It's as pity when plans don't work out. I was gonna hang out with my best friend and go see Pirates-Dead Man's Chest this evening with a college buddy. not happening! okay, everyone together: "pauvre Sara!!" :) hehe.

As if it weren't apparent, we got out first real douse of snow over the weekend. Just thought I would mention this, and my jubilation. What is it about snow that is so magical? It automatically sorts out the good drivers from the bad. ;)

Oh, I made a deposit at the bank this afternoon with cashback, and I drove off without grabbing my money. yeah. I know. I hung my head, and drove back to face them. I blame it on the snow. euphoria, you understand.

*ahem*

How time flies! It's amazing. My sister has been married nearly 5 months. One year ago I was finishing up my first semester at MSUM. It was a year and a half ago that we all were onstage in Phantom of the Opera. My memory is yelling NO WAY!!! But calendars don't lie and a big 2005-4-3-2 stares back at me convincingly. All I can do is put my head back, whistle, and wow.
Thanks to all who have helped me through it all; cheery sunshiney days, glum faces and tears. You know who y'are. And I love you.

Just thoughts...

Human interpretation can be a tricky thing sometimes. It's not always the case that we read people in the correct way and when you think about it, this can be very un-nerving. Our only ways of taking in information are the indirect observation of a person, or through their view of themselves as related in their own words, which are still open to our interpretation, by the way...
And how do we fear others' thoughts about us? The fact that we open our minds is a sign of trust, but also an occasion of brutal vulnerability. How much more we could, would say to those we love if only it were possible to get over that fear of being too revealed, too helpless. Of course, those we are closest to could ruin our whole lives, make fools of us and laugh us to scorn. But part of that love is an unvoiced agreement to hold it all sacred, and we do it for them as well. Yet it can be so difficult just to tell someone of your love for them. Why is it hard? Is being in need of someone else so very terrible? Break the silence. They won't laugh.

trying...

Just got back from a belated b-day lunch at China Doll. I've suddenly discovered that Chinese food is awesome!! Many thanks to Nate.. thou rockest

reading has taken over my life. But don't bother with the rescue team; I'm rather enjoying my captivity.
And, to quiet any fears you may have, a burning love of literature is the only relationship I'm involved in at present. Rumors are scary things. Pay them no heed.

I need to write more poetry.

Nothing more.

Open Interpretation

A woman walks by, one foot heavier than the other; she doesn't realize her pantyline is showing. Some shower by with their fashion jewelry, and a precious few search for hand-embroidered towels. Maroon 5 plays on the loud speaker and all show disgust, but for different reasons. Lovers hold hands and many refuse to speak, have no right to speak, couldn't should they presume to. All on a quest to choose; some wisely, most not. It's a scam, a façade that has taken over our souls and stifles them of true desire. There are numerous decisions before me as I write, yet I go on. For what purpose, I ask myself; to free what I feel within, or to stem the boredom. Does it matter which? I am here.

I have fixed my problem here.


Go me!

Observations

Have you ever watched a lake and the massive, almost magical temperment it holds within? You see irritation, complacency, and even a wistful pretense when the day is low and heavy; waiting, wishing for the wind's playful nudge or a lovely caress of sun, but never betraying a whit of desire that things be different. But there it is, fervidly licking the feet of shore, as one prostrate yet maintaining such dignity that mortals sigh in wonder. This water, so alive with attitude but so incapable of its own movement, and quite at the mercy of whomever happens by, can be abused or coveted without complaint; having no will of its own, yet dominating all with a forcefulness exquisite. Seemingly a contradiction, but so it must be. We find the simple confusing; the young astound us with their understanding. And it is innocence that brings us to God.

Fr. Stafki's first Baptism

"Kaden Joseph, ego te baptizo in nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritu Sancti."

Better?

My Girl's Weddin'

Our day began at 6:30 am. (Thanks again, Libby!)




The lovely finished product




On to the Church!


Moments before...



!!JUST MARRIED!!



Mayo in the door handles.

