While we're on the subject of poetry, here is a gem by e. e. cummings:
i carry your heart with me (i carry it in
my heart) i am never without it (anywhere
i go you go, my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing, my darling)
i fear
no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet) i want
no world (for beautiful you are my world, my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you
here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart
i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)
11.17.2010
11.16.2010
I See the Stars
I wrote a poem for my creative writing class. (I actually wrote like 20...and still have to write more!) I kind of like it. Enjoy. (If you want to know what kind of poem it is--it is a Rondeau. One of the most famous Rondeaus? "In Flander's Fields.")
“I See the Stars”
I see the stars, the glittering skies
I hear the wind, a call to rise
My life of sin and death forsake
My soul once slept, but now awakes
A life of sin has turned from sighs
My heart is healed; I lift my eyes
To nature’s God, who did devise
My new life now, for mercy’s sake
I see the stars
A soul reborn, my old life dies
My heart to heaven upward flies
A life of love and peace to make
With God reconcile all mistakes
Conversion is my own surprise
I see the stars.
“I See the Stars”
I see the stars, the glittering skies
I hear the wind, a call to rise
My life of sin and death forsake
My soul once slept, but now awakes
A life of sin has turned from sighs
My heart is healed; I lift my eyes
To nature’s God, who did devise
My new life now, for mercy’s sake
I see the stars
A soul reborn, my old life dies
My heart to heaven upward flies
A life of love and peace to make
With God reconcile all mistakes
Conversion is my own surprise
I see the stars.
11.12.2010
Macaroni and Cheese
When I was on my mission in Taiwan, I ate a lot of weird things. And sometimes I would get these cravings for American food--nothing fancy, just things like peanut butter and jam sandwiches or macaroni and cheese.
Ironic, I know, because for many missionaries that is all they eat on their missions.
One day my companion and I did a huge favor for the elders (which included riding our bikes and supplying them with water, maps, a knee brace, and a cell phone as they ran a marathon one preparation day). One of the elders had gotten a package from his mother, and in gratitude for us saving their lives he gave us a box of macaroni and cheese.
My companion and I were ecstatic.
We saved the macaroni and cheese for a very special day (actually just the one day in three months that we were at our apartment for lunch) and then made it.
It was delicious.
I swear I have never eaten such wonderful macaroni and cheese in my life. I wish I could show you the picture I took of it, but I must have taken it with my companion's camera because I can't find it. Just know that I dreamed about that macaroni and cheese for the rest of my mission.
Yesterday I was starving and, remembering the deliciousness of the macaroni and cheese from my mission, when I got home I made some macaroni and cheese. And I came to a startling conclusion.
I no longer love macaroni and cheese.
I think this is a sign of growing up--or just a sign of the decadence that I am able to indulge in while living in America. When macaroni and cheese tastes repulsive to me, I know I have too many options.
But don't worry, I still eat tuna on toast...
Ironic, I know, because for many missionaries that is all they eat on their missions.
One day my companion and I did a huge favor for the elders (which included riding our bikes and supplying them with water, maps, a knee brace, and a cell phone as they ran a marathon one preparation day). One of the elders had gotten a package from his mother, and in gratitude for us saving their lives he gave us a box of macaroni and cheese.
My companion and I were ecstatic.
We saved the macaroni and cheese for a very special day (actually just the one day in three months that we were at our apartment for lunch) and then made it.
It was delicious.
I swear I have never eaten such wonderful macaroni and cheese in my life. I wish I could show you the picture I took of it, but I must have taken it with my companion's camera because I can't find it. Just know that I dreamed about that macaroni and cheese for the rest of my mission.
Yesterday I was starving and, remembering the deliciousness of the macaroni and cheese from my mission, when I got home I made some macaroni and cheese. And I came to a startling conclusion.
I no longer love macaroni and cheese.
I think this is a sign of growing up--or just a sign of the decadence that I am able to indulge in while living in America. When macaroni and cheese tastes repulsive to me, I know I have too many options.
But don't worry, I still eat tuna on toast...
11.07.2010
A Summer of Fun
This post is only a few months overdue. :) This summer I told myself I was not going to let the summer fun pass me by--after all, it had been two years since I had been in Provo in the summer, and I might not be back in Provo for a summer for a very, very long time.
I was taking a ridiculous number of classes and working, but that didn't stop me from exploring some beautiful hikes around Provo.
The first hike was to Battle Creek Falls: fun enough to do twice. The first time was with my roommate and her fiance.
Despite the look of pretended terror on my face, the hike was quite easy.
The best part about the hike? There is a waterfall less than a mile in. So just when you start to get tired or bored or the kids start crying, there you are at the waterfall.
Because it seemed like the perfect hike for a young married couple with a baby, I invited my sister and her husband and baby to come along the next time.
Peter was terrified of sitting in the baby carrier thing and cried for the first half of the hike, but he was quickly content when his mom broke out the food.
