all which isn't singing is mere talking
and all talking's talking to oneself
(whether that oneself be sought or seeking
master or disciple sheep or wolf)
gush to it as deity or devil
-toss in sobs and reasons threats and smiles
name it cruel fair or blessed evil-
it is you (ne i)nobody else
drive dumb mankind dizzy with haranguing
-you are deafened every mother's son-
all is merely talk which isn't singing
and all talking's to oneself alone
but the very song of(as mountains
feel and lovers)singing is silence
e.e. cummings
Monday, September 17, 2012
Thursday, September 13, 2012
The past few weeks have been, well, a bit interesting.
Everything at work has been on crack since the return of students and faculty. My job has become a lot busier and more demanding, which is exciting, but also tiring. I moved into my new office, where I'll be the rest of the year, and it is my little oasis of peace. I spend a lot of my day working with the students at the Helpdesk and running around to places on campus like the registrar and the finance offices to fix a zillion java plug-in problems, so I love coming back to my quiet nook of an office. I share the room with a lovely woman named Becky, and we have a big window with a view of beautiful trees and the old-fashioned dark red brick of Schneider and Billings Hall next door.
But it has been even more than work. This was a big summer for friendships and having to decide when something is healthy and when a relationship is toxic. There's also the transition of relationships that were easy to maintain during the stress-free summer months, which now require more attention and thought since we're all back to work full-time and living in different parts of the city. I've been feeling a bit emotionally drained lately, from all of the attention I've been giving these kinds of things.
I've also been experiencing a lot of miscommunication lately, which is not normal for me. Usually I can be effective with my communication skills, it's one of the reasons I feel so confident having so many friends I keep in touch with. This plus stress at work plus the return of some emotional complications from the end of my last semester, and you've got a tired Lucy with too many things to think about, floundering about unable to get anything done.
After about an hour of trying to start something and immediately forgetting what I was about to do this morning, enough was enough. The other night at an open choir rehearsal for the Boston Choral Ensemble, we sight-read one of my favorite choral pieces by Gabriel Faure, the Cantique de Jean Racine. Wellesley gives me access to Naxos music online, so I searched for the piece and just sat and listened to it. Then I searched for the newest addition to my performance repertoire, Cantata 51 by J.S. Bach for solo soprano. I listened to the two middle movements, my favorites of the piece for their yrical and floating melodic lines, and the balance between tension and sweet resolution. The accompaniment of the aria is stunning in its flowing and circular atmosphere, the foundation to a melodic line that is complex and unsure of itself at times. This seems to me to be a beautiful connection to the text, which is a supplication to God to continue to make each day new and beautiful. The text trusts in God's promise to remain the same, but there is still the feeling of uncertainty and a need for hope. The sequential patterns of the accompaniment are both stabilizing, but also searching.
This kind of Bach reminds me of his flute Sonata in B minor, which I played my sophomore year at Wellesley. Playing, singing, and listening to Bach, I realize, is something that utterly grounds me. The B minor Sonata was a piece that I felt I could play from my heart, because it is full of pain and seeming upsets and let downs, but there are still precious moments of hope and resolution. Put altogether, the piece is beautiful, but for me it was something like therapy to play it through on my crappiest days. I would leave the practice room more awake and content, feeling like there can be hope for resolution, no matter how dismal a day can be. I've been reading and memorizing scripture more lately, but I also need to remember that music is the way I connect with God the best. It is my path to feeling strength in His firm foundation.
A lot is going on now, and I can't say when it will stop. In the future, I'm sure I will face much more than this. So I will place my hope and trust in God and stop wearing myself out emotionally and mentally. I believe that He knows that path my feet will take, and the good my hands will do.He loves me, and even when I am surrounded by others who love me, I still need His love.
It's moments like this one, where I remember that I am truly, at heart, a musician, and that living with my music is something I don't just enjoy. It's something I need.
Everything at work has been on crack since the return of students and faculty. My job has become a lot busier and more demanding, which is exciting, but also tiring. I moved into my new office, where I'll be the rest of the year, and it is my little oasis of peace. I spend a lot of my day working with the students at the Helpdesk and running around to places on campus like the registrar and the finance offices to fix a zillion java plug-in problems, so I love coming back to my quiet nook of an office. I share the room with a lovely woman named Becky, and we have a big window with a view of beautiful trees and the old-fashioned dark red brick of Schneider and Billings Hall next door.
