"and I don't even know where to start... maybe that's a start."

russian antics.

shared with me by a friend. passing it on...

"You will ask why did I worry myself with such antics: answer, because it was very dull to sit with one's hands folded, and so one began cutting capers. That is really it. Observe yourselves more carefully, gentlemen, then you will understand that it is so. I invented adventures for myself and made up a life, so as at least to live in some way."

I want to wash my hands, my face and hair with snow

We emerged from our hotel to this on Sunday morning.

How can something so beautiful sometimes be so inconvenient and dangerous?

that was easy?

About a year ago on this blog I quoted a movie I had recently watched in film class.

The quote went something like: "Things take on more meaning when the story ends" "that's because history starts to come in"

Last year, I posted this in reference to my experiences abroad. This year, I post it in reference to the end of my undergrad at Clemson.

I've been so fixated this past week on getting through finals that I've found little time to grasp what these moments mean.

Still, as Friday has finally come...as I officially cannot rid myself of coffee scent, as I've pulled my last all-nighters, and enjoyed the traditional, exam week library camaraderie, all comes to a standstill now. With one more assignment to turn in, I find that I'm asking myself "are you sure you want to turn that one in?" Because choosing to go through with this act does, in fact, signify the end- and for the first time all semester I'm seeing where all of this is taking on meaning.

History. The history that I have built at Clemson. It's coming at me from all directions now and taking on form. I can sense its complexities and I can sense its effects and it's both exciting and scary to be consumed by.

wow.

Because her singing voice is better...

Just one reason I love the Christmas season- "A Very Rosie Christmas" by Rosie Thomas.

Listen to it. I dare you.

o home o home.

It's hard to believe that I hadn't been home in four months prior to this past Thanksgiving holiday. And I must say, I didn't know I could be so in love or have such an enjoyable time with family, friends, and the northeast.

I kept emphasizing to my parents how enjoyable my visit was, and their response was that it was because I am older now and I have come to truly appreciate my family. At first I laughed and told them that that is nothing new, that I've always appreciated them, but when I stopped to think about it perhaps they are right- perhaps I now hold a different kind of appreciation for them. Now that the opportunity to come home is less frequent, the times that I do come home have become more valuable. My relationship has changed with my parents as I have grown, because they no longer are my daily caretakers. I enjoy their company as people, not just as my parents (if that makes sense). Experiencing just how much Anna has grown up in four short months established a new dynamic in our relationship, as I felt less as a babysitter and more like a friend. Laughing with Meghan and learning how to respect her for where she is in her life and learning to support her as she continues her journey. And I greatly enjoyed having Corey spend the holiday with us, as it reminded me that friendships also play a valuable role in the community that is family.

I fell in love again with the Northeast this past week (well, technically Maryland is the Mid-Atlantic, but still). I don't know if it was because I hadn't been home in so long or what, but something about it just seemed absolutely perfect. I've always loved the smell of the northeast air, it's less thick and a bit crispier...stings your cheeks a bit more. Spending time in downtown Frederick and Annapolis reminded me how much I love the colonial history of the area, the compactness of old downtown streets. The coffee- not that Java City hasn't sufficiently provided for me throughout the past four years, but seriously, the coffee's better up there. And the people, so many of whom are humorous, outgoing, and family-oriented. I want to live other places at other times, but I think it's safe to say that the Northeast will always be home and I want to return there.

So until Christmas, it's been real MD.

months have turned to weeks.

Graduation is approaching in t-minus three weeks and I have been drawing up a lengthy to-do list in my mind- experiences that I hope to have when I am no longer bound to the time constraints that come with the world of academia. Granted, I will have a whole new type of time constraint binding me- that of the 9 hour workday, but hey at least I will have no weeknights/weekends with homework. Below is my attempt to get this compiling list out of my head and into written word:

1. Read, A LOT. I completed 2 books this semester and am currently working on a third. I still have two more Irish lit novels I would like to read and then I'm not sure what is next. Any suggestions are welcome.

2. Paint MORE. I'm fortunate to be a part of the DCF Creative Team this year and that has placed art back in my life. Still, I will enjoy the opportunity to spend more time "creating."

3. Make my trip out to Seattle and Portland that I was supposed to take back in October, but could not afford. Current plan is for January. I have to go at some point to visit school so hopefully that point will be soon.

