unfaithful...

I have a confession to make.

I have been cheating on my blog. with xanga.

I know, I know. And me being such a blog elitist, too...But it is a relationship that I'm determined to end. Or at least, I'm determined not to neglect my recherche thoughts for a silly old bunch of college quips. It may seem like I have already succumbed to the temptations of xanga, but I really haven't.

Just so you know, I don't actually ever write anything important there. I use it because of the college blogring and my desire to put inside jokes and little comments where other college people can admire them [vanity]. I don't want to waste my time [or yours] on the posts that the larger, grander, more superior world of my blogspot would never understand. So I put them on xanga.

I put things on there for people to see. Here, I spell out the things that I want to write. The things that matter to me. I want to write beauty here, not simply 'this is what i did today' facts. Recherche is saved for the why, the contemplations, the lyrics and poems. Not just what I did this weekend, but why it was such an excellent weekend. I feel like this blog is so superior to the xanga, that I don't want to waste words here.

And I've posted far too many pictures lately. Pictures do not actually take the place of a thousand words. They are just a different type of words.

I know I've said this a thousand times, but I love [good] culture. I love art and music [so. much] and my passions have only grown here in this land-locked, culturally stale place [on the surface. once you get inside, it's not]. I love dressing up and pretending to be as lovely as Grace Kelly. I wish I could spend all summer in the Central Library [studying and reading] and the art galleries and seeing shows downtown [concerts, theatre, symphony. all of it]. Maybe, someday...

think of me, think of me fondly when we've said goodbye
remember me once in a while, please promise me you'll try
if you ever find a moment, spare a thought for me

I hope none of you feel replaced by my friends here. You haven't been. My affection for you has only deepened as I grow fonder of them. I think the more one loves, the deeper one can love. They have me every day, nine months a year. They have my mind and actions, but you...you will always have my heart.

there will never be a day when i don't think of you

city girl...

i wander thro' each chartered street,
near where the charter Thames does flow,
and mark in every face i meet
marks of weakness, marks of woe.

Portland is unique. It took a lot of traveling for me to realize this. You can actually live in the city. Most of the people that I know live in the suburbs. They stare at me blankly and repeat the query, 'you live in Portland?' It's only been in the past couple of years that I have realized that in most places, living in the city is only for rich singles or impoverished families. I guess the Willamette river technically separates NE from the actual 'downtown,' but I can still proudly say that I very much live in Portland. We don't really have any 'bad' sections of town. Definitely no slums. I've grown up in a beautiful little neighborhood. And I love the city.
I don't exactly understand why I do. Isn't it better to live outside the city limits, closer to God's creation? Outside walls and away from the masses? The disease and the dirt and the crowds and the hurt and the closed air?

Why do I, of all people, who can't live without the windows cracked, the sunroof open, and the wind in my face, thrive on the song of the city? The paradox of my life intrigues me. Perhaps it's just a different variety of the invigorating fresh air I crave?

in every cry of every man,
in every infant's cry of fear,
in every voice, in every ban,
the mind-forged manacles i hear: [blake]

Blake's words are so dark; I don't want to believe them. I don't know if I truly care that much about the people in my city. I want to. I want to love the faces that I see passing by me on the sidewalk: the child, the hip young businessman, the yuppie euro barista, the old woman, the homeless man and his dog. I want to see them as Jesus sees them. Not as a flat silhouette or an excuse for prose, but as a soul desperate for attention and love. Blake hears voices crying out for escape from the problems of the city; I want to help the voices crying out for a Savior.

I still don't know why I love the city so much. Maybe I'm just another mindless consumer, captivated by fashion and prosperity and greed and 'progress.' Maybe I truly am just blind to the bad; only seeing the romantic beauty in every house, sidewalk, garden, and cup of coffee [kayris calls me 'the romantic'].

I want to believe Wordsworth:
earth has nothing to show more fair:
dull would he be of soul who could pass by
a sight so touching in its majesty;

Maybe it's my calling to love the city, even if my sisters and friends don't understand.

I would much rather read about Wordsworth's city than Blake's. What amazes me is that they write about the same place.

never did the sun more beautifully steep
in his first splendour, valley, rock, or hill;
ne'er saw i, never felt a calm so deep!
the river glideth at his own sweet will:
dear God! the very houses seem asleep;
and all that mighty heart is lying still!

Is it possible to hear both the pain of the chimney sweep's cries, yet appreciate the beauty of the city's mighty heart?

this city now doth, like a garment, wear
the beauty of the morning; silent, bare,
ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lie
open unto the fields, and to the sky; [wordsworth]

As William Butler Yeats found himself drawn uncontrollably to the 'deep heart's core' of The Lake Isle of Innisfree, so this girl is drawn to the rhythm of the sidewalks and a view broken by the dramatic skyline.

Portland, I'm exactly a month away.

photo story...

Becky and Wendy had birthdays a week apart, so I pretty much partied all the time with

B, W, and A. They're definitely my school favorites.

Then, on Thursday night, Wendy and I decided that we were feeling domestic, but not hungry. So we made

and gave [almost] all of them away.

Then, of course, we decided to take cheesy pictures. With people like

our friend Large Dave.

Someday, I want to be as lovely and creative and chef-like as

Elysia. [with yet another good food creation]

But, I guess I'll just settle for being silly and a camera poser.

If you called me, I'd be this excited!

Sometimes my friends dress up punk, just for fun.

Javonne, Becky, and Wendy look fierce.

We like to dance to angry girlpunk band music!

Could we be the next Worldwide Starlets?

spring fever...

goodmorning, sunshine.

