human hosepipe.

I will not say much beyond 

the fact that heartache

is inescapable, probably necessary to ultimate happiness,

and positively rampant in my little household. 

So let us turn to our ever-wise friend and posthumous mentor, Clive Staples,  for a bright and beautiful thought my dear dear friend, Jacob, blessed me with the beauty of:

“To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly be broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one, not even to an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements; lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket — safe, dark, motionless, airless — it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. The alternative to tragedy, or at least to the risk of tragedy, is damnation. The only place outside of Heaven where you can be perfectly safe from all the dangers and perturbations of love is Hell.”

-C.S. Lewis

Ah, wisdom. It's delicious, is it not?

My roommate showed me this gorgeous video made by a BYU Professor that captures so perfectly the essence of relationships. And the wonderful Weepies' lyrics can never hurt:

So here's to vulnerability, still missing him every every minute, and this beautiful world that still spins madly on,

Banana

Kate wrote me a haiku

and I liked it:

spritely musician

red lips and knitting needles

pour me some tea, please.

I love you, Kate.

My wonderful roommate.

Kate-o potato,

The lady so great-o.

Kate and Brookie and the Homecoming Parade.

 Love, oreo milkshakes, and groller bears,
Banana

Farewell to Green



[Scenic Alpine Loop in Provo Canyon]



Autumn is my favorite season.

I can feel it slipping away, though, and all the pumpkins on my porch are starting to rot.

Bother.

So my tribute to fall is a little overdue, perhaps, but here it is. In the form of a poem my little brother, Ethan (who just turned 9 last week) wrote. It is surprisingly wise:

[The assignment was to write a fall-themed poem with each line starting with a letter of "FALL." But he had more to say, so he expanded it to say "FALLING"]

Farewell to green

And good-morning colors 

Let's have some fun

Let's jump in piles

It's fall alright

Now it's time to say goodbye

Goodbye fall

And here's a poem by me, slightly less wise, but brought about entirely by a walk to school on a beautiful fall day.



[magic picnic in Sundance]



Today         10/18/10

I will skip class to read Robert Frost

In a halo of yellow leaves,

slightly shivering in the early light

 of what promises to be

A golden afternoon.

It’s just that sort of day.

Today I’ll remove my soft leather 

moccasins

and my dark denim jeans, molded

precisely to the shape of my hips

and thighs.

They’ll flutter to the ground

like a piece of gently torn tissue paper-

two flapping legs.



My braided hair will untwist itself,

 pins shooting out like

porcupine quills

and

falling slowly to the earth

as waxy red leaves.

Off will fly my cable knit cardigan

(the color of forget-me-nots),

 Followed eagerly by scarf,

earrings,

blouse,

bra.

Today I’ll stand, naked and glowing,

In the pale autumn sun.

Just me and Robert.

And everyone who passes

 Will wonder-
 At the transcendent orb of metaphor

And olive skin (steadily growing pinker)

 That bounds between the branches

And bursts into the sky-

 A shower of amber beams. Rivulets

Of light.

Everyone will wonder, as the drops

cascade from their noses,

but soon they will see (they can’t help but see)

that it’s just that sort of day.

 Today they will see

and free

me.

It’s just that sort of day.

Goodbye fall,

Banana

nouvelles.

Bad news: I feel quite a lot like a rotten tomato, and look precisely like one.
Good news: I'm really really

really

happy.

Despite everything, you know?

...And that's good news indeed.

The Sound of Silence

 'Twas the night before Halloween, and all through the house...
not a sound was heard
(Not even from Anna and Shea, who are normally the loudest people ever).

Talk about Spooky!

Anyway, I have a new confidence in last minute costumes. At about 7 or 8 in the evening, Shea and I realized we needed something to wear.
So we were mimes. And I loved it. Seriously.
Have I perhaps discovered a career path at last?

Um... know of any good mime academies?

 Not that we really even need the training.

 Roommate Christine (aka rocker chick) had a lovely party with amazing cheese balls.

 Annie was fragile.

 This dude was something very politically incorrect.

 Little cute-as-a-button Ally was a brainthirsty zombie.

 Clark was a double rainbow.

And Seth was... well... you know. Seth.

And we all lived Happily Ever After.

(And Shea still had eyeliner on two days later)

Love, candy, and falling asleep to Hitchcock with nasty cheap make-up cracking all over your face,

Banana (mime extraordinaire)

I'm not saying this is good...

...but I wrote a poem.

And I'm going to share it.

It's called "By the Fountain" because I wrote it by a fountain on a magically stormy day that was dripping with this inexplicable feeling of...significance.

And so I sat down and wrote a poem just as the drops fell to meet me.

And the thunder said hello.