But it has been even more than work. This was a big summer for friendships and having to decide when something is healthy and when a relationship is toxic. There's also the transition of relationships that were easy to maintain during the stress-free summer months, which now require more attention and thought since we're all back to work full-time and living in different parts of the city. I've been feeling a bit emotionally drained lately, from all of the attention I've been giving these kinds of things.
I've also been experiencing a lot of miscommunication lately, which is not normal for me. Usually I can be effective with my communication skills, it's one of the reasons I feel so confident having so many friends I keep in touch with. This plus stress at work plus the return of some emotional complications from the end of my last semester, and you've got a tired Lucy with too many things to think about, floundering about unable to get anything done.
After about an hour of trying to start something and immediately forgetting what I was about to do this morning, enough was enough. The other night at an open choir rehearsal for the Boston Choral Ensemble, we sight-read one of my favorite choral pieces by Gabriel Faure, the Cantique de Jean Racine. Wellesley gives me access to Naxos music online, so I searched for the piece and just sat and listened to it. Then I searched for the newest addition to my performance repertoire, Cantata 51 by J.S. Bach for solo soprano. I listened to the two middle movements, my favorites of the piece for their yrical and floating melodic lines, and the balance between tension and sweet resolution. The accompaniment of the aria is stunning in its flowing and circular atmosphere, the foundation to a melodic line that is complex and unsure of itself at times. This seems to me to be a beautiful connection to the text, which is a supplication to God to continue to make each day new and beautiful. The text trusts in God's promise to remain the same, but there is still the feeling of uncertainty and a need for hope. The sequential patterns of the accompaniment are both stabilizing, but also searching.
This kind of Bach reminds me of his flute Sonata in B minor, which I played my sophomore year at Wellesley. Playing, singing, and listening to Bach, I realize, is something that utterly grounds me. The B minor Sonata was a piece that I felt I could play from my heart, because it is full of pain and seeming upsets and let downs, but there are still precious moments of hope and resolution. Put altogether, the piece is beautiful, but for me it was something like therapy to play it through on my crappiest days. I would leave the practice room more awake and content, feeling like there can be hope for resolution, no matter how dismal a day can be. I've been reading and memorizing scripture more lately, but I also need to remember that music is the way I connect with God the best. It is my path to feeling strength in His firm foundation.
A lot is going on now, and I can't say when it will stop. In the future, I'm sure I will face much more than this. So I will place my hope and trust in God and stop wearing myself out emotionally and mentally. I believe that He knows that path my feet will take, and the good my hands will do.He loves me, and even when I am surrounded by others who love me, I still need His love.
It's moments like this one, where I remember that I am truly, at heart, a musician, and that living with my music is something I don't just enjoy. It's something I need.
Thursday, August 9, 2012
covered walls
I started a tumblr a couple of weeks ago, inspired by that of a friend. She posted the link to her facebook, and I was struck by the vibrant, beautiful images she had amassed. They screamed out happiness and pure delight, which is something this friend of mine radiates. I immediately felt drawn to pool together images I loved. sure I have a facebook and a pinterest and a blog. But this new forum could be just for pictures, for putting things there I may need to look at on a bad day, or during a coffee break at work when I'm tired. It's amazing what kind of little impact an image can have on you.
Anyone that has ever visited a room of mine would have experienced my love of images. My first real room to myself was in the little red house on the lake in Westford. When my sister left for college I was a sophomore in highschool, and I got to expand to the other side of our attic room. The ceiling walls met at a point barely above my standing height, and sloped down to the ground. We slept on mattresses on the floor, had pull out drawers to attempt to organize our clothes and the ceiling was split into 8 sections by wooden paneling. Sometimes I still have nightmares about cleaning that room, but most often, I think about the hours I spent arranging and re-arranging pictures on those walls. I could use tacks, so I was constantly re-doing the entire thing, having a whole panel of artwork I did at school and another with quotes I loved, another with pictures of these friends and then these other memories. I had trinkets and beads and glittery sun-catchers hanging in front of my windows, dried bouquets of roses hanging from the very center of the room.
That bedroom was my sanctuary, and I exploded my teenage thoughts, emotions, and confusions onto those walls.
The same pattern took place with my decorating in college, perhaps a little more toned down by purchases of nice posters and gifts of framed family paintings. My room definitely had the least blank wall space of the majority of my friends.
I'm moving into my first apartment next Wednesday and I'm excited to think about all those blank walls.