After

Little Girls in White



Passing the time, waiting for a very late DJ. Some numbers were quite fitting (I'm a Believer, Your Song, Goin' to the Chapel) and some not so much (Bye Bye Love, Thank God I'm a Country Boy-for Mike-). Then we sort of ran out of material. Here, you see "I'm a Little Tea Pot", performed by the Baer Family, extended relatives, and recently-estranged friends; we weren't even drinking!...much ;-p



Mr. & Mrs. Michael Trujillo

The Usual

Well, one can't be popular all the time, you know. What I cannot tolerate is 'being pawssed ovuh', as Eliza Doolittle puts it. It is honestly the saddest thing ever to happen; but there are an awful lot of little things that pile and climb until there is no perceivable way over them. Then you list them and laugh at yourself.

Dominic entertained us in the cutest way on Sunday. He was talking on the cell phone with Matthew on the way home from church. Well, the phone was going dead, but Dom didn't realize that; instead, every time is beeped, he asked incredulously, "Matthew, why are you swearing at me?"

I owe the Fargo Library, thanks to Dante and Langston Hughes. But this was way back during Lent, so I suppose it would be best to go take care of my financial obligations, what?

For two whole weeks now, when sewing up the bridesmaids dresses, there have been three principal music favorites: By Jeeves, Charette, and Oliver!. Consequently, we've all been going around spouting our own respective accents, be they British, French or .. more British. Rather fun, though it's to that point that I hear perfect English voices speaking these words as I type. A slave to my own imagination.

I look towards....the FUTURE!!

Ahhhhhhh!! Please realize, it's not the future that scares me; just the decisions I need to make to get there. Until about 4 days ago, I knew what I was gonna do.. *ahem* "cosmotology college, starting three days after my sister's wedding" *end ahem* Now, I reconsider. One of the reasons to start at Josef's right now was in order to pay my way through massage therapy, and then probably St. Mary's. But then I sit down and THINK about it all, and realize that if I wait even two years to go to SMs, virtually everyone I know in the school will be gone. And further, there isn't that much of a market for 'beauty care' in that neck of the woods anyway, so not much moola. Plus, classes start at J's just after Ashley's wedding, I won't have made enough money to cover costs by then, AND Mom isn't too keen on my starting there just now. If I were to attend St. Mary's this fall, I would have all summer to work full time. I know, the arguments are piling up high.
And on the other side? I really really want to get into cosmotology asap cuz I would love it. I could have a whole year's experience before leaving home, keep close to my friends here. And, despite the 30 college credits I already have, I'd still need to be in SMs for two years. How much will I miss at home: Celine growing up, church acquaintances and activities (i.e. how will the choir survive? *teases*), all that.

And now I tell myself that I have to move on and do what I think's best all around; and STOP worrying how they will cope on the homefront. They will always manage, just as they did when the other kids left. That's all. okay. *walks off*

*peeks back* Help me, you guys. !!!!

Lost to Me

As I watch you walk down that road,
many thoughts crawl into my head.
About how many times we, you and I,
traversed the same piece of land;
speaking, dreaming, planning, or just, silence.
Our many condolences and secrets bared and shared.
How is it that you can speak to him on our hallowed ground,
watered and blessed by tears from us both?
What is it you tell,
feel,
that I cannot feel with you?
Am I the one to blame; my inadequacies the root of it all?
Or is it a course of life and time; to be again so left behind?
To weep and yet pretend to smile;
wishes of joy where professions of selfishness better match the need.
In my malcontent, there is an underlying greed, of which I know,
and refuse to quench.
But you are my own no longer,
and this I must accept.
Our curt dismissals and rapturous sighs will never revisit us, together.
And while I may soon feel that love again, it will not be with you,
but another.

My exorcism paper is officially a done deal. It's 9 pages, 10 with citations. I actually haven't read it as a whole yet, so I hope it flows like a good brainchild.
This morning was kind of weird. Normally on Thursdays I don't get up until roughly 8am; no class til 11. But this morning, the kids had a field trip, and Mom needed the van. So Sara got to go in with Dad, and it's put my day totally out of whack... getting up at 6:15 on a Thursday. I'm scarred.
Tonight there is a Poetry discussion thingy going on; for extra credit. Since I've stayed in this long, it might be a good thing to go to. Who can't use bonus points?

