tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-52969338800669293982024-03-05T19:34:46.923-08:00Gloriosityit's more than just a made up word. it's a way of life.Chesleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09668840805329960714noreply@blogger.comBlogger166125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296933880066929398.post-71333126752850741272015-01-11T12:17:00.001-08:002015-01-11T12:19:50.910-08:00Heartbeats.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZu2H0jLDToIhPbk4Cn9daZYPCWrZZh_6saYdDQ6ZKgZfvAfIOyJxvlUmts9ojLq8Qn5O5h8CJzl9ilsN9JrEq1bGn9oLWPgeYYbZ9rhstyfkOI6v-q4eRhsHSKxn-PttoSg3atU-xmyI/s1600/2f2990c3f9bb359010ba2caf95fab3c2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZu2H0jLDToIhPbk4Cn9daZYPCWrZZh_6saYdDQ6ZKgZfvAfIOyJxvlUmts9ojLq8Qn5O5h8CJzl9ilsN9JrEq1bGn9oLWPgeYYbZ9rhstyfkOI6v-q4eRhsHSKxn-PttoSg3atU-xmyI/s1600/2f2990c3f9bb359010ba2caf95fab3c2.jpg" height="198" width="200" /></a>I've been thinking a lot about Boulder lately.<br />
My year in Colorado was like a life hiatus, my sabbatical from a largely-undefined life arch. I stopped worrying about where I'd end up, and spent time being in the present.<br />
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As it so happens, Boulder was the perfect place to do that because despite being surrounded by legions of grad-school students paying higher-educational dues, the overwhelming vibe of Pearl Street is, "Who care's about tomorrow? Let's live today." (Unless, of course, tomorrow was going to be a powder day.)<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiX8sEir4p1qTlr3RbSKHzEzsxa_staeczAdqjvvkz9bpiZif6-MsRt-FSIS5EWsJtaA4pgYMvMq4EeOc2M2NAGS9dOGWNHiqApry5zQ3H20SLU0U8NJOwbHASGeIHNF-c6mSvUQ0fsQz0/s1600/OD-AP295A_skili_DV_20120302003026.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiX8sEir4p1qTlr3RbSKHzEzsxa_staeczAdqjvvkz9bpiZif6-MsRt-FSIS5EWsJtaA4pgYMvMq4EeOc2M2NAGS9dOGWNHiqApry5zQ3H20SLU0U8NJOwbHASGeIHNF-c6mSvUQ0fsQz0/s1600/OD-AP295A_skili_DV_20120302003026.jpg" height="320" width="212" /></a>Living in Boulder, my life consisted largely of coffee shop mochas, afternoon coca-colas, blogging, reading, movies, and music. It also consisted of learning to ski and to rock climb outside. It took my self-conscious East-Coast psyche a while - too long - to understand that nobody out west cared if you were an amazing skier or climber or anything-er. People just took you for who you were, no judgement; all encouragement.<br />
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I remember heading to A-Basin with my friend Wendy once. Wendy was the nicest, most unassuming person, and a lifetime skier - she could shred any run. And yet she ran the greens and the blues with me over and over and over again. I felt so self-conscious that she was sticking with me, taking wide, slow, scenery-catching turns. Once or twice, she'd say, "I'll meet you at the bottom," and she'd jet off on some double black diamond - like watching a bunny rabbit suddenly attack a pit bull. Then she'd be waiting for me at the lift, and we'd ride up the mountain again, and she'd give me some advice on my form like she was commenting on the weather.<br />
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I miss that. I miss the friendly meet-you-where-you-are nature of the Rockies. I think so many new acquaintances start with a silent measuring-up, a lurking "what-do-you-bring-to-the-table?" I wasn't in Boulder quite long enough to cement that non-comparison self-confidence into my brain, but I think it's a worthwhile resolution: to learn to appreciate people for their humanness instead of their accomplishments, and to say, "Take me as I am," and mean it.Chesleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09668840805329960714noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296933880066929398.post-91139766134410448512015-01-03T08:14:00.002-08:002015-01-03T08:18:01.607-08:00Dive Deep for Dreams.<h4>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I dreamt last night of men diving into a lake to recover shining, shimmering skipping stones.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It was nighttime, and the water lapped quietly as they slipped out of sight into the deep blue sky speckled with stars. They were quiet, like they'd worked dream recovery a million times, just as pearl divers retrieve pricelessness with a casual familiarity.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPJBhHT_MYekuxsy6KE-4bl1zjopQ9cuNtO3_VRQr_xuTpr0qNnbIvbRJQkUhPALSzugxwMkn7pHoAvELtOXl-T9G0O3TVpp4IWaQk61W2WZjUIOCwRd9xZehtqkokEfArzTOjGd3jocE/s1600/c085aeaef26fc7c9848c91f371695287.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPJBhHT_MYekuxsy6KE-4bl1zjopQ9cuNtO3_VRQr_xuTpr0qNnbIvbRJQkUhPALSzugxwMkn7pHoAvELtOXl-T9G0O3TVpp4IWaQk61W2WZjUIOCwRd9xZehtqkokEfArzTOjGd3jocE/s1600/c085aeaef26fc7c9848c91f371695287.jpg" height="320" width="213" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Then I dreamt of a wedding banquet (not mine) that was put on for show. The guests and gift were there because they were supposed to be, and not out of celebration. But much as in life, we often do things as we're expected to.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Then I dreamt of a Cathedral with fine relief sculptures, and beneath them was the name of the man who had created them, and the name of the man who explained why they were created.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Then I dreamt of working hard in a field. It was blistering hot and there was hay everywhere, but I was side-by-side with good friends, and we were laughing like it was just another day together. I collapsed on the ground to take a rest and looked at my swollen feet from standing all day in the heat. And I found myself thinking, "And I have to stand all tonight, too, when I'm at the altar getting married! But that's okay. I'll make it." I shouted as much over my shoulder to the man I was meant to marry - but I didn't see him.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Recovered dreams.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">They make you remember there's something out there for you.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>Chesleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09668840805329960714noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296933880066929398.post-8849056025258798622015-01-02T20:45:00.001-08:002015-01-02T20:50:44.785-08:00Begin Again.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbtE6T_2U4PTU-NAG3dnTXRWirOV8IjyZr_guhBmykyA_0OlIwFma_dGWkKqN6wArt1sKf1AYI_CFjFD41ibtUW1AiN2BIL-dpEaUFdCIl-jUKnn2EKjAcXEz6AgJfbY2RTeZHW6uIaXc/s1600/f0e9ec0c795d690d0f04a3170186f289.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbtE6T_2U4PTU-NAG3dnTXRWirOV8IjyZr_guhBmykyA_0OlIwFma_dGWkKqN6wArt1sKf1AYI_CFjFD41ibtUW1AiN2BIL-dpEaUFdCIl-jUKnn2EKjAcXEz6AgJfbY2RTeZHW6uIaXc/s1600/f0e9ec0c795d690d0f04a3170186f289.jpg" height="320" width="213" /></a></div>
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It's hard to begin when you can't imagine the ending.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Sure, we can never know the ending until we get there. Life isn't written like a comfortable novel or a familiar song. And while days may line up in a predictable pattern of painfully progressive chords, every now and then there's a key change or a plot twist or an unintentional abrupt ending to a chapter, like the final scene of a French film, utterly unexpected and existential.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But what if, beyond not knowing the arc of your fairy tale, you find yourself unsure even which direction to take?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Forgive me. I'm thinking of Cinderella in <i>Into the Woods</i>, stuck in the pitch on the stairs.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">You think: What do you want? You think: Make a decision! Why not stay and be caught? You think, well, it's a thought. What would be his response? But then what if he knew who you were when you know that you're not what he thinks that he wants? And then what if you are what a prince would envision? But then how can you know who you are 'til you know what you want...which you don't. </span></blockquote>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw-dmNhMoOJn7SUPZtNoU9iBEamwBj3u9s1GbUYpZpclNpCoLKoNC8rBt83eJYJD0jzO-fW9gBbut-1ez0PPlsjuO0j2HIEYSrgjPvqmPuHFf_4PdNSTwu-_N7HNDtvHFTb3dTNrZoxJ0/s1600/Woods-cinderella.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw-dmNhMoOJn7SUPZtNoU9iBEamwBj3u9s1GbUYpZpclNpCoLKoNC8rBt83eJYJD0jzO-fW9gBbut-1ez0PPlsjuO0j2HIEYSrgjPvqmPuHFf_4PdNSTwu-_N7HNDtvHFTb3dTNrZoxJ0/s1600/Woods-cinderella.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Well, hell, Cindy. I don't know either.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Because it's a good question, Mr. Lapine. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And while it's tempting to think the centrifugal motion of your early twenties will just spin you around and around the same climactic destiny-coated point-of-your-entire-existence until you hone in on that sucker and pounce on life-fulfillment in a glorious moment of revelation, <i>that doesn't really happen.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>Okay, </i>half-glass-full Chesley thinks, <i>but maybe life is more like a skipping stone skimming the pond surface, dropping in for amazing moments and tiny touch-downs of meaning?</i></span></div>
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<a href="http://whiteblackberryflowers.tumblr.com/" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt-rwjYREuOHtkwe4S5peQIhHpEpAh27npABxbsD8eOanewpebXLfLUZD_ML5SWTO2eVXGSP10sRPMlAP1cYApqeYu-Qudc9WE-WrOrYG1Pa2iAp6Z3Quhs9knQiZUMRizMaTxvYVVdPQ/s1600/skipping+rock.jpg" height="320" width="213" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But what if you're one of those stones that starts off skipping pretty well, only to disappointingly and prematurely lose momentum and plummet to the bottom of the pond?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Okay. Perhaps that's a bit dramatic. But doesn't it feel like that sometimes?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Because sometimes you can't even dream yourself forward in ANY direction. Sometimes you look around and you swear EVERYBODY GOT A ROAD MAP BUT YOU. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So shake out your hair, pick any direction, and go. Right?</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLTHKgWWFJTvERSqrHflnl5C4rY0HsoDoM-ULzYBuw7cLUdp-x6hiAS109p-uziiOn24MZ75TaiUIEj1xK8_kUsx5KSuBYncQ4bJW9x7v-DlzOEnIeHotaBQ3IBOIfNpR-egn60yBLo0U/s1600/AliceinWonderland.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLTHKgWWFJTvERSqrHflnl5C4rY0HsoDoM-ULzYBuw7cLUdp-x6hiAS109p-uziiOn24MZ75TaiUIEj1xK8_kUsx5KSuBYncQ4bJW9x7v-DlzOEnIeHotaBQ3IBOIfNpR-egn60yBLo0U/s1600/AliceinWonderland.jpg" height="229" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Do you ever get too old for that? For weighting the hunch or the inkling or the fluttery wings of hope with just as much importance as the sober, pensive, down-to-earth pragmatic consideration? Can't I do both, simultaneously?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Here's my problem: I've always relied on the hunches and inklings and winged hopes. I've always leaned hard on serendipity. She's rarely led me wrong.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The problem is, she's certainly made herself scarce lately.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Hello? Anyone?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And I can't figure out if I've scared her away - folded up that flighty devil-may-care daring like an old sheet and stuffed it in the back of the bureau - or if she's lying in wait somewhere, ready to whisper, "POUNCE" in my ear when the right opportunity finally shuffles under the snow.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And I hope</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And I hope</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And I hope that she is. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Because I'm not quite ready to give up dreaming my life into existence.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And I think there is cause for hope. It's silly. (I'm silly.) But in the past 24 hours, three maybe-we'd-be-friends-if-we-lived-in-the-same-city-but-we're-really-more-like-ships-in-the-night kind of boys - very different men, actually - have said to me (or to a friend of mine): </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>I like that Chesley. I feel like this is her year.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>You're getting more and more beautiful and are always good company. I think 2015 will be a good year for you...</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>You're the most confident, poised girl I know. Stop doubting yourself - you're amazing.</i></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBiMqCuCXh_rYdi8XNQ7o6-fsRZx4VGYTgLybMU-e_DVQJO2J5hvw5J95yb1Fy6q0n33qRANl0TN-sooC_XaD5G3Tmmf9S-_VXtecB0VWy7yql0Iupp0fOvIVAPI8vZ_9mXWJQ4WkJqCg/s1600/glitter.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBiMqCuCXh_rYdi8XNQ7o6-fsRZx4VGYTgLybMU-e_DVQJO2J5hvw5J95yb1Fy6q0n33qRANl0TN-sooC_XaD5G3Tmmf9S-_VXtecB0VWy7yql0Iupp0fOvIVAPI8vZ_9mXWJQ4WkJqCg/s1600/glitter.jpg" height="320" width="213" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><i>I know. I know.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Right, I know. Glorious me, praised by the world of adoring peons. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But the point is - these gents know enough of me to know if I was a phony; but they aren't close enough to say nice things just because <i>that's what friends are supposed to do. </i>Nor are they angling for a batted eyelash. (Trust.)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Besides, I give those for free.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The point is: it's nice to have someone you think is interesting, someone you think is driven, someone you respect, look at you and see the very thing you hope you truly are. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So what's in store? What's the key change? What's the plot line? What's the wonderful that's waiting to happen?</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgITifGNgD1JUoUkKV9TswZCl9JBEc-qMbyjzfwJq8hfth6KexmhVAy7n91LsYGCKi9_SqFllYuOCxd8maDQzXH7BoUEdoIrlX_Nds3ep0yV9Q2Y9O8iBw1cjtRKxrSzwuNVt1wT1TUk6c/s1600/NewYearPerch.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgITifGNgD1JUoUkKV9TswZCl9JBEc-qMbyjzfwJq8hfth6KexmhVAy7n91LsYGCKi9_SqFllYuOCxd8maDQzXH7BoUEdoIrlX_Nds3ep0yV9Q2Y9O8iBw1cjtRKxrSzwuNVt1wT1TUk6c/s1600/NewYearPerch.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I don't know yet. But I think, if I'm true to who I am, it's gonna be good.</span></div>
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Chesleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09668840805329960714noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296933880066929398.post-71584338360725431642013-03-26T14:08:00.001-07:002013-03-26T14:08:26.475-07:00Spring?<div style="text-align: center;">
"Spring, go home. You're drunk."</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeH6sj6vJR3TB2ZnrTICbCbefZ8ORMWtqB68gEdQjTTYmQt8FhAplFoC8ICfCCct3UWjQ9nQsYRiF0H7Nuuj8CFlWMBP4yg9BC4ZxAq00zwCXlDDTi9YHAe_DCVmUCM2O19VBKq7avFmc/s1600/9d5fa20a3e0e11d8ac4bfba4db140745.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeH6sj6vJR3TB2ZnrTICbCbefZ8ORMWtqB68gEdQjTTYmQt8FhAplFoC8ICfCCct3UWjQ9nQsYRiF0H7Nuuj8CFlWMBP4yg9BC4ZxAq00zwCXlDDTi9YHAe_DCVmUCM2O19VBKq7avFmc/s400/9d5fa20a3e0e11d8ac4bfba4db140745.jpg" width="298" /></a></div>
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This is the prevailing thought in most Philadelphian's heads lately. Indeed, in the heads of pretty much anyone in the Midwest/Mid-Atlantic/New England areas of the U.S.</div>
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Because WHERE IS SPRING?</div>
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The groundhog is a liar. The equinox was a false finish line. The crocuses are laughing at us.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjORoiw67hqAqLhsBx-qx6glrPqZC-oThU3ack9UNYf7UjzKkZFXb06soRDodDw9zF_XSDVntpbgvICr8pqkg8GNWDa0mYiz8Yh4OvRHxWilCzNuIriM-soVGH1cldMmbxHCfMB-3eFtMg/s1600/7a001c330df754502365dd26d04a1784.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjORoiw67hqAqLhsBx-qx6glrPqZC-oThU3ack9UNYf7UjzKkZFXb06soRDodDw9zF_XSDVntpbgvICr8pqkg8GNWDa0mYiz8Yh4OvRHxWilCzNuIriM-soVGH1cldMmbxHCfMB-3eFtMg/s320/7a001c330df754502365dd26d04a1784.jpg" width="215" /></a></div>