4. Develop my freelancing and photography as side income. I'm locked in with my former Journalism professor to start writing some features for her freelancing company once I graduate, and the whole picturing thing will be on me.

5. Take GRE and complete graduate school applications. Ugh. But important.

6. Take up a steady volunteer position. I was thinking at the Greenville County Art Museum, but I might now be thinking something in a more need-based area. I've come to the realization that I do little next to no volunteering and I'm no longer at ease about that.

7. Visit McClure's used bookstore, which I was recently told is "amazing." How I did not know about this I'm not sure.

8. Continue to write tunes.

...I hope I won't let myself down. It is easy to look to January and see so much time. And while I certainly have the ability to make choices that will, in turn, affect how much time I will have to dedicate to these things, I'm afraid I'm overestimating the freedoms that will come with not being in school. I will still have responsibilities, they will just look different- more financed based. I just don't want to become so absorbed in work that I forget these things of pleasure that I wish to fill my life with. Is that immature of my to say? I'm not sure.

Asheville.

Convinced Kristin to head to the mountains with me this afternoon. I needed a new study location. So thrilled to have my camera back.

Beauty.

Right now, there is nothing sweeter than a distinct rainbow over the reflection pool, the bluest of blue skies and fiery orange leaves.

Storytime.

Tonight I had dinner with Lin, an international student from Singapore. We met back in early September at a cook-out, but I had not seen him since then until I ran into him in the library last week- when we decided to do dinner. I must say, our conversation ranks as one of the best I have had this semester.

I'm not sure if I've met another international student who was more excited about submerging his or herself in American culture than Lin. He continuously spoke about how fortunate he was to have had the opportunity to room with non-Asian students, as he feels it has drastically added to his experiences in America. He has made an effort to interact with his classmates, to dedicate time to schoolwork (he said he preferred the American education system to that in Singapore). He also mentioned how anxious he was to share his story with those around him, as he has realized upon coming to Clemson that he is one of the only outlets people have to his country. This was perfect for me because I know so little of Singapore, and was equally as anxious to learn more.

It was refreshing to hear somebody speak of how much they enjoyed the American lifestyle- a balance of work and leisure, as Lin called it. He talked of how in Singapore, work days are generally from 9am to 9pm, as a person's value is based on how much time they dedicate to their work. He said that life gets rather robotic this way, but that his friends at home can't understand why he would want anything different. For Lin, life is about finding what makes you happiest. It is about having a variety of experiences so that when you look back on your life, you can say you made an impact somewhere, or rather that you have no regrets. This semester, Lin has been volunteering at Helping Hands, where he has had the opportunity to work with underprivileged children. It was inspiring to sense his passion as he talked about this experience, and how much it has touched him to play a role in helping a child build his or her foundation.

We talked about what it means to have a shared cultural identity, and whether or not such an identity will become blurred as we are entering an age where we are increasing our interaction with people from different cultures. Certainly we will walk away from these interactions with some new knowledge that we will then add to our own identity. Therefore, will it be more difficult to identify as "American" or "Singaporean?" For instance, Lin pointed out that before coming to Clemson, he didn't realize just how Americanized his life in Singapore actually was. I asked him if he thought this was a good thing or a bad thing, but he was not sure. He just said that it makes it difficult for him to determine his actual identity- who he is as a person.

I realized tonight that I want to do more of this- to sit down with people I know little of and take the time to listen to their stories. Lin and I both agreed that there is not enough of this in the world- a willingness to share. It is fascinating to me the things you can learn through such an experience. For this reason, I encourage all six or so of you to sit down with somebody that you don't know very well this week- to invest time in sharing stories.

Read.

Psalm 4.

and breathe.

Musical Berlin.

On BBC News today I read that a wall has been built around the Brandenburg Gate in Berlin to block out people who don't have tickets to the MTV U2 concert, which will mark the 20th anniversary of the fall of the Berlin Wall.

Many find it ironic that an event meant to commemorate this anniversary is constructing yet another wall...

as do I.

It's a bit humorous though that the article itself doesn't really emphasize this point- mostly just the fact that it is inconvenient for the people of Berlin, many of whom now won't be able to see or hear the concert.

picturing.

I've been camera-less for a little over a week now- during my favorite time of the year.

