Poems

Art Nouveau: 1895-1910

I love Art Nouveau design, especially in jewelry. I love it. The moment I saw my first piece, I was hooked. The undulating curves of the lines and the ultra feminine women subjects. The sultry use of sheer and translucent material. The inclusion of plants and insects into the design. The balanced feeling of flow and sensuality married together to make something that exists just for the sake of beauty. Art Nouveau is a poets dream. It’s romantic and soft, but has a strength underneath. It feels like art an elf would appreciate.

My instinct, is that this is how nature would enjoy decorating. A bit of showing off, but also a natural flow and intricacy that is fragile but strong, at the same time.

Art Nouveau started in France. It only lasted 15 years and mostly went to the rich and affluent, until print design took it and made it more widely available. It was influenced by Japonism, the Arts and Crafts Movement, and even Celtic art.

It helped usher in my other favorite design period Art Deco. 🙂

Poems

Birthday present

I have decided to gift myself with a birthday present on the 12th. It’s a Photo charm that works with my Ginger Snap necklace. The artist, on Etsy, takes a photo and makes it into a snap and that way you can wear a photo. I am thinking of getting 5 done, so I can swap them out.

The main one I want is a photo I took if Z when she was little. I have more recent ones, but this one has a special place in my heart, as it captured perfectly the essence of my daughter. I just really love it.

The other 4, I think, will be photos I don’t want to forget. One of me as a baby, one of myself and my 2 sisters (I also have 2 step-sisters and thus, 4 actual sisters) as kids, and two others of Z from the day she was born and her first ride on a swing.

 

Poems

#4 in an 8 day stretch

I am starting to feel my body hating me now. lol

I am on day 4 of my 8 before a day off. Nice of my boss to schedule 2 at the start of the first week and 2 at the end if the second. Makes for lots of heathly grumbling and not so healthy under-breath mumbling. 🙂

My sister gave me a Christmas tree ornament for Christmas. It’s a really fancy Christmas tree with little bells on it. I immediately told her it was perfect for my rocks. She didn’t even blink. That’s slightly telling right? I placed it in the center of my rock collection and they are all grouped around it worshiping its beauty. (I really am quite weird)

I really need to have a talk with them about not worshiping beauty. They need to appreciate the trees spiritual meaning, its bell-like laughter, its resilience. What? Ok. I’ll chill out.

Working 12-8:15 today. I usually have today off…so it’s hard not to grumble a little. I’ll try to behave myself.

B

 

Poems

Sunshine

I just listened to bunch of music in the dark. It made me feel better. The old favorites, “No make-up, that’s my sugar. yes please.” and “You bring the sun,sun,sun,sunshine” not to mention “Make them dance just like you..cause, you make me move” and “Where have you heen, my long lost friend” (Name those songs from the lyrics, if you can) I have added 2 new ones “I want you to breathe me, let me be your air” and “Give me that can’t sleep love”.

Music always makes it all better.

Poems

Can’t Sleep Love

I’ll sing you songs in the blackness

so the dark loses its grip.

I’ll bathe your soul in laughter

so the heart of you floats.

I’ll surround you in sunshine

so you forget the grey of rain.

I’ll give you the kind of love

that makes sleep impossible.

It’s a cant sleep love,

but we got better things to do

in bed.

Poems

Let Us Begin

And now we welcome the new year, full of things that have never been” — Rainer Maria Rilke, poet

For last year’s words belong to last year’s language, And next year’s words await another voice. And to make an end is to make a beginning.” — TS Eliot (Little Gidding), author

Hope, smiles from the threshold of the year to come, whispering ‘it will be — Alfred Lord Tennyson, poet

Poems

Pier One Spring mailer

Ok, if you don’t love Pier One like I do, you will get bored right now. So, maybe skip this post. If you love it like I do. Get out your mailer! We need to dish the best bits.

1st page. OMG!!!! I love the fresh Spring pillows. This one is called Spring Meadow.

The detailing is gorgeous. I also like these others I spotted online:

I’m also kinda digging the Margot armchair. However, the Chas Armchair has me drooling! The Botany Green pattern is fresh and completely beautiful. It has a nice subtle French feel without being too stylized. I like the armchair best, but they only had a photo of the loveseat available online.

