Red sky at night, sailor's delight. Red sky in the morning, sailor's take warning.

sublime Adjective describing a concept, thing, or state of high spiritual, moral, or intellectual value; or something awe-inspiring. The sublime was a goal to which many nineteenth-century artists aspired in their artworks. (Stokstad Art History)

I have mixed feelings about storms. For the most part I love them. There is something fascinating about them. I think it's the attraction of the sublime. Storms make you feel how little control you have over nature, they make you realize how tiny and insignificant you are in comparison with the rest of the world. There is something awe inspiring about that realization. And in a way I find that comforting. I can't control everything, and as much as I hate that, it is good to know that it's normal and that no one else can control everything either. We are all on equal footing when it comes to that. However, there is still something about storms that terrrifies me. I think it is just the knowledge of their destructive power. Being confronted with something that you know could kill you...I think fear is a healthy response to that. The sublime fascinates me though. It is so prevalent in art and literature. In particular, Canadian artists are fascinated with the sublimity of nature. The fact that we are completely at the mercy of an unforgiving climate has captivated this country's artists and writers since the first explorers arrived here. Our complicated relationship with nature is part of what defines us as Canadians. Margaret Atwood talks about the bush myth and how Canadians live in fear of nature so we group together and build cities, walls to keep nature out. And yet we are also people who go camping and backpacking. Extreme survival skills are something Canadians pride themselves on. Even those of us who live in cities brag about how we have lived through winters of -40C. I have friends who love winter camping, and part of the thrill is the survival aspect. We both fear and revere nature. We hide inside our houses and we attempt to convey the wildness of nature in art. I know this is true in my life and it is a pattern that is seen again and again in various forms of Canadian art. 

It is that point in the Alberta summer where the thunderstorms roll in, the severe storm watches are issued and tonadoes touch down. There was a storm tonight (lots of wind, but short lived) and it ended just as the sun was setting. I love when that happens because crazy weather creates awesome sunsets. Tonight was certainly no exception. Here's a peak at the reddish sky with the trees out back of the house silhouetted against it. So pretty.

Bright Lights of Summer

The past couple of days have been busy, but in a very good way. Monday I spent most of the day with two of my friends wandering around Capital EX. For those of you who are not from Edmonton, Capital EX is basically Edmonton's town fair. Think midway games, rides, deep fried everything...it's a good time and definitely a summer staple. I love amusement parks and rides a lot, so I always have a good time. Plus, I adore all of the lights. I think this is what makes the strongest impression on me. Whenever I think about Capital EX I think about the way I feel standing in line for rides in the evening; the sun is just starting to set, it is getting cool and windy, and all of the lights are blazing on the rides, games, and concession stands. It's just such an awesome moment in time. I think that's why I like this picture so much. It evokes the exact moment in time. I actually took this one a couple years ago at Captial EX. I did take pictures on Monday, but I haven't had a moment to go through and edit them up yet. Some of them will probably make their way onto the blog in the future though.

The Road Less Traveled By

The Road Not Taken

Robert Frost

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that, the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I -
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

This poem is the all time favorite of two of my dearest friends. So this post is kind of for them. I took this picture a few days ago in our backyard. This is the path that runs down beside the garage to the back gate. I loved how it looked in the sunlight. As soon as I saw it this was the poem that popped into my head (By the way, is it weird that poems pop into my head when I see certain images? Or is that merely an indication of how suited I am to studying literature?) and I knew I would post the two of them together. I realize that this is not a leaf strewn path in a yellow wood, nor is there a second path, but it certainly is the path less traveled. The weeds are growing through the cracks in the sidewalk and the lighting makes it look old, worn, and neglected. And really, it is the less taken path off of our property since the back gate has been broken for a while and you can't actually open it.

