She hears the caustic ticking of the clock

Time wraps itself around my wrist, a shackle to tie me to the world of class and work, calendars and schedules. Tiny boxes to parse my years, my months, my weeks, my days, my life. Cut me up and shove me into spaces. Stretch me thin to fill the voids. Caustic ticking echoes in my ears. A reminder of endings and impending doom. Deadlines. Emphasis on the dead. The walking dead this time of year. We wander through the halls, sit in classes, converse with others all while inhabiting another world. Disconnected. A waking sleep. Until the ticking calls us back and the flying hands slice off a piece of our heart so we will fit in 24 hours.

[Time has been weighing on me a bit lately. The knowledge of things coming to an end. The need to plan for the future. The days packed with work and class and paper writing. The calendars and agendas and lists.]

I'll never regret...

I was reminded again tonight that I never regret making time to spend with friends. I kind of wish I could have given my freshman self this advice: sometimes you just need to step away from the paper and have some fun.

(No, I did not go to the beach today. I live in Alberta and it is March. Getting to a beach involves planes. This picture is from several years ago in Mexico.)

Craving Comfort

I've been craving comfort lately. The past few days have taken a toll on my psyche. All I want to do now is drink a latte, read a book (for fun!), curl up in a blanket in front of a fireplace and sleep. Sadly I can't have lattes, the only reading I will be doing between now and Easter will be for school and I don't have a fireplace. So, I am going to go to sleep. And I just won't think about the fact that I have to drag myself out of bed again tomorrow.

This is Lee's hot chocolate from a stop we made on choir tour. It was actually pretty delightful just hanging out in a coffee shop for a while. I seriously love just sitting in coffee shops reading or chatting with friends. I also wouldn't mind doing that right now. If only there was time for things like that.

Light at the end of the tunnel

Almost.
There.
C   r   a   w   l   i   n   g toward the end of this disgusting five day stretch.
It gets a little better after this.
Not fabulous.
But I'll be able to do crazy things like sleep and eat normal meals.
Right now, that's all I am asking for.

Ghosts

Ghosts
The Head and the Heart

Boys in the street are talkin' about leavin', they're leavin'
Lookin' for places to go
Boys in the street are talkin' about leavin', they're leavin'
Lookin' for places to go

Andy built his coffin down in Carolina
Told me he was runnin' from somethin'
But I think he's just out chasin' girls

When Mary moved all her shit to Chicago
Her mother made sure she left with her Bible but
You won't find her face on Sundays

Du du du-du-du-du, du du du-du-du-du
Du du du-du-du-du, du du du-du-du-du

All my friends are talkin' about leavin', about leavin'
But all my friends are sitting in their graves
All my friends are talkin' about leavin', about leavin'
But all my friends are sitting in their graves

Is it any wonder why we all leave home?
People say, "I knew you when you were six years old"
And you say, "But I've changed, I've changed, I've changed, I've changed"

Mom and Dad, if only you could see me now
Been here for a year and now I own this town
Cause I've changed, I've changed, I've changed, I've changed

Du du du-du-du-du, du du du-du-du-du

Du du du-du-du-du, du du du-du-du-du

All my friends are talkin' about leavin', about leavin'

But all my friends are sitting in their graves

All my friends are talkin' about leavin', about leavin'

But all my friends are sitting in their graves

One day we'll all be ghosts

Trippin' around in someone else's home

One day we'll all be ghosts, ghosts, ghosts

Ghosts, ghosts, ghosts

One day we'll all be found

No longer lost, we're just hanging around

One day we'll all be found, found, found

Found, found, found

Ba-dap, ba-dap, ba ba-da-da

Ba-dap, ba-dap, ba ba-da-da

Ba-dap, ba-dap, ba ba-da-da

Ba-da

Ba-dap, ba-dap, ba ba-da-da

Ba-dap, ba-dap, ba ba-da-da

Ba-dap, ba-dap, ba ba-da-da

Ba-da


I seriously enjoy The Head and the Heart. Great, great music. This song is fabulous and has been helping me get through my mornings of paper writing this weekend. Plus I think the sentiment is rather appropriate for the stage of life I'm in. When I decided to post this song I thought of these freaky photos that I took in first year. One night a bunch of us went to the park and the combination of the lighting and the movement of the swings made everyone look see-through. So weird. And so awesome. And they somehow capture the combination of melancholy and happiness that this song has.

