.shot through the heart and you're to blame.

lovin' the Bon Jovi time warp right now on the AMA's

it's another sunday.
i've just come home from a 4 hour carriage ride through the woods.
that sentence alone sounds very Austenesk. P & P always seems to be running through my mind any how. a novel I will constantly be reading- forever.

the ride. it was nice. different. we, the 5 of us. actually had to make conversation and entertain each other. no phones. no internet. no distraction. no anything but us.
the clomping of the horse's hooves- clip, clip, clip
birds chirping. squirrel's burrowing. deer, laughter and the pungent smell of decay. everything lying in wait for that white cold, comforting blanket to consume.
the shapes of snowflakes speak to me. all bundled up, stinging my cheeks and melting their uniqueness. never existing. not really.

another crushed PBR went sailing over the back of the carriage. K scolding Jake once again. some things just don't register with a man.
after the third attempt at squatting in the bushes, K and I decided it was time to be home. and warm. and clean. carriage riding is a dirty business. my fresh air quota has been filled. as well as my 'people coming out and taking pictures of 5 friends going for a carriage ride' quota. it's not like we were riding down the middle of a busy street, dodging cars. we were in the country. riding down dirt country roads. you couldn't walk a mile in any direction without hearing or seeing cows grazing. to each their own. numbing fingers were hastily rubbing numb thighs. snuggling close for body heat. a day well spent.

. a letter to an author.

Dear Elizabeth Gilbert...

I am currently reading your novel 'Eat Pray Love' and I have to say, I don't know if I can continue as I am stuck on page 61. This is why... You are in Italy at this point and you were just comparing forms of pleasure for both Americans and Italians... I find that your description of how American's seek pleasure was quite disturbing. I quote, "Generally speaking, though, Americans have an inability to relax into sheer pleasure. Ours is an entertainment-seeking nation, but not necessarily a pleasure-seeking one. Americans spend billions to keep themselves amused with everything from porn to theme parks to wars, but that's not exactly the same things as quiet enjoyment".
I understand the porn- which grosses millions of dollars each year. I understand theme parks- they're not just for kids. But I do not understand how you can actually write in print that Americans use 'war' as a form of entertainment. I am quite horrified right now. Elizabeth do you actually think that all of the men and women in our armed forces joined and fought over seas in terrible wars throughout our history because they wanted to entertain themselves? Seriously! You have already previously written in this book how distraught and heartbroken you were about 'your city's' twin towers being distroyed. Was this not because of our foreign enemies attacking us? Was the war in Iraq and Afghanistan not sparked because of this attack? Did the men and women, fellow Americans and the like die for nothing, according to you? Those that died, were they entertainment addicts? I believe you need to revisit this statement and really think about writing that war is for entertainment.
I am enjoying your novel, I find you rather funny and a little too analytical. Your anicdotes are interesting and you tend to run off on tangents, but otherwise... I am finding this little jaunt through your travel experiences wonderful. So... can I continue after this? Can I get past this very liberal opinion when I myself have a husband that fought in those wars? I guess I'll let you know.

.my girl Ellie.

just wanted to share a smile :)

.back to basics.

Two pages of my little inspiration...

.me.

I walked gradually down my street today,
towards the woods- always towards the woods.
The leaves crunched beneath my shoes,
one of the most comforting sounds to me.

Children’s laughter, nails being hammered, dog’s crisp barks
carried through the wind in between the branches,
and the idly floating leaves.
I smiled, if only a faint whisper of one.

These long lost dreams are rattling around in silent corners
streaks of pink reflect on my sunglasses
as I pause again and again to take in the changing, swirling colours all around me
above, below, calling in the distance

this is always the best of me
alone in my thoughts
after a soft rain
the tree bark slick and damp
enhances the yellows, oranges, and reds in their splendor, their glory,
before they break free and drift swiftly to their death.

I’m hurting all over
I don’t breathe well alone.
I never have.
I feel as if I’m drifting with those leaves, inside an echo
by the time words reach my ears, there’s no telling how long it’s been reverberating-
through time
through place.

The best and worst thing I’ll ever be…
is a mother.
this title
this honor denied to many.
this person locked inside me.
desperately shaking- trembling with a rusty key grasped in my finger tips.
the lock so far out of focus.

Does he love me?
Need me?
know I love him so completely,
even if I don’t know how to show him.

it’s heart shattering. This child. This piece of me.
letting these dusty cracks fill in, become whole.
tears streak their scars down my skin.
leaving their track marks for the world to judge.
You know they are.
and always will.
nothing makes them proud…

how will I let go?
Be my person, my place, my thing.
my mind is racing,
pray my feet won’t follow.

sketch 125!

This is the page I made based on the sketch 125 from creative scappers!

done done

Finally finished my cousin's albums. Had a great time making them. They spent hours looking at every page- something a scrap artist always loves to see. :)
Going to start on some old projects I've been putting off tonight!
my fav...