This time, there will be no tacks or scotch tape. No gummy sticky stuff that was never supposed to stick to the walls when you removed the poster at the end of the year, but always did. My friend gave me a toolkit in an orange case when she left college, and I intend to use it. I'll frame the images that means the most to me, and hang them, level them. Maybe move them around a bit until the feng shui is just right.
It feels more grown-up this time. Maybe I am growing up.
Or maybe spending so much time updating my tumblr is going to give me more ideas than will fit on my walls.
We'll see.
Anyone that has ever visited a room of mine would have experienced my love of images. My first real room to myself was in the little red house on the lake in Westford. When my sister left for college I was a sophomore in highschool, and I got to expand to the other side of our attic room. The ceiling walls met at a point barely above my standing height, and sloped down to the ground. We slept on mattresses on the floor, had pull out drawers to attempt to organize our clothes and the ceiling was split into 8 sections by wooden paneling. Sometimes I still have nightmares about cleaning that room, but most often, I think about the hours I spent arranging and re-arranging pictures on those walls. I could use tacks, so I was constantly re-doing the entire thing, having a whole panel of artwork I did at school and another with quotes I loved, another with pictures of these friends and then these other memories. I had trinkets and beads and glittery sun-catchers hanging in front of my windows, dried bouquets of roses hanging from the very center of the room.
That bedroom was my sanctuary, and I exploded my teenage thoughts, emotions, and confusions onto those walls.
The same pattern took place with my decorating in college, perhaps a little more toned down by purchases of nice posters and gifts of framed family paintings. My room definitely had the least blank wall space of the majority of my friends.
I'm moving into my first apartment next Wednesday and I'm excited to think about all those blank walls.
This time, there will be no tacks or scotch tape. No gummy sticky stuff that was never supposed to stick to the walls when you removed the poster at the end of the year, but always did. My friend gave me a toolkit in an orange case when she left college, and I intend to use it. I'll frame the images that means the most to me, and hang them, level them. Maybe move them around a bit until the feng shui is just right.
It feels more grown-up this time. Maybe I am growing up.
Or maybe spending so much time updating my tumblr is going to give me more ideas than will fit on my walls.
We'll see.
Tuesday, July 17, 2012
Friday, July 13, 2012
sound bites
These days, I tend to be very in tune with myself about my musical cravings at any given moment. It takes after my food cravings, in that usually for a few days I have irrepressible urges for the same things over and over, and then they quietly switch to something new and completely different a while later. For a few weeks there, every day at 3 o'clock, it would be necessary for me to eat a bag of fritos. In March I wanted salad with ranch dressing a lot. Usually rootbeer and charleston chews go together.
Some days when I'm a bit down, I want emotional music, maybe even a bit sad, to make me feel better. These two songs seem to have stuck with me since the summer started:
This week was different though--with a radical juxtaposition of happy and angry, I would get to work every morning needing this adorable song:
And find myself driving home late at night, singing along to this one:
All lovely, some happy, some sad.
LB
Some days when I'm a bit down, I want emotional music, maybe even a bit sad, to make me feel better. These two songs seem to have stuck with me since the summer started:
This week was different though--with a radical juxtaposition of happy and angry, I would get to work every morning needing this adorable song:
All lovely, some happy, some sad.
LB
Proverbs
I've put a new Bible verse in my little yellow book, and it's from an e-mail my mom sent me earlier today.
"Better is a dinner of herbs where love is, than a fatted ox and hatred with it." Proverbs 15:17
It has been an awesome week at work, more than a month now on the job. I finally know enough to start working on all of my own projects, so I'm very, very happy. We also helped out a friend of mine by volunteering last minute to host two British girls for the last few days. The Selwyn College Choir from Cambridge University in England is on their first ever US tour, starting in Boston and travelling to New Haven, Philadelphia, New York, and D.C. My brother, grandmother, and I worked together to make our guests, May and Jo, feel welcome and at home. That meant good food, relaxation, music-making and of course, a trip to Kimball Farm for enormous sundaes.
In light of the wonderful experiences I've been having this week, there have been some very serious things on my mind as well. Earlier this week I had what must be my first conflict with a friend in over 4 years (they tend to happen about every 4-5 years with me), and it has left me shocked, hurt, and a bit bewildered.
The situation is so difficult, painful, and complicated, that I feel like there is nothing I really can do to change it right now in any sort of positive way. Walking away, for me, is usually not the solution.
