It's FEBRUARY!

Wait... when did that happen?

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.

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.

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.

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.

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."

Go give, my friends. Go give and love.

Well. Shall we begin again?

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.

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.

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.

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.

It's good to be back.

The Reclamation of Valentine's Day: Part 5

Don't you love fairy tales?

There's something about opening a book that's filled with mystery, and trials, and the promise of a happy ending that invigorates me. I've slowly amassed a collection of favorite books - illustrated by Gennady Spirin or K. Y. Craft or the inimitable Trina Schart Hyman. These tales radiate with lovely characters and lovely storylines and leave daydreams in your heart.

Like the story of Cupid and Psyche, particularly applicable on a weekend like this.

It's all about how love changes us, and our love changes others, but also about how love conquers all.

If you want the poetic version, go grab Charlotte Craft's rendition (as illustrated by KY Craft). But here's a synopsis of the love of Love:

There once was a king with three beautiful daughters, but the youngest was the fairest, (as is to be expected in stories like these). This youngest and fairest was named Psyche, and she was so lovely that the people of the kingdom began to neglect their worship of Aphrodite.

Now everyone knows that Aphrodite, for all her beauty, is a jealous goddess. And so she sends her mischievous son, Cupid, to prick the delicate princess with his wicked little arrow, and make her fall in love with a hideous monster. But when Cupid arrives to complete his task, he is surprised by the beauty of the maid, and in his surprise, he pricks himself with his own arrow and falls in love.

At the behest of the oracles, Psyche is left on a mountaintop, from whence she is spirited away to a magnificent palace in the skies. There, her every need is met, her every wish granted, except that she is forbidden to see the man who comes to her every night (for he is no mere man, he is a god, and the god of Love, at that). And though she thinks she loves this man, her heart grows troubled. Now, when she pleads to have her sisters come visit, she gets just what she asked for. But upon discovering the lavish life of Psyche, these sisters (as sisters are apt to do in stories like these) are consumed by, well, cupidity. They incite concern in Psyche's mind. They tell her that her lover is no doubt a monster, which is why he hides his face.

That evening, the foolish girl takes a candle to bed and lights it to see the face of her benevolent captor. And he is beautiful. And she loves him.

But the wax falls from the candle and burns his skin. The god awakes, and vanishes into the air.

Distraught, Psyche seeks out Aphrodite, goddess of Love, mother of her lover, and asks her for her help in regaining Cupid's love. Aphrodite, never one to pity, sets forth impossible tasks for Psyche to complete, which she manages, because the very forces of nature, the ants, the river, the winds, decide to help her (as often happens in stories like these.)

Psyche's final task is to venture to the underworld and bring back a coffer of Beauty from Persephone. (Obviously, it's wintertime). After helpful advice on the safest way to cross Styx without dying, Psyche obtains the coffer.

And here is where she shows weakness. Whether it be greed, or doubt, or discontent, she decides to take just a little bit of Beauty for herself, that she may please her lover. But when she opens the coffer, she's overcome with an unwakeable Sleep (as sometimes heightens the suspense in stories like these.)

Serendipitously, Cupid comes upon the sleeping Psyche, and his tears prove to his mother that he loves her.

Psyche is saved, and in her union with Cupid, is granted demi-god status, that they may, indeed, live happily ever after (as always happens in stories like these.)

So, you see, we must not question love. And when we do, we must work to regain it. And when all hope is lost, love will come through. And it will change us, if only so that it will never leave us.

Photos: untitled by Lauren Withrow from flicker, AmorVincitOmnia illuminated, witch from Snow White by Trina Schart Hyman, Cupid from Cupid and Psyche by KY Craft, East of the Sun West of the Moon illustration by PJ Lynch, KY Craft image from Cupid and Psyche, girl running from weheartit.com, Psyche returns from the Underworld, Psyche Revived by Love's Kiss photographed by Siggito 2005, Cupid and Psyche by Francois Pascal Simon Gerard

The Reclamation of Valentine's Day: Part 2

Consider the Source.

