You're Valentine's Day Special...

Today I just want to share an excerpt from one of my favorite books. It's called Letters to a Young Poet by Rainer Maria Rilke. It's just a reminder that even if you're single on this holiday to celebrate love, that you're still special on this V-Day! And that sometimes things take time.

To love is good, too: love being difficult. For one human being to love another: that is perhaps the most difficult of all our tasks, the ultimate, the last test and proof, the work for which all other work is but preparation. For this reason young people, who are beginners in everything, cannot yet know love: they have to learn it. With their whole being, with all their forces, gathered close about their lonely, timid, upward-beating heart, they must learn to love. But learning time is always a long, secluded time, and so loving, for a long while ahead and far into life, is solitude, intensified and deepened loneness for him who loves.

Enjoy your day!

Until I can finish unpacking...

I know that there are many of you out there that want to see pictures of my new apartment. However, disappointment is my new middle name, because I still haven't even completely unpacked. Therefore, instead of posting pictures of my apartment and all of my wonderful trinkets and whatnot, I will post pictures of things that I like, and what I wish my apartment could look like... So without further delay:

So, until I get motivated and finish unpacking, this will have to tide you all over. So, until next time... Keep you eyes peeled for excellent vintage flea market finds!

Number One Fan

So, for those of you that don't know, my cousin Katie is quite the author. She wrote this for me a few months back, and I wanted to share it. And by the way, I am her number one fan!

Sensation: a mental process resulting from the immediate

external stimulation of a sense organ often as distinguished from a conscious

awareness of the sensory process; sensation as an illusion; sensation is the

allusion.

A finger on my arm, barely touching – sensation on my skin, of my

skin, in my skin; a physical materialization of hours, months, days of dreaming

for nothing else.

His finger on my arm; I almost stopped breathing, the

positive ions pulling at me in every direction as they travelled from the tip

of his finger to every charged part of my being. Sensation I had only dreamed

existed touched my arm, just barely grazing – it was enough for me. I felt that

sensation in my soul, like an ancient key that had been lost and finally made

its way into a rusted, cynical lock.

The lock turned, at that instant. I’d like to say it was

something in the way we looked at each other, but I didn’t feel the pull until

he touched me.

And it was just like that – instantaneous reconciliation of some

innate part of me that had been missing until I saw him. I’d like to say it was

cosmic, but it was better than that. It was held like the tightly drawn string

of a violin between us, waiting for us to raise our arms to dance and play that

first extended note, full and vibrating with longing; full of sustenance.

There’s an old myth that passed through the lips of old

men who lived long before me or you. Two violins, perfectly crafted, touched with

the fingers of mousai, have been played together since the beginning of time.

Perfect in tone, in timbre, velvety rich to the ears. These golden notes, full

of complementing harmony, fall only upon the ears of those who, for one brief

instant, understand the meaning of forever. I heard those notes – I heard those

notes when he touched me. The old men said you would never hear them again; you

only understand forever one time, in a fleeting moment you recall as your

forever plays out across the sky.

Forever happens in an instant – his touch was my instant,

his touch is my forever.

A New Adventure.

During my freshman year of college, I had the opportunity to make some great friends at the ATU Wesley Foundation. Though friends grow apart, and go their own ways, I still think of them often. We consumed our nights with hanging out at the Flying J, and other various exciting activities. We just had a good time, whether it be jumping into the Arkansas River in the middle of the night in the dead of February or just hanging out at Lock and Dam Park and laughing and having a great time.

I remember one trip to the Flying J in particular when there were several of us there. We were talking about the future, and what it would bring. Therefore, it was only natural for us as a group to start speculating about each other, and where they would be and what they would do. I believe that it was my friend Kelsey that told me she saw me as the most likely to fill life with adventure. She told me she could see me traipsing around jungles in foreign lands, and that out of all of us present I was the most likely to make my home far away from Arkansas. At the time it seemed to be true, because my dreams and hopes were never ending.

I wanted adventures, I wanted vitality and excitement. Somehow, though, in the past 6+ years since that night, I had lost that desire. I had become complacent, unhappy. I grew to hate living in Arkansas for a number of reasons, with which I will not bore you.

The year 2010 was both a very good, and a very bad year. However, I had the ability to find myself again. I am fearless, adventurous, compassionate, empathetic, filled with integrity, faithful, loyal, etc. Therefore, when offered, I took this new job, because it's the beginning of my new adventure! And so far, I have never been happier!

So here's to 2011, my first of many years to shine! And here's to Kelsey for her profound statement that I will always carry with me!

My Roots

One of the last things my mom said to me before I left for Spokane was "Don't forget your roots." After not being emotional the whole time while packing and getting ready to move, this rang in my ears and made me want to break down into tears. This blog is a place to let you all know what is going on in my life, and to reminisce about the stories that make me who I am.

So for those of you that do not know who I am, I am the child of two wonderful, loving parents. I am the sibling to the best sister I could ever ask for. I am the descendant of share croppers, farmers, a bootlegger, two public school teachers, a school secretary, and an auto mechanic. I am proud of who I am, and I am proud of each of them. Even though I didn't have the opportunity to meet some of them, I am still proud. Their beliefs and traditions have been instilled in me as I have become an adult.

From my Grandma Ila, I learned to grow plants and appreciate their beauty. From my Mamaw Jonnie and Mamaw Mattie, I learned to make the best biscuits in the world and how to make a darn good pie. From my Papaw Twain and Papaw Jerry, I learned how to fish, shoot a gun, and almost how to water ski. From my Momma and Daddy, I have learned too much to even put into words.

My roots are strong, decades of hard work by my ancestors have ensured this. I will not ever forget my roots, I don't think that is possible. There is too much sentimentality involved. I may have relocated myself, but I will always be an Arkansan at heart. As well as a Barton, Willlis, Gillum, Crain, McCormack, Hunt, Sutterfield, etc.

One of the last things that my grandpa asked me before I left was if I made sure and packed the carbide lamp he gave me. He then added that if I got lost, I could use it to find my way home. In my 24 years on this planet, this may have been the most profound statement he has ever made to me. I'm glad I have that lamp to light my way.

So, remember where you come from, folks. And don't forget your roots.