Smile, Baby

Today I was amazed by the power of a simple smile. I had a long, long day. Yesterday was a long, long day. The next three days will be long, long days. It could easily have become a day where I got crabby. One of my friends though, who I didn't even have an actual conversation with, smiled at me this afternoon across the hallway and that alone was enough to keep my day from descending into disgusting realms of crabbiness. Amazing.

Incoherent

So I lived a breath apart, a touch-typist who holds his hands above the keys slightly in the wrong place. The words coming out meaningless, garbled...I thought of writing poems this way, in code, every letter askew, so that loss would wreck the language, become the language. (Anne Michaels, Fugitive Pieces)

It's paper season. Specifically, I am currently working on a history paper about the Kirov murder. One thing I have learned: if someone has written a 700+ page book about the subject of your paper and you are someone who already tends to run over the word count, then you should probably pick a different subject. Just the research part of this paper killed me. Plus I am not comfortable writing history papers. English papers I know what I'm doing. I'm a whiz at MLA citation by now. History papers I always just feel like I am out of my depth. It doesn't help that inevitably when this time of the year rolls around my ability to form coherent sentences goes out the window. The thoughts are there in my head. In fact, in my head I am downright brilliant. Things break down when I try to communicate what is in my head. I feel like I'm speaking a foreign language, as if the words are just slightly out of my grasp. I'm forgetting things before I can write them down. The other day I was typing and wasn't looking at the screen and then when I looked up all there was was incoherent garble. It seemed like such a perfect embodiment of the way I have been feeling while trying to write. I immediately thought of this quote from Fugitive Pieces. So perfect. At least if I can't express things there are brilliant authors who can do it for me.

There's a certain Slant of light

There's a certain Slant of light
Emily Dickinson

There's a certain Slant of light,
Winter Afternoons -
That oppresses, like the Heft
Of Cathedral Tunes -

Heavenly Hurt, it gives us -
We can find no scar,
But internal difference -
Where the Meanings, are -

None may teach it - Any -
'Tis the Seal Despair -
An imperial affliction
Sent us of the Air -

When it comes, the Landscape listens -
Shadows - hold their breath -
When it goes, 'tis like the Distance
On the look of Death -


So, despite the fact that it is "officially" spring, Edmonton has been rather wintery the past couple of days. Looking out the window this afternoon, I was reminded of this poem, so I thought I would share it with you.

Here the Frailest Leaves of Me

Here the Frailest Leaves of Me
Walt Whitman

Here the frailest leaves of me and yet my strongest lasting,
Here I shade and hide my thoughts, I myself do not expose them,
And yet they expose me more than all my other poems.


This photo makes me think of hideaways. Cabins and forts. Places you can run to when you need to get away from the world. I'm at my parents' for the night. I just had an overwhelming need to get out of the apartment and away from campus. I guess I was kind of looking for a place to hide away from the world for a little while. This is exactly where I need to be right now. If only I didn't have to go back tomorrow...

Down to Bone

Stripped

You stripped me down to bone.

A disarming smile
caught me off-guard,
and you slipped in
behind the face I had prepared.
But you didn't stop there.
Each time you looked at me,
spoke to me,
an edge lifted,
peeled back
until another layer was gone.
Skin followed by muscle,
organs drained away,
tendons snapped like rubber bands,
nerves balled up like yarn.

You stripped me down to bone.