It's been hard, but I realized that morning that it has been refreshing all the same.

Sometimes I get so wrapped up in taking photographs that I can miss the experience completely...there is only so much that can be seen behind the lens. Sure, I can capture some great moments with the click of the shutter, but if I'm not careful, I lose the moment in it's entirety- particularly the way the moment feels. Sometimes it becomes too much about making sure I get a good photograph, than allowing the moment to move me. Perhaps this is just because I'm an amateur photographer, that I just can't multi-task. Regardless, it's an issue sometimes.

So in these days of beautiful leaves, while I have no device to capture their presence, I have managed to have a new experience in these precious times.

Rhythms for Foliage.

I'm going to go out on a limb and suggest that this has been the most beautiful autumn I've experienced at Clemson. While rain has ensued on more than one occasion, the sun-filled days we have been granted have been fresh encounters.

No matter where you are, if you happen to be among fall foliage, I would suggest filling your ears with the following music as you roam streets, study in a coffee shop, or walk along nature paths:

-Sufjan Stevens "The Predatory Wasp from Palisades is out to get us" (an ode to my autumn freshman year...it has done the trick yet again)

-The Swell Season "When Your Mind's Made Up," (version accompanied by violins); "Alone Apart" "Drown Out..." Heck just everything off their first album

-Greg Laswell "High and Low" "Comes and Goes in Waves" "Farewell"

-Rosie Thomas...she's just always good (as long as she is singing and not speaking)

I realize a lot of this music is not very recent, but I assure you it will stir your soul.

Enjoy these beautiful days.

Anticipating The Swell Season

Oct. 27th

...should be heart-wrenchingly beautiful.

Musical.

My thoughts are becoming lines.

My fingers are picking at the right strings.

I am finally composing.

Anna Banana.

Anna and I talked on the phone a couple of days ago. I must say, it was the first time that we have ever talked that I felt more like I was talking to a friend then talking to my 10-year-old sister. I asked her how her day had been and she replied, "You know what Kelly? It just has not been a very good day!" I asked her why and she proceeded to tell me about forgetting her homework for Social Studies, and something else that happened in math class. She also talked about how she had four tests coming up. I asked her how she prepares for tests and she told me that she "takes notes on her notes." It made me laugh because that is exactly how I study...

While it was a simple conversation, I realized that it is becoming easier to relate to Anna- when she tells me she has had a bad day, particularly relating to school, I can empathize with her since I, too, have had those days. Her barbie dolls have long been put away. She watches The Weather Channel now and longs to become a meteorologist...My heart stopped a little bit when I realized that in a few weeks she will be eleven, an age that no longer grants her "child status." As she continues to grow, I am much looking forward to conversations and forming bonds. She really is a trip.

Preserved in Video.

I don't know who has seen this yet, but this was released yesterday on the New York Times' website...the only video footage of Anne Frank.

Chilling, but captivating all the same.

SPECIAL ALERT!

This just in-- Central, South Carolina resident and Preiss Company Representative, Kelly Russell, established a NEW post-grad goal early Monday morning.

This is the first change the residents of Clemson have witnessed in two weeks.

"I think we we were all expecting it," said Clemson University student Kristin Beste, "I mean, I was shocked that news of a change hadn't come sooner in the past couple of weeks."

The change features a plan to enter post-graduate school in the Fall 2010, in an attempt to obtain a Master's Degree in Student Affairs. Currently, her focus is on Seattle University's two-year program, with an emphasis in international affairs.

Steps toward this goal are already underway, as Russell was seen e-mailing the Study Abroad office at Clemson University from on-campus Java City. The unidentified source said it looked like she was trying to set up an appointment with her advisors who had obtained similar degrees in the past several years.

"I respect the initial leap," said an anonymous source, "now the community just has to sit back and see whether or not the change will stick this time around."

Russell was unavailable for questioning. However, her publicist commented that she is available for contact via e-mail or phone...though he is weary of her ability to answer her phone.

unknowingly united.

I took this photo last fall while I was in Berlin. The Church of St. Mary and The Television tower are both located near Alexanderplatz.

At the time, I did not realize the irony that exists in this image. I simply thought it was an interesting angle, one that represented a shift in architecture style- traditional meets modern/post WWII communism.