I'm going now.

The Girl

A soft vibrant nymph,
gently breathing through lips sweet.
Head peeked out at a fast pace,
scarf dripping from her hair.
Pink arm,
petting a blossom that matched her
cheeks.
Would that I could take
a stance with her,
Learn her joyous dance from her.
She smiles on what is good,
comforts all that should be.
A kind word, a girlish blush,
an innocence beyond the common reckoning;
Sneered upon by many,
yet coveted by all.

For Ashley

A Solitary hand,
coaxing the musty reverberations of wood.
An enlightened soul,
surfacing in a plaintive melody.
Sustaining, now staccatto, always swaying,
swaying to the rhythm of a poet's heartbeat.
Oh, the Solitary Hand,
bravely wielding this instrument
of temporary death.

In the room of silence,
a condescending smile closes the open door.
Steady and undying cries pervade the corridors.
They are trying to get in.
The unwanted,
those of shattered hopes,
grope for the light of truth.
Deep in the recesses of time
the groans come:
'Feed us,
else we wither.'
Who will heed the open mouths
of ignorance,
of despair?
Will no one give them the answer they seek?
The room darkens,
but the voices do not fade with the light.
On and on they beg,
for nourishment,
for balance,
for Hope.

My night there is over.
I have heard their outcries.
And I will quench them.

AhhhhHh!!

Lately, I've been just pleh. No, I don't feel horribly ugly, or even fat :D, but utterly worthless!! It's positively the most horrid thing EVER!!!!! The worst thing of it is, I know it's just my blasted pride! Of course I'm good at some things. everyone IS!! But just because you're good, doesn't mean you have to be the best! And that's what my problem is; always comparing, analyzing, making assessments and getting depressed when I fall short.
It's not because of me that I have any capabilities at all, anyway! So why do I feel like I have to live up to other's expectations of how well I do things? Or live up to my own? <--This I think is normal, but not to be so pre-occupied with it, as I unwillingly have been.

Part of the reason? I've been spending rather large amounts of time alone. where I don't really talk and get away from....well, me. Haven't been my normal happy jovial lately, and that is slightly worrying. Ha! Proof that self-centeredness is truly depressing.

My HEro!

My English prof, in answer to my growing concern of sterile writing, commanded me (rather forcefully in fact) to go out and get myself a Mr. Potato Head. *imagine blank stare, jawbones slightly ajar* She says I am to find random things in my room, write each on a slip of paper, and stick them all in Mr. PH. Everyday I pull one out and make myself write about it. A disciplinary tactic, I would assume. I am just tempted to try it. hmmm, I would definitely have something 'interesting' to put here, wouldn't I?

Literature

In my mind, Literature isn’t just a bunch of sentences written by who-knows-what hand and randomly published because it contains a lot of big words. To lawfully earn this title, there must be some element in the writing style; some streak that sets it apart from the rest of the written litter that sadly pollutes our libraries. Literature is something written, yes, and something read, but it’s also something that endures. Standing the test of time, there are the classics that have been with us nearly forever. Shakespeare, Dickens, Longfellow and Austen are household names for most of us. Their legacy of writing excellence is one of our greatest cultural treasures. But it is not after these pieces have lasted for centuries that we say, “ah, their work is great”. The moment one reads “Great Expectations”, for example, he doesn’t need to be told that it’s been proclaimed for 140 years steady. The way it was written, the manner in which it takes you up and fills your soul, was meant to last. It’s automatic. Even in today’s writing, this is the exact thing that separates the good from the bad; will it endure? Does it have the juice necessary to carry it through the deeps of history and back again? This, and only this, is worthy to be called ‘Literature’.

But why does true Literature survive and maintains it’s fresh and unstudied sparkle? Partly, I think, because it is truthful. It teaches us about the depth of human nature. And when reading it, man derives something of worth applicable to himself and his station in life. He can see life on the full scale, through another’s eyes, and it’s fulfilling. Not only is Literature honest, but it tells its truths in an expressive and passionate style. You yearn to read on and on, to explore the secrets seen and told only through the narrator. When an author has achieved this goal and infected others with his ingenuous enthusiasm, he has written a slice of immortality.