The Sleep of Reason Produces Monsters

I haven't been sleeping well this week. It's not my normal not sleeping well either. Typically I don't sleep because my brain won't turn off. Not this week though. Once I fall into bed and read for a bit I am out. That's when the problem starts. See, this week I've been having nightmares. Wake-up-drenched-in-sweat, scream-yourself-awake kind of nightmares. This isn't something I normally struggle with. I get anxiety dreams around exam time, but nightmares are something I only usually encounter a couple of times a year if that. I haven't had this many nightmares since I was a kid. It's really beginning to take a toll on me. I'm hoping it stops soon. Although I am not sure that spending my weekend reading about the Kirov murder and The Great Terror is going to help the situation.

All I did to this picture was up the shadows a bit. The greenish tint to the sky? The whole reason I took the picture. Weird, right?

As a side note, whenever I think of nightmares I always think of Francisco Goya's "The Sleep of Reason Produces Monsters."

St. Patty's Day

Here's a little bit of green for your day, just in case you forgot to wear some today.

Hope your day was grand.

Simple Things

We bought brown eggs instead of white eggs this week. I eat eggs several times a week because they are simple (now that I have finally mastered the art of hard boiling them), don't take very long, taste awesome, are really good for you and make me feel like I'm eating breakfast for non-breakfast meals (something I love). It's amazing how much more awesome having brown eggs makes this practice though. I've been loving the contrast between the shell and the white egg inside, the way it slowly gets exposed as I peel the shell away. It's like having a mini piece of art confront me every single time I make them. I think I may have to buy brown eggs instead of white from now on.

It's like a snowstorm in here. It's all white and empty.

I've been reading lit theory all day as part of my research for a paper. This is the kind of day that feels endless. By 8:30 I was ready to go to sleep. As a result of all this reading my brain is feeling rather shot, so when I went to post something on here my thought process went like this: "Uhm....uhm..." and then there was nothing. Absolutely nothing. This nothingness however served as inspiration enough. I went hunting through my photos for something kind of blank and came up with this. I actually really like this shot. Probably because I'm a sucker for light. The nothingness in my brain also made me think of this line from Gilmore Girls where Rory is freaking out about an interview and she says "And nothing. It's a blank. It's like a snowstorm in here. It's all white and empty." That pretty much sums up how I'm feeling. Just blank. There has been so much information crammed into my head and yet it is as if there is nothing in there. So, despite the nothingness I managed to come up with a picture I'm fond of and a title I enjoy. Tonight, I will consider that mission accomplished.

Welcome Back, Monday Blahs

Some days you just need a cup of tea.

Last Monday I told you how I'd had a couple of stellar Mondays in a row. Well, the Monday blahs were back in full force today. It wasn't a bad day. Actually, it was rather productive, which made me happy. It was just kind of blah. I think it's mostly because I was tired. Between losing an hour to daylight savings and a brutally short sleep Sunday night I just was not ready to face the world today.

Yeah, some days you just need a cup of tea.

The Printed Word

I will never be a journalist. I flirted with the idea briefly, but I simply am not cut out for it. This doesn't mean that newspapers don't fascinate me though. The world of print media is changing so quickly and that excites me. The development of digital mediums for books, newspapers and magazines has turned the world of publishing a bit topsy turvy. It is going to be so cool to see how things develop in the next few years. I don't think books will die out any time soon. There is too much emotion invested the physical book. Maybe in a few generations they will fall by the way side, but I definitely don't see it happening in my lifetime. Newspapers and magazines are an entirely different can of worms though. There are so many fabulous online magazines starting up. The printed version is still going fairly strong though. Newspapers are probably facing the most challenges surviving. There are just so many other mediums by which to get news, and most of them are more immediate and up-to-date. Why read the newspaper when the stories in it are already 8-12 hours old and you've seen them online somewhere? It's all just so fascinating. I had a really interesting conversation with a friend last week about publishing stuff. That conversation, in conjunction with the Ballyhoo layout process, really made me certain that my life is headed in the right direction. I've also been finding lately that not only is the future of print intriguing, so is the history. I just did a presentation/paper on a book about the role of women in early periodicals and was truly fascinated by the topic. It would be really interesting to trace this kind of topic through from the advent of the periodical in the 18th century to contemporary magazines. Yeah, I'm a nerd. I know.