Saint Valentine's Day. That's right, the day for lovin' your honey takes it's name from a Christian martyr (actually, several of them).

And just like other internationally celebrated over-commercialized holidays (see Halloween, Christmas), it represents a strange cross-cultivation of Catholic beliefs with indigenous (read: pagan, often Roman) celebration.

Here's a synopsis.

The Catholic church loves its martyrs. And why wouldn't they? They represent a level of faith, belief, determination, and courage that is enviable in today's fickle world. They also have cool names (Valentine. Felicity. Perpetua. Sebastian. I mean, really. With names like these, they were destined to do something that landed them in the history books.)

There were several St. Valentines, most of them martyrs. But for the sake of brevity, I'll just recount some major events in a Valentinian life (according to the ancient church tradition of the Saints, which, major points notwithstanding, is sometimes a tiny bit fabricated...but makes for awesome morals). So here we have Valentine, a Catholic priest during the reign of Emperor Claudius (about the time Catholics and criminals ended up as lion-bait in the bowels of the Colosseum).

Despite the edict against practicing, St. Valentine continued to preside at marriage ceremonies for young lovers.

And was imprisoned for his crimes.

While in the clink, however, he healed the jailer's child of blindness, and, legend has it, continued to preach the Christian Gospel by way of tiny letters sent out the window of his cell via the birds that perched there.

And thus began the correlation between Valentine, lovers, and tiny little notes of love... though St. Valentine's notes would have been concerned with a more divine Love....

Meanwhile, the Romans were celebrating Lupercalia, an Ides of February celebration that incorporated the Romulus and Remus mythology (La Cita Eterna's founders, suckled by a mother wolf in infancy),

and some good old-fashioned "let's run through the streets wearing nothing but a wolf hide and carrying thongs of animal skin." The women of Rome would line the streets with hands outstretched, hoping to have their palms whipped by the thongs of the Lupercalians; it meant a healthy birth if you were pregnant, or fertility if you weren't.

Hundreds of years later, along about 1380, Geoffrey Chaucer wrote The Parliament of Fowles, which included a rhyme from which sprang a tradition:

For this was on Seynt Valentynes day,

When every foul cometh theere to chese his make [mate]...".

It wasn't a long stretch to move from each bird finding its mate in the ruddy rush of pending springtime to, well, this:

which, quite frankly, makes me want to find a white toga and a woodland swing and someone to frolic with during the rites of Spring.

Yet I'd be just as happy with this:

which I'll explain later....

photos: St. Valentine Baptizing St. Lucilla by Jacopo Bassano circa 1575, Detail of Sir Lawrence Alma-Tadema's Spring, Illuminated Manuscript of the death of St. Sebastian, The Christian Martyrs Last Prayer by Leon Gerome, Stained-glass window of St. Valentine presiding over the marriage of two lovers, Love Jail by Don Moyer, Bound To You in Vintage Colors by Jessica Rose from flickr, Beccafumi Lupercalia, Fragment Romulus et Remus, The Women of Amphissus by Sir Lawrence Alma-Tadema, Angel of the Birds... by Tonya Van Gieson, Spring by Pierre Auguste Cot 1873, Emma Thompson as Beatrice from Much Ado About Nothing.

Auld Lang Syne.

Just a smattering of New Year's Eve Photos from my Epic Week in Vail. Here's hoping fun times like that don't come just once in a Blue Moon...

2010: The Year of Being Care Free.

Photos: GloriosityLCT Vail Trip 2009/2010

Shepherd, Why this Jubilee?

Why your joyous strains prolong? What the gladsome tidings be which inspire your heavenly song?

Somewhere in the middle of the desert, in the middle of the night, the shepherds were roused by a song from the heavens; a sweet song that whirled o'er the plains, and urged the mountains to echo in reply. The news, exalted by angels, proclaimed by the earth itself, urged them to find the child, lying in a manger. The child was the King of kings before whom royalty kneels, and the Shepherd of men, at whose birth the shepherds of earth were present.