However, this afternoon I've been working on a speech criticism of Ronald Reagan's "Remarks at the Brandenburg Gate," and came across this section of the text:

"Years ago, before the East Germans began rebuilding their churches, they erected a secular structure: the television tower at Alexander Platz. Virtually ever since, the authorities have been working to correct what they view as the tower's one major flaw: treating the glass sphere at the top with paints and chemicals of every kind. Yet even today when the sun strikes that sphere, that sphere that towers over all Berlin, the light makes the sign of the cross. There in Berlin, like the city itself, symbols of love, symbols of worship, cannot be suppressed."

Interesting today to look back at my photograph and see how despite my attempt to capture a shift in changing times, I was actually capturing an unshakable unity.

10 out of Tenn tour.

Some members of my house church and I headed up to the Orange Peel in Asheville Tuesday for the 10 out of Tenn tour. Started by musician Trent Dabbs, the show features 10 emerging musicians from Tennessee (mostly from Nashville)- all of which help play one another's songs while on stage. We've talked a lot about the concept of "community" at Paloma and this couldn't have been a more brilliant example of such. Laughter, togetherness, encouragement, and

friendship (all mixed in with incredible talent) beamed from the stage- and by the end of the night I couldn't help but smile myself...wanting in on their fun, but also out love for watching their excitement for one another's music.

And of course, being with my own friends, and enjoying the evening, was equally thrilling.

with k.s. rhoads

alcatraz.

he didn't just make a creepy movie about killer birds...

he was highly insightful too.

"If you are lucky enough to travel when you're young, everything you see becomes a part of you on which you can draw all through life" - Alfred Hitchcock

It's Botanical.

Love these gardens, even with their lack of funding.

Save the SCBG!

(seriously, though)

Helpful Hint.

Heather told me this at work this other day-

When you wash your hands, don't rub them dry with a paper towel. Instead, pat them dry. This locks in the moisture from the soap and makes your hands nice and smooth. This probably is nothing new; however, I was unware, so I thought I would share. Try it- it's lovely!

to market to market...

I rose with the sun this past Saturday morning and ventured to the First Saturday Greenville Market downtown. My friend's mother sets up a chocolate stand at the market, so it was a good time for her to visit with her mom and an opportunity for me to experience the market for the first time. While I expected to find more stands, it was a pleasant morning nonetheless.

I enjoyed watching the support for local businesses, as people bought produce, fresh flowers, drank coffee, listened to music, etc. I walked away with a massive thing of peaches for $3 and a small bottle of honey (couldn't resist the cute elderly couple I bought it from).

inspired by words read.

During the harvest time, I become encircled in a gust of leaves. An unexpected rush, I titled my head up to the sky, anticipating the discovery of its origin. However, I quickly reminded myself that I was not among trees, but rather along the path that paralled the grassy field. As my head came down to face the earth, the colorful mess grew tired of circling me and instead danced its way into the clearing. As if its purpose was to render me curious, I was compelled to follow. In an instant, my heart's desire met body, as my feet diverged from the path and into the open space. Free from restriction, I began to sense the vastness of my surroundings and eventually lost sight of the traveling leaves. I halted and kept silent. The air was then still-not even the faint whisper of the carrying wind. The tall grasses were surprsingly soft under my fingertips as I moved slowly over each individal blade. The sun shown down, but did not swelter; instead, its heat spread equally across the field, causing a soothing warmth. At peace, I laid myself down on the yielding earth, to once again gaze up at the sky. I desired to know the farmer who planted this space- who as an artist, blended all that was naturally beautiful and alluring to the soul, and created the masterpiece that was now my haven. Could he know the extent of his talent? Could he know its effect on the mind and soul? And could he know my presence? Was he the keeper of the leaves that bid my entrance in the first place?

I am left to rest, and believe it so.

j.j.

"Towards dawn he awoke. O what sweet music! His soul was all dewy wet. Over his limbs in sleep pale cool waves of light had passed. He lay still, as if his soul lay amid cool waters, conscious of faint sweet music. His mind was waking slowly to a tremulous morning knowledge, a morning inspiration. A spirit filled him, pure as the purest water, sweet as dew, moving as music."

beautiful.

go away sleep.

The night train whistle blows and I am back at my kitchen table.

HašLerky mug avec tea by my side. Irish tunes in my head.