I always think that I don't like Spring. Until it's actually here. True, it's still my least favorite season, [i like stability and a sure thing. spring is neither] but today at least, I'm definitely greatful for Spring. The green [though it's still a dead color, compared to portland grass] is beginning to return on the Hillsdale lawns, and though the trees are still bare, there's a feeling of hope in the air.

Today, Audree pointed out the daffodils out in front of Central Hall. [clock tower!] I had seen them before in passing, but today, I admired them while basking in the sunlight with some good company.

I want my jean jacket to be the heaviest coat I wear from now til October.

The best thing about Spring, naturally, is that it really means that it's almost summer. I'd be in favor of just calling this season "pre-summer."

The rain is coming, tonight, however. Sitting outside eating dinner with my girls, [the best food i've had since my sister made dinner last friday] you could smell and feel the thunderstorms in the air. I could use a good thunderstorm. Maybe it'll put a little brighter color in the world landscape.

I have certain Spring rituals. Of course, after a long winter [enjoyable though it was. i like snow and cold, starry nights], my girliness comes out in full force. I'm ready to wear cute skirts. [lily-style] No more slacks and fashion boots for Emelina. No more gloves or preppy scarves. I just put pink ribbons or a flowered headband in my [growing longer] brown hair. Sunglasses are constantly on my head. [my favorite fashion accessory. how did i make it all winter without them?]

Of course, I'm not the only one excited and busy in the Spring. My room, complete with the beautiful view of the arb out the back window, is pretty much the first thing mosquitos see when they enter the world. The open windows [fresh air. can't live without fresh air] must look very inviting. There have been no attacks on the natives, yet, but several eliminations of the foreigners.

The other way I know it's Spring is because my feet hurt. There's an art to wearing flip flops. And every Spring, I have to re-learn it. Every year, the same things happen. After being cooped up for the winter, my feet have to be trained for freedom. I always get blisters across the tops of my feet because I get excited about the weather and end up wearing flip flops for too long. It's annoying, but I'm used to it. [my feet are so scarred and ugly from the old skating days that it doesn't make any difference] It just happens every year. But it's okay, because it means that it's Spring.

Spring has a song, and I can't get it out of my head.

i want to sing a song for you, Lord

to get away...

The Toledo Museum of Art was a surprise. Normally, one wouldn't think of Toledo, Ohio as having a great art culture, but it does.

At 8:30 AM on this Saturday morning, I was hopping around outside of the Howard music hall, attempting to keep warm. [i knew i should have gone back for my warmer coat...]

Honestly, for most of the cartime, I was asleep. [no doubt mumbling and likely drooling. but they were nice and didn't tease me] I've seen enough of southern Michigan and northern Ohio to know that there isn't much to see. Especially on a rainy morning in April. [indiana is still uglier, though...sorry, kayris. you and indianapolis are the two exceptions]

Stops included the Gathering and a little Indian buffet for lunch. [the best food i've had since...spring break] The company was true, and previously unknown for the most part, which was lovely. We buffet-ed our way through mango lassi, curry chicken and rice, fresh pita, more unprouncable yet delicious substances, and even a bite of rice pudding. ["gotta love how your 'no-regrets' lifestyle includes trying the rice pudding, trish"]

The building was about three times as big as I expected. This is no podunk museum, kids. This is the real thing. Marble, wood, stone, minimal glass, low security, and no tape on the floors. Art should be accessible.

you don't need my pictures on your wall

And Art we did see... Fearless Leader lectured a small group of adoring fans through ancient [700 b.c. was a long time ago] artifacts, pointing out recognizable figures, techiques, random facts, and a few letters. I gained [enormous] satisfaction at being able to translate "of the Athenian contest," even though some of the letters were worn. [that's why you're working like a madwoman and taking a stupid dead language, em. so you can read 2,500 year old pottery.] I mean, honestly, though, isn't that the coolest thing ever? I can tell you're impressed by my skills.

We admired sculpture and Egyptian artifacts, laughed at grotesque carvings, praised jewelry, and prudishly averted our eyes at the lack of ancient clothing. [naturally. what did you expect?]

Then we moved on to the rest of the world. I wish I could express how much I enjoyed my time in the museum. I found many old favorites and discovered some new ones. I already knew that I loved Cezanne, Renoir, Degas, and Van Gogh. And they had quite a few originals! [sweeeeeeet] I also discovered Ganguin "Tahiti," Vuillard "La Salle Clarae," and Pissarro. I didn't get nearly enough time to wander or truly appreciate, but I'm anxious for more. My three newest favorite paintings are "Interior of Courtyard Strangade 30" by Villhelm Hammershoi, "Fortune Teller with Soldiers" by Valentin de Boulogne, and "London Visitors" by James Tissot.

I love pre-twentieth century French art.

So many paintings, sculptures, and carvings...I was awed and silent.

Stephanie and I also did some wandering through the modern art. Most of what they had was unmovingly grotesque or just plain lame. We had some good discussions about skills, good and bad art, creativity, design, and colors. We have similar tastes and philosophies, and I want to go back and look around more with her!

Thanks to Fearless Leader's generosity, we each made wishes in a waterless well in the middle of a jigsawpuzzled courtyard of several ancient monestary walls. I probably should have wished for a better Greek grade, but I didn't...

All too soon, they were kicking us out, with too many exhibits unseen and unappreciated. I got the sudden urge to watch "How to Steal a Million." I have a feeling Toledo is going to become one of my favorite midwest places.

I'm strongly considering making Classics into a hobby, and getting a minor in Art History. [would you like fries with that?]

this ain't about the things i've done
where i've been or what i've won
when i get this feeling
it's hard for me to come back down