This is my favorite picture of the three of us. I think it really brings out my best feature--my left eye. :)
Early in May, some people from my ward decided it was time to take a road trip to Goblin Valley. I was game. I took my homework, fell in love with George Herbert's poetry (who, strangely enough, I hadn't encountered before--he took a seat next to John Donne on my list of favorite poets). My camera batteries died after about 5 minutes, so this is all you get.
Over the 24th of July weekend, I went with my sister up to Bear Lake. It was a dream.
And even though I don't have pictures, we can't forget about the Scottish Festival in Payson. I went with my roomate (the engaged one) and we explored my Scottish roots, found out that not only is my mother's Campbell side Scottish but my White ancestry also has Scottish roots. Unfortunately, my roommate didn't find any Scottish crest with "Borg," her last name. But we did eat funnel cake and listen to bagpipes. It was pretty awesome.
During finals week, my former roommates convinced me to go with them to pick raspberries at 6am. Then we bought the ones we picked and ate them. It was a pretty fun experience--nothing like an early morning hike through a raspberry farm in high heels before going to take a final. :)
Finally, early Labor Day morning my roommates and I hiked the Y. The best part, in my opinion, was this picture. I was pretty proud of myself.
Jealous of my summer of thrills?
I was taking a ridiculous number of classes and working, but that didn't stop me from exploring some beautiful hikes around Provo.
The first hike was to Battle Creek Falls: fun enough to do twice. The first time was with my roommate and her fiance.
Despite the look of pretended terror on my face, the hike was quite easy.
The best part about the hike? There is a waterfall less than a mile in. So just when you start to get tired or bored or the kids start crying, there you are at the waterfall.
Because it seemed like the perfect hike for a young married couple with a baby, I invited my sister and her husband and baby to come along the next time.
Peter was terrified of sitting in the baby carrier thing and cried for the first half of the hike, but he was quickly content when his mom broke out the food.
This is my favorite picture of the three of us. I think it really brings out my best feature--my left eye. :)
Early in May, some people from my ward decided it was time to take a road trip to Goblin Valley. I was game. I took my homework, fell in love with George Herbert's poetry (who, strangely enough, I hadn't encountered before--he took a seat next to John Donne on my list of favorite poets). My camera batteries died after about 5 minutes, so this is all you get.
Over the 24th of July weekend, I went with my sister up to Bear Lake. It was a dream.
And even though I don't have pictures, we can't forget about the Scottish Festival in Payson. I went with my roomate (the engaged one) and we explored my Scottish roots, found out that not only is my mother's Campbell side Scottish but my White ancestry also has Scottish roots. Unfortunately, my roommate didn't find any Scottish crest with "Borg," her last name. But we did eat funnel cake and listen to bagpipes. It was pretty awesome.
During finals week, my former roommates convinced me to go with them to pick raspberries at 6am. Then we bought the ones we picked and ate them. It was a pretty fun experience--nothing like an early morning hike through a raspberry farm in high heels before going to take a final. :)
Finally, early Labor Day morning my roommates and I hiked the Y. The best part, in my opinion, was this picture. I was pretty proud of myself.
Jealous of my summer of thrills?
11.05.2010
Kerry from Taiwan falls in love with Provo
Wouldn't you fall in love with this too? My friend Kerry from Taiwan is studying here in Provo, and one day she told me that Provo is so boring and ugly. She missed Taiwan.
So I took her to Bridal Veil falls. Even though it was freezing and pouring rain, she fell in love with Provo.
Me too.
10.07.2010
Creative Writing: The Piano Bench
I wrote this memoir for my Creative Writing class. My mother might dispute some of the details in the story. But this is how I remember it. Please look for irony, sarcasm, and my #1 trait of being stubborn. Enjoy. :)
I think I was born stubborn. This, of course, manifested itself in both good and bad ways. My mom often reminds me about the time I was three and learned to ride a bike. “Three-year-olds physically can’t ride two-wheelers,” she often says. “But you were not going to let that stop you!” She tells that story with pride as proof that I had the same stubborn tenacity as a child that has prefaced my collegiate work. However, there was nothing but frustration in her voice as she told me that summer day in my youth to “sit on the piano bench until you apologize to your sister.”
I was not going to apologize, I thought to myself as I settled down next to my sister on the piano bench. I was right! Although I don’t recall the specifics of the argument, it probably had something to do with the vacuum cleaner and our small staircase. My chore for the day was vacuuming, and my poor sister had most likely tried to pass me on the stairs while I was working. Some sort of argument had ensued, and my mother broke us up and set us on the piano bench. The details of the argument are hazy because what I remember are the long hours I was sitting on that bench.
My sister, never one to stay angry for long, apologized to me within 15 minutes and happily skipped off to finish her chores. I, however, was going to show my mother that I don’t apologize when I’m right. I knew that after a few hours, she would realize her folly and let me get off the bench. She might even excuse me from the rest of my chores because I had been wrongly accused!