By the Fountain  10/4/10

The sky seems so present

that the earth slips away

and the conquering clouds crowd in.

and the solitary people rush in

to clasp eyes and levy the distance

between

with unuttered hellos.

and the impatient thunder bellows

to be released

from its prison of professionalism.

The air feels so heavy

that the eyes, they drop

and splash off the bold face of possiblity.

ping, ping, ping.

We clatter inside to escape

the noisey adventure of feeling.

And without,

it begins to rain.

love.

banana.

I forgot I could like TV.

"Lisa, blonde GUYS aren't dumb. They're just evil. Like the guy on the Karate Kid and nazis."
-Bart Simpson

That said, I swear I'm going to start posting again.
Maybe.
Life is just so much more Lifey without the internet. You know?

Banana

"you're just like all the old people that come by here"

said the Nook salesman at Barnes and Noble when I tried to explain to him that

• it wasn't near as comfortable as holding a book
• and they just rhyme "nook" with "book" to trick you, but it's not actually a book, you know
• and, besides, whipper snapper, you can't even turn the pages.
• !?!?

Anyway, my aversion to technology often garners some raised eyebrows. Or maybe it's the whole knitting in public thing (which is totally justified this week because Etsy told me it was "National Knit in Public Week." via THE INTERNET! so there.)

Anyway.

I love books
the feel of their spines in my hands
the tingle of anticipation when turning the title page.

and the look of a book (a real one) stacked high on a deliciously musty book shelf
and handwritten, postage be-stamped letters
and probably telegrams if they still existed.

But obviously I'm using technology to blog this and my phone has a touch screen and I love it.

So there.

Whatever I'm trying to prove.

Though often it frightens me that we all live on and in the internet. And forget to actually talk to each other sometimes.I think I saw a Fairly Odd Parents episode about that once. Spooky.

And I will now conclude by saying (like I did indignantly to the sassafras salesperson),
"I just love old-fashioned things."

to which my father replied,

"Like me?"

[wink]

-Banana

p.s. What's up the "Girl with the Dragon tattooed everything" or whatever? Should I be reading this? wisdom much appreciated. xo.

oh, the horror!

I suppose this is my annual post on fear.

Last year I took a slightly humorous approach regarding nonsensical phobias. 

That seems to be my idea of defensive coping skill.

You see, during my most intense moments of heartache, hurt, or panic I have always found myself satirizing the whole ordeal. Describing it as a tragic farce; a clown with a painted purple tear on his cheek. Morbidly funny. Self-deprecating. I find that if I make someone else laugh when telling them of the things that truly strike fear into my heart making my knees and chin tremble and lightning flash and the walls cave in all around me in a cloud of nasty black smoke and charred ruins of life ambitions, well then, it can't be that bad. That way I've (sort of) vented, and am justified in keeping the rest in. To fester, probably.

But the new me won't allow it, I keep telling myself. Someone wise probably said once something along the lines of, a life lived in fear is no life at all. Yes, I'm sure of it now. Maybe it was Dumbledore or someone.

So... what am I afraid of, you ask?

Well, the problem is that the answer is probably everything.

Uh oh. I'm afraid of EVERYTHING?

yeah, kind of.

Here's the thing. I've never successfully explained to anyone the world in which I live. It's just... so personal. Its borders are completely within my own mind and idiosyncratic tendencies.

But people have definitely made attempts at describing it.

"spacey" "reclusive" "creative" "silly" "private" "shy." I've even got "inconsistent" at worst ["bi-polar" at very worst] or "dynamic" at best.

no, no, no people. the truth is I'm just terrified of being ripped out of the very deliberately crafted existence within my brain.

I surface on my own from time to time, just long enough to apply to college or get a job or feed myself or whatever else I figure must be done. But, honestly, I feel very much detached from most of those lifely duties.

Sometimes I feel like my dreams (day or night) are more tangible than my waking hours. Which is weird, I suppose.

Yeah, probably really weird.

I've always had this talent of falling asleep as soon as I decide to. As soon as my head gets anywhere near the pillow (sometimes before). I feel like an inability to sleep is for people who are involved in this world. Whereas I am just slipping naturally back into my own.

Anyway.

That may or may not explain why getting out of bed in the morning gives me the heebie jeebies from time to time.

let alone becoming the grown-up I'm supposedly supposed to be becoming.

or the fact that, as tough as it has been to be living at home much of the last two months,

I'm a little scared of the move I'll be making on Sunday.

With friends, fun, summer delights, and an adorable lovefriend waiting for me,

it still scares me a bit.

Now that's just silly.

...right?

Banana

spirit of the wolf [among other things]

OH, I really had the loveliest of weekends.

There's just nothing like one of your childhood sweethearts coming home after two months of having very few playmates to romp about with.

So Friday, Miss Laura and I checked out artfest in downtown Coeur D'Alene, which, as expected, was lovely and artistic.