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I'm so ready for Spring, it hurts. Go away, winter wind. Go away snowy slush falling from the skies. I just want to wear peep-toed heels and sandals. For now, though, I'd settle for being able to walk out of my apartment without a parka, hat, and gloves.</div>
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Come, thou long-expected springtime, come to give new life to earth!</div>
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Chesleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09668840805329960714noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296933880066929398.post-55698362078676231142013-02-10T13:02:00.000-08:002013-02-10T13:02:39.872-08:00Life: 3.0.<div style="text-align: center;">
February is here. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH2s6a0U24w-xa9ZZhV0C2DDto1yJVYZUyt6A223M45NLqpkz-TPGYIAURL96Za-Cn59m4m1Qfe9mEdHwzkNwcmr2eMv4NcZuuQsIQ-htnrdFt7DKS3ojyIVE7LDhalDDVvkCfP22DhJg/s1600/7d8b7325b56a000c6d085ff97bc1f7f1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="314" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH2s6a0U24w-xa9ZZhV0C2DDto1yJVYZUyt6A223M45NLqpkz-TPGYIAURL96Za-Cn59m4m1Qfe9mEdHwzkNwcmr2eMv4NcZuuQsIQ-htnrdFt7DKS3ojyIVE7LDhalDDVvkCfP22DhJg/s320/7d8b7325b56a000c6d085ff97bc1f7f1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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With what hurried tenacity life rushes on.</div>
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As much as I try to keep things organized and simple, the chaos always sets in. Best intensions of well-planned scientific execution always abandoned for the alchemy of chaos. </div>
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Chaos breeds inspirations.</div>
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Best-laid plans are instead laid to waste. And life, I think, is found not in the perfect order of a faultless filing cabinet, but by diving into the mess. So whether you're surrounded by coffee cups and scattered papers in your favorite coffee shop, </div>
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or by a tower of PBRs in your favorite dive bar, </div>
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life comes in the living, not the planning. </div>
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Those are my wise words for this week. I turn 30 in four days. FOUR DAYS. And I've decided to forgive myself for being 30. I've got to thwart the real feeling of guilt that comes from who-knows-where that sometimes leaves me thinking "am I doing what I'm supposed to be doing? Have I lived enough life in 30 years? What have I missed out on?" But I left the classroom curriculum and the pre-ordained grading scale many years ago, and one of the real benefits of living in my generation, and one real gift from parents and teachers who raised me to have free thought, is that I don't have to measure my life against anyone else's. </div>
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I have been born and bred and sent daily into the world with the understanding that my independence and originality and interpretation is worthy and wonderful. I just forget it from time to time.</div>
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And isn't it the most empowering realization, to see that what you once thought was broken isn't really unusable... it's beautiful.</div>
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So, 30, you shall not be characterized by anxiety and worry and self-recrimination. </div>
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You will be fabulous.</div>
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And flirty. </div>
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Gorgeous.</div>
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Graceful.</div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
Fun.</div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
Wild.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAuU1D57RQHhP_lb5vcG54C_ytwOgzZQrrVUgRr58FiJ_SfnlOjss1ruSGDAuVqZRRv-3ra5vo6HVYIXfAaBxrvC7hI3Lo8yQp_M5mURqwpm-7lU5K_tM8LryGge38QTpiPX_nxbjhcvk/s1600/22c3a93d6e8ddc55c0400cc5ec51c49c.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAuU1D57RQHhP_lb5vcG54C_ytwOgzZQrrVUgRr58FiJ_SfnlOjss1ruSGDAuVqZRRv-3ra5vo6HVYIXfAaBxrvC7hI3Lo8yQp_M5mURqwpm-7lU5K_tM8LryGge38QTpiPX_nxbjhcvk/s320/22c3a93d6e8ddc55c0400cc5ec51c49c.jpg" width="265" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Chaotic.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVWry_YRkzSGCa9LaqETbSRHa_ezGC-h7kHlGQH2XWlV_si12aYJdIq8ooVfP_VBIZYo-nO5wGlrr5TDrndqHJwuxN2qTKtkCmDN9VwGMsFXgW3H4buB4TQCuFD4x3BQQfktDjG2FrCrQ/s1600/5dcc0cd6295f2460f0b40848867b5ba9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVWry_YRkzSGCa9LaqETbSRHa_ezGC-h7kHlGQH2XWlV_si12aYJdIq8ooVfP_VBIZYo-nO5wGlrr5TDrndqHJwuxN2qTKtkCmDN9VwGMsFXgW3H4buB4TQCuFD4x3BQQfktDjG2FrCrQ/s320/5dcc0cd6295f2460f0b40848867b5ba9.jpg" width="213" /></a> </div>
And full, to the brim, to the spilling point, to the absolute max... of inspiration.<br />
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Chesleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09668840805329960714noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296933880066929398.post-41714236190536754412013-01-13T10:57:00.001-08:002013-01-13T11:09:11.152-08:00Speaking of Music...<div style="text-align: center;">
There is some auditory GOLD that has been hitting the airwaves so far this year. I hardly know where to begin, but my 2013 discoveries are stacking up. Want to know what's on the playlist so far?</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisczxPvnIum3Ml8Vmhfszkot2kFSZH6_wVKHOaVO8_QIzOxXNlYPIsfZcLeTbHcFOy2vCiZG3-ncs7RFmoiGVQdQkaSHMneS2encSuP1-C14qA3MrprQDGqsSMFmwtFHgRGu2GLPxaPuk/s1600/135389532517488148_h5PZupBx_c.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisczxPvnIum3Ml8Vmhfszkot2kFSZH6_wVKHOaVO8_QIzOxXNlYPIsfZcLeTbHcFOy2vCiZG3-ncs7RFmoiGVQdQkaSHMneS2encSuP1-C14qA3MrprQDGqsSMFmwtFHgRGu2GLPxaPuk/s320/135389532517488148_h5PZupBx_c.jpg" width="256" /></a></div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
Of course you do.</div>
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Let's start with a bit of an anthem. This one has definitely made the soundtrack of my life. I can think of several applicable moments for it. <i>It's Only the Brave</i> by The Last Royals. Great anthem. Great. Makes me want to dance and fall in love just because.</div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen="allowfullscreen" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/_0ZXoeaNeN4?rel=0" width="420"></iframe></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Did you like it? Because here's another mover-and-shaker. It's Youngblood Hawke's <i>Stars (Hold On)</i>. A little atmospheric west coast feel-good music.<br />
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="allowfullscreen" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/SA3UBxeEqIk?rel=0" width="560"></iframe> <i>We've all got the sun to follow. </i> <i>Hold on, hold on, the stars are bound to change; hold on, hold on, wait for another day; hold on, hold on, the future's not that far away....</i><br />
<br />
And now, one to grow on. <i>Sweater Weather</i> by The Neighbourhood. It's just a bit mellower, but very catchy. The lyrics paint pictures.<br />
It'll grow on you...especially that chorus.<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="allowfullscreen" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/yu1yWRNVv7s?rel=0" width="420"></iframe>
And that is all for now!<br />
I can't give away all the gold at once. You'll have to come back for more.<br />
Happy listening!</div>
Chesleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09668840805329960714noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296933880066929398.post-9770238923570453102013-01-11T16:09:00.002-08:002013-01-11T16:09:25.980-08:00We're All Stargazers.<div style="text-align: center;">
Last Sunday was Epiphany.</div>
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December's half of Christmas was all about the miracle of Christ's birth and the humility of a Child born in a stable and the awe and disbelief of shepherds gathered around a shining bundle of Joy, Joy enough to fill the whole earth.</div>
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But I love Epiphany, because it's when the wise men show up. Kings of the Orient. Esteemed magi who studied and thought and taught. It is when these three kings arrive in Bethlehem that humankind's Epiphany happened - the realization that this is a miracle, unlike any ever conceived before; here is our God come to earth for man (and by woman!). And what a realization that is.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA00OksdB2gOcAD4Nl7TNDLFjC49SVEF8-g6WfpOIUBohBtT4kXJTC4d8IChkGZaBp9LPQG9QzVizEE777raH-prT2GD1Or3yy4NkPDGSk-342rsOT92M4UMHHfAvP1Ovv1rfNf_6XfjY/s1600/m-we_three.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA00OksdB2gOcAD4Nl7TNDLFjC49SVEF8-g6WfpOIUBohBtT4kXJTC4d8IChkGZaBp9LPQG9QzVizEE777raH-prT2GD1Or3yy4NkPDGSk-342rsOT92M4UMHHfAvP1Ovv1rfNf_6XfjY/s320/m-we_three.jpg" width="319" /></a></div>
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But enough theological posturing.</div>
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What gets me every time is: The Star.</div>
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Star of wonder, and star of might, and star of royal beauty bright.</div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
We're all Stargazers. We're always looking toward the bright and the joyful. We're looking for things that will light up our lives. We're dedicating our lives to following those things. But isn't it all too easy to set our sights on the stars that shine bright but burn out fast, or the stars that are in the fashionable part of the sky, or the stars the move quickly and disappear behind the clouds forever?</div>
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The trick is to find the start that shines brightest for you. The star that fills you up with light, so that you, too, shine for others. The star that lights your way, and lets you light the way for others. The best Stargazing is about finding your Joy.</div>
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So when was the last time you did something that made you feel truly wonderful? Was it writing or singing or teaching? Was it healing or helping or creating? Was it learning or sharing or leading or supporting? Was it just loving?</div>
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Think of all the stars in your life, and then think of the one that makes you burn brightest. </div>
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Have you thought of it yet? </div>
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Good. Now don't let it out of your sight.</div>
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ps.</div>
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Did you know that Twelfth Night is Epiphany, and that Shakespeare wrote <i>Twelfth Night</i> as a celebration of this day? That it's an entire holiday dedicated to embracing the joy and merriment of Christmas, enjoying every last drop of Christmasness, before the season ends?</div>
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Next year: Twelfth Night party. For sure!</div>
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Chesleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09668840805329960714noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296933880066929398.post-14069570057025526422013-01-06T19:48:00.001-08:002013-01-07T07:48:12.751-08:00Happy (re-do) New Year!<div style="text-align: center;">
2012, Farewell, Farewell!</div>
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2013, Salute!</div>
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My mother and I decided our New Year begins today, on this bright and brisk Sunday.</div>
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2012 was so busy - too busy? - and the living of life once again kept me away from the pensive re-living of life on these pages. One of my (many) New Year's Resolutions is to change that. Reflection and discernment is good, and these pages serve that purpose for me. But more about the future in a moment.</div>
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2012. So much to record.</div>
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I wrote a guidebook called The Jewels of the Cathedral (it can be yours today, just visit <a href="http://www.doubleknot.com/OrgStore/store/Store_viewItem.asp?idProduct=6390" target="_blank">here</a>!) It's 50 pages of pictures and simple explanation about the gorgeous and evocative stained glass windows in the Cathedral of Christ the King in Atlanta. It was a labor of love, a gift to others and to myself, a fulfillment of many years of wonder, and a first-step toward a hope for an even bigger project. It was a chance to "nerd-out," to lose myself in the joy of something I love to love, to share with my mother, with the amazing friends who sat down and listened when I got going about who this Pope was, or this Saint, or where this face came from. <br />
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And beyond the joy of creation and sharing, I found the most amazing happiness in the friends that still surprise me - the friends who sat to listen while I waxed eloquent about the radiant windows of a church they've never seen. Some friends who believe in the news heralded by those windows, and several who don't at all, but believed in my passion. Friend who sat down and flipped through every page, not because they believe in Christ, but because they believe in me. What a gift.</div>
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Michaela and Francesco got hitched in Tuscany, in a glorious, blazingly hot, wonderfully bi-national celebration of love and joy and friendship and hope. Off I flew, first to explore Croatia with Tracy, and then to paint Florence red (Florence has the distinct history of having been painted by many remarkable people over the centuries, hasn't it!?) with the most remarkable friends, whom I have known since I was 5, 6, 7, 8, 9 - We all knew and loved each other before we knew and loved ourselves.</div>
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I made new friends. I have lots of friends - so many. I love to be a friend. I love to be forgetful and thoughtful, inspirational and ridiculous, I love to let my world be colored and shaped and changed because I open my life to the remarkable friendship of people who are both like me and so much unlike me. (Sometimes I wonder - perhaps God has not seen fit to send me a dashing and wonderful man yet because he's still sculpting me and others by fostering these fantastic friendships?) </div>
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Allison, my darling girl, was the friend I never thought I'd befriend. She took (and continues to take) my ridiculous preconceptions and turned them upside down. Her value is unquantifiable because we see the world in such different ways, but always are willing to see it through each other's eyes with patience and wonder - and this always leads to small enlightenments. And now she's off to live in Panama, to worship the sun and speak in a new language and enrich her life through the inimitable act of truly living. Vaya con dios, Chica!</div>
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And the Philly 4 - Mags and Jane and Kati and me, celebrating "fundays" once a week, with no two the same, and each conversation new and bubbling and wonderful.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPh4-oMdVvnyKTCTl6NjEeHWYsMvfXvkHQFPepRgHUtXydZVRC_0m7MuETX9wkJvphKFIr19zpF0njXv0DalmzIKqHUJCDFHKh77umn4hD6PCM12OGflM8gEViiifPsQkOe7utjXbXMwM/s1600/14258_10100149135273572_1021011742_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPh4-oMdVvnyKTCTl6NjEeHWYsMvfXvkHQFPepRgHUtXydZVRC_0m7MuETX9wkJvphKFIr19zpF0njXv0DalmzIKqHUJCDFHKh77umn4hD6PCM12OGflM8gEViiifPsQkOe7utjXbXMwM/s320/14258_10100149135273572_1021011742_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
And my B&C. You know the friends who help make you who you are by forging ahead into one fire after another during the volatile years of life, by never needing you to be more than who you are, and yet challenging you to be more than who you are at the same time. And now M is back in the mix, saving pups and living life in Center City. </div>
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Life is richer for the friends we have in it.</div>