See what extensive branches there are in Literature; fiction (which may not be truthful in fact, but is in principle), poetry, journalism, mythology, memoirs, history. All of these strictly follow the theory stated above to the letter. If it’s truthful, expressive and filled with spirit, it will last through the ages, no question about it... That’s what I call Literature.

I have just been informed via junk mail from 'IM Dating', that "women are looking for me"... maybe I'll just keep hiding.

The Catholic Card

All this business about Samuel Alito is driving me completely batty. I mean, so the man is Catholic; is this now a crime in America? What is it exactly that everyone fears about this guy? The abortion shot didn't work, so now it's on to the religion. What ever happened to "non-discrimination", might I ask???? What's with all this talk about a "Catholic Majority in the Senate"? Well, what about a Protestant Majority? This has never been a concern. How can they even make this a big deal? Needless to say, it's all very frustrating; it'd just be nice if our judicial officials would decide whether the rules apply or not.


Official Disclaimer: The author of this post is not in any way, shape, or form affiliated with said judicial candidate, nor does she profess any opinion as to his personal or political worth. There, I've covered myself, so don't sue me.

No More

I have nothing whatever to put here. No inspiration, and positively no confidence. Two slams in one week is plenty. I'm putting you on hold.

Last night I was pleased to discover that there still exists a breed of objective and compassionate reporters in our US, whose real intent is to give an unobstructed, truthful view of their subject matter. Martin Bashir pulled off an excellent report last night on Nightline, discussing abortion and the trade-off of life, face-to-face with one termed "the Abortionist of Arkansas". It was the first I'd ever seen of this journalist, and I was wholly impressed by Bashir's concerned, straightforward and totally objective manner. It was consoling to see this in the present, corrupted, agenda-pushing world of broadcasting.

You mean, my raggy baggy jeans don't cut it???

I come back to school and cringe. Is it just Americans or do all people nowadays have no sense of class or decorum? Or is it honestly that hard to get dressed in the morning that you're wearing sweats to school? I mean, really. Our professors at least make an effort to look presentable; normally a dress shirt, sometimes even dress pants. Hey, get this: I have one prof. whom I have never seen without a TIE!!!!!! In my opinion, school, especially college, is a profession. So please, please, try to be semi-professional about it. Give the same courtesy to your instructors as you expect from them. This is your job at the moment; treat it that way.

Another thing. It is considered disrespectful and out of order if a professor speaks badly to his peers about his students. But why is this permissable from the other side? They deserve every respect and consideration from us. It's a joint journey here. You can't just take take take. Remember, they don't have to teach us. Give your professor the luxury of an unsullied reputation at least, and keep the little teeny, unimportant annoyances to yourself!!! Unless something is seriously wrong, there is no reason to bring it up to people. Okay? Oh, btw, if anyone of you finds me guilty of doing this same thing, I personally give you permission to hit me. Thank you.

You're just so Sanguine!

This is the most annoying thing to hear from melancholics, or sometimes more fittingly called lemoncholics. Honestly, just because someone has a fun-loving personality, and a crazy, spontaneous side, one is not to presume that that individual has no capacity for deep, poetic thought. It just peeves me to think that when I say something silly or -ridiculously- romantic I will hear those melancholics about me quote the over-classic "Sara, you're so sanguine", in the most drawled out and patronizing manner. Well, yes I am sanguine, and ok with it!!! And here is another eye opener for all you mellies: I can and do observe, reason, make assessments and hold my own in an argument. Furthermore, I enjoy doing these things. How would you melancholics out there like to hear "hehe, I just get a kick out of you cuz you're so melancholic" every single time you're in a moody mood? or crack out the incessant dry humor? or fail to see the humor altogether? huh?
Now I am finished. I'll post this, and delete it within three days because after rereading it I'll realize it's too strongly and passionately written. But that's only because I'm so darn sanguine.