I'm coming to anctipate these quiet early morning hours that have frequented me over the past week. Reading assignments have been in excess, and while these are nowhere near enticing, I like where my mind goes during this time (aside from rhetorical theory and discourse).

It pushes toward clarity, replenishes me with clarity, in fact--much like the early autumn wind that has replenished my lungs over the past few days.

The past month has unveiled a unique beauty found in quiet times and quiet spaces. The art of being still has never been easy for me. I've always prided myself on being an adventure-seeker, one who stands fearless against change and movement. But without the stillness I currently find myself in, so many aspects of my life might escape me. I mostly think of the people- the various communities and small circles I have drawn close to during this time. I also think of the opportunities I have had to expand my "artistic scope..." allotted time to read, paint, take photographs, etc. And most importantly, the chance to regroup spiritually.

Ironic though that in this stillness, there is still movement.

A lot actually.

Much is happening and forming before my eyes, despite the fact that everything seems to be in "fun size" form for the time being.

Then again, I have an incling that these "smaller creations," these smaller movements, will evently evolve into something bigger.

Until then, I attempt to sit quietly.

...at least I have HašLerky to keep me company.

Sound of Music.

After seeing this, how could anyone resist Europe?

Chybíš mi.

a year ago today, I was on my way...

on a jet plane of wonder that took me to a wonderous place.

-insert nostalgic phrase about time flying by, here-

fig sans newton.

I love simple discoveries- the easy-to-pass over elements of my daily spaces.

This morning I was led to a large fig tree on the edge of the DCF courtyard- by a stranger no less (I use the term stranger to refer to the fact that I met him literally two seconds before he walked me to the tree, and I didn't know his name until the walk back).

I had two friends in Prague who constantly ate figs, and I was always weary to try one for myself. But when the stranger told me that he had just found our very own fig tree growing outside DCF, I was enticed to try one.

Ripe and delicious. I'm sad I stayed away for so long.

oh, and a fun fact taken from the caption of the picture on the left: the fig fruit is actually an inverted flower. weird.

(fig tree photo is not of the actual tree)

space case.

Unsure of what I want to put in this space tonight, but nonetheless something moves me to fill it.

hmm. why do we feel the need to fill space?

Are we uncomfortable with the uncertainty that accompanies empty space?

By filling a space, we often hope to feel less lonely or less isolated, but how ironic that that is almost never the case, as you could be surrounded by loads of stuff and still feel uneasy.

Why is empty space in nature more welcoming than empty space in a person's home?

Why is empty space in nature looked at as beautiful, but empty space in a home suggests things like laziness, an inability to make memories, or poverty?

...the ponderings one has at 2am.

Irish Tales.

"There were so many flagstones on the footpath of that street and so many streets in that city and so many cities in the world. Yet eternity had no end."

-james joyce-

I’m tangled in paths and in cities

Tangled in the love I have for this earth

Tangled in the mess that is my fear

Ashamed of my inability to face your truth

But one thing is for sure

This song is simple

Contrite yet emotion filled

Because no matter my entanglement

You know how to calm and keep me still.

color variation

we painted dcf over the past two days. red is out. "breezy" is in.

and, i think i might need another quilting spool or two? suggestions?

The Good News.

"We are not taken up into conscious agreement with God's purpose, we are taken up into God's purpose without any consciousness at all. We have no conception of what God is aiming at, and as we go on it gets more and more vague. God's aim looks like missing the mark because we are too short-sighted to see what He is aiming at. At the beginning of the Christian life we have our own ideas as to what God's purpose is- 'I am meant to go here or there,' 'God has called me to do this special work;' and we go and do the thing, and still the big compelling of God remains. The work we do is of no account, it is so much sacffolding compared with the big compelling of God...He takes us all the time. There is more than we have got at as yet."

.Oswald Chambers.

my mind only races.

over green horizons

past yellow skies.

settles rarely

like the moving earth

shifting and reshaping.

oh how i wish sometimes that it would stop

i cannot keep up

with rapid jolts and swift movements.

colors blur. colors blend.

misguided, i stand alone.

autumn park.

my reluctance has led me far away
but i am not afraid to say that i need your grace

led away by a holy curiousity
i forgot you in the process
so i'm not afraid to say that i became selfish

and it has taken me so long
to put these words to music
but the anticipation has made the beauty
like the leaves in the fall

and though i don't know where to go from here
i will not walk in fear or pain
because there is everything to gain
in you
on a walk with you
in an autumn park with you.