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Now - why the do-over New Year's? Our family pup had to be put to sleep last week. Our family started off the week by saying goodbye to an amazing and handsome boy, who brought us joy and laughs and mischief and stories and unconditional love for 11 years. He is missed, he is missed, he is missed. So mom and I had a talk on Thursday night, and we decided - Our New Year will begin on Sunday. And it will not be characterized by the loss of someone that meant so much to us. But instead, Bandit's loss will set us up for a remarkable New Year. It will be a year of appreciating those we love, of spending time with those who shape our lives and bring us joy, of telling those near and far, new friends and old friends and lost friends and found friends, that they have changed us, that they make us who we are, that they stay with us, that we appreciate them.</div>
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I have many New Year's resolutions, but perhaps the biggest of all is the resolution to continue this brilliant mission all year long.</div>
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So raise your champagne glass with me one more time, my glorious friends, to 2013, the Year of Appreciation!</div>
Chesleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09668840805329960714noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296933880066929398.post-74925733867259786572012-09-03T11:57:00.001-07:002012-09-03T11:57:10.563-07:00The Boy at the Coffee Shop<div style="text-align: center;">
I am not immune to the charms of a well-made mocha.</div>
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In fact, I think I'm particularly vulnerable to the bittersweet chocolate, warm and floating over the richness of coffee shots, and usually accented with a milky misty heart in the foam on top.</div>
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When a straight boy makes my mocha, I'm quite prone to fall in love with him. I do it all the time. There were two boys at Saxy's in Boulder- one tall lanky blond road biker with a clean cut look, and one compact, dread-headed, mountain-climbing, weed-worshiping white rasta. When either of them sent up the call "Mocha!" my heart would skip a beat. I'd almost always find some new, cool pattern in my coffee cup. Rasta even threw out the cup once and made it over when his artwork didn't come out right for me. (He also played Whitney Houston on Wednesdays. What a guy.)</div>
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Cafe Verde in Lawrence was a more rare visit during my year in Mass., but I remember the short, stocky, smiling black barista who would bring the mocha to me with a grin and a wink. </div>
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And now Philadelphia's hipsterville has provided my next mocha-maker, right in the middle of Center City, on the threshold of Rittenhouse, the most uncommon stomping grounds for skinny-pantsed, bandana-wearing, pop-of-color, we-are-anti-culture-but-we-define-culture minions, who all find safe haven here. Tall and svelte, dark curly locks and quite hipster, "Mocha!" he calls. </div>
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Is it the man that makes the mocha, or the mocha that makes the man?</div>
Chesleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09668840805329960714noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296933880066929398.post-20202866441791919942012-08-06T19:29:00.001-07:002012-08-06T19:29:20.910-07:00Pull a Scarlett.<div style="text-align: center;">
One of many things I learned growing up in the South:</div>
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How to pull a Scarlett.</div>
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Sometimes, today just doesn't pan out like you'd expect it to. </div>
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Or, heavens forbid, you have to shoot a yankee.</div>
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But you can always forget about it today and worry about it tomorrow. Tomorrow, you'll be a little bit more up to the task anyway.</div>
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Am I right, or am I right, ladies?</div>
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Sleep tight. We'll conquer the world tomorrow.</div>Chesleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09668840805329960714noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296933880066929398.post-74963865487362480352012-03-18T13:15:00.005-07:002012-03-18T13:51:03.994-07:00Seeking Benedick.<div style="text-align: center;">Last single girl standing.</div><div style="text-align: center;">It's a formidable idea, and a bit of a badge of honor, I should think.</div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKaIzKQGvKKHsJc3YuRANjmhoDFdtdaLAtgfvv8ReOdaSEamTpDb2dL_MQFcRsWUyWnNy3qNMe3ORDl4fSZX6Oseo11CvcQTz8voM9jysH0eio-OLtlBaVEoZrFNdWGVt_kUhJDedGyZs/s320/Classified+Ads.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5721341548883834770" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 213px; " /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;">I have a handful of girlfriends that have been confidants and lovely friends since we were children. Since kindergarten, and second grade, and third grade. You know those friendships that are changeless because they've been through so much change? Here's the wonderful thing: they're all matched up. Some are married, some are about to be, and some are maybe just in very wonderful committed relationships.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">And then there's me.</div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1bptWI6tmnXYhcENFSMM4xxf2D7nU-1FRmC_tBtwGLBwSZv-Pi12LmN4bB3COKEEHj_36eHES4QVeaPMk3adNwkFB5RV-OyvYi2Dy5MwSVfzPiVKw7yrKNnSpAxu_nAbWggGdCiDsKQw/s320/Beatrice+much+ado+1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5721341502258934274" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 226px; height: 320px; " /></span><div><div style="text-align: center;">I imagine it has something to do with fear. And something to do with the peripatetic nature of my life for the past few years. And also maybe something to do with the fact that I know what I don't want. The problem is: I really don't know what I DO want. From life. Not definitively.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Occasionally, I should imagine, people make a success out of living in perpetual limbo. </div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinxGGcGrAAK2m4t-lLwiMOc39q1YT4DV3Ia9djsgHuZwVOG-metYJIKBtCTeGgtUAN4gXEiF4aHbGjAWKzdittcujVKiqzNtiDI9wnVCI8F7h7ddIdqmOrxwWUEapOh_rpk2MkTXRKqmU/s320/Much+Ado+About+Nothing+Cast.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5721341657908338946" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 168px; " /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;">But when I am blue (and you may know this), I watch Much Ado About Nothing. And every single time I cry "heigh ho!" for Beatrice, my kindred spirit of merriment and mirth and wit and self-deception. </div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "></span><div style="text-align: center;"> And every time, every single time, I fall in love with Benedick.</div><div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu8X-Nx3xvFtQUX3cIUoPMs_04mCjVP2QWp8XNZGo0QKxfhsR1lZVbQuA-CUKGX2deCA7TiVu9i94MbXylbK4cvyeM05HE4FhOkdTGFUagTrtZpcE5d3bLLrwHMUyG84ecMyulP0sH5OU/s320/Benedick+Much+Ado+2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5721341543942790802" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 320px; " /></div><div style="text-align: center;">I am seeking Benedick. I am seeking a man's man who's tongue is quick. Who can wink back at me without looking like a child, nor like a creep. (I am, so my friends tell me, a first-class winker. Strange talent. But true!). I am seeking a man who, like me, doesn't know what he's looking for, but is waiting for it to break upon him. </div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhquD4jMUTrvA83I0LiZtsRkU9dHR4N-J5krCWsL_y83cUnxvk6YdquaDMF5Y7bq8LaTADf0DEJIEkQqhr4EKi2SXkivgi_O9mJOVk3rk4GvO-Hy77W5wMbfvFV5-a5KMmMZdfO0hsNmtg/s320/Benedic+Much+Ado+1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5721341542067072242" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 238px; height: 320px; " /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;">My problem, my perpetual problem, is that I try to become what a man thinks he wants. And then I wake up one day and realize I'm misrepresenting myself and must cut and run. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Which is why I'm waiting for Benedick. Someone who cannot stomach a dependent woman. Someone who has fight in them, but also compassion. Someone who will push back when I push. Someone who is not easy to love for anyone but me.</div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA429KGNHqm6zwpP4AcZm6Ezssj8VV-v9zRdvmV2Ut3Oa5OtpaG50jk5xn5XzoGTZTbxyr8I4r5moIfDt6u3MCTxJZuRqTxfwK0httJfIxu6uJqduuq-uJx2b88TJE-PmB6vcGIni0ZdY/s320/Beatrice+and+Benedick+1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5721341496852515922" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 216px; " /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;">Sometimes I think that's too much to ask. Most times I think it's worth it to wait. Wait for love to break upon me. My friends tell me I have too many expectations. </div><div style="text-align: center;">I just want someone who's stronger than me.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">And dimples wouldn't hurt.... ;)</div></div>Chesleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09668840805329960714noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296933880066929398.post-30452832321034867942012-02-29T15:25:00.012-08:002012-02-29T16:32:32.273-08:00Battling the Mean Reds.<div style="text-align: center;">There are days, sometimes even entire stretches of days, when even Holly fails to Go Lightly.</div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixsJ52Zdtu1_dODJCOeCeQ4MdfOXiZ1YfOHVRdf2Uoq9JA6_E6tOX87zMM1GVrw0DHCkPINzHCVOzqykPx6LTFLA6oZ1AvvbW8P0aY9hgXaZJGQrQ9lQsY00py5V-JDkKMP2ej2m1WLJs/s320/audrey-hepburn-25.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5714717858672629570" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 200px; " /></span><div><div style="text-align: center;">You know that speech, my loves., when Holly explains the Mean Reds:</div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); line-height: 18px; font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;font-size:small;"><b><a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0000030/" style="color: rgb(19, 108, 178); ">Holly Golightly</a></b>: You know those days when you get the mean reds?</span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); line-height: 18px; font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;font-size:small;"><b><a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0000577/" style="color: rgb(19, 108, 178); ">Paul Varjak</a></b>: The mean reds, you mean like the blues?</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); line-height: 18px; font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;font-size:85%;"><b><a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0000030/" style="color: rgb(19, 108, 178); ">Holly Golightly</a></b>: No. The blues are because you're getting fat and maybe it's been raining too long, you're just sad that's all. The mean reds are horrible. Suddenly you're afraid and you don't know what you're afraid of. Do you ever get that feeling?</span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1zSHtcr0rW-oKPdGxLjU8vrvag7_pyVAqhxNqx5ooPQFILS4AvQSSXoyX8aGXbZ3TPhdBiqpipy5VCpzwR3lPuOyihgCtP7MzjA11J35iWVtya3Y6JnhKLGylDismvMINQFaliW4TYxg/s320/tumblr_kw9aivBGr81qziyd9o1_500.png" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5714718152851281170" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 286px; height: 320px; " /></span><div style="text-align: center;">I find the Mean Reds descend with no rhyme or reason. Maybe it's a gray day, or one filled with sun. Maybe you've been holed up in your room alone for the day, or maybe you're surrounded by brilliant and sparkling and lovely people. And ZAP, like lightning straight out the clear blue sky, your soul turns Red. And not the lovely warm and vibrant red. But the infected and angry and hurt red.</div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqa13o8hRRa_aWv01arOB2guJYGBMUoGj3jywC12kqOqNWtv1DV8gZxkmD3DKULGQwkGLop5S0fhSbNqtTBGTeeM5pbXxxZSofVmEDiUJkiXyaq0o6tCQmq-faHwIM-sqOEIko9AGNTB8/s320/garden-47811ebb2e8f3a14d668baa53503b92a_h.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5714717195802147442" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 213px; " /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;">I have learned that life is like a flowerbed of beautiful and various flowers. And each morning, the buds burst open to greet the sun, to greet the day, to greet the world. The lily of contentment, the daffodils of success, the snapdragons of sass, the magnolia of self-confidence, the spider mum of imagination, the peonies of wit, the gladiolas of wisdom, the lilacs of honest friendship, the rose of love; a bevvy of things that characterize your day, that, together, color your life. But maybe on one day - or maybe many days in a row - one of those buds stays closed tight. Amid the wash of color and scent and wonder of life, one quiet stubborn blossom stubbornly refuses to open, perhaps for fear of a cold-snap. But how to coax it open? How indeed.</div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1m5ouHPYX8Qh42KOI4hI2Anm3K5U7SyCHvnujyZfJwXp1iqw-s33CZ27yvCfb_POvzU78PDtufvlrxOvc5w5bh6QjeCmcpaGyY_6eCtseGfLRmpcwmhvAi0iaD4FmhPBWFErz91nl0so/s320/hand%252Cb%252Cw%252Cflowers%252Cdress%252Cblack%252C%252C%252Cwhite%252Cfield-6016ebfbb453483647815d54278e9441_h.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5714716036715045730" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 238px; height: 320px; " /></span></div><div><div style="text-align: center;">How do you battle the mean reds? Clearly, I bury myself in some sort of beautiful metaphor. Or, even better, I find a theme song.</div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPVTNha3J10VdmKDKETh5gFpzCdDfy5YMPgJAaxZSKvhzNMhA-MkkaHguVs7Xf5AnGm8VEeLUEpg8ZtfoeSPJBzMGJ0Iny8kUBNTvE3OyYy_9P00EWxxj_vurupPCEBEFQgAFBs5lJV2A/s320/lightmusic%252Cmusic-b6ffdfc11dd8764a058fb206c0e18a32_h.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5714718464123283506" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 213px; " /></span></div><div><div style="text-align: center;">So <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rO2wODVugXQ">here it is</a>, my darling dears. </div><div style="text-align: center;">The song that I'm relying on to pull me out of the mean reds, </div><div style="text-align: center; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmg_GKxPWUvD6vWpf1t_CpRDnzXBSt35dXbuj0GSBC-8mj88SKOTlJAG5D0qVbMMyRq3wk9HWuZKwtcT4JaFsN96lZf7qeSY3oL1kiQWd70nRYunWRw6WpfmnAQCaOGfmykSa0tc3nr8g/s320/rosebud.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5714718775789044050" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px; " /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;">whether or not that shy blossom decides to bloom:</div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Hello you long shots,</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>You dark horse runners,</i></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><i><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiehbjX7ZuRNNIgMNKShnMbwtBOFYHkvmPIr6SYcfF2vgAWhWxSOVPtt5SeAr7fE2yaVGISDAsRjq5sgkFbvMDi79W6FeM9NRnzfNYbanM4mpxEcjLgj3fVCw2IujDwdkMPSk8UZ1HRTl0/s320/horse%252Cbeach%252Cblack%252Chorse%252Cgalloping%252Cgirl%252Csurf-9e774744ed865346683be425cc70d11b_h.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5714711192773509074" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px; " /></i></span><div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Hairbrush singers, dashboard drummers.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Hello you wild magnolias, just waiting to bloom.</i></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><i><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0lTUAWNqCJGNTzqJeMyntHxDUnylPggUL1wsbhkPk7-0KlEDj75VUrhglfjpHWXaDlBS_jeZMVz0NFV1SKfkVoQUEWR7AQAWHzruQsIA9q0HjSCkIL9KZlHwNkPSoemEw8W5Zusk_55I/s320/Urban+MAgnolia+by+Suzi.se_blog.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5714711206035442914" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px; " /></i></span></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>There's a little bit of all that inside of me and you</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Thank God even crazy dreams come true.