But in this case, I think that's what needs to be done. At least for a while. The verse from Proverbs struck me because I'm not the kind of person who walks away from people in my life (ever), and I also am always more comfortable with putting myself in a dangerous position, because I trust that I have a thick skin. Thinking about what could happen if I were to place myself in the line of fire this time, I know that it would be unnecessary abuse. My friend has made it clear that her idea of a "conversation" is to have me listen to everything she has to say, but I don't think she intends to listen to me.
For now, I will stick to my herbs. Especially since those with love are finally getting back from being away all week.
love,
LB
Friday, July 6, 2012
little book
Before my final semester at Wellesley began, I made a new commitment.
I committed myself to trusting God, in all aspects of my life.
Piece by piece, I handed over everything I had tried to hold on to and manage by myself since returning home from my junior year abroad. This included my relationships, with family, friends, and boyfriends. I gave up my past, my present, and my future plans. I asked God to reveal my passions and dreams to me, because I didn't know what they were anymore. I told Him, I would let Him do it His way, because my way was not working.
My goals for the last semester were basic ones. I wanted to succeed in my classes and feel like I could do my work well and be interested in what I was learning. The desire to find a church, and go to it was another major thing. I remember asking my friend Grace for help with even getting myself into a church, since my lack of motivation and tendency to just blow things off was overwhelmingly strong. Sometimes you don't realize how much you needed the support of another Christian until you get it. The next big goal, was to figure out what I wanted to do after graduation. The emphasis is on that word: want. Not what I should do. Not what I would do.
A big part of my commitment to trusting God meant, to me, that I would start trusting that no matter what happened after graduation, I would be OK. So, I focused instead on asking Him, well, what are my gifts? What am I good at, and what gives me joy to do? What would I work a 9-5 crapola job, just so I could do this other thing, and maybe eventually be able to do that for my job?
I guess the reason I'm suddenly thinking about that time of my life (back in January) is because of a little notebook I bought a few weeks ago. It's maybe 1.5 inches wide and 2.5 inches high, with a yellow cover, handmade paper, and a red ribbon bookmark. I bought it like I usually buy notebooks--without any clear idea of what I would write in it. Usually, that part figures itself out.
During my first week of work, I was sitting at my computer and suddenly had an idea. That first week was pretty hard emotionally, because this semester the other big piece I handed over to God was my romantic life (if you give this to God, expect some harsh lessons about yourself!) I needed comfort, and I found it in two verses.
"In his heart, a man plans his course, but the Lord determines his steps"- Proverbs 16:9
"Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; lean not unto thine own understanding, but in all thy ways acknowledge Him and he shall direct thy paths." - Proverbs 3:5-6
These two verses are the first ones written in my little book, and how grateful and blessed I feel to be sitting here at an amazing job one full month after writing these verses down. This semester, God gave me a church, renewed broken and difficult relationships in my life, rekindled my passion for learning, and helped me find my way back to music, and set me up with a job, an apartment, and time to spend with my family. He even, of late, has revealed a side of romance that I never dreamed possible.
God teaches me every day about life, His love, and about how He fulfills His promises. Right now I am confident in this promise: He hears and answers our prayers.
love,
Lucy
I committed myself to trusting God, in all aspects of my life.
Piece by piece, I handed over everything I had tried to hold on to and manage by myself since returning home from my junior year abroad. This included my relationships, with family, friends, and boyfriends. I gave up my past, my present, and my future plans. I asked God to reveal my passions and dreams to me, because I didn't know what they were anymore. I told Him, I would let Him do it His way, because my way was not working.
My goals for the last semester were basic ones. I wanted to succeed in my classes and feel like I could do my work well and be interested in what I was learning. The desire to find a church, and go to it was another major thing. I remember asking my friend Grace for help with even getting myself into a church, since my lack of motivation and tendency to just blow things off was overwhelmingly strong. Sometimes you don't realize how much you needed the support of another Christian until you get it. The next big goal, was to figure out what I wanted to do after graduation. The emphasis is on that word: want. Not what I should do. Not what I would do.
A big part of my commitment to trusting God meant, to me, that I would start trusting that no matter what happened after graduation, I would be OK. So, I focused instead on asking Him, well, what are my gifts? What am I good at, and what gives me joy to do? What would I work a 9-5 crapola job, just so I could do this other thing, and maybe eventually be able to do that for my job?
I guess the reason I'm suddenly thinking about that time of my life (back in January) is because of a little notebook I bought a few weeks ago. It's maybe 1.5 inches wide and 2.5 inches high, with a yellow cover, handmade paper, and a red ribbon bookmark. I bought it like I usually buy notebooks--without any clear idea of what I would write in it. Usually, that part figures itself out.