And just as every lamb is counted, so will every soul be.

While the kings bended knees in humility, imagine the adulation, the joy, exuberance of the shepherds. What an honor to find yourself in the presence of an enraptured young mother, awed by her child, and still trying to grasp the idea that this tiny babe is the gift the world has been awaiting. What a compounded happiness. Might we find the simplicity of life that makes us celebrate every tiny joy, that helps us be overwhelmed by the truly magnificent.

photos: Atef Safadi image on the West Bank at Ramallah, shepherd image from vi.sualize.us, Jesus as shepherd (who did this sketch? i love this!), LCTGloriosity Atlanta Botanical Gardens 2009, Rembrandt's Adoration of the Shepherds - speaking of the truly magnificent...

Star of Wonder, Star of Might

Star with Royal Beauty Bright...

I sent out my Christmas Cards today and quoted "We Three Kings." The beautiful parallel metaphor - The Star in the East marking the birthplace of the Light of the World - it always gets me. There's so much to learn from the stories of old. In fact, they were never just stories in the first place.

Three Kings, or Wise Men, or Magi, spotted a brilliant star hanging in the Eastern skies. A scientifically catalogued supernova did indeed light up the night sky around 2,000 years ago, give or take a few. So it's entirely plausible that Kings or Wise Men, ancient composite astronomers/astrologers wondered what exactly such a heavenly beacon heralded, and set off to find its true meaning.
In the story, they were named Balthazar, Melchior, and Caspar, magical names that resonate with Orientalism, so mystical to Western minds. The gifts they brought recognized the true nature of the Christ Child: Gold, to crown him King. Frankincense, to worship him as God. And Myrrh, a strong-smelling gum used in ointments and incense, particularly during burials, which recognized the humanity of the Child, and foreshadowed His death, that would raise us all to new Life.
And what can we learn from this aspect of the Christmas Story? From this segment of the scene at the creche? No matter your belief, or your religion, consider the Wise Men- Men of power and respect, men of great renown and great means, who recognized when a power greater than theirs was incarnate. With a strength of humility and conviction, they bowed before the lowly, the meek, and the mild.

In a world where we are blessed with so many things, might we also have the humility to recognize the Light of the World, especially when it shines in the eyes of the lowliest among us, and may we have the conviction to bow our heads and offer what we have to give.
photos: Star of Bethlehem (found via Google), Three Kings by James C. Christenson, "Adoration of the Magi" by Gentile da Fabriano, and the cover of "We Three Kings" by Gennady Spirin.

Snow...

It's falling outside, a new blanket of sparkling white to overlay the frosty remnants of what fell earlier this week. I haven't seen snow this often in my life, and it's beautiful. Needless to say, it puts you in the mood for the holiday season, and I find myself singing...

Bing Crosby's and Rosemary Clooney's voices, Vera Ellen's grace, and Danny Kaye's smile just make it feel like Christmas.

Snow stifles the frazzle, and leaves the world quiet, pensive, and oh so lovely.

It can be a little glamorous, a little sparkly, a little all-dressed-up,

or quietly magical;

nature's chance to play dress-up in the winter months,

or to change your architectural details.

You start to look at the world differently,

and you can't help but feel like a kid again.

Most of all, I love how the nights become magic. Snow flurries whisper at your window - or are they snow fairies? Street lamps become elaborate gobos and stage setters for the mundane parking lot that has transformed into a fantasy world, clean and sharp and bright. And somewhere in the stillness, your heart waits for you.

photos: RosieHardy at vi.sualize.us (i love this picture!!), LCTGloriosityColorado09, Fashion Image found online (whose is this?), Leaca at vi.sualize.us, LCTGloriosityPhiladelphia09, LCTGloriosityColorado09, MartaCernicka at photo.net, Kent Miles - English Gardens 1981 (Gorgeous!), yein~ at vi.sualize.us.