</i></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><i><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1bIWBbuEn2gpLvPBC8frBt-mng3TTF5X65TEak_NTetVzCGzabXqwa27-1FBorFaJ4RmML-WuYnKAT8fmiI9dG-rVfb0Zz_DtZUuHmKyVOliJ4SUtuA0lF8yUSrjv5ji6RTdWy0dElkM/s320/532c01d8dc67b6f08a2c5e957e41ec65_h.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5714711183422585634" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px; " /></i></span></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>I stood at the bottom of some walls I thought I couldn't climb.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>I felt like Cinderella at the ball, just running out of time.</i></div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyBAiME9WH3QPWt3UnahJaKl5nXMpvVWQZ-UiOVAl8n7INV88em5-m8fDxoGagiWw4QHjzDhLeeDWjQ15LIeJ6W1U2W35DfmoSAA8-X7iowcpTVkmNdmAIf4Dj2_7GV5EF4RaUEKJWF8M/s320/2268163510_6f6a3d6976.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5714711186549787346" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 208px; " /></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>So I know how it feels to be afraid.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Think that it's all gonna slip away?</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Hold on. Hold on.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Here's to you free souls, you firefly chasers,</i></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><i><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVb3HTczGgIMMEltRAFu27E7BLqo1cUaKKpXTKVUEU1qCIO65vReTTa4tt56vB2l8t5pbOLE-T4eQuKU6l65OmClKjbzrxoI5Q5FpsiExG3_iClqeumZLx312VkYzUddM2dziHpilhkr8/s320/photography-a39398aafff2ef11da3fa896e9e886f5_h.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5714714674725714866" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 180px; " /></i></span></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Tree climbers, porch swingers, air guitar players.</i></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><i><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV4Un_vI8Ef1Kum1FGl55MyEwF05UaCXSKfxTCreGCcL09r3EPSAqUA7Os6x5C_RRSt_TmlOL0iFcKbIvuawYYPPPgsdhpp8CtwZOtFojcdB49Ow0L4WZQQ_ZyJvT124GL5oERxD5G4m4/s320/tree%252Cwant%252Cnature%252Cdress%252Cgirl%252Cwhite-1b59e0e19808d573751c8b432f8e8d13_h.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5714716046630522754" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px; " /></i></span></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Here's to you fearless dancers, shaking walls in your bedroom.</i></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><i><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0cf6vZIQqIDOP2fT8zRe1sMm0TCtJ5GZ63NIRf9DiCzW0EB-fBaSamkHUuNZaFB5sshmnmNZOLuM100Al37TSdcWlS4XIXWEoJFrNWiGlt-7zZy-V-b4vVGYBP-fAf7ghwcK-nKMaz7I/s320/tumblr_l8lo2jibBW1qzwhyzo1_500.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5714714678831158034" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 249px; height: 320px; " /></i></span></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>There's a lot of wonder left inside of me and you.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Thank God even crazy dreams come true.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Never let a bad day be enough</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>To go and talk you into giving up.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Sometimes everybody feels like you.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Just like you.</i></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><i><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_yWIEM3OCBh8_NSAtQxf-OynUfVKUTi1gNhmO9beqZSLSQ1ygKSvedkd2BbUzQoOJCj1X6cCZQt0-9ejRVQtpUOQDTPWgYTzE9qtzcGqFdAPG-PWNPThVdVKwJuqdkSVryod6UDhoGOw/s320/car%252Cphotography-3a8b06b3a645dc1f3d528c7b84a04dfc_h.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5714714670481250274" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 320px; " /></i></span></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Thank God even crazy dreams come true....</i></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirz3q6hvkKPXz4eNidDPccgy8cBScu2XEc7VpPBnwTaSwqwq3JfIFuyMCfg4XLA5hj_cNHIjDoo6_bFjf5I_OaXbUDsNGzfOWjt0M4pMJbbK866YKcXcIKUWC-WpMtbGnxqcB9q7BZMi8/s320/love%252Cb%252Cw%252Ccouple%252Ckiss%252Cmovie%252Cold-da84a0a7b12a9bdb1adf0f08021575b3_h.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5714717198629542930" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px; " /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><br /></span></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); line-height: 18px; font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;font-size:13px;"> </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); line-height: 18px; font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;font-size:13px;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;font-size:85%;color:#333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span></div></div></div></div>Chesleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09668840805329960714noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296933880066929398.post-64349007055225973452012-02-19T10:07:00.000-08:002012-02-19T14:05:15.797-08:00Swagger, Wit, True Love, True Friends, and 29.<div style="text-align: center;">I'm 29.</div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwu2NGakXlfDt9eV_Xyn6fZbX6McSIjGr_ixvL8YKYHkOU0-vniF1SDx5fvyriyQXowdY440FV9HLo_H_NZ67KtdNkY04PVFZ5NttyUoCTeTnpZo8zgN3UgMQOVMlEzKYxx2C8FpbWJ7Q/s320/cinderella%252Cdisney-69586a926e674d8c74443ebc5b6ad85a_h.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5710924012256408802" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px; " /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;">I realized this morning, as I cleaned the bathroom and imagined myself as Cinderella, scrubbing the walls and humming to imaginary bird friends and daydreaming of an as-yet-unmet handsome prince, that I'll never give it up.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJRtNkM3gDZ5O56F8ExeLmccNACUCvuL8YUHpbanyKR9HRetF6K3csi0ptvQznvqzdZt8Dm3CdfFRKazgFZUdjDEyccZPZyhtCMK4pmMVCFH7wQsUWtQ8jkS3mFia-Z76vVki4mPI9AZI/s320/129197083029770299_qMf1QvLR_f.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5710931415087030002" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 177px; height: 320px; " /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;">I used to think that at some point, I'd snap out of it. That either gradually or all of a sudden, the stars and sparkles and delights of imagination and daydreaming and resolute belief in practical magic would slough off under the pressure of daily life, the wear of getting older.</div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDf3w3tizDS7PJ66LYlvu6nm4Kk0tX2OVkgErkKvRIvV0PgAfw5bANc6LURQs-5CU3-X3Sre7b6aD9oOIk1MrSHDm3zja2ABatx2D_tsupvhdrIcwL1NUvZg5Vdcb7oY4OH112FHgAbZo/s320/baloons%252Cgirl%252Cnature%252Cbaloon%252Cgrass%252Cpolaroid-2bfc47c1d35c9ef071e5f10a2f310fa6_h.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5710928933183698434" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 193px; " /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;">And I have a horrible confession: in my somewhat cowardly fear of aging, in my discombobulated comparisons of Life-I-Thought-I'd-Have to Life-I've-Lived-And-Am-Living, in the past 1/2 month, I've tried very hard to ditch the old ideas. I tried, quite half-determinedly, to drop the impractical belief in a soul-mate, the impractical belief of every-day-magic, the impractical belief in All-Will-Be-Well, the impractical belief of It-Will-Work-Out-How-It's-Meant-To-Be. I tried to became a nihilist, in charge of my own life and quite unconcerned with magic and true love and bothersome things like that. Right up to my February 14th dinner with two marvelous friends (B&C, who tell their longtime boyfriends "February 14th belongs to Chesley. Deal with it." every year, and then sweep me off to dinner and a non-romantic movie to celebrate life and friendship and cinematography. Those precious girls...), I tried to give it up.</div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq-bqRceH6pMMQf9izaQBixGVTECyLKbqcSkKL4iD3NQdjjdOq8wLEY23efHYz9WkPjT7BsArnuUxzuG245Ao22P4FujvG14oVfZwn8dVMbWYQsRw8wH_ihDTRD2YnDYQ1cVXy9h7PPBY/s320/balloon%252Cgirl%252Cgirlwithballoon-503efc8780b75fcafc441a09842e2657_h.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5710928926860233746" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 320px; " /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;">But magic doesn't slough off. Hope doesn't fall away like old scales to be shed. Faith may crack but it will not break. These things come from somewhere inside the heart. They're bred into the bone until they become part of the soul, existing in tandem with life.</div><div><div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1zkFSjEZDG4yz8UGmluoUBbElCeHPSMRiQP73R8s8orAfPsZ9E-cou_RYe8tQcFhbOAN-22a66K72VxialyCfEaTJ0H2F7zdDAJiXsmTP8vROaB4MeErxDuSA9zTCddrhpdpY4Apc2Fg/s320/photo%252Cbeauty%252Cgirl%252Crunning%252Cvintage%252Cdance-9f6a02ed52a7767eee8093d0cfd50fcf_h.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5710924024122880930" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 313px; height: 320px; " /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "></span></div></div><div style="text-align: center;">After my Valentine's Day Birthday, I realized this. I cannot be practical when it comes to life. And to pull me out of those trenches of self-examination, friends appeared with unsolicited truisms about the Me I've always wanted to be, and sometimes forget I am. </div><div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidkAR35WwYGcl5WSPxzgK1FytMNiipxMBlHGwVHUz-b8BZOVXtcI3eeWuB5_7dL6a28V8UXRcm_0KYPiCXiO3WnzJKkHT7nX9pxB6DudLQInhYwr__8LEpRK9OstuhymTv4ctStwyvJnM/s320/girl%252Cpicture%252Cwomen%252Cb%252Cw%252Cfashion%252Ccool-86476e8b16e2e4f0ae2311762a8ca7ee_h.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5710924020431988786" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 230px; height: 320px; " /></span></div></div><div style="text-align: center;">One told me I had swagger. A funny complement? Maybe. "But it's not the type of swagger of someone with something to prove. You can put it on and take it off as you please. You have swagger when you want to, but you're still authentic. It's part of why you're so fun; It's part of why your friends love you." (I maintain that I get this quality from my mother- who will deny it if you ask her. She will swear up down and sideways that she has no "swagger." But when she needs to charge a party or direct an atmosphere, there's nobody like her. Sometimes she gets a sparkle in her eye, and there's no stopping her. I get that from her.)</div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQslX6G94jxLnWdT7IDUhxqwz0AG5HIxYy6x46I966eWPd3py_i8OxjIZ_uJtLd_BsmvQCLPPgep2-DDErqZN_ivNq_F6e2Sr83kNb1ALpbnMcFS4ZQxTGlXz5SJohGbYr21GkSMF4iLU/s320/20899585740653391_v31AUwLD_f.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5710930846183724866" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 243px; height: 320px; " /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;">Another told me I was witty. (Babes born on February 14th, so say the astrological books, are gifted with quick wit and clever quips. But I maintain that I get this from my father.)</div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDCoh6X-9yKoIgLPJLEgOci0ZQZCyXcuELFwaaYKGyCdsWWJTTtjue9WahU_jiFR1Y95AmaD1bTo_Wfx7ouX6p_EntdipbRzUJXiP6ZDvinbxOHHHvrlvq1pyLlDGQxefMHCf-nCvZ1x4/s320/photography%252Calligator%252Canimal%252Ckrokodil%252Cold%252Cphoto%252Cvintage-269a5b37425982498bb6ed28ded8ef9d_h.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5710928915540497170" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 252px; " /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;">Another told me a difficult truth: "You act like you've got all your shit together. This makes you very intimidating to men. But on the plus-side, you don't compromise yourself to live a life with a man you don't love, and you don't need to." That's a bittersweet realization.</div><div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFXe_rTdrasV74JsWgS4KxFLkenIIajGXzHLO9UWndFff1i8pE88C9M_Tz8SwhQdaHy_SyHAYmFp8_gDG3lvgsgo2rfP8MsXd47-QtjkmbDhtJuaxD0TuMVs82mUOhaB3zFwT6xGsB3ho/s320/Rodney+Smith+Photography.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5710925985244127986" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 320px; " /></span></div></div><div style="text-align: center;">And then M&J sent a birthday card- after treating me to a stunning night on the town. The card, which came when both girls were out of town, told me something these girls tell me constantly: "you are fabulous." But it's not a meaningless refrain. They're silly words, unless they come from people who truly know you, who speak of your life and your soul and your truth.</div><div></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBbW5f6bHP-Abf-KkyarlqBpVjdMBT0M0rZvO-nQhL4TzBdEydk-gcpYx1cySc6qBz1dMx79gAXJxvL4GF_RZ69fwGHr0_skODKBQw7dSzyl8dKLCGRUFyUtMu1dqfNvOCsilItVOvqF8/s320/Rodney+Smith+Photography.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5710925991556511410" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 320px; " /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;">And B&C, my practical, no-nonsense, no-mushy-love-at-first-sight dears, sat across from me at a dinner table, their offerings of brilliant music and epic literature wrapped at my side, and said: "Listen, Turner. If you need to have a life crisis breakdown tonight, we are here for you. Go for it. But we know you don't believe in all this crap you're saying about growing up and giving up on Love and Life. So say it if you want to. But we don't believe you, and you're not going to convince us."</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAX6jjfgPUq8iWk6i0z1-oSES0VchMtmWt3b32pG2RkjWy-_8AMNiw94derlRbSIK0WnMbz9Gein2Hgaa-UFQITvKtxXAlBeRnazk8QuzA-Cs7bcAK9G7uUpQ8bgpUm6Xe-bwpA5XaZQ4/s320/black%252Cand%252Cwhite%252Chigh%252Cheels-b40b30063a61733524fe154a1b68670b_h.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5710930267876089026" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 209px; " /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;">Sometimes- oftentimes- real gifts don't come wrapped in boxes or tied in bows. They come in words or looks or feelings from friends who tell you why you're wonderful, who tell you what you need to hear but make sure it's still true, who know you well enough to know when you're lying to yourself, and listen patiently while you do it, and then firmly point out that you're full of nonsense. </div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG07rd9KSfd2fZqgtwRPPD8U0ynknWxelHJw4MUiI9wWepl03_iq_E1NwXqGrJC1R2Rhdr1Zx6IH4UkjJAWVMb0liqkzXxlLUv7C92zopOPihyphenhyphen6WPcNDb8Mimpz7wYN_gYoyOX4Y0QkSM/s320/two-twin-little-sister-girls-whisper-in-ear-thumb8519306.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5710928916987338722" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 274px; height: 232px; " /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;">The sea of life has washed a 29th wave upon me. And for a while, I was afraid of what would be washed away while it ebbed. But it's slowly receding, and I still see sparkles, and magic, and gems and seashells, and hopes clinging fast, and faith resolute. And what is making it's way out to sea? Quiet insidious fears and uncertainties that have no place in a life like mine.</div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimgLBO0dIHyH8hJ3ULN76Pk2LE7MbZLaIIieN_xuYnEK2VT1KQW96Dv8sEDndyIPSLA4dKcT7dKNZrIZPhB18QPa3lfJJ2LnM6Als2SZzPh-HlOCUta7YHfLnjQ1G2ggI3JGrzr9beOrc/s320/Lucy+Nuzum.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5710924011809754690" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px; " /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;">This post is dedicated to the dreamers, who still believe in Jiminy Cricket's song. And to true friends, who encourage you to live nobody's life but your own.</div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM-YHJ9VAhA02NZqAkIhiaQvnUQ0M0YrQf0UXj-x63d7S-RBvfwpVN-kfth48VH0BeTpclgv1ucxXi66-yjdeqN3NHcY5wgyPiHuvhUvOXqBoVVfWPZmMgmTa5PPB8z0UJiDPZ2sc2TmE/s320/When_You_Wish_Upon_a_Star_by_Ink_In_Amber.