Screenshot_2015-12-31-20-33-43~01

 

Then there is page 6. Wow!!

The plates! The plates! The plates!

Styles are: Martillo, Calina, and Spring Meadow Butterfly respectively. I think they go incredibly well together.

 

 

There were other truly cool pieces featured, but these are my absolute favorites. Oh, and before you ask, No..I don’t get paid for posting this, I am just that dorky in love with Pier One Imports. Have been since I was a kid. It always felt so exotic to me whenever I peered through the mailer each time it arrived in the mail. I always assumed this was how classy rich ladies decorated.

I am particularly in love with the idea of butterflies. I think it would fit very well with the bird style pillows and wall art that I like that is similar in color scheme, to these. They would marry very well, I think, as decorating accents.

B.

 

Poems

New years eve

Sausages and sauerkraut, apples wirh caramel dip, Canada Dry Ginger-ale Cranberry style, and the latest Pier One catalog.

It’s a party introvert style. lol

Just got home from work. Signs are done, mostly. I’m sure there is plenty I will need to work on tomorrow.

I still need to be prepared for Inventory on Sunday, Pre-dot all my food for those items nearing expiration,  and looking for those with last month’s dot so they be marked down (can’t pull them yet due to inventory) and waiting for the go ahead after the 4th to pull them all finally.

I have definite plans to do some pre-packing laundry. Go over my photos to select the ones I want to have printed off Snapfish (my birthday present to myself) I decided to do my first album from all my UK visits, hopefully adding London while I visit this trip.

I really want my physical photo album to be of the Union Jack. I considered doing an album with journaling but decided a scrap-album would cost way more than my budget can afford.

I think I will indulge in some window shopping, pintrest and internet style.

Happy New Years everyone!

 

Poems

*Head desk*

Tomorrow starts an 8 day stretch of work before I get a day off. Good thing my vacation starts on the 9th. I believe I fly out on the 10th. Tickets aren’t bought yet but, thats the plan.

Now comes the part I procrastinate about like a nut…packing..lol

If I wasn’t so amused by my own dorky I’d probably worry more. Basically, I pack about 3 times. Mostly out of concern I will forget something. Lets not discuss the great underwear famine of 2013. It was horrific.

I must go through my clothes and pick ones I won’t be teased about. I like comfort over style. Which gets me in trouble in the UK, where just going to the grocery is treated as a chance to make a good impression on the neighborhood. My ratty t-shirts need not apply, apparently.

I have classy style, I just choose to pretend I don’t because it involves less fussing in the loo. If it takes me longer than 20 min to get ready I am prone to giving up to watch K drama instead. Introvert 101 baby!

 

Poems

Brimhat and Flashfire

Flashfire & Brimhat

Tuesday, December 29, 2015

12:39 PM

The creaking of the wagon never bothered Flashfire. It was a sound he heard every day. It was steady, like a heartbeat, sure and solid. It signaled travel, and it made his itchy feet less itchy. It was a sound of permanence. People might not understand how a wagon, that traveled endlessly, could be a symbol of permanence, but that was because they thought of a single place as home. For Flashfire, the  entire world of Cerulean was home, and no greater contentment could be found than walking its length from end to end, like a proud homeowner, making sure every part was properly tended.

Calling his vehicle a wagon didn’t truly do it justice. It started out as a wagon, right enough, but with the various artful and imaginative changes it had endured over the years, one could only come to the conclusion that there really was no word magnificent enough to encapsulate the wonder and beauty, that was his home, his office, his method of travel and his oasis, therefore, they just ended up calling it “The wagon” so, he understood. The wagon consisted of 3 basic parts.

The actual wagon section, with wheels and wood and whatnot, the part that moved as the horses or motor moved (depending on what land was being traveled) it was a sort of blue-grey, which is what the color had settled into over time and multiple paint layering’s. The wagon section was, like its owners, apt to being underestimated. There were hidden panels, secret sections, and parts that had carefully constructed to appear extremely uninteresting to anyone looking at it.