Skies. And Grass.

Bird Calls.

"He brought me out into a spacious place; he rescued me because he delighted in me."

This summer, I have heard many times the birds chirping outside my window. This does not occur during the day, but rather during the late night- as if they are trying to give off the impression of early morning.

When I think of early morning the first image that comes to my mind is a spacious field- a clearing in the woods. The sun pours its first rays onto the tips of the tall grasses. All earth is damp from the morning dew. Spider webs glisten in their wetness, insects venture in and out of flowers, the air is chilled, and those persistant birds are chirping away.

But why come out at night, birds? Why must I hear your awakening sounds in the dark night?

I'd like to think it is a sign that mercies new are just hours away. That though the night may darken the earth, it is the morning and it is the light that remain forever powerful. The darkness can never be fully dark, for there is always something to light up the night sky...or in the case of the birds, always something to remind us of the light that is eager to shine upon us.

They, or rather he, is calling me to that spacious place.

Now.

I don't understand why a person would choose to see black and white when there is so much beautiful color in the world.


I don't understand why an artist would allow a canvas to stay blank for hours on end
when he or she could be creating something that suggests curiousity.


I don't understand why one would choose not to climb a tree for fear of falling
when that tree was clearly created to symbolize man's attempt to reach for something more.


And I don't understand why a person would choose not to play music because it is not in their nature to do so
for it is the music that is forever accompanying him on his journey through life.

Annapolis.

A new era has come.

It is no longer a city susceptible to suppression, so long as its inhabitants continue to fight. During my residency, I sometimes wondered whether or not they knew they were fighting. It’s easy to judge and say no when one thinks of the begrudging mobs of tram riders or downtrodden potraviny workers. But I have to refute this claim because my eyes are a living testimony to their battle. Yes, I was made witnessed to their fight- in all subtleties, all dramatics, and in the hidden treasures that leapt out to greet me around every finite corner of the city's foundations.

Exerpt from "For Now, an Untitled Story"

I think this still needs more detail...

I met a busker once on the steps leading up to the Castle. Framed by a graffitied door, the long-haired, gray-bearded musician sat cross-legged with a guitar and a harmonica around his neck. My first reaction was to situate myself against the wall directly opposite him- an angle at which the sun shined direct light on his worn appearance.  As I sat against the stone, the man glanced in my direction and smiled. No sooner, however,  did he tilt his head downward to watch his fingers move eloquently across the six strings on his instrument. At first, his music seemed melancholy, but before I knew it I had fallen into a gentle stupor, as intrinsic melodies bounced off the enclosing walls and into the calm air above us. It was not sadness, but instead a man sharing his soul with the world- the story of a passion that led him on a much-anticipated and much-needed adventure. Everything about the moment became peaceful and reassuring; and as he let out a final, slow-moving harmonic note, I realized I had just been part of a most-intimate concert.

As he prepared for his next composition, I rose from my front-row seat to place a 10 czk piece in the hat by his side. Beginning to head down the steps, I became inclined to speak to the man and instead turned back around to face him.  

“Thank you. That was beautiful playing.”                                   

“Thank you.”

“I’m Kelly. It’s nice to meet you. I play some guitar myself…”

“It is nice to meet you Kelly. I am Ee-oo-lay. You must sit here and play then.”

Much taken aback by his invitation, I naturally hesitated. But as he stood, Ee-oo-lay handed me his guitar and innocently urged me to replace him on the step. Reminding myself that these were the kind of experiences I had been hoping for, I complied with his request and took the guitar from his hands. To my touch it felt smooth and well-kept as if it were the most treasured possession the man owned. Once situated, I looked up at the musician approvingly, and he once again produced a smile.

I began to strum the few chords I knew, and Ee-oo-lay soon blew in on his harmonica.  For a brief moment, our stories became one, as we provided for each other what the other needed… in the form of melody and harmony. Studying his face as he played, I could see it warming with each note and lifting him to the place where he had always wanted to be.

Though never to be played again, our tune was forever scripted into my memory of a surprisingly captivating busker in Prague.

When the playing ceased, I thanked Ee-oo-lay one last time.