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5710924030803957890" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 165px; " /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><br /></span></div>Chesleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09668840805329960714noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296933880066929398.post-41140729907119947502012-02-19T09:13:00.000-08:002012-02-19T10:05:07.986-08:00The Cult of the Coffee Shop.<div style="text-align: center;">For the uninitiated, it's easy to see only another storefront, another hole in the wall peddling caffeine to the great tired masses.</div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicwzliMAQbqUw0OjBFZO4TNuvlvb_ooAFAqQEBww0SMNE_Y_YtDvbI8WAw_i1jbyRQf6OmeoZKoA9ImFBf1KMB4nuvH7XMZ1x6SiEPlyhQTkg00UNpOIr08IUZcaHj6jspCCn4eQ6YMO4/s320/Coffee+Shop+byJoyHey+on+Flickr.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5710906411356201634" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px; " /><div><div style="text-align: center;">But coffee shops - real ones, not commercial Star cafes - are really havens. Here you find the artistic, slightly-intellectual, moderately pretentious, wry-humored wanderers who are looking for a place to belong without really fitting in. Awash in the glow of Mac apples, shaking slightly from the extra shot of espresso that the drug-pushers behind the counter dropped into their cups, they sit.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpT_BVrgu1LCvQkgMGfXQijvCjvDG2OuhOTD58oY2B6e5z28l7D9EOsFgZ2oovn82EwHUc0hMD6iNQiEcanGlJAEnlmVcDjjIv97BGaKtBLY1SSJKq0UB0W2dad5hUTn7HZ0rNzYAjZXw/s320/mail.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5710909218361152370" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 222px; height: 166px; " /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;">(or I sit, as it were...)</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">The thing about my coffee shops is I get unreasonably attached to them. Some serendipitous inclination attaches me to one shop or another, and if I depart from my home-base, I feel like I'm cheating on a true love with a less-than-adequate lover.</div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjInjm7hSNgK8ym97Hni0N4KCk7ZbRTUfl4lUcOMJBY0QqrVlzmnkFgc_U65170V3X7R76RzDuhEl4TVZyQXJVaYpcBTQMJcKKT5cqchWoWJqxRy3pqAwJA282WJlJeGhw3ktjEpyFj284/s320/e7bd3cdc6adb87fc98e03977bba7d459.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5710906421884175522" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px; " /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;">In the past three year's, I've nested in three different cities, and therefore in three different coffee shops.</div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">In Boulder, CO, it was Saxy's Cafe.</div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTOfAH5ytCPxIH-jb5XQOS3M1YjkMOIaNBub7coJIWsfdq6gaxrnsnouZZGSoe6htjy2ezMRr9xu94r1Ei-Odi8lfEzKThAc0EIf3kw11wuJLVs1y6z-CN5jx-vkJDq0xekQojMNC6-LI/s320/c92a9b57d911eed0d4536786bd221ca8.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5710906398961192322" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 180px; " /></span><div style="text-align: center;">Not the closest to home, nor the biggest, nor the smallest. Just the best (I think...). It's where I watched World Cup matches at 6AM, where I knit together May Day posies, where I crafted an ode to artwork, where I tapped out a million posts on this very blog.</div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxUdanjIjTuqB4BIRHjbcDjGSeSfYx6eMUBT4kI2i8Y3O-ZeXFbhjt-1s4dwy9HHGezuezAHBfjiXoHydbenp9lITd1Bto2vQSwIO4gK9NNa1H4RgZ2WrHmdPDH1uWBtLWFeR1axHIfLU/s320/logo.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5710906660820079138" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 318px; height: 320px; " /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;">Then there was Cafe Verde in Lawrence, MA.</div><div style="text-align: center;">I couldn't visit this lovely little place as often- no transportation to its green walls and light-strewn windows and delicious Brie-and-apple paninis. But I escaped every now and then to sit and sketch and dream myself away from the snow-trapped stillness of the most silent winter days.</div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZyL0QUO_CfMfxuf-C-5MnACXXlVGXYU9e4m6SgDYFt57pUhejScAL6rhNi3zIrKETpIhtlbzvNogPig_4HIDNHQ96a_75VzFZoJlRnWnt-NKxUi_2Nencz7up9aGUUAvMlqIh-F_bQeQ/s320/1306459269_cafe_front_by_castro.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5710906396500670658" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 248px; height: 186px; " /></div><div><div style="text-align: center;">And now, back in Philadelphia, wandering past American monuments of history and freedom every day, hoofing it every weekend to the market for cheap produce and fresh meats, to new friends' apartments for hours of construed productivity, to old friends' apartments for hours of patching up the soul and renewing old hopes and new, to yoga class or salsa class or hipster bars or irish pubs or dance clubs - trekking mile after mile in discovery of life... now, I have Cake.</div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3kIgdQMgXgjwwaY5l7xjZS3Ds5gP9eq9oPN2n2qaKx5OkkxchATjR6nD75AEwvw1tJSlz5zYcHvgE8LYsF3RlnbDOvr-CvsaZPiadrTiCPVkKDMhTs9bUaDyifpRfgXj9ZRhkgkAMEyQ/s320/1312141953-DSCF2155.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5710907280682250018" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px; " /></span></div><div><div style="text-align: center;">Or more properly: Cake and the Beanstalk. Green walls again, bedecked with images from Jack and the Beanstalk childrens' books, furnished with mismatched furniture painted with quotes and pictures and Giving Trees and Where the Wild Things Are and Picasso, and boasting an in-house baker with an impressive talent for crafting cakes and brownies and blondies. I've found a new home base.</div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwhSPCeccUvPeMiTjQ89m8S3okZWOvzfmYB-gJxEqtplT9wjyNsAY0mdn0PmfjmvMCP5Jmr8Vu28ynGJfuJLA40durCz3Fnc06hw8Wei2CUeoMs8Y8_oe8tY4jklx4nhIT4r9r2wwyY4U/s320/cake.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5710906401020528738" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px; " /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;">So if you're ever in Philadelphia on a weekend, come find me up the beanstalk...</div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW8OLjtic2spWM8xA5J_WsYAF_pyTAUFP28X765IEOSMFMg4s87UF4F36sHvJRUrpFJjxZeQpprJy-XlHMsD2rkkGlOTxmn2zLf4GKPJ-MIKw5HW0xW36SRH7ZQXAKfeCNNRRu5BG7I5E/s320/tissue%252Casia%252Ccoffee%252Cshop%252Clove%252Cnapkin-a160d65cb9e02412228a35886205fc94_h.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5710906665706859970" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 318px; height: 320px; " /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><br /></span></div>Chesleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09668840805329960714noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296933880066929398.post-42459629251275171212012-02-04T06:58:00.000-08:002012-02-04T12:12:21.264-08:00<div style="text-align: center;">It's FEBRUARY!</div><div style="text-align: center;">Wait... when did that happen?</div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIzUUuJpTU9KARWpeaQvVqfu5qYyGC4GlHwnNGJ7oB4KOqb2XdGynSqndiMdQgo-srY4eNel8TTT_WjDyC30OLzu1tdunADRqrvfenXoj0FOZXwjlf6bwVP3_vnkIOraw0Dt4THGotIkI/s320/269864202641112023_uebOSwqy_f.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5705296150941395986" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 259px; height: 194px; " /></span><div><div style="text-align: center;">Y'all. January flew. FLEW. I'm starting a new project- a memory jar. (I'll show you a picture soon.) One of my brilliant new city friends found it on Pinterest (new obsession, and accessible via iPhone, therefore mobile). We're taking a memory, a quote, a moment, from each day, writing it down, and dropping it into a mason jar, to be dumped and read through on January 1, 2013.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTupHopYOJY4EEzoo1qJA52p2gMyK4idqvfEZTAR4EPso-a62kWgnsX7AdaHkDK3WiBbG4McXC_cM4e8c0JISKpvWWBTYRXwgL-zwh7YGtaExDWGxg0bjiYn9y_IqML21WpuY-Io1m0ew/s320/heart%252Cillust%252Cred%252Cvalentine-9c1f8067ee51d0c10ec5c312ff038db3_h.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5705300533575826722" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px; " /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;">I'm busy as bees in honey. New job, new apartment, new friends and old- there's hardly any time! Can I make blogging again my February resolution? I think that's allowed.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">It's my birthday month- 29 glorious years of life, but more on that closer to the 14th, yes? I'm a little unsure about how I feel about this birthday... it has me perplexed.</div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinWFs-xHz3DVbE1u2koYiB030esUJsxHi938ByqEPRNtopwEauwmy9VMX_KHBGoUofLvi0v5YkVtYzOfuViRT74g9r2OIW9GXNGHA0IluJBBO_b65TT_59AT7HyuzImkeAwLTUnz1HhOM/s320/1618549835846959_YpdiUZqa_f.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5705296158073879762" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 320px; " /></span><div><div style="text-align: center;">Life is a funny and wonderful thing. There are a million people to meet and learn and love, and what a wonder it is to delve into someone's brain, to make friends with people who are different than you (because somewhere, really, we're all the same. And we all have something to give each other). I think as you lose the i-can-do-everything,-always idealism of the early twenties, you wrap up in this marvelously bittersweet realization that some things are meant to pass, so you take what you can from them, and you kiss them goodbye.</div><div><div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEhXY_eEWmEcZFnTJqQo8ED6HqS03FCMax5s9Lk0MLTXzIC7WOEHnjfHBETNk0Skh540TyNpjUB5mEyt928QGw-L0quMDgja6JdyrB1OUotk37N6ib0g1XKC6vyso25wiy9LLr-0Pe7uo/s320/170996117071555126_rdJrT55b_f.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5705296167739087202" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 239px; height: 320px; " /></span></div></div></div><div style="text-align: center;">My latest favorite musician, Gotye, summed it up in this song: "Give away love. Give it. Give it for free. No strings attached. Just don't ask for it back. Learnalilgivinanlovin."<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><iframe width="420" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/qkONn8tadp4?rel=0" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen=""></iframe><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Go give, my friends. Go give and love. </div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr46lAjfSRrUrSpI_iMRSJ6k9HQyinQs8BxnREPb26KDavfYTTKlIds76dSZEUPLfPzn6AojIOENdCBVyonNPt48V6zUbx6DHrca9QPDdpkKydfFUp0UMnWvL6v0sC_XBJ4k61ghLYKxY/s320/58757970108114507_1vAmoZ4i_f.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5705296161230555794" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 225px; height: 281px; " /></span></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000ee;"><br /></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "></span></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><br /></span></div>Chesleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09668840805329960714noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296933880066929398.post-31651895453797376552012-01-02T12:48:00.000-08:002012-01-02T13:06:22.642-08:00<div style="text-align: center;">Well. Shall we begin again?</div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEscQYrJjc5rbLi3U71AHHl5tXRMDS61jX7cYC59BZljcJnPbCINC8RKsecAkxWfIZOW5x8QX53rCyU6NqdgsZdIUrnsR_hyphenhyphenbo_zXXXUbZhgkLwVVV6Af2N-eulPigkFUJFPJqx4GSoKI/s320/Dare+to+Begin+Letterpress+Print+from+etsy.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5693140053718432370" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px; " /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;">Updates seem like silly things. Trying to cram a million moments, changes, and inspirations from months of The Whirlwind into a brief caption of relevant but un-overwhelming type is all but futile, more often than not.</div><div style="text-align: center;">So I'm not going to bore you with an update, except to say: I'm back. Back in Philadelphia, Back in employment, Back with friends, Back in fabulousness, and Back in Gloriosity. And I'm as full of hope as ever.</div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghjbsy0Lm_sgQ86xqzQfYsxmJ4hYQtW_vw1rhx8eit8iZqVBgis0JvB0BpDJE2t8OC30YuNnC9cqEPoXbBdZASArv7wubvHsijvHoa0PC7L0MfPSkbwzN_sidywqSMUa5thgFJOcEb8Lk/s320/1273fd4caf44785bc5f87c961b66a5a1_h.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5693140052747260274" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px; " /></span><div><div style="text-align: center;">New Year's was like a jar filled with Christmas lights... coming off the high of a magical December and hurtling headlong and sparkling into a music-filled party at the Crystal Tea Room at the top of Philadelphia's Wannamaker Building. Just me, my Philly-ettes, and 1600 of our nearest and dearest.</div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw7qosgilmBL892vKw7WQ1MberTlEJ7F7Gr-hE0yfOies6zdmCH2YM2mz6CP8IX3yi64n4VAVp1gACcl-rjMqc4GPVFrgkeDJV7XsllHbtuV0sFnZgpnyofAGDF7YcozQi69ahH6VaBYM/s1600/ad_12_midnight.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 231px; height: 229px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw7qosgilmBL892vKw7WQ1MberTlEJ7F7Gr-hE0yfOies6zdmCH2YM2mz6CP8IX3yi64n4VAVp1gACcl-rjMqc4GPVFrgkeDJV7XsllHbtuV0sFnZgpnyofAGDF7YcozQi69ahH6VaBYM/s320/ad_12_midnight.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5693140059126133570" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">After an unutterably wonderful evening (the details of which range from exciting to ridiculous to shocking to lovely to brilliant, and can only be summed up in the quite non-descriptive but ultimately perfectly useful punctuation: [...] - after all, the ellipsis says everything that words can't-) I woke on New Year's morn to find three resolutions nestled in my heart. 1) Start drawing again, because it makes me happy. 2) Start blogging again, because life is too glorious not to share. 3) Accept wonderful things as they come, and don't ask for more. Life, in all it's varied experiences, is meant to be organic. Hope so much, but love to let life happen.</div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgInR6V_L3kLn2ILGh-AoN7134MHr_FLqZEYeXGbKzSq-Pheu9gFOWfYykwcEQ-iV8oft6qFD7i2Q6cBrj_U0mn752mrLF0IblOlPpWJONbVIEgGAmhtPF3w9KNIkloHR79hNoGgY8iNyI/s1600/New+Year%2527s+Resolutions+from+kenzibeans+tumblr.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgInR6V_L3kLn2ILGh-AoN7134MHr_FLqZEYeXGbKzSq-Pheu9gFOWfYykwcEQ-iV8oft6qFD7i2Q6cBrj_U0mn752mrLF0IblOlPpWJONbVIEgGAmhtPF3w9KNIkloHR79hNoGgY8iNyI/s320/New+Year%2527s+Resolutions+from+kenzibeans+tumblr.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5693140060674092498" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">It's good to be back.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEscQYrJjc5rbLi3U71AHHl5tXRMDS61jX7cYC59BZljcJnPbCINC8RKsecAkxWfIZOW5x8QX53rCyU6NqdgsZdIUrnsR_hyphenhyphenbo_zXXXUbZhgkLwVVV6Af2N-eulPigkFUJFPJqx4GSoKI/s1600/Dare+to+Begin+Letterpress+Print+from+etsy.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000000;"><br /></span></a></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghjbsy0Lm_sgQ86xqzQfYsxmJ4hYQtW_vw1rhx8eit8iZqVBgis0JvB0BpDJE2t8OC30YuNnC9cqEPoXbBdZASArv7wubvHsijvHoa0PC7L0MfPSkbwzN_sidywqSMUa5thgFJOcEb8Lk/s1600/1273fd4caf44785bc5f87c961b66a5a1_h.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"></a></div>Chesleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09668840805329960714noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296933880066929398.post-72938902177540815792011-09-15T07:54:00.000-07:002011-09-21T10:10:56.928-07:00I See A Tiny Light<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhldWDIPn26UVEtCo8ZDUCWUunwsZ8p47ne8xP9v-u7MfS6wlsB5Z28lKaKbE8yGEk-Ifw6ZAvIL3Cs9eQsLJmdTt_IX1f_NiW8ENFH0nw_XHqiv0nl38oMuZJhUDuf2bEnHoluywRLOSQ/s1600/dream%252Cflower%252Cphotography%252Cjust%252Cfavd%252Chope%252Cif%252Conly-ad4b37d781e440de49302967893242f8_h.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"></a><div style="text-align: center;">I haven't fallen off the face of the planet.</div><div><div style="text-align: center;">I'm just in limbo...</div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhldWDIPn26UVEtCo8ZDUCWUunwsZ8p47ne8xP9v-u7MfS6wlsB5Z28lKaKbE8yGEk-Ifw6ZAvIL3Cs9eQsLJmdTt_IX1f_NiW8ENFH0nw_XHqiv0nl38oMuZJhUDuf2bEnHoluywRLOSQ/s320/dream%252Cflower%252Cphotography%252Cjust%252Cfavd%252Chope%252Cif%252Conly-ad4b37d781e440de49302967893242f8_h.