Such was my childhood fantasy. I sat on that bench, angry, for several hours. The piano was conveniently situated in the middle of our small living room, between the staircase leading to the upstairs and the front door. Because of the placement of the piano, if anyone went anywhere in my house, they saw me on the piano bench. I had to endure several rounds of “Breanne, don’t you want to apologize?” from my mother as she walked back and forth with loads of laundry. “I don’t apologize when I’m right,” I thought to myself as I glared at her.
My mom, I think, had forgotten how stubborn I was—otherwise she would have given me a bigger punishment than just sitting. After several hours my mom gave me an order: “Apologize to your sister and finish the vacuuming.” I was relieved. Sitting on the piano bench was deathly boring and my back was starting to hurt. But I was also triumphant. As I muttered a half-hearted apology to my sister and finished the vacuuming, I laughed to myself because once again, I had won. I was more stubborn than my mother! I won the battle!
This story became a hallmark example of my stubborn tenacity. And through the years, I would remember this story, laugh, and continue with my determined, although sometimes defiant, pathway to greatness.
I think I was born stubborn. This, of course, manifested itself in both good and bad ways. My mom often reminds me about the time I was three and learned to ride a bike. “Three-year-olds physically can’t ride two-wheelers,” she often says. “But you were not going to let that stop you!” She tells that story with pride as proof that I had the same stubborn tenacity as a child that has prefaced my collegiate work. However, there was nothing but frustration in her voice as she told me that summer day in my youth to “sit on the piano bench until you apologize to your sister.”
I was not going to apologize, I thought to myself as I settled down next to my sister on the piano bench. I was right! Although I don’t recall the specifics of the argument, it probably had something to do with the vacuum cleaner and our small staircase. My chore for the day was vacuuming, and my poor sister had most likely tried to pass me on the stairs while I was working. Some sort of argument had ensued, and my mother broke us up and set us on the piano bench. The details of the argument are hazy because what I remember are the long hours I was sitting on that bench.
My sister, never one to stay angry for long, apologized to me within 15 minutes and happily skipped off to finish her chores. I, however, was going to show my mother that I don’t apologize when I’m right. I knew that after a few hours, she would realize her folly and let me get off the bench. She might even excuse me from the rest of my chores because I had been wrongly accused!
Such was my childhood fantasy. I sat on that bench, angry, for several hours. The piano was conveniently situated in the middle of our small living room, between the staircase leading to the upstairs and the front door. Because of the placement of the piano, if anyone went anywhere in my house, they saw me on the piano bench. I had to endure several rounds of “Breanne, don’t you want to apologize?” from my mother as she walked back and forth with loads of laundry. “I don’t apologize when I’m right,” I thought to myself as I glared at her.
My mom, I think, had forgotten how stubborn I was—otherwise she would have given me a bigger punishment than just sitting. After several hours my mom gave me an order: “Apologize to your sister and finish the vacuuming.” I was relieved. Sitting on the piano bench was deathly boring and my back was starting to hurt. But I was also triumphant. As I muttered a half-hearted apology to my sister and finished the vacuuming, I laughed to myself because once again, I had won. I was more stubborn than my mother! I won the battle!
This story became a hallmark example of my stubborn tenacity. And through the years, I would remember this story, laugh, and continue with my determined, although sometimes defiant, pathway to greatness.
10.04.2010
A Squished Spider in Shakespeare
I think we have already established the fact that I hate spiders. Really. I try to be adult-like most of the time, but spiders put me over the edge every time.
Even in my Shakespeare class.
Today we were sitting in class in a circle. I was sitting close to the wall, with my backpack sitting open in the chair behind me. One of my classmates was giving a presentation. We were all silent.
And then I saw movement on the wall out of the corner of my eye. I turned and saw a spider crawling quickly, almost over my open backpack. There was nothing else I could do. I was sitting next to the girl presenting and quickly said, "I'm going to squish a spider." (The whole class saw the spider at the same time I did.)
I quickly took off my shoe and slammed it, hard, against the wall. I then calmly put my shoe back on, apologized to the girl giving the presentation, and class went on. The laughing only lasted for about 30 seconds. :)
Even in my Shakespeare class.
Today we were sitting in class in a circle. I was sitting close to the wall, with my backpack sitting open in the chair behind me. One of my classmates was giving a presentation. We were all silent.
And then I saw movement on the wall out of the corner of my eye. I turned and saw a spider crawling quickly, almost over my open backpack. There was nothing else I could do. I was sitting next to the girl presenting and quickly said, "I'm going to squish a spider." (The whole class saw the spider at the same time I did.)
I quickly took off my shoe and slammed it, hard, against the wall. I then calmly put my shoe back on, apologized to the girl giving the presentation, and class went on. The laughing only lasted for about 30 seconds. :)
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