“I enjoyed playing with you.”

“Yes, me too. My English not so good,” Ee-oo-lay smiled.

“I think you have great English. Goodbye, it was nice meeting you.”

“Yes, thank you. Good bye.”

As I took my final look at Ee-oo-lay I realized that the weathering of years past was no match against his music- against the soul released by the music, and against the person who shared the music with the people around him. The music, and more importantly the busker, had overcome and would never go back.

Excerpt from "For Now, an Untitled Story"

Gift.

Cobblestones.

Where did Prague's cobblestones come from?

This morning I emailed my Art and Architecture teacher from last fall to find the answer.

Her response:

Dear Kelly,

it is basically the tradition way how to make roads, which somehow survived in Prague due to the effort to keep the historic center. If you think of it, to put small pieces of the stones on the muddy road is a logical and quite cheap way how to create more or less comfortable passage. This was practiced probably since the middle age. It is part of traditional craft and still practised because it has certain advenages over the "normal" pavements (it can be replaced easily, you don't need expensive machines to make it, it looks nice if you create some designs).
All the best, Pavlina Morganova

Prague quickly became an innate part of my being.  For a long while, every movement was a reaction to the city around me. It triggered thought and idea across a generously vast plane- just an endless stream of stimuli buying for my attention and for their presence on paper.  It was much too difficult to choose those I would nurture through my writing, and those I would have to leave behind at the expense of discovery by the next passerby. And so, I did my best, as I had done with Prague’s people, to capture the essence of the city as I saw it- separate from all former and future recollections.

I started with the cobblestones.

During those first months, my feet did not take well to these awkward formations. I struggled across the uneven terrain, and the unfamiliarity of the surface caused me frustration.

But not moving was not an option. And so, I reacted.

I withdrew a stone one summer evening from its position on Kovaku. It accompanied me on the spiraled walk up to my apartment where once inside I positioned it on the railing of my balcony. Overlooking the southeastern side of the city, I studied the stone in respect to the cityscape I had created behind it. Its solidarity contrasted against the uneven, chaotic, and colorful mess that made up the backdrop. Before my eyes lay the iconic red and cream trams, passing by rows of baroque buildings; smoke from the Staropromen brewery billowing against a sea of red terracotta roofs; and a lone steeple, stretching in an attempt to match the height of the T.V. tower in the distance. From this perspective, the uneven mess was most beautiful- far more alluring than the bulky, cold, gray obstruction I had placed in front of it.

However, when I placed the stone back among its fellow stones, I realized that it too was part of the enticing unevenness that I had witnessed from my balcony. Separate it was useless, but as part of a cobblestone street, it kept alive the spirit of a city long-deserving of free expressionism. And in realizing this truth, I made my first observation of Prague.

The cobblestone bothered me no more.

Excerpt from "For Now, an Untitled Story"

Five months into my stay, I had exhausted the museums and galleries. They were fine, brilliant in fact, but I soon desired inspiration from something no one before me had already witnessed. I took interest in studying that which was newer- the people around me. Sure, as a whole the Czechs are a people that have been around for centuries, but as I looked closer I realized that they were changing every day. That different people moved in and out of my vision at all given moments. Often, I only had but brief moments to witness or interact with their existence; and then they went as quickly as they came. No one could hang them in a gallery, or place them on display in an exhibit for others to replicate for years to come. In my mind, they were all mine, and it was up to me to enlighten the world with their stories.

-Excerpt from "For Now, an Untitled Story"

some things just don't have as much meaning anymore now that I know that I am capable of being independent.

a drive on 123.

two streaming headlights

on a two-lane road

provide a clear direction, but keep so much hidden.

the rest is ready to be discovered, ready to be seen.

...if only we can trust those two streaming lights.

trust in the journey, not the destination.

Never an end.

The Fountainhead is finally finished.

Interesting how Ayn Rand seems to save the majority of her philosophy for the very end of the novel. She clearly draws readers into the novel through an easy-to-understand plot, through which we catch glimpses, and understand at basic levels, her philosophy. Yet, it is not until the last 150 pages (or so) that a reader truly comes face to face with what Rand wants her audience to understand. I think it is safe to say that this is intentional, as one can only truly grasp her philosphy once the plot and its characters are fully developed.