During my first week of work, I was sitting at my computer and suddenly had an idea. That first week was pretty hard emotionally, because this semester the other big piece I handed over to God was my romantic life (if you give this to God, expect some harsh lessons about yourself!) I needed comfort, and I found it in two verses.
"In his heart, a man plans his course, but the Lord determines his steps"- Proverbs 16:9
"Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; lean not unto thine own understanding, but in all thy ways acknowledge Him and he shall direct thy paths." - Proverbs 3:5-6
These two verses are the first ones written in my little book, and how grateful and blessed I feel to be sitting here at an amazing job one full month after writing these verses down. This semester, God gave me a church, renewed broken and difficult relationships in my life, rekindled my passion for learning, and helped me find my way back to music, and set me up with a job, an apartment, and time to spend with my family. He even, of late, has revealed a side of romance that I never dreamed possible.
God teaches me every day about life, His love, and about how He fulfills His promises. Right now I am confident in this promise: He hears and answers our prayers.
love,
Lucy
Sunday, June 17, 2012
morning person
God, best at making in the morning, tossed
stars and planets, singing and dancing, rolled
Saturn's rings singing and humming, twirled the Earth
so hard it coughed and spat the moon up, brilliant
bubble floating around it for good, stretched holy
hands till birds in nervous sparks flew forth from
them and beasts--- lizards, big and little, apes
lions, elephants, dogs and cats cavorting,
tumbling over themselves, dizzy with joy when
God made us in the morning too, both man
and woman, leaving Adam no time for
sleep so nimbly was Eve bouncing out of
his side till as night came everything and
everybody, growing tired, declined, sat
down in one soft descended Hallelujah.
-Vassar Miller
from my favorite poetry anthology, Good Poems by Garrison Keillor
Yesterday, I would say, was a day that started early, was full of good, beautiful work, and ended with one soft Hallelujah.
Today, it seems, is beginning with such an Hallelujah. May it never leave my lips, but stream forth. Forevermore.
oh dear, apple pecan pear pie.
-Christopher Robin
stars and planets, singing and dancing, rolled
Saturn's rings singing and humming, twirled the Earth
so hard it coughed and spat the moon up, brilliant
bubble floating around it for good, stretched holy
hands till birds in nervous sparks flew forth from
them and beasts--- lizards, big and little, apes
lions, elephants, dogs and cats cavorting,
tumbling over themselves, dizzy with joy when
God made us in the morning too, both man
and woman, leaving Adam no time for
sleep so nimbly was Eve bouncing out of
his side till as night came everything and
everybody, growing tired, declined, sat
down in one soft descended Hallelujah.
-Vassar Miller
from my favorite poetry anthology, Good Poems by Garrison Keillor
Yesterday, I would say, was a day that started early, was full of good, beautiful work, and ended with one soft Hallelujah.
Today, it seems, is beginning with such an Hallelujah. May it never leave my lips, but stream forth. Forevermore.
oh dear, apple pecan pear pie.
-Christopher Robin
Tuesday, June 5, 2012
Christmas in June
I've been home only a week or so, and I've got this funny happy warm feeling all of the time.
At first I thought it was just leftover excitement from this month---my birthday, being with Alexander and Clara in Berlin, and then spending senior week with my dearest friends and finally graduation. That weekend I ate all of my favorite foods and saw my family and old friends. Then I got a job offer at Wellesley College and a day later settled on a beautiful, wonderful, perfect first apartment.
That's quite a lot to provide for warm butterfly feelings.
I took this week off work (since my first official day is next Monday anyway, and I can't get my desk computer to like the Windows 7 upgrade) and I've been loving the time off. It's only been since yesterday, since I was on grandma duty the whole weekend while my Ammah (mom's mom) was here for her 70th Wellesley reunion (another post, another time). In this short span of 24 hours, I've slept a ton, gone running, snuggled with my puppies, baked cakes, done crafts, read some, and played music. Yesterday, attempting to get some html training done, I went to my town library (wifi!) and ended up, alas, on pinterest, and then checking out 15 cds.
Half were Christmas cds.
And now, sitting here in pjs, slippers, an apron, with tea, chips&salsa and pickles, my favorite afternoon snack, it has hit me. It feels like I'm truly on holiday, and the best one. Christmas. I've got it all, family and friends home, time for cooking and baking, and this irrepressible feeling of love for those around me.