The front section, was where the driver sat. Either steering the horses, or the wheel (once again depending on the particular area being traveled) This section was separated from the rest of the wagon by a wide planking that often converted itself into an enclosed box, that served to house the engine under the seat, when not in use, and give the driver a handy way to be covered or shielded from the elements when a canvas was utilized over it, without having to be part of the actual cabin section. Currently it was open to the night air.

The last section was the cabin used for both living and storage. It was only partly connected to the wagon bed. It was covered by a bright red canvas that started out looking like some sort of gypsy caravan, and ended looking like the top of some overstuffed hot air balloon. The top of the canvas bulged outward stuffed with merchandise, some of which was lashed precariously to the wagon by means of rope, twine and string, in various stages of wear and tear and the canvas had clearly been patched many times. Across the front of it painted in shiny gold (the only section that appeared to be rigorously maintained in its pristine condition.) were the words “The Tinker ” Flashfire had considered a long time before committing to this sign. He had argued that it would have been grander to have it say “Master of trade, seller of wares, trinket trader and marvel merchandiser.” but there just wasn’t enough canvas, and the round nature of the thing made reading it impossible if longer than a few words. He had settled on “The Tinker” because that was what he did, what he sold, and sometimes, what he bought, if something had enough interesting bits he could modify for his own uses.
Flashfire fingered the end of one of the reins and nodded absentmindedly to himself, they were overdo to stop at Snapples. He had a few packages to deliver, as well as, a few very important messages. He smiled to himself when he thought of Snapples wife, Penny. She was most certain to ask questions about Snapples purchases. He had taken great delight in crafting something useless and impractical, just for her to get annoyed over. Like a magician, he knew his craft well. Distraction and mystification. How he enjoyed his work.

He leaned forward in the drivers bench and tapped a code into the wood. Moments later a man appeared over the top of the canvas navigating the lines hand-over-hand, the easy way he navigated the canvas had a feeling of ship rigging and the masts of great sailing vessels, which was only expected given where the man had started out his life. He slipped easily over the planking and into the spot next to Flashfire, where he regarded him from underneath that which inspired his name, a porkpie hat in black and grey. He had a scar on his chin that stretched upwards, although how far upwards one could not gather, as the hat obscured all the rest of him from scrutiny.

“His stil followin. Tinks his clever. Subtle as a Piker, makes mo noiz then 2 quinks.”

“Inexperienced?”

“Nah!, jus’ no a good trackr. I magine his ga betta trainin as a killr”

“Hmmm.. When was the fisk last fed?”

“Da o two ago. Ga a big mess o fish, gave em.”

Flashfire pulled a lever from underneath his seat. There is an almost silent whisper of hinges sliding open and something falling onto the passing ground beneath them.

“Wa if’n he eats im?”

“Are you concerned for his wellbeing?”

“Nah! Jus wondrin if’n we need worr bout the coppies”

“If he gets himself eaten by a fisk he’s not a very good assassin then, is he?, besides, the fisks already full. Though, he might be inclined to nibble.”

He and Brimhat shared a momentary smile that turned into mutual kench when the quiet night was disturbed by a sudden unexpected screech of surprise from some distance behind  them.

“Loos like e’ foun im”

Poems

Peeking in at myself

The more I write and practice, the more I realize that there are wonderful stories inside me. Like a terrible narcissist, I find myself in love with bits of things I write. I read them over and over, not out of ego, as one might assume, but out of shock, that this really beautiful thing came out of me. I have only ever felt this way when I look at Z. It just feels really..really good inside, to know, I am good at something.

I am tentatively falling on love with my ability to write. It’s like meeting someone with the potential to mean everything to you. You are terrified, but much too interested to stop, because this could be it, this could truly be the ONE. The one that could break you, make you, reshape you.

This is the biggest step I have ever made towards a concentrated focus on one area of interest. I love learning and this really feels like the one I want to commit with. (That sounds dorky, but you know what I mean)

This feels like happiness.

Poems

Flashfire opening paragraph

“The creaking of the wagon never bothered Flashfire. It was a sound he heard everyday. It was steady, like a heartbeat, sure and solid. It signaled travel, and it made his itchy feet less itchy. It was a sound of permanence. People might not understand how a wagon, that traveled endlessly, could be a symbol of permanence, but that was because they thought of a single place as home. For Flashfire, the  entire world of Cerulean was home, and no greater contentment could be found than walking its length from end to end, like a proud homeowner, making sure every part was properly tended.”