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5654860489374994610" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 320px; " /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;">Waiting to hear back about the jobs that I interviewed for during a lovely weekend in Philadelphia. Waiting to make plans to move back to the City of Brotherly Love. Waiting to make plans to see the <i>Rembrandt: Faces of Jesus</i> exhibit at the PMA. Waiting for life to begin. And singing Grace Potter. A lot.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>I see a tiny light like a flashbulb sparkle in the night.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>I see a tiny light telling everyone to hold on tight.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>I see a tiny light but it's not gonna shine without a fight....</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyKcxP0G8W9Cn6fhm_eZln7MYdOgCp-VxvReHjoiyw08RIWwryfDXiBDV9bqHHJsoI2TKK1dolrFKgu9eAdmFKGHSqQqR0kKUrodnaPxDnv8e7oZc73o_4lhlq4RRrUEhM0UVORHgkCQM/s320/beautiful%252Ccute%252Cgirls%252Clight%252Cnice%252Csummer-b2f7e808fdaacd3ec60f33ecf611012f_h.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5654860485019988418" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 213px; " /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;">WISH ME LUCK!</div></div>Chesleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09668840805329960714noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296933880066929398.post-46816091516536499562011-09-01T09:06:00.000-07:002011-09-21T10:13:49.824-07:00Stars in the Mailbox.<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYnhoaDeD1xWj-uLfwkrbtmuaqkPrvDwip82iCdGyd1qi37EQEtYxV_gq6vsW8ctGtJOWsBx4xPx12XxQmXTCQUW1Vnxlk5y522Sq_7tPzOGdK_hyphenhyphenzHXoJJWw_7bigOHrMjuQAC_HDrTk/s1600/6a00d8341c630a53ef0154320239b3970c-500wi.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYnhoaDeD1xWj-uLfwkrbtmuaqkPrvDwip82iCdGyd1qi37EQEtYxV_gq6vsW8ctGtJOWsBx4xPx12XxQmXTCQUW1Vnxlk5y522Sq_7tPzOGdK_hyphenhyphenzHXoJJWw_7bigOHrMjuQAC_HDrTk/s320/6a00d8341c630a53ef0154320239b3970c-500wi.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5647424922682670146" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">We all know that finding an actual letter in the mailbox is something to celebrate. But how about when, instead of the standard-issue forever stamp, you find the dashing Gregory Peck staring up at you from beside your name?</div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK0KsmpS05tB4-_jlfW_vALdIDn_kl1mYcm5XLWiBlkjMs6NytBVC0vPTZ364jNwDXb_fRPMbNTJVyHnSiRw-j1XDrNtc-q_xMEE0oI9Mh-4-LVS-M7zqYFzcM7lLWcu_ucHRhLcB3Nng/s1600/%2524%2528KGrHqF%252C%2521hME2fMq5tsNBNuytg44U%2521%257E%257E_3.JPG.jpeg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK0KsmpS05tB4-_jlfW_vALdIDn_kl1mYcm5XLWiBlkjMs6NytBVC0vPTZ364jNwDXb_fRPMbNTJVyHnSiRw-j1XDrNtc-q_xMEE0oI9Mh-4-LVS-M7zqYFzcM7lLWcu_ucHRhLcB3Nng/s320/%2524%2528KGrHqF%252C%2521hME2fMq5tsNBNuytg44U%2521%257E%257E_3.JPG.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5647424907315981618" style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 270px; " /></a><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">I just bought a sheet of these, and am fondly recalling my long-since-departed sheets of Katharine Hepburn and Gary Cooper stamps.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI5kMsKvokpdHRSfmjXhkyjjmiKI_PHiaNerNcMbPvV3KUETd98d-sf2rTI3yzroTbjs60TH1qOyWR385OfNy-eXnCV5necu0FT6FX-zoXCiqKFIj8pRKmRlw_LYOoW7-qeMTQQMDt8BI/s1600/katharine_hepburn_stamps_2.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI5kMsKvokpdHRSfmjXhkyjjmiKI_PHiaNerNcMbPvV3KUETd98d-sf2rTI3yzroTbjs60TH1qOyWR385OfNy-eXnCV5necu0FT6FX-zoXCiqKFIj8pRKmRlw_LYOoW7-qeMTQQMDt8BI/s320/katharine_hepburn_stamps_2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5647424918713206978" style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 275px; " /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiabY5tpECoglQYDt5TXejFtY4Zpb5Ya5Hit8d2y2SIwXx4IkRAfDhcvEsjc1s7z7R3F_-ablDm5NX3gtAyaSiRuRUgAqAEi_E9OHu033FDeT76Euv2vNSw-J5Pq8r8ff6u694HPd9VBXA/s1600/image004.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiabY5tpECoglQYDt5TXejFtY4Zpb5Ya5Hit8d2y2SIwXx4IkRAfDhcvEsjc1s7z7R3F_-ablDm5NX3gtAyaSiRuRUgAqAEi_E9OHu033FDeT76Euv2vNSw-J5Pq8r8ff6u694HPd9VBXA/s320/image004.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5647424914829620738" style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 271px; " /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">So next time you send some snail mail, post it with a star.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Here's to the little things in life!</div>Chesleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09668840805329960714noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296933880066929398.post-81842514414651183452011-08-11T11:35:00.001-07:002011-08-11T16:51:32.744-07:00Grammar with Grace.<div style="text-align: center;"><blockquote></blockquote><blockquote></blockquote><span><span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">It shouldn't come as a surprise that I'm a bit of a grammar snob. But I'm the worst kind of grammar snob...I'm the selective kind. I keep a little gig on the side editing magazine articles. Most of them usually appear to have been written by high-school drop-outs who never understood the premise of a thesis statement and the five-paragraph essay construction well enough to take liberties with it.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZEUFv71ulqvKBQgT3OQhdHBiZXk3LBrWklEPzSMHzAOU_joBYIxlOsRNRSE3if1UNrguWAfbiHfdY8ZXH2xhfKe5QYfOYRvkbKKsJabny-p7Y37JhmkJe6AqWshx0G0HjFqLBp2ESbhM/s320/500px+Qwerty+by+Anna+Vesna.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5639678162321166210" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px; " /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">But let's be honest, I prefer a good clear-cut grammatical slaughter, whipping through pages on my Mac with the track changes hidden so I don't feel too guilty about the amount of re-wording, re-arranging, and re-writing that I've inflicted upon someone's editorial offerings. The time it takes to painstakingly remove unnecessary prepositions from the ends of sentences, re-align arguments so that they make sense, and edit out the senseless side comments of writers who think they're being clever but are really just being daft is a FERRIS WHEEL RIDE compared to facing an article with an unctuous, unnatural, self-conscious style. I'll stare at a single sentence for an hour thinking to myself, "Why in the hell did you decide to say it like THAT?"</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFecWOL8wsUR3aZ3yx7F432PZNX68KdPBFB-RIXJcqX2p2-CtwGrzHPD2sH5XkNbtWE1mhKbLvxsVlqBqflgbvYSdEuBANY6320Cii-WumhN26IFlwPhXreHhnky1bnuVBBxx4YwvEogs/s320/AMAWGC01lg.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5639678155982031330" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 320px; " /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">The thing is, when I first started as a copy-editor, I was under the false impression that all writers should have passed Mrs. Papp's Freshman Year Honors English Class at St. Pius X Catholic High School, and, additionally, that all grammatical rules were hard and fast. Lord, I was so ignorant.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">
<br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Four years later, when I edit, I'm looking for that fine balance of reasonable grammatical execution, clear constant style, contextualized voice, and a minimum of total bullshit. Every article is an adventure.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">
<br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Anyway, I recently picked up Lynne Truss's </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Eats, Shoots & Leaves </span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">from the library, having toyed with reading it for about three years now. It's brilliant. In fact, here; judge for yourself:</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">
<br /></span></span></div><div><p style="text-align: center;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Helvetica; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Taking the marks we have examined so far, is there any art involved in using the apostrophe? No. Using the apostrophe correctly is a mere negative proof: it tells the world you are not a thicko. The comma, while less subject to universal rules, is still a utilitarian mark, racing about with its ears back, trying to serve both the sense and the sound of the sentence - and of course wearing itself to a frazzle for a modest bowl of Chum. Using the comma well announces that you have an ear for sense and rhythm, confidence in your style and a proper respect for your reader, but it does not mark you out as a master of your craft.</span></span></p> <p style="text-align: center;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Helvetica; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">But colons and semicolons- well, they are in a different league, my dear! They give such lift! Assuming a sentence rises into the air with the initial capital letter and lands with a soft-ish bump at the full stop, the humble comma can keep the sentence aloft all right, like this, UP, for hours if necessary, UP, like this, UP, sort-of bouncing, and then falling down, and then UP it goes again, assuming you have enough additional things to say, although in the end you may run out of ideas and then you have to roll along the ground with no commas at all until some sort of surface resistance takes over and you run out of steam anyway and then eventually with the help of three dots...you stop. But the thermals that benignly waft our sentences to new altitudes – that allow us to coast on air, and loop-the-loop, suspending the laws of gravity – well, they are the colons and semicolons.</span></span></p><p style="text-align: center;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Helvetica; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">
<br /></span></span></p><p style="text-align: center;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Helvetica; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">-Lynne Truss, </span></span></p><p style="text-align: center;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Helvetica; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Eats, Shoots & Leaves, UK edition, Chapter 3</span></span></p><p style="text-align: center;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Helvetica; "><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiazjgFyESpdy2Z-IVj6h6Kqb9U2yF_Z34YBzk3kAioPtmLHz7OxhU9rtVOKgkZ7DjeiTKpPt2Cxo0zswhi2D3pjHpwog9QIF3nLtnGzyXX2JOqR3LdlhwvR8DxPdpgQzTReXC0z61xmc4/s1600/6a00d8341bfae553ef0120a581d672970c-800wi.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiazjgFyESpdy2Z-IVj6h6Kqb9U2yF_Z34YBzk3kAioPtmLHz7OxhU9rtVOKgkZ7DjeiTKpPt2Cxo0zswhi2D3pjHpwog9QIF3nLtnGzyXX2JOqR3LdlhwvR8DxPdpgQzTReXC0z61xmc4/s320/6a00d8341bfae553ef0120a581d672970c-800wi.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5639679899225756402" style="cursor: pointer; width: 229px; height: 320px; " /></span></span></a></p><p style="text-align: center;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Helvetica; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"></span></span></p><div style="text-align: center; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">See what I mean? What JOY! To discover that, to at least an elite few, language is more than just a skin-and-bones method of communication. It is an art form. Being a writer is like being a composer, deciding how the construction of the text will affect the reader's perception of the message. The rhythm, the lift, the pause... and this is just covering what the commas and semicolons and colons can do, never mind the intensity of parallel construction, or the gravity and finality of a short, definite sentence after a long, ambling, descriptive one. It's good!</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">
<br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Did you KNOW that punctuation was given life by Greek play writes and Medieval monks tripping out biblical text? That, in its original form, it was more than simply utilitarian? It was integral to the meaning, the meditation, the effect of the words.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">
<br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Whatever happened?</span></span></div><p></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS3oXy09ABrJbCyGYm_mT4F1MctwEZlCwV0BO2600rCT-hnGHw9gLYLXMvT47PDl5QpVPOAgI2IBktFsjujwlNPQk8WvkPceAYQywx39J5L75H9NMSicUvcryZQTFygt2u0EO2m7NRG4M/s320/by+Fadim+Dorosh.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5639678162354373218" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px; " /></span></p><p style="text-align: center;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Helvetica; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">I know that the Society of Grammar-Obsessed Sticklers has low membership. If you're reading this and you're a card-carrying member, or even a friend, I salute you. If you've never given a thought to grammar beyond the occasional fleeting moment to ponder over the purpose of that key under your right pinky, I say this: Grammar is about flow. It's about cadence, and meaning, and interpretation. Don't stress yourself out over it, but respect it as you would the school of aerodynamic thought: you may never understand it, but it is oh so very useful. </span></span></p><p style="text-align: center;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Helvetica; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"></span></span></p><div style="text-align: center; "><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlTy6Q5fHHn1kmTGSut1urXsp0-KS97Tczh-KPX3b4NKJlVYR0L-BBsQ9Cubug4sBZLI5rurFBYewGSxHsuVVb3P5KGYUEFObwSicME5k9E8ziUfIIHz6cZqHDp1hS-j8LisMzo9XUcGo/s1600/2795183657_3854868fc3.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlTy6Q5fHHn1kmTGSut1urXsp0-KS97Tczh-KPX3b4NKJlVYR0L-BBsQ9Cubug4sBZLI5rurFBYewGSxHsuVVb3P5KGYUEFObwSicME5k9E8ziUfIIHz6cZqHDp1hS-j8LisMzo9XUcGo/s320/2795183657_3854868fc3.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5639678678271090066" style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 213px; " /></span></span></a></div><p></p><p style="text-align: center;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Helvetica; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> Long live the Oxford Comma.</span></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">