This picture is from Fort Edmonton almost a year ago. I never enjoyed the Fort when I was a kid. As I've gotten older though it has begun to grow on me. Funny how that happens.

Macro

The moment one gives close attention to anything, even a blade of grass, it becomes a mysterious, awesome, indescribably magnificent world in itself. -- Henry Miller

I am fascinated by macro photography. It's one of my favourite ways to shoot actually. There is something about getting up close to everyday objects that is so cool. It changes your perspective. There is something magical that happens in the best macro shots. A new world opens up. I always feel like the characters in fairy tales or kids' books that discover a secret world under the floor boards or in the forest. Like I've glimpsed the fairy world in Peter Pan in Kensington Gardens or wandered into the secret kingdom in Twelve Dancing Princesses. It's profoundly beautiful and moving.

Those of you who know me and spent some time with me this past week know that my fellow Ballyhoo editor and I spent a lot of time disparaging the number of flower pictures we received as submissions. I am very conscious of the fact that I personally take pictures of flowers almost every chance I get. I think though that this concept of intrigue and uniqueness is what makes or breaks nature photography. You can have a perfectly lovely photo, you can even have a beautiful photo; however, I think that for me to genuinely fall in love with something there has to be something different about it. It has to grab my attention. It could be light, or colour, or composition, or subject matter, but something has to grab me. For me, this often comes from the exact sentiment Henry Miller is talking about.

Just Give Me a Sign

I am someone who is constantly asking for signs. I am Gideon asking for sign after sign, never satisfied. Well, I feel like I've been continually confronted with small signs over the past week or so. No two-by-fours to the head, which is usually how God has to get my attention, but a slow and steady build-up of things pointing me in a certain direction. The signs are there. I just need to work up the courage to follow them.

Surrounded by Books

We had a tiny flat and our kitchen table - my father's huge wooden worktable where we ate all our meals - was in an alcove, surrounded by four walls of book. Without getting out of our chairs, we could simply reach behind us and, yes, pluck! the appropriate book off a shelf. That was my father's idea, so that there would always be active discussions at meals, and so that I or any guest could find a reference in a trice. My father loved to call out directions from his end of the table like a mad navigator on a small boat: 'A bit more to the right, nine o'clock please, forty-five degrees left...' Over the years, certain thick or oversized volumes became landmarks by which we steered: 'The grey cover two inches to the right of The Child's New Illustrated Encyclopedia ("new" about forty years previous), below One Thousand and One Wonderful Things; about ten inches above Engines and Power...' And when the book was retrieved successfully from the shelf, my father would let out a sigh, as if just the right unreachable itch had been scratched. (Anne Michaels, The Winter Vault)

As much as I love the idea of having a dedicated library in a house, there is also something infinitely appealing about having books simply surrounding you in the spaces you live in. I love the idea of a living room lined with bookshelves complete with rolling ladders (like the ones in Beauty and the Beast). In fact, when I opened the September 2010 issue of InStyle and found the pictures of Diane von Furstenberg's house I absolutely fell in love with her living room. Not the furniture and art so much, but the walls of books with rolling ladders. It is perfect. The other day I was reading The Winter Vault and came across this description of Avery's childhood dining room. I think I re-read this passage about ten times. And I read it out loud to at least three different people. Books in a dining room. How brilliant! Why have I never considered this possibility before? Perhaps one day my house will simply have books in every single room. How delightful would that be? I also love his father's relief when the proper book is pulled from the shelf. Selecting the perfect volume, finding the right book, can be such a wonderful feeling that it is almost healing.

