have been what made me want to teach? Enjoy.

Destin in the a.m.

I can't remember the last time I woke up feeling so refreshed.

I am sitting in a most beautiful house, the sun room to be exact. In this particular sun room, theres a plush blue couch, on which I am cross legged, a wonderful cream colored shag rug, and half of the walls are made of tall sliding glass doors. They look out over a choppy bay, speckled with old wooden peers, the closest of them extending from this house. The large, open house is completely silent, with the exception of Andrews breathing from the couch where he sleeps.

Today, I find myself in Destin, Fl. It's 7:45 a.m. and no one is awake yet.

Since we moved to Augusta, there was no chance of going home for Thanksgiving. After what was a whirlwind of trying to take off and switch shifts, flip shifts and grip shifts, I had a whole weekend off. Before I knew it, Andrew and I were boarding a plane in Atlanta at 10:30 pm. Now, here we are, celebrating Thanksgiving with his incredible family who have so sweetly invited me along.

I probably would have sat here all morning, watching pelicans dive in and out of the bay for breakfast, had Mr. Paul not just gotten up. He opened his door across the house from me, took one look over to the awake kid, and let out a "...wow!" His surprise was followed by an inquiry as to whether or not I wanted coffee (silly question.) And so I am off to enjoy a mocha with Mr. Paul. I love these days.

Happy Thanksgiving

To all :)

Source: bethproudfoot.blogspot.com via Stephanie on Pinterest

"16 Ways I Blew My Marriage"

I once read an article on the top five causes of divorce, determined by the polling of split couples. While it is interesting to see scientific evidence, it was mostly predictable.
1. Money
2. Bringing up the past
3. Not reinforcing good qualities, and so on, and so forth...

While it may not be quite as scientific, I enjoyed the advice of one man, a bit comical, sad, and very informative. While his "If I could's" may seem naively hopeful, I find that nativity a bit refreshing.
So here it is, because "meat in a can is never awesome."

http://www.danoah.com/2012/10/16-ways-i-blew-my-marriage.html

Who Dat

“WHO DAT!” A deep soulful voice booms at me across the parking lot.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, “ I reply.

I am not a fair-weather fan. My reply is not unenthused. You see, a month ago my mother came to visit me in Augusta. It was also the first weekend of NFL football. She arrived in town, and after lots of shenanigans we ended up back at my apartment complex. We pulled little Will Shat into a spot right in front of my apartment, and right across from the main office. As we began unloading mom’s luggage from the trunk, she notices a truck parked directly behind us. It has an Atlanta Falcons plate on the front, and the owner sits in the drivers seat with a hat to match.

Suddenly my mother begins to scream. “WHO DAT! HEY, WHO DAT!!!!” wildly motioning to the Louisiana license plate on my car and screaming “DIRTY BIRDS!” her little finger pointed at him with a smile on her face. He, in turn, laughed and nods his head playful, understanding the divisional rivalry.

Little did mom know that that was my apartment maintenance man. I see him just about everywhere I go at my complex, and for the first four games in a row he let me have it. “Who Dat!!” he would scream when a loss was still fresh in my mind, his Falcons hat ever glued to his head. “Who Dat baby!!!” One day I even yelled back that my mother was the original instigator, not me. It did nothing.

Today as I was walking back from the main office he was passing in a golf cart. “How you doin?” He asked me cheerfully. He is always cheerful.

“I’m good now!” I smiled, gloating in our Colston centered win on Sunday.

“You good now?” he asked happily confused. “Oh! Oh she good now! Hey even a blind dog finds a bone every once in a while.” He zoomed past me on his cart before I could reply. I guess this will last all season. 

(saved from last week)

The Debate

After the debate last night, Andrew and I were chatting about politics, and he brought up one man I had never heard of (awful as that it.) His name was Gary Johnson...I suppose *is* Gary Johnson, you don't die when you loose the nominee...anyway, he made a comment during a debate that I thought I'd share as it tickled me. After all the comments last night about building bridges and roads, I thought I'd share

http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=sPYOvOcBgOg

The Dream

Today, dear friends, I lived the dream.
It started very lazily, with me not getting up til 10, making oatmeal and coffee, and google chatting with Andrew. It was B-E-A-U-TIFUL outside; sunny and breezy, ultimate skirt weather. I sadly put on my stuffy business suit and headed in for work. Even from my car (who still remains nameless) to the door, I was thinking how nice today was and how I didn't want to stand in a building until 9 at night. I walked into work, gave May-May a hug. (She is my absolute favorite. Someday I may even write a whole post about her.) Both of my managers looked at me and said "Go home."
"What?"
"Go home, we've been trying to call you. We signed you up for training on Thursday (my off day) so you have to go home, or you'll be over hours."
I.LIVED.THE.DREAM. I walked into work and they said I could go right on back home and put on a skirt.
Now I'm sitting at Starbucks, eating a melted Rice Krispy treat like a five year old and loving life. Not to mention, I will now get to see the presidential debate!!! I completely missed the last one, and am hoping this one is a doozy as well.
I hope your day was filled with skirt weather.
Good afternoon good evening and good night.