<br /></p></div></div>Chesleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09668840805329960714noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296933880066929398.post-38854361491563094222011-08-11T11:01:00.000-07:002011-08-11T11:16:13.070-07:00Today is Just Another Day to Be Fabulous.<div style="text-align: center;">I'll admit it. I would benefit from a stockpile of positivity, particularly during the current job-search period. But let's be serious. THE WHOLE WORLD would benefit from a stockpile of positivity.</div><div style="text-align: center;">So let's do this.</div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTkxCYMGDJBPx1s_Ku4dRLIkmPPKUFtNAqISr-6ecJCHMeSbwSAPgy5QQ-A3vFHymFnNeHO6pf8Up_40XRoGCfCFo890WGmgUCwkn-_h32p5o7jc4gdbfaZnivZ2RlL5onUgyHT-73D2w/s320/wink.nixone.com.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5639663510375565922" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 262px; " /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;">Close your eyes. Think of something that makes you feel really, shamelessly, brilliantly, incandescently wonderful. </div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXSs6_rEVpS9jA1v3wxMiyk6ErSfSwaR-9bVK_GTBbvavolcWnBEBCZIb8bDNiyZBv2gg0iUBvSA-_yCortk0WB6t6iLqJAaedmj0rl_QqFsxWdwSN4d7ImtMtaeW7JfWi6NPi-nH3g2Y/s320/3491911300_a864411dc0.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5639663512002109650" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 213px; height: 320px; " /></span><div style="text-align: center;">I don't care what it is... a new sweater, hot chocolate on a snowy day, Schuyler Fisk singing with Harper Blynn, an old-fashioned movie, that moment when you and a friend think the exact same thing at the exact same time, finding a penny head's up, running through a sprinkler, winking at a stranger from across the bar, wearing red lipstick...</div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz3QH5LOHOGLREeaW3g1WVfshTZLsnVr27IUNUGNYW5K6EK8_s28yqaVf9-A69N8HgVoLvwRvCwTSghyphenhyphenraFRQimYRkRcVDyOLmUOzmdO_KoTDDqFS1bc2URfdto0g9bWWQUEA21NW9OlM/s320/HarperBlynn_LoneliestGeneration_Pic2.png" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5639662237510720914" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 186px; " /></span><div style="text-align: center;">There's a lot of strife in the world. There's too much misdirected energy, misdirected hostility, senseless inconsideration, lack of communication. </div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipb3LkFS2wsE0h-HMNSWPteGX6PaIFy4pd98jpYC0Qrv3ivBKwUjsTiN5Hk56YEjeTfgz5tHerhu6p7QzJMPtX8UVBM8hvdGcvwY3jIxQK6CDJWpwNp_Wr-Lq34lRnRI8x3zYUMPkBlKg/s320/weheartit.com+scissor+image.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5639662240423685090" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 254px; " /></span><div style="text-align: center;"> So come on, kids. Think happy thoughts. Think happy thoughts and maybe we can get this whole world to fly. And while you're brainstorming, stash some of that fairy dust in your bedside table drawer. And don't ever be afraid to use it.</div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbITc1m1JZenDnzrB6eV1eDBS5aq0sn5QRv4jUa9qVSiUmfZEWwCIluvlKJhghQYtj8VxNgSTFBmmwPMzZLNnBl6rNeonu0rNIzwjkIDBgm8vrw-ynXIUFgPFQI82s7C-1mASSLHMw1Tw/s320/2d12fcc36d4c30c090097b577658e9a7_h.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5639662234238659266" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 213px; height: 320px; " /></span>Chesleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09668840805329960714noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296933880066929398.post-22617429074812341522011-08-10T08:42:00.000-07:002011-08-10T08:48:48.277-07:00Hope is a Thing with Feathers....<div style="text-align: center;">London and the UK are on my mind.</div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7ylafUckmSh8gGig-Z2hZGBRfuwJfZPZEuP9KpjkMwuGec0N9XsOY0D8ZgSVx2tPjnr-MTIHWKsqYFyyh-OVKJnnFfUfoTMcHcE2F0iGugdCq5OF5ZentArN850fZ1J7m7SEiePXqPMQ/s320/picasso-pablo-dove-of-peace.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5639254428869569138" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 251px; " /></span><div style="text-align: center;">Be well, be strong, have hope.</div></div>Chesleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09668840805329960714noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296933880066929398.post-36063742722270476042011-07-28T14:30:00.000-07:002011-07-28T15:32:02.939-07:00Just Breathe.<div style="text-align: center;">I found myself sitting between the two grand wings of a rather majestic pipe organ.</div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga_-eKGH95yCjCfj1dLEpEPBjZ8lX3Xb5DVYklglDGRujecpdZH3FxoaimXZTqEmrIiVzoocxx8S_oWDu88pAPlZXc8Y-l7yQuFn3GQkJEuXiqE1-WXUZzQrqon3kbpLkbGOjYiJWjurw/s320/Gloriosity2011CathedralOrgan.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5634529043904023970" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px; " /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;">It was just a few days ago, and I had returned to the Cathedral of Christ the King in Atlanta to do a little rehearsing. You see, one of my very best and oldest friends - one of my <i>Chica Mias,</i> as I like to call them, or my <a href="http://gloriosityisawayoflife.blogspot.com/2009/10/arco-contrafforte.html">flying buttresses</a> - is getting MARRIED on Saturday. Isn't it divine?</div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnbvm2XxpKYywoWZevXtYmivbgkJuXpMGRCP7zWBVw9yn6JJ0KLmiUnhkRDU009aY2g8inKHP2t16VTv4VoDU1d1kQE9nf_r_bZMrE8xbeVeL0qemUU_QlCy0DRjT2wf1ElCI3h8VTBGI/s320/barn-wedding-6.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5634529038350331522" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px; " /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Let me not to the marriage of true minds</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Admit impediments. Love is not love</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Which alters when it alteration finds,</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Or bends with the remover to remove:</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>O no! It is an ever-fixed mark</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>That looks on tempests and is never shaken;</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>It is the star to every wandering bark,</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Within his bending sickle's compass come:</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>But bears it out even to the edge of doom.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>If this be error and upon me proved,</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>I never writ, nor no man ever loved.</i></div><div style="text-align: right;">-Shakespeare's Sonnet 116</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">(Okay. Yes. I just wrote out Shakespeare. But the man has a point, no?)</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOPVx0Iq1DAXsennL8BBSiiLk0lUF6KrVYcbYJbITZa9Ow5Hq6J7xOBWoELZvCUgit8Lyrjio01Ik9oDv_nah8vjClZM5cbYqsUmDeEKM_tOcCG-KopB41EqtfRkvdxsjspDcIj9H6V60/s320/www.kristiwrightphotography.com.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5634530926058059890" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 213px; " /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;">Anyway, when we were about 10 years old, singing together in that very loft as part of the Cathedral Children's Choir, I made a promise to Jess that I would sing Schubert's Ave Maria at her wedding. And now the "nuptial hour draws on apace!"</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtSA3RnBpyJWFp98DiDVNFn1vmEFPXXWQGX_hIp3dO3lyWfqs6X_T2P4IfoBxiBXQwk4TmjNc203Q4p_hIL2Nx5-Z6BKzCRimoVIaOmj_hc8VIDyTud8lf_EJRv4igjQA5GriFPnC_BEg/s320/barn-wedding-5.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5634529032584899698" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px; " /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;">Thus I found myself up there. Between rows of giant bronze-colored pipes that were humming and singing and echoing and bellowing. And breathing. It was like sitting right between the two massive lungs of a quite powerful and venerable god of music.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg9tIyN7DvMkf3AE070585u1adIaL287k7p7em7RU-ooiV24aYx49fiRjQl-NFYpWj3iu8qwy7Bz6q3Sr5jUYWHXIfQ1raA7hcb0vIJBXNnHSD_2JVBNeAlZhyy6rbt3OQXmjP9KOLjFw/s320/tumblr_lhlh5ta7WI1qeg1c1o1_500_large.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5634529048534101186" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 287px; " /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;">And I didn't even think it- but more <i>felt</i> it (as these things usually happen). Just the power of music; the rich sound, like audible molasses, that pours out of those pipes, that has the ability to lift you up and carry you away and mold your mind into reverence or reflection or celebration.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5CxuBCDufjJIB-uOolx3piJgJ0LEU1rEF0YWWVR79mfdudb7IaI1qQML9wXMznfLNYdjCCTfRBj8P2heCPn61BZdhn-ZQRR_iZjeyC3THtdVZD9iW3PY_ofDUcSbsj0Fse1AL1slNDok/s320/www.coopercarras.com.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5634533733031377586" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 234px; " /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;">And as I took deep breaths to fill my own lungs-which rather pale in comparison- to send forth notes in a centuries-old arrangement, I thought about how, on Saturday, those notes will soar over the rows and rows of people (thank you, brilliant architects, for your truly magical gift at acoustics - Lord knows I couldn't do it without you). And some will think of Mary, and some will think of Schubert, and some will think of their own wedding, or the wedding of the one-that-got-away, or the wedding that is to be. And some might think of me. But most will think of Jess.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijMP0Hp-5bDWJGcHVvDy8VHacfes4CSeEo8s-J2IYcUJcErLNdkR4DMalUs-C70JbwbVRUVd4P4I_5qVWnjv1zdK6gU4X-YKBr3UZ3m5dXfUIj8n7KtfJ53c-xjbdXTPf6aJkg9B0PiH8/s320/loveofmusic.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5634529045319933714" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 226px; " /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;">And isn't it remarkable that something as intangible as music can create such a strong sensation, and unspoken thoughts that link humanity? What beautiful revelations are waiting to be made just by sitting in a church and breathing?</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Maybe it's true, what St. John the Divine in New York City says: "Loud Pipes Save Lives."</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY3b3r2FHllAAV4Y6Dwlpj42L2tI0VDT44HBWTIYz1OdeE4zqF_oM1HrSaZMu9EIhpMJzqGZlB6v8nJL7uXDIKp2zBcg195mHdDctme2g9NaKIPAAfz2HQhluDhI-kmekZBPdIwbdcuO4/s320/5018cb41c88830e649cd0fef8c7962f5_h.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5634530931243696450" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 201px; " /></span></div></div>Chesleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09668840805329960714noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296933880066929398.post-89155752523184043942011-07-18T15:00:00.000-07:002011-07-19T07:47:16.348-07:00Write Up My Alley.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhghCWsebsPJiDhctrhcPmvDvohT-YMD6J5N-28PGDJML0PVMN3a2YNwz75TLCHgEkSQwrfDYQQPbyFYxd-nxd66tz8Ab4moVVqKnCyzLCZ87nGKdTRaU6B9LmP2YeEorSlo4kBWsEPRjA/s1600/women+who+read+are+dangerous.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"></a><div style="text-align: center;">Have you ever opened a book, or even an e-mail, and discovered it to have been written by a soul-sister, walking the earth in some distant place or time?</div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilCcqo_wlGr1fGojn5PXDAjnkfa6JBBmdGpCJlIdB_PrOJulOEe-kBzyTWEOC9iillj-zOpp6p1HM59Xe0PAH49QYsWCksLhIRp6aQfb05MrNafBp46uzo8beIfdKDmrI2zN099_SSZnY/s320/84%252C_Charing_Cross_Road.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5630821706442762306" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 253px; " /></span><div style="text-align: center;">Aren't those glorious moments?</div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Finding a friend through the written word- someone with whom you may never share a single word of correspondence, but into whose thoughts you briefly step to tread among them and think, "So maybe I'm not quite so alone in the world, after all."</div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF-43BffHUlctMA_TNwFdqgyeK5uG8SWcoDirt3jKQ1ESmDpZu2K4EK-hE2ywq67daMgzzde3q9CxD7VwCQxVCdd-feWhclbHR4d7pe7AsxECtN7_mZqaG6njkxMUnRYRBhGoKRSXQWDY/s1600/beautiful%252Cgirl%252Clady%252Cwhite%252Cwomen-bb14d5d947ce066a562e55848561db13_h.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF-43BffHUlctMA_TNwFdqgyeK5uG8SWcoDirt3jKQ1ESmDpZu2K4EK-hE2ywq67daMgzzde3q9CxD7VwCQxVCdd-feWhclbHR4d7pe7AsxECtN7_mZqaG6njkxMUnRYRBhGoKRSXQWDY/s320/beautiful%252Cgirl%252Clady%252Cwhite%252Cwomen-bb14d5d947ce066a562e55848561db13_h.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5630824342598897474" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 320px; " /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">Most notably in my life? Discovering L.M.Montgomery's wonderful Avonlea as a child.</div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkgWD8W1p6GAlv6BULLyFzRfCex0refMzhFeoCY97tBPtqIkiz76RaFxLbHquo6jFuDKVVtbT2IveLF263i0lLKBlwu19LI3SGVitZJ2td9sPr43uT6W8W6maM5cYkNWzsehqOdgNi118/s320/anne-of-avonlea_cover.gif" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5630822031039862082" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 170px; height: 282px; " /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;">My roommate started reading Elizabeth Gilbert, not even on my recommendation, and would stop every few pages to say, "Chesley. This woman is you. It's so weird."</div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwkJSee0RLDjyw4sczBEhAox4-qhhb_YlW65ihU_huqA46gio3zK1RvfpwsyaNsX436hRaIhK4i7zEpkxmec4uNzzxs3_eddjgpAELP7dsb1qlJjSu2yyaPYq2DdiN3d4PFa3tP5Y-0VA/s320/eat_pray_love.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5630821722376508242" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 209px; height: 320px; " /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;">You know those books that make you laugh out loud? That you read in a single sitting and carry around with you when you scoot to the kitchen for snacks or run to answer the phone because you just can't put it down? <i>84 Charing Cross Road</i>.</div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ-sfs9YbMDHHuYKd5_iGLzTQBHkX1lkTuWBbjshFLhnNJEIbhojgVQwhJKPTpZL8RTlbKsB_h2kFVEp5HV9CQ3ydXRM4TsU3wg7GCjUrkIXyfne7N9QQij4zk_BjwA7zyvKLe5F3Uybc/s320/84CharingCrossRoad.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5630821708033805426" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 202px; height: 320px; " /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;">The book that makes you laugh and cry and sigh and smile? (Whoever would have guessed by the title?"</div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT9E-D3TlAZa42IcelXpyvHzDUIxc9dHZA-YjoOcdbkeqseIO_MW09jCDAd8u8SbH1-x8E6Voz67yfG8Izqa93SmVQPBd3FsQJApoSop8gA1HpcwcX7MY1iCEoci7VvAqUsmSPVdqHek8/s320/eng-the-guernsey-literary-and-potato-peel-pie-society.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5630821726940006034" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px; " /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;">Or the books that have been frosted with magic and just-a-little-bit-larger-than-life dusting of fairy tales for the not-so-common everyday girl?</div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhehz5b5wYSyg-iFb5z0IlUhZnkfIpdSsv-1OQjWyPxj9xKf7YPbQrt2cCqJ5AiWbGmHp9O1e_tEIFJxwJuWdcQljGiEiksMPGJaMqp9egACJhm4rN8iOSDSDMNHZDveQweu15vL-krEMo/s320/the+girl+who+chased+the+moon.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5630822032130548498" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px; " /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;">And the throwbacks, romanticism (in its literary and art historical sense), and still romantic? I mean, with a first line like, "I write this sitting in the kitchen sink," you know you're in for a treat.</div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSTR3Nh9HS4LiMQ-DrMu5-N1jXlieHWnoKW52x3w6S6ooLto6aSdVRBPEsLvrICwEEQmSmU1Swal0zJMAHUu54AaDda9p6Onm_TJqRtuLmOCmhqGyg4YAjM4ginaLc1CMGpAInUFYbJJw/s320/I+Capture+The+Castle.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5630821734780186898" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 211px; height: 320px; " /></span><div style="text-align: center;">Well, call me daft, but I opened up my inbox today and found a lovely little<a href="http://www.jcrew.com/womens_feature/handbagshop.jsp?srcCode=EMBW01651&em=chesley.turner@gmail.com"> marketing e-mail from J.Crew</a>, that purveyor of all things classic, slightly nautical, casual-chic. And much to my delight, (after falling in love with this delicious looking bag), </div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG7FK2k_FFWjCd0WzAKzxtlQz3RERYx49iHayZvZP4LA1TQNDa1u10ViJHFflnNmBmpFHUjj0DARldp324gqO4a7vPd6qenpof0wbqMqkAAoj_ZWmSJvx_VRQqaOMRjmxhEhtpaEeBM6w/s320/J.+Crew+Marlow+hobo.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5630822437952203954" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 320px; " /></span><div style="text-align: center;">I found that kindred spirits don't only write novels. They write marketing copy as well. After reading that "Alison, Editorial Copy Director" for The Crew "singlehandedly keeps thesaurus.com in business" I was briefly reassured that there is a job out there, even for a wordsmithing wit. And that even a girl who likes to "carry around a notebook and writing utensil at all times in case i get inspired to jot down an idea, but it never happens. I usually just end up scribbling down to-do lists that I never look at again" can make it. It gives me hope.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhghCWsebsPJiDhctrhcPmvDvohT-YMD6J5N-28PGDJML0PVMN3a2YNwz75TLCHgEkSQwrfDYQQPbyFYxd-nxd66tz8Ab4moVVqKnCyzLCZ87nGKdTRaU6B9LmP2YeEorSlo4kBWsEPRjA/s1600/women+who+read+are+dangerous.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhghCWsebsPJiDhctrhcPmvDvohT-YMD6J5N-28PGDJML0PVMN3a2YNwz75TLCHgEkSQwrfDYQQPbyFYxd-nxd66tz8Ab4moVVqKnCyzLCZ87nGKdTRaU6B9LmP2YeEorSlo4kBWsEPRjA/s320/women+who+read+are+dangerous.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5630824343846842786" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 320px; " /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">Wordsmithing, scatterbrained, classy, fabulous females, speak out. You are among friends here!