While I do not agree with the majority of Rand's philosophy, I believe there is still something to take from this novel. 

-I can now say that I truly understand why Communism and Facism are considered true evils. In understanding this, I come to respect Capitalism more. 

-And second, I believe that Rand's support for egotism versus altruism can suggest the common struggle that a person of faith has within their worldly existence (even though this is not, I know, her intention).

     - the knowledge that one is to be selfless, but also the need to be selfish in some contexts in order to survive in this world.

Thus closes the semester I have spent with this novel.

Next venture- Thoreau.

Harper Lee

I just met a black dog named Harper Lee.

She is named after the author of To Kill a Mockingbird.

Her owner was nine years old when he read the story.

In the beginning when Scout is describing her town, she mentions the heat, and a black dog that was panting heavily within it.

When he read that line at age nine, he knew that he would own a black dog named Harper one day.

Today, Harper Lee is a search and rescue dog. She has helped in missions throughout all of the great floods and hurricanes surrounding the past seven years.

She also knows Spanish and Sign Language.

Now I want one.

Excerpts.

A most important excerpt from the Dalai Lama's statement "Instructions for Life in the New Millennium:"

Once a year go someplace you have never seen

I think I can do this.

He will be different after the adventure than he was before the adventure.

You will be different after the adventure than you were before the adventure.

The world will look different after the adventure than it did before the adventure.

Peace.

I know so little
of the word I yearn to practice.

yes, so little.

I yearn to understand.

perhaps because I yearn
is why I do not understand.

because yearning is the opposite
of the word.

stillness.

Pioneer Spirit.

American Gothic meet high-rise America. High-rise, executive America. High-rise, executive, rich America (well, I guess "rich" is up for current debate). Still the same pioneer spirit? Or has that spirit been altered? Are we still after the same essentials? Or have more "essentials" been added to the list? And is that American, pioneer spirit still iconic? Still recognizable to the world?

true aesthetics.

"Life before aesthetics."
Something to grow nostalgic of?

I'd like to think so.
Except that I'm still in that life.

I haven't crossed over yet.
I'm still simple.
Still cheap.
I find aesthetics in things other than the world tells me I should.
Nature. A road trip. Conversing with a stranger. A photograph.

Being unsure of where my life is going.

Yes. I'm quite content.
...in "life before aesthetics."

Home Again.

A friend recently sent me this quote:

"develop an interest in life as you see it; the people, things, literature, music - the world is so rich, simply throbbing with rich treasures, beautiful souls and interesting people. forget yourself. it isn't the oceans which cut us off from the world - it's the American way of looking at things."
-henry miller

This embodies so much of what I came to believe last semester, as well as the beautiful opportunity I had this past week to travel within America (make note: Miller is referring to an American perspective in his quote, not America itself)

These being my first travels since returning home, it was natural that I was initially missing the people and places I experienced in Europe. However I was reminded of my revelation back in November about how much I wanted to return to the U.S. and begin to discover its own riches (since I have been "hating" on America for some time now). As this revelation resurfaced, I found myself allowing each city to awaken my soul to its liking. Upon our return home, I can say that I truly felt each city.

In an attempt to experience each city in the way that it is meant to be experienced, I have returned with (finally) a greater appreciation for my home country. It began to sink in in St. Louis, where we were once again reminded of Lewis and Clark's expedition into America's west. The bravery and courage these men and their party sustained in one of history's most daring expeditions. It is this America that I am proud of.

But it really hit me driving through the cornfields in Illinois. Vast fields, farms spread miles apart- beautiful, empty, but thriving, space. These farms are the foundation of our country's development. Yet we so often drive past them without a thought about their importance. We see their land as "wasted space"- a place were a shopping area or a suburban neighborhood would be better suited. Yet it is this space that sustains us every day.

And then Chicago, where I was once again faced with the kindness that still exists in our country, as we experienced, surprisingly, the kindness of so many strangers. All stereotyped as "city people," I think the term "city folk" is more appropriate, as they acted more like small town neighbors- willing to help and desiring to converse.

So to bring these words back around to the Miller's quote...

an encounter with the world, America included, can only be truthful if within the encounter we "forget ourselves," and allow a place to develop itself within us. For in doing so, we become the keepers and sharers of all this world has to offer.

oh look, Van Gogh.