Bublé's rendition of "I'll be Home for Christmas" came on and I had a flashback to myself this past December. What a wreck! I posted a video of myself singing this song and plucking the guitar the night before I came home for winter break, and I remember feeling so miserable. Yes, I was happy to be coming home and to be looking forward to going to Vienna for New Year's, but I remember this feeling of hopelessness that neither were really home. Maybe it was because I was so lost in myself, that I felt I didn't belong anyway. I don't know.
But, I can tell now, that feeling of lostness and not really having a home, is gone. So yes, I'm going to go ahead and have myself a merry little Christmas. In June. Unofficial, of course. I'll just quietly sneak around giving my loved ones baked goods and little thank yous and notes (with the pretense of birthday and graduation present thank yous). But really, what I'm trying to say is, hey, I'm so happy we get to be family. Or friends. I feel so lucky with my lot in life, even if sometimes it's stinky, like Watson. I never want to feel as low as I did this past Christmas, and I think I've figured out even just a little bit more, what Christmas is all about.
Maybe we can feel like it's Christmas all year long, like the Charlie Brown song suggests.
There is one Christmas song I can and do listen to almost every day---it always makes me think of the day in late November that my little bro got on a plane and I had to say good-bye after his week with me in Vienna. Walking home, I felt suddenly so alone and missed my family and missed my brother already and didn't know quite what to do with myself. This song came on shuffle on my ipod, and it began to snow. The very first snowfall that winter----
I smiled. And laughed. And played this song on repeat long enough to walk all around my neighborhood in the snow, and realize that there were so many more surprises and wonderful things to experience in Vienna, even if I were a bit sad and quite lonely.
Listening to this song, I have my own little Christmas all on my own, and find just another little reason to keep smiling each day. And especially, today.
-lab
At first I thought it was just leftover excitement from this month---my birthday, being with Alexander and Clara in Berlin, and then spending senior week with my dearest friends and finally graduation. That weekend I ate all of my favorite foods and saw my family and old friends. Then I got a job offer at Wellesley College and a day later settled on a beautiful, wonderful, perfect first apartment.
That's quite a lot to provide for warm butterfly feelings.
I took this week off work (since my first official day is next Monday anyway, and I can't get my desk computer to like the Windows 7 upgrade) and I've been loving the time off. It's only been since yesterday, since I was on grandma duty the whole weekend while my Ammah (mom's mom) was here for her 70th Wellesley reunion (another post, another time). In this short span of 24 hours, I've slept a ton, gone running, snuggled with my puppies, baked cakes, done crafts, read some, and played music. Yesterday, attempting to get some html training done, I went to my town library (wifi!) and ended up, alas, on pinterest, and then checking out 15 cds.
Half were Christmas cds.
And now, sitting here in pjs, slippers, an apron, with tea, chips&salsa and pickles, my favorite afternoon snack, it has hit me. It feels like I'm truly on holiday, and the best one. Christmas. I've got it all, family and friends home, time for cooking and baking, and this irrepressible feeling of love for those around me.
Bublé's rendition of "I'll be Home for Christmas" came on and I had a flashback to myself this past December. What a wreck! I posted a video of myself singing this song and plucking the guitar the night before I came home for winter break, and I remember feeling so miserable. Yes, I was happy to be coming home and to be looking forward to going to Vienna for New Year's, but I remember this feeling of hopelessness that neither were really home. Maybe it was because I was so lost in myself, that I felt I didn't belong anyway. I don't know.
But, I can tell now, that feeling of lostness and not really having a home, is gone. So yes, I'm going to go ahead and have myself a merry little Christmas. In June. Unofficial, of course. I'll just quietly sneak around giving my loved ones baked goods and little thank yous and notes (with the pretense of birthday and graduation present thank yous). But really, what I'm trying to say is, hey, I'm so happy we get to be family. Or friends. I feel so lucky with my lot in life, even if sometimes it's stinky, like Watson. I never want to feel as low as I did this past Christmas, and I think I've figured out even just a little bit more, what Christmas is all about.
Maybe we can feel like it's Christmas all year long, like the Charlie Brown song suggests.
There is one Christmas song I can and do listen to almost every day---it always makes me think of the day in late November that my little bro got on a plane and I had to say good-bye after his week with me in Vienna. Walking home, I felt suddenly so alone and missed my family and missed my brother already and didn't know quite what to do with myself. This song came on shuffle on my ipod, and it began to snow. The very first snowfall that winter----
I smiled. And laughed. And played this song on repeat long enough to walk all around my neighborhood in the snow, and realize that there were so many more surprises and wonderful things to experience in Vienna, even if I were a bit sad and quite lonely.