</div>Chesleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09668840805329960714noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296933880066929398.post-63023058159614973072011-07-13T11:57:00.000-07:002011-07-13T12:40:56.734-07:00Paris @ Midnight<div style="text-align: center;">Have you ever seen Paris at Midnight?</div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihnNq4fwFvb05uMmVjaEoKN_MNCCG_H912whRsqSwK6CE2gr4_Sg5_vjaGE8QN1z20qa0akuZJsOgpnwBR9Ist4fZOF3-pTQVTnxWMsfFoC9ZRVxhd1GZQEP2N1-U9FnuCGVolGfO5mmk/s320/midnight-in-paris.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5628921458406417330" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px; " /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;">You should.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">I am an Italophile, through and through. But like all good Europeans in pursuit of personal fulfillment and an enviable cache of life experiences, occasionally I dally on the side.</div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidPBvqZ6CKF2QBZR-f1VC6gDKJSxDIROHwJzhknlSghtRZbeac_X7d0ot4f2fQ53mKCcBq6DVrgWBijA6eQqUZ4OGgodP9z8VFPKm8QuSYHzuPToXJp7XP5L8ijSxmU_WzIVzHRsZyqGo/s320/Midnight+in+Paris+still.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5628921243323852946" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 213px; " /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;">After seeing Woody Allen's latest film last night, I'm pretty sure Paris would make an ideal mistress. She's always dressed perfectly for any occasion, and she has plenty of secrets and stories and grace.</div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglOmgXGTWGPXBcxrSFKx8mR-Y0d4sRzOkx-pXLQkqwQ3AxNcRHFg0uK2j44nZIKfMdjwutyySRbPECf4Lx9sIXgA6PxV2qHR9SFcTldgEYoDZvuU_7mGlBYy03g5U7L3OE9RrXXXkZhyphenhypheno/s320/Midnight+in+Paris.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5628921247507075906" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 106px; " /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;">I've never been to France at all. I may just have to find a way.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Paris at Midnight. The film is the improbable combination of the fairy tale <i>The Twelve Dancing Princesses</i> and Woody Allen's inimitable comedic style. </div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXhIZXHw2I-O4Hbl101D89KQboxiVhyphenhyphenW6FV6fEbY18ZiclI1vxOZweMR4yOsKPPZS-zZp26YnIrXL56MIzoejqgYgva6EI-iymXqQ006aQl8HNbz8ZURljB4CCWNrPdjduUeIZ7qPBSeM/s320/The+12+Dancing+Princesses+painting+by+KY+Craft.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5628921464390035394" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 234px; " /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;">It's every romantic's dream, combining multiple memorable Parisian epochs to weave quite a story.</div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "></span></div><div style="text-align: center;">Add to this the delight of not only seeing actors and actresses pop up on screen that spur the thought, "Oh I love her!" "Oh I love him!",</div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQA6LV2QoD9U4rKp5PtbaU-KTDmRVx3y6mOEUoZH-Nia1HK2BRnnOinsHt5Fo0IK0ODN1e9dG_LpxJ-SSt8yCW0jMd8lmn1dq68E9gTzDsdChpejLM5V8o2alm49S1XYxxBq48Sey45qU/s320/owen-wilson-alison-pill-midnight-in-paris.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5628922618105545090" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 213px; " /></span><div style="text-align: center;">and oohing over the inspired costume design (fashionistas beware; you'll be aching to accent your wardrobe with 20's-inspired items), but the characters themselves make up an echelon of the cultural icons who challenged the mores of society and created cultural milestones, markers, and entire classifications of art. You'll come home and pull out all your school books, desperate to begin reading and learning and reacquainting yourself with these greats.</div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5elxTG45wLt0GJLbsnvYkLdlhTuiRaJWZ8V4VJ5AF-3j2zAe9GaLMXPOTXDAbFUpu3FKgVRNMv3bqZHuMdRFEcytUnWFl6oxM3vILm_LGfkztjRyQ_4oSL72tvf25RCkvghD7MuxZeK4/s320/midnight-in-paris-movie.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5628922608788587602" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 86px; " /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;">And until you can feed the hungry intellectual giant that no doubt broods inside your skulls, you can just ooh and ah over the costumes and sceneries, and giggle over Allenisms given renewed vitality by contemporary actors.</div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl1BmHHOBEooBI-Tped3WQl2ijz0q5q7co75kXrufl3Oqxq1tRJxDyhAku9LSPrRfjY4S2BVz7IUgscbuPBojFo87fk7NzaUfBroi1B2F5bxoRMpEBIKYqRkRJr4uhP2Aa6yWdfwtLxaU/s320/Midnight+in+Paris+still+with+Wilson+and+Cotillard.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5628921239551226050" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px; " /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;">And you'll probably find yourself making plans, like I did, to somehow, some way, go dancing in Paris.</div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6l6QoJ6jH3gY0u2txV6_GgEEknuJFws79pAGLl6fzkD2iLhWPHBSfWfMjtz53KncdEVos-9i3DAr-TSaVWs9ZEkeMdCyP8a0x3XxAxhVA3PsgKgKneO3QeZz5wyBhkY68S27Fsy8SROY/s320/paris%252Cphotography-e7258748459253cb33a28a53d56427dc_h.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5628921471036090802" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px; " /></span>Chesleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09668840805329960714noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5296933880066929398.post-55498398516328895542011-07-11T13:00:00.000-07:002011-07-12T07:20:01.219-07:00Play it Again, and Again, and Again.<div style="text-align: center;">It's coming...</div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKVIJdnrSmgGoRdyZkk9n6BnJ2Ldw2zfVPubjPSzPGUif2AywrNWiAFgxmadgLu38hApE5EaBGm2DuLYzWcuf7IhmBbkV8UTEOuSvCl1D5Z3SWIjubcwTISF8LvOgAncrw9TczLnVaNN8/s320/Casablanca+1942+Bogey+and+Bergman.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5628192179607443858" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 250px; height: 320px; " /></span><div style="text-align: center;">The Atlanta Symphony is presenting <i>Casablanca</i> this Friday, film on the big screen, while the magnificent Atlanta Symphony Orchestra plays the score. CAN YOU IMAGINE!</div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYDquyyB_B0k1JBF7CErVhGQp_Yj7fwx8XpjAxtKxx4n9U8uBoHiOWBxm2TRJb7x5IiKXwAil7o2xaNEvhhVEQJjty46hM_uBCnFspizaptFS6t-QAMdygRcf73jYAjKRFTWGYKEQHkpU/s320/Casablanca+Title.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5628193813806197570" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 239px; " /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;">This is not to be missed. And maybe to prepare, I'll do a little 'round robin of classic films starring the truly fantastic actors and actresses of the Silver Screen. We'll start with Bogey and add Audrey for some <i>Sabrina</i>.</div><div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIYdUWGQFJubkxXpWaDNo-iFZiFSnIqgx0lUDVLCbhuE-3w79GDvKGohoArFk0OOmAtcod-GW4H92h0VSqYnjJGklZJ3ULk43e7ubvtFHianJnqFuf9QmT4CD3YryW5AD37KscBvsmN9k/s320/Sabrina+1954+Bogey+and+Hepburn.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5628190852677664306" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 270px; height: 320px; " /></span></div></div><div style="text-align: center;">And then there's Audrey and Greg Peck in the inimitable <i>Roman Holiday</i>.</div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD7EixUXAfD6rRd8jS2cGaVEg3tMrkAIpS0YLNv4I1yxlzDhBUmYa-9j7ZXSKuLLG2sIXAxeG5GSzdcim-FCzUFdsndC23x17W1bvyGF-2Ln2l2USwC0uN3AAi09TRJIS-4QELxJpcnNY/s320/Roman+Holiday+1953+Hepburn+and+Peck.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5628191254139142866" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 318px; height: 320px; " /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "></span></div><div style="text-align: center;">Next is Gregory Peck and Lauren Bacall in <i>Designing Woman</i>.</div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibY5Y_2wl_fwB7f4wXMlbsqszhgiGEWMQ5DrwA0phNIraNKvC03Nswv0bG29bwLBpRZ0FqWUUmiE_YNugaj3ZDwZtimKlSpe8AvmrO2bYfbvHZ7UkMRCj3IAr7crhZOrUln95CVaGPl7s/s320/Designing+Woman+1957+Peck+and+Bacall.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5628191777391464834" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 242px; " /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;">Then <i>How to Marry a Millionaire</i> for some keynotes delivered by Betty, Lauren, and Marilyn.</div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFuYws4bbDFmVL_30vRm9tAjU9qM6A9D53pcTzEsx7Dg3IQg7_Tsepv4C-j3L15PK7kQKIEwfbVdl9nQ5nikjoGhuPZlSbOMAa74V3c00IwnAxqMhWaWpdd8z2xPh-BYa6TZDdN0yjvDE/s320/How+To+Marry+A+Millionaire+1953+Grable%252C+Bacall%252C+Monroe.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5628191276355812146" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 277px; " /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;">Marilyn and Tony Curtis warm things up with <i>Some Like It Hot.</i></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIK7LEFlC1GBc6kA7TG3todqyLJIkvCk-hekBOTwU-LlOWpMC411wX4LfU5ygWv9wezFWiPWDBPhKU2NJ-2ie7pajWOEIJNxyciUMURlsbdslqHZ3HtYOt2Nhx_6d9OpVYFVkNEm7Tdqk/s320/Some+Like+It+Hot+1959+Monroe+and+Curtis.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5628190844578280978" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 228px; " /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;">How about the more obscure <i>Kings Go Forth</i> with Curtis and Natalie Wood.</div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd04YuRITPQTdRcBZVCGUAShqddjwwL4qi59edXtr6wd2BmFeq8s-iW4ejuMs2zROp-dIfATcpfQEZz01mO_b2puWX8LQzn4NkiatSlTv0oiqlPXhK1NXzxyVafD47MO-6GXUDAN8TZBA/s320/Kings+Go+Forth+1958+Curtis+and+Wood.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5628192159976994194" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 254px; " /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;">Also starring The Voice himself, Mr. Frank Sinatra.</div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0FShxUT2GtAKHPE1SmStvOJaAe3dTxbxIyl8CAWPZBGLj_OiYuBashAW_Ph86VzY861WFLM72q6yqPKr22m02B79-svVtosi9msbwy-DL800q2HE-f6wiFNi3JMvEYehuMpO6nqGk94Q/s320/Kings+Go+Forth+1958+Wood+and+Sinatra.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5628191262743187490" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 242px; " /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;">Which of course means I'll have to take time for one of my favorites: Sinatra and Grace Kelly in <i>High Society.</i></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-h5UgTtUZsY80f9wfC4Ztm-Modj5hRJ49_DPwortGJbcWR16qdQPewfnDpatQOpOQd6Ktr0oiHct0Edw5vMy0xJ6Fz_6Xj7UWHIifJXO4Snq8xycmdOtDovxqR1zNOudhXu9xtta8Ni0/s320/High+Society+1956+Sinatra+and+Kelly.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5628191764016813266" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 256px; height: 320px; " /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;">And next is Kelly and Cary in<i> To Catch a Thief</i>.</div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqWHKnNngU7sZ5GKj5aqWrXPUU-jbVOoHpawlpSm-Zgezk0JRhGTDLL9OUv4SU68Y6bqQdjgx2f-63sY7ojaMqqDXwq2MuDZDSsWGCSEA4i5I72kd3ciQMnkmcuzHWV4RewImrgm6Frjo/s320/To+Catch+A+Thief+Kelly+and+Grant.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5628190818244636914" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 238px; height: 320px; " /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;">Then <i>Bringing Up Baby</i> with Cary and Katharine.</div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBbB0-JAjCKjuKaey6ddU0CzganICM8bKrJwaaou87ukNYLSX0VIwQUUL69XyMvaL37-hjsqHcvYLeoGBlCSISB7H22PzVjWSJmBVv7xexiqxp7_8La39HYv-qxKEHNgjl9un5S6UB4FQ/s320/Bringing+Up+Baby+Grant+and+Hepburn.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5628192184556198674" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 250px; height: 320px; " /></span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;">Or <i>The Rainmaker</i> with Katherine Hepburn and Burt Lancaster.</div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSpMR8h3qt3na7e3cNlhuCH6R6E5i2RdRolQKyc5MNaPE_i4dFp8UAUc9-zKeQ-bxK_q8UbB1qOXgBgGY57Cc8n8yuld-XeZHH4cPmZO8x5zQSEINLXUmtWiiKx6UtENqOIcOrrg7t8oY/s320/The+Rainmaker+1956+Hepburn+and+Lancaster.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5628190825715587554" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 228px; " /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>From Here to Eternity</i> stars Lancaster and the lovely Deborah Kerr,</div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRlVUeK9K0uyVVRwxmfI0gHUc83NuF1SrF22y32OAiyPFPxosSR-lHQPi1sNZi4ji6K_VNw7inXLGU_h9mspvWoMe21oe46_kzNUUVyOFt3COc6o-Ie7TOh9hnIz3BGzzvGuojiTahCQE/s320/From+Here+to+Eternity+1953+Lancaster+and+Kerr.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5628191773594826274" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 182px; " /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;">who starred in <i>The Journey </i>with Yul Brynner.</div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOUhcnLoTE0lEbtLitRfpP5UhqZc2VcQTTvb0u0B0RnLZMa-MFDq5OMgcV6ZBUuOsbLkT8XSv-xmFZ_453XF3ljnAaYf1IceZgY47tVfuGPuIqUGoUEZZSfdrmxhYC99RlJbSwpSe-9HY/s320/The+Journey+1959+Kerr+and+Brynner.png" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5628190836443045490" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 291px; height: 320px; " /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;">(And was photographed by him!)</div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinZCFwKS9n_K07kdXR9QnRs_bzWXNElVJu7jN9q0zf7nl57PdDrJqoAcGTKiPxfdnZHTc75377hEsXUZQMHKZRyl69lzOnaIVJBwlAJthndz5nnhYNcmlhljhKwDGzQwqBDHEc50bal-A/s320/Deborah+Kerr+by+Yul+Brynner.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5628191781385015986" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 229px; height: 320px; " /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;">Apparently Brynner was a marvelous photographer, because while on set of <i>Anastasia</i>,</div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEvVPPKhCGRzOESxSQPcRWPc71d5O0Pyh6FIwb2bHtBL66Zc5gIW4OiFgH7Bb_PWN5NjOTkpLHKhXKWcSqcOymb00qNJOU801yMTBRJ9KPcqcexGzY3u1XFTeJG67KrLAQeEdiyVicCLk/s320/Anastasia+1956+Brynner+and+Bergman.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5628192189541065618" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 246px; " /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;">he also captured the beautiful Ingrid Bergman.</div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilOXG95LYQm-i8kC6VPnFudZvkl5L4AE-hmi2_Sat0iXckJx7kKjB1DwVpTcAh0j3x-uW0FBSJTjwjuhNXog3b38gfGif_I7z6NGq-Voo6hvKeLavioyD9o8f0o0N2k3yQgX9rAqCw4cQ/s1600/Ingrid+Bergman+by+Yul+Brynner.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilOXG95LYQm-i8kC6VPnFudZvkl5L4AE-hmi2_Sat0iXckJx7kKjB1DwVpTcAh0j3x-uW0FBSJTjwjuhNXog3b38gfGif_I7z6NGq-Voo6hvKeLavioyD9o8f0o0N2k3yQgX9rAqCw4cQ/s320/Ingrid+Bergman+by+Yul+Brynner.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5628191270409034594" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 204px; height: 247px; " /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">Which brings us back to where we started, to Bergman and Bogey at Sam's piano in Rick's Cafe Americana.</div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyYjEc-uxM-1Jyz8VkMgWpLudwp5eIMX3nSU-rSWemoAhyphenhyphenEd2wMaMvtuG_r7fHfQT9mT45hBhAS6-Wh65ckkaZfR9dMm79kQZ4T4JhBpP_bH6QDB2-Orn4rlS3vTKTMUEYOOwn4YISKCw/s320/Casablanca_PlayItAgainSam.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5628191787634343186" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 226px; " /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;">So if you're in Atlanta this weekend, head to the amphitheatre in Alpharetta and catch the sweeping drama of <i>Casablanca</i> with a LIVE soundtrack. If it plays and you're not there, you'll regret it. Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow. But soon, and for the rest of your life!</div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1OxwyywcUK9nz8TbU7g3141OAonrnPo6izhgd8mpfTu4fF703TigkSmOjM1zkYHwc1iAPR3aO31r3bWn36sr_DakPthPvJJKnsduFtDCOfEiZdiMjRpXroxw_8J1xlEV4lqooH_lZZII/s320/Casablanca+1942.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5628192173703076898" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 236px; " /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>Chesleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09668840805329960714noreply@blogger.com0