Yesterday I told you about how much I love to be completely immersed in literature. Today I spent the whole day doing layout for Ballyhoo with my co-editor. It was probably one of the most delightful days I've had in a long time. I was actually so engrossed in it that I didn't even think about eating dinner until 8 o'clock. That hasn't happened in a long time. It feels good to be passionate about something. In light of my day and yesterday's reflections, I felt like this was an appropriate quote.

In case you haven't guessed...I adore Anne Michaels.

Immersion

A poem needs understanding through the senses. The point of diving in a lake is not immediately to swim to the shore, but to be in the lake, to luxuriate in the sensation of water. You do not "work the lake out." It is an experience beyond thought. (John Keats, Bright Star)

I love the sensation of being fully immersed in literature. The feeling of breathing poetry. Of sliding between words. Of existing in spaces, in the pauses created by punctuation. Of rolling a word around in my mouth to see how it tastes. Of weighing a turn of phrase in my hands, allowing my fingers to brush against the edges of words, to catch on the corners and glide along the curves. I love it when I feel as if my pores ooze literature. When my first response to any situation, anything I am told, is to quote a poem or cite a novel. This is when I feel most alive. This is when I feel the most like me.

"My Day"

Dear Monday,

Thanks for having the word "mon" in you. That's French for "mine," in case you weren't aware, Monday, but it makes me think of you more as "my day," and frankly that sounds like a much more promising start to the week.

Best, Leah

I've had two good Mondays in a row now. What's that? Yes indeed, they are having a snowball fight in hell. It's so weird. Mondays are usually unpleasant. They have never been my least favourite day of the week, but they are generally just kind of blah days. But two weeks in a row now my Mondays have been fabulous. I know why they have been too, which almost makes it better. There is something deeply satisfying about knowing why I am happy.

The "Dear Monday" quote is from thxthxthx. I've only recently discovered this blog and am absolutely head over heels with it. I've actually started writing my own thank you notes to things and posting them on my wall. It's forcing me to look at things a bit differently. All part of my decision to surround myself with beauty. Leah's notes are just so charming and it is such a refreshing way to look at the world. I found this one about Monday to be so wonderful. And so appropriate. I might have to start thinking about Monday as "my day."

Happy Un-Birthday to Me

I didn't even realize this until now, but this little blog turned one year old last Wednesday. I can't believe it's been a year since I wrote my first post. So much has gone on in my life since then. So much. I've loved this project though. The act of really looking at my photography, considering it, applying it to my life, writing about things that are going on...I think it's healthy. And I love sharing it with you. Your comments make my day. So thank you for your support, whether you've been reading since day one or have started more recently. This past year has been quite the journey. Dare I say I'm excited to see what the next year brings both on the blog and in my life?

On a side note, I've had a bit of an obsession with pictures of balloons lately. They are just such inherently happy items. They have no purpose except to be pretty and fun. The whole point of them is to make you smile. I think the world needs more things that are simply meant to be enjoyable.

I'm asking, just this once

Dear Heart and Head,


If you two could agree on something, I would really appreciate it.


- B

The bleeding to death of time in slow heart beats

Counting the Beats
Robert Graves

You, love, and I,
(He whispers) you and I,
And if no more than only you and I
What care you or I?

Counting the beats,
Counting the slow heart beats,
The bleeding to death of time in slow heart beats,
Wakeful they lie.

Cloudless day,
Night, and a cloudless day,
Yet the huge storm will burst upon their heads one day
From a bitter sky.

Where shall we be,
(She whispers) where shall we be,
When death strikes home, O where then shall we be
Who were you and I?

Not there but here,
(He whispers) only here,
As we are, here, together, now and here,
Always you and I.

Counting the beats
Counting the slow heart beats,
The bleeding to death of time in slow heart beats,
Wakeful they lie.


[One of my all-time favourite poems.]