But probably the best art of the evening was the mural we accidentally discovered when we forgot where we had parked.

I really felt that I bonded with these warriors.

After all...I know every rock and tree and creature

has a life,

has a spirit,

has a name.

our star-crossed love spans across space, time, culture, and dimension [literally].

...and then came Saturday.

Oh! Saturday! Oh DAY of DAYS!

Honestly, a great portion of my 3-5 pms [pacific time] on Saturdays and 6-8 pms [also pacific time] on Sundays for most of my life have included looking forward to this very particular Saturday that happened to take place two days ago

on which

my Father and I

attended a live broadcast of "A Prairie Home Companion" with Garrison Keillor.

!!! I know, right?

And though the show often makes jokes about no one under 50 being aware of it, I have been a die-hard fan since a little girl and I already mourn the day when this, the last of the great radio shows, retires for good.

Seriously though, there is something so magical about radio acting!

And fake advertisements from the Catchup Advisory Board and Professional Organization of English Majors.

And hearing beautifully and sarcastically crafted tales [often primarily ad-libbed] about familiar landmarks in my ole' hometown.

And good, gritty bluegrass music that makes my heart soar and hands clap [despite my well-documented hatred of "the collective clap." This audience did pretty well with it, though]

Anyway,

the point is I was much too enthralled to remember to take any pictures. So there you have it.

But, on the way, we did stop at the very Taco Time that my dad went to on his very first date! In 1972. How precious is that?

this is his response to "Make a first date face!"

[also I believe our lovely cashier is posing jubilantly]

love, wolves, and nostalgic burritos,

Banana

eating dust.

It disgusts me how forcefully I
have to be reminded of what

my life is like

and what others' lives are not like.

I finished The Bookseller of Kabul yesterday. I can't recommend it enough.
Banana

memorialium

Every memorial day since I can remember
I've visited the cemetary with my dad
in memory of my two grandfathers
who served in the Royal Canadian Air force in WW11
and also became dedicated United States citizens.

This year we added a trip to the Western side of this lovely state as a little nuclear family to see what Seattle and its environs had to offer us.

1. A lot of rain. But lovely all the same.

 little Ethan found a berry.

and proceeded to pose exactly like this

for five successive pictures.

:)

2. A pass through Forks, Washington (but we saw no vampires. nor wolves. nor particularly angsty pre-teen "dark romance" fanatics. thank the heavens.)

3. An authentic shop near Pike Street (Seattle) that eased some Middle Eastern homesickness and major falafel cravings.

I was so excited!

4. Rhodedendrons! Everywhere!! This beauty is the state flower of Washington, and we visited a rhodey park that housed bushels of rare and exotic species (brands? versions? breeds?).

5. A breathtaking skyline,

some quality time with my silly parents and brother,

the greenest, freshest, loveliest city I know,

and a much needed holiday.

Ethan told everyone in the elevator that we were going up

the "Empire Space Needle."

love, clouds, and the best chowder you'll ever consume,

banana

I'm ready to leave soon.

but I don't know where.

[more of the wonderful Josh Ritter here]

Banana

Giveaway Queen

Ever since I realized how poor I am and how much I love pretty things, I became the Giveaway Queen.

Meaning: I sneakily stalk every blog on the internet and sign up for everything.

Hopefully posting this will bring me some magic:
Shabby Apple Queensland Swimsuit Giveaway

try it!
banana

"um, I'm filming." {take one}

Have you ever noticed how terribly delightful videos that were supposed to be pictures are?

Never flattering to anyone.
that is fun.

I think I'm going to start a collection! So if you find any, don't delete them. I'd love to give them a happy home.

Here are some I just found on my current memory card:


my "before" picture attempt


My/ Shea's "candle-lit tent picnic" attempt



Sister jenabunny's "grumpy/ smoochy" attempt


my/ Jerusalem friend Molly's "blissful reunion" attempt



my "Look at me! I'm standing in front of Bethlehem University!" attempt


roommate Tauna's "kinda gangsta" attempt

love it,
Banana

the end.

 
Last night's "LOST" was beautiful.

I'm not a TV watcher as a rule, but I've been enraptured all six years.
Okay, I'm a total Lostie.

And no matter what anyone says, I think the season [I can't quite bring myself to say "series" just yet] ended perfectly!

I don't think I'm ready to say goodbye to Vincent, Smokey, the Hatch, the Hippie Van, the Polar Bear and the Others forever, but if I learned anything from that masterfully executed episode,

it's okay to let go and move on. 

[the LOST party I went to last night had awesome

favors like Dharma "beer"- mine was Diet Pepsi- and fish

biscuits]

Good thing I still have my pictures from the set to brag about. :)

okay. I'm totally ready to move back to "The Island."

Who knows... perhaps it's my destiny?

cross your fingers.

love, light, and loss,

Banana