Poems

Notes to self:

Management always has “Just one more task before you leave for the day”

Wind is scary sometimes.

Losing all your music isn’t a tragedy, it’s an opportunity. What music will you discover looking to replace the old stuff?

Hair Dye will not kill you, even if it is annoying. Otherwise it would be called Hair Die. Except for your BIL, he’s allergic to hair dye, in his case, it really WILL kill him.

Talking to yourself in the dark can totally be written off as praying…only with more dorky conjecture and less God.

Having 5 typewriters does too make you a collector. I just decreed it as so, and therefore it must be true. This only works because my parliament needs only one vote.

Poems

Noticed on the way to work

Tom Baker. Who played Dr Who #4 Is well known for his distinctive look. He wears a floppy hat, multi-colored scarf, and long duster-type coat. I kid you not, there is this guy, on the bus, who dresses like him,every single day. I always wondered if he was a fan, or somehow accidentally just happened to look like him. Well, he had a Tardis t-shirt on under his coat and vest (Yes. I said vest)  today so I finally have that question answered. I wanted to take a photo sooo bad, but was pretty sure he would not have been amused.

The other thing, that happened, was that I spotted a Mini Cooper, yellow with black racing stripes, with the licence plate Hon B. Since the Mini Cooper is my favorite car, I was slightly miffed. She has my car AND my licence plate. Bummer. lol

 

 

 

Poems

Oy!

My Kindle lost its mind. It deleted every single one of my playlists. I was (how shall I put rhis) mildly upset about it. (If by mildly you mean I said some very bad, not so good words). I was able to use Send Anywhere to get my songs back, but had to restore my Kindle in order to fix what deleted them in the first place. Umm…I use store for so many passwords I should be ashamed. I have had to upload all my books from Amazon again, Use my Dropbox to get my content back, and pretty much find every damned password I ever created. I am seriously embarrassed by how much I use this little device. Like SERIOUSLY.

I listen to music, a lot. Like 365 songs, a lot. I have rather eclectic tastes, so finding my lost files (the ones not saved anywhere as they are new-ish) Is becoming a bit..er..sticky.

I read just as much as I listen to music. Since I only keep 10 books loaded at a time, however, it took way less time.

I use my Kindle to blog on also, as well as, research and playing on the net. I use Skype, messenger, and Facebook to keep in touch with friends and family.

I store photos so I can see people even when I am on the go. I hope to print and create albums of all the places I have been. It will be a slow process, as income must be considered, but I am determined my life exist in tangible memory form.

I also use my Kindle for a work calender, bus schedule reference and clock.

Yeah, It’s the thing that tells me when to breathe. Lol

Anyway, I am slowly getting my stuff back in order. I lost some work (Brimhat and Flashfire) but luckily I have backups on my Dropbox account..if I can just find the password. Sigh***

 

 

Poems

Saturn Square Pluto

I admit it, this one really made me extremely emotional. I am sharing it, because it helps me to know, that all my struggles have the power to remake me. That there are others who have this aspect too, and I am not alone. Also, I am incredibly f’ing proud over overcoming this crap. This is me, thus is at the heart of my struggle to bloom and become.

Saturn Square Pluto:

“You may already sense that life hasn’t been easy for those who have a Pluto and Saturn aspect prominent in their charts. Many with the combination have led harder lives than the rest of us can begin to imagine. Those same painful circumstances have given many of these people the strength of diamonds and a matching tough-as-nails outlook.
 
If I were to sugar coat this analysis for the sake of being upbeat, these folks—eagle-eyed critics that they’re —would skewer me. You may well find the realities of their lives hard to hear about. These people, on the other hand, find it healing to have someone acknowledge what they have been through without judging or rushing to offer simplistic answers to the complex and deeply ingrained difficulties they have spent a lifetime trying to overcome.
 
GROWING UP THE HARD WAY: Plutonians tend to have difficult childhoods that feature losses, betrayals, or abuses of power.  When Pluto and Saturn combine and are strongly featured, a tough childhood is far more likely.  Many of my clients who had this combination were faced with physical, sexual, or emotional abuse or sometimes all three.”