Listening to this song, I have my own little Christmas all on my own, and find just another little reason to keep smiling each day. And especially, today.
Thursday, May 24, 2012
ein moment
a moment--
is exactly what i haven't had to sit down and write in 2 weeks.
but it's exactly what the last two weeks have been; a thousandmillionzillion moments blending and blurring one into the next, more beautiful that the last. How have I celebrated my birthday, finished exams, planted trees, seen old friends after months, flown to Berlin and back, danced so hard my feet bled and bruised, and gave a final solo performance in the chapel all in the last two weeks?
No wonder I feel a bit, well, overwhelmed by the amount of events clogging my mind for re-hash, re-visiting, and my favorite German word, nachdenken. It literally means "after-thinking", so to think back, reflect.
Oh, I forgot to mention that I gave a final second round interview for a job I would be happy to tears to be offered, and am still waiting to hear back about another job possibility as well. And, tomorrow the Red Class of 2012 graduates.
How does all of this happen?
I noticed last night, while at the Colonnade Hotel in Boston for the Senior Gala, that I've subconsciously devised a tactic for dealing with the fact that I haven't had time to write or be still much in the last few weeks. The room was full of friends and loved ones dancing and enjoying themselves, and every so often I would just sit and watch and smile. This happened earlier, at dinner too. These little tiny moments of pulling myself out of the picture and just enjoying the contentment of seeing everyone I love being truly themselves (aka Mika dancing crazy, Hilary being a total weirdo, and Joho a glamor queen). Maybe this sounds silly, but I found myself picturing exactly what each of our wedding receptions would be like someday, full of people we love and moments we're savoring, and with everyone being fully themselves.
Fully enjoying just---being together.
That, for me, is really what I'm sad about, as far as graduation goes. Get me the hell out of the dorm, away from dorm food, and into a place of my own. I'm ready. But I'm going to miss this community like nothing else. Having everything and everyone I need just a few doors away or up a floor or two. That will never happen again.
In June, I'll have plenty of time at the lake in Michigan to write and write and write until I use up all of the pens in the house. Until then, let the fun, excitement, dancing, picture-taking, and time with family and friends continue.
Here's to us, the Red Class!
-LB
is exactly what i haven't had to sit down and write in 2 weeks.
but it's exactly what the last two weeks have been; a thousandmillionzillion moments blending and blurring one into the next, more beautiful that the last. How have I celebrated my birthday, finished exams, planted trees, seen old friends after months, flown to Berlin and back, danced so hard my feet bled and bruised, and gave a final solo performance in the chapel all in the last two weeks?
No wonder I feel a bit, well, overwhelmed by the amount of events clogging my mind for re-hash, re-visiting, and my favorite German word, nachdenken. It literally means "after-thinking", so to think back, reflect.
Oh, I forgot to mention that I gave a final second round interview for a job I would be happy to tears to be offered, and am still waiting to hear back about another job possibility as well. And, tomorrow the Red Class of 2012 graduates.
How does all of this happen?
I noticed last night, while at the Colonnade Hotel in Boston for the Senior Gala, that I've subconsciously devised a tactic for dealing with the fact that I haven't had time to write or be still much in the last few weeks. The room was full of friends and loved ones dancing and enjoying themselves, and every so often I would just sit and watch and smile. This happened earlier, at dinner too. These little tiny moments of pulling myself out of the picture and just enjoying the contentment of seeing everyone I love being truly themselves (aka Mika dancing crazy, Hilary being a total weirdo, and Joho a glamor queen). Maybe this sounds silly, but I found myself picturing exactly what each of our wedding receptions would be like someday, full of people we love and moments we're savoring, and with everyone being fully themselves.
Fully enjoying just---being together.
That, for me, is really what I'm sad about, as far as graduation goes. Get me the hell out of the dorm, away from dorm food, and into a place of my own. I'm ready. But I'm going to miss this community like nothing else. Having everything and everyone I need just a few doors away or up a floor or two. That will never happen again.
In June, I'll have plenty of time at the lake in Michigan to write and write and write until I use up all of the pens in the house. Until then, let the fun, excitement, dancing, picture-taking, and time with family and friends continue.
Here's to us, the Red Class!
-LB
Thursday, May 3, 2012
irgendwann
I get made fun of a lot at work about my adoration of wedding blogs.