So shall we take the occasion, from one bitter root, to raise perhaps many flowers. - Leigh Hunt

 

So, this week was supposed to be awesome. Seriously. I was super pumped for it. Instead of being awesome and doing a happy dance on a daily basis, by Wednesday night I just wanted to scream until I lost my voice. Fortunately, over the past few days my beautiful and amazing friends have been incredible. There are four lovely ladies in particular who have been absolutely crucial to my survival lately. You know who you are. Thank you for saving my sanity. Thank you for putting up with my rants. Thank you for letting me vent even when I have already vented about the same thing to you. Thanks to you, my week started to turn around. There was definitely a bit of wreckage, but thanks to you I walked away from it without any life threatening injuries. No things aren't sensational yet, but in the past few days circumstances have slowly started to look up. I don't want to get too hyped up about things yet, because nothing is certain, but there are definitely some good things going on right now. I can handle the stressful and the downright awful and worrying as long as there is something positive to hang on to. So thank you to my friends who have been my anchors until those positive things turned up and who are now rejoicing with me over these things.

It's the quirks that make the person

I love my quirks. I am a profoundly strange person at times, but it is those little things that make me who I am and I have come to love my absurdities. Like the fact that my socks have to match my outfit. Or the fact that I always put my right shoe on first. Or that I keep my movies in alphabetical order and it drives me insane if they are put out of order. Or that I chew the scar on the inside of my lip when I'm thinking. I also love finding these things out about other people. I just think it is the little things like that that make a person who they are. And that is fun to discover.

I took this picture in our backyard. We have this little shale patch where my mom scattered some wildflower seeds and they are starting to come up. I love how different the leaves on this one plant are. So cool.

Wanderlust

I spent most of today with one of my dear friends. One of the things we talked about for quite a while was travel. I haven't been anywhere in quite a long time. Actually, it's been just over a year since I went to Victoria and that was the last trip I took. Talking about traveling and places that we want to go has really given me a case of wanderlust. Sadly I really am not in a place in my life right now where travel is an option. But hey, it's nice to dream a little.

I've mentioned my 1934 Webster's Dictionary on here before, but I don't think I have ever shared any pictures of it. This is really a shame, but I am correcting it today. Oddly enough, the first pictures I'm showing you from a dictionary are maps and not words. Oh well. I'm odd, so this is just par for the course. One of the appendicies in the back of the dictionary is "A Reference History of the World from the Earliest Times to the Present" which has a bunch of different maps from different time periods. I love maps, especially old ones, so I was quite excited when I discovered them and simply had to take some pictures. I hope you enjoy them as much as I do.

The Cracks, They Start to Show

I went to Shakespeare in the Park tonight with my parents to see Macbeth. I've talked about how much I love Lady Macbeth on here before, but in case you missed it the first time, she is one of my favorite characters in all of Shakespeare. Fearsome, chilling, strong, ambitious, haunted. She fascinates me. I think one of the reasons I enjoy Macbeth so much is the psychological aspect to the play. I think it's interesting how Macbeth and Lady Macbeth are so haunted by their guilt, how it manifests itself in thier minds. The hallucinations, the sleepwalking, they are truly tormented. Lady Macbeth's much quoted "out damn'd spot" speech is the very embodiment of this breakdown. The cracks in her normally impenetrable armour begin to show. They appear slowly and without her knowledge, but the ultimately rip her apart.

The past little while I feel like some cracks in my armour have begun to show. I pride myself on being strong and independent, but sometimes it gets exhausting. Life has been getting to me. Needling me. Slowly wearing me down. This week was supposed to be really great, but yesterday was kind of disasterous and today (with the exception of the play) was only slightly better. I've been constantly frustrated lately. I really wish I had access to a sound proof room so I could just scream as loud as I can until my voice is gone. Obviously I'm not Lady Macbeth. I haven't abetted any murders lately, nor am I expecting any of this to lead to a complete mental breakdown, but the sentiment is similar.

I took this picture at Hatley Castle on Vancouver Island last summer. A very beautiful building. The carvings are what first captured my attention and led me to take a picture. It wasn't until I was home and editing pictures that I noticed the cracks running through the facade. It's interesting how true that is of most things. At first glance almost everything and everyone looks perfect. It isn't until you get a bit closer, until you get to know them, that you find the imperfections.