Charmed

I've been wearing my mom's old charm bracelet lately. I remember playing with this bracelet as a kid. She kept it in the beautiful box - heart shaped, silver coloured, curved legs, green fabric lining - and the box was stored in the linen cupboard at the top of the stairs in our condo. I used to go and sneak it out, put it on and look at all the charms. At some point I kind of just adopted it as my own. I actually have no idea when this happened, but somehow the bracelet and the box came into my possession. The bracelet came with me to university and has been patiently waiting amongst all of my other jewelry for it's day to shine. I've worn it a couple of times, but mostly it has just been there, a comforting kind of possession, one that you are glad you have, that you love knowing is safely tucked away and waiting for you. As I've gone through university I've begun to define my style. It's still evolving, and I think it always will be, but there are certain things that I have settled on. For instance, after first year I gave up my hoodies and switched to cardigans. Now I wouldn't go back for the world (except when I'm pulling an all-nighter or really cold, then I will pull out my oversized school hoodie). I have never really been a bracelet kind of gal. I did the whole wooden beaded bracelet, braided friendship bracelet, rubber "support-a-cause" bracelet thing for a while. Eventually though I moved away from those. Having things around my wrists kind of bothers me. I don't even wear a watch usually because of that. And I have very specific opinions about how substantial the things I do wear on my wrist are. Anyway, I recently got the urge to pull out this charm bracelet and I have decided that I am a girl who can wear a charm bracelet. At least, this particular charm bracelet. It is the perfect level of chunky, it's a little bit rocker and its unique. Plus, I kind of just like the fact that it was my mom's.

Ambiance

I am obsessed with light. Although if you know me or read this blog on a regular basis you probably already know that. There is just so much light can do. The right lighting can change everything. I've been transfixed by various qualities of sunlight for the past several months. This may be because it is the dead of winter and therefore the number of hours with sunlight are precious few and I am longing for summer and its attendant light. However, I have forgotten lately that artificial light can actually be just as lovely. This is because I spend most of my time with artificial light in the form of annoying, buzzing overhead lights in the office or the tungsten lights in my room which keep me awake while doing homework. I've been reminded a couple of times in the past week or two that these are not the only forms of artificial light, and that artificial light is not always profoundly unfortunate. One such reminder came today when I walked into the publications office and Sharon had desk lamps on but the overhead lights off. I can't even explain how relaxing that felt. It was instant too. I walked in and could suddenly breathe. I walked out and the world landed back on my shoulders. That, my friends, is the magic of light.


This is a chandelier in a coffee shop in Toronto (the same one that this and this are from). This coffee shop is quite possibly one of my favourite places from my trip to Toronto. One day I will go back there. I adore chandeliers. One day, when I am successful and rich, I will have a chandelier in my dream home. Until then I will have to satisfy myself with enjoying them when I come across them and wandering through lighting sections in stores.

Words

Words
Sylvia Plath

Axes
After whose stroke the wood rings,
And the echoes!
Echoes traveling
Off from the enter like horses.

The sap
Wells like tears, like the
Water striving
To re-establish its mirror
Over the rock

That drops and turns,
A white skull,
Eaten by weedy greens.
Years later I
Encounter them on the road -

Words dry and riderless,
The indefatigable hoof-taps.
While
From the bottom of the pool, fixed stars
Govern a life.


"It's interesting that last year you put up pictures, but this year you chose to put up words." That's how Gabby reacted when she first saw this, my ever-expanding wall of poetry. Whenever I am particularly struck by a poem I add it to the wall. The only thing that came to my head in response to that, and as a kind of explanation for this particular choice, was this: "She had always wanted words, she loved them, grew up on them. Words gave her clarity, brought reason, shape." (The English Patient, Michael Ondaatje) Language is my first love. I adore photography, there is no question about that, but words are my refuge. I think this wall is delightful and something that I am going to continue wherever I end up next.

Sometimes...

Sometimes the smallest thing can turn your day around and put a smile on your face.