One of the first pinterest boards (irgendwann) I started last July was in fact, a wedding idea board. But my love for wedding planning and dreaming has existed...since I was really little. Actually, even before high school. and middle school. Let's just say, my favorite Halloween costume was of me in a white dress. And it wasn't a zombie queen or a fairy, it was just a plain old bride. I think I wore that costume at least 2 or 3 years in a row in elementary school, until it was phased out by the authentic Japanese geisha girl robe my Great-Grandma Mimi bought in Japan on one of her many steamboat travels to the far side of the world.
Needless to say, I was a little upset years later upon reading Memoirs of a Geisha to find out what I had been dressing up as all those years. Gee, thanks, mom.
When I was little, I dreamt about a 2 key things all the time. The first was to be discovered by an agent who would whisk me off to California and have me star in remakes of all of my favorite childhood fantasy books. We're talking Ella in Ella Enchanted (imagine my FURY at the horrible Anne Hathaway excuse for a rendition of the book I read bi-monthly from the age of 11-15), Lucy in the Chronicles of Narnia, and Agba (the mute stable boy...) in King of the Wind, my favorite horse book. What else did I dream about?
Well, falling in love and getting married. I honestly believe that my love of letter writing stems from the 50+ times that i have read Ella Enchanted. There is an entire section of the book where she and Char send each other letters, with different fonts for the different handwriting (Ella's was cramped and rushed, Char had a wide, smooth grace to his script), and this section was always my favorite. If I think back on all of the relationships I've had, there was always a focus on sending letters. The first summer I was in love, I wrote my boy a letter every single day, sitting in a willow tree over the lake at Interlochen, MI. I don't kid around. I was going to do it like they did in the books, and the books I read had heroines who got it done.
I would be lying if I told you that I didn't have more than 1 or 2 different schemes for my wedding. At various stages of my adolescent and young adult life, I have found myself intricately planning what it would be like, if I had to do it all right then and there. One version involves a ceremony at the tiny white church on the hill in Topinabee across the lake in Michigan, and the getaway "boat" waiting for us, complete with streamers to match the white and teal colors of our Donzi speadboat. Another idea was to have it take place in the chapel at Wellesley, in October.
Plans and ideas have only become more tangible these days because of a)the internet b)pinterest and c)my job. Over the summer, I spent entire days on pinterest, and my co-workers fed my addiction with more blogs. But it's funny, the more I look at past ideas, the more I realize I don't have my heart set on anything in particular. Some of my Wellesley friends with serious boyfriends have everything (we're talking E-V-E-R-Y-T-H-I-N-G) already planned out, and have super high expectations. I find that...annerving.
Sure, the first thing is actually having a relationship that lasts more than a few months, which hasn't been the case in the last few years. And, let's get real, I am not really in the mood to be finding anything serious for a while. It's fun---being free and young, especially at weddings. But it is nice, to check in with myself and my pinterest board, and feel chill with the fact that, no matter how much I plan and dream and scheme, real life will be different. And real life, will probably be even more beautiful than I could ever imagine or plan.
So, bring it on.
In the meantime, I'll be busy pinterest-ing, thanks.
One of the first pinterest boards (irgendwann) I started last July was in fact, a wedding idea board. But my love for wedding planning and dreaming has existed...since I was really little. Actually, even before high school. and middle school. Let's just say, my favorite Halloween costume was of me in a white dress. And it wasn't a zombie queen or a fairy, it was just a plain old bride. I think I wore that costume at least 2 or 3 years in a row in elementary school, until it was phased out by the authentic Japanese geisha girl robe my Great-Grandma Mimi bought in Japan on one of her many steamboat travels to the far side of the world.
Needless to say, I was a little upset years later upon reading Memoirs of a Geisha to find out what I had been dressing up as all those years. Gee, thanks, mom.
When I was little, I dreamt about a 2 key things all the time. The first was to be discovered by an agent who would whisk me off to California and have me star in remakes of all of my favorite childhood fantasy books. We're talking Ella in Ella Enchanted (imagine my FURY at the horrible Anne Hathaway excuse for a rendition of the book I read bi-monthly from the age of 11-15), Lucy in the Chronicles of Narnia, and Agba (the mute stable boy...) in King of the Wind, my favorite horse book. What else did I dream about?
Well, falling in love and getting married. I honestly believe that my love of letter writing stems from the 50+ times that i have read Ella Enchanted. There is an entire section of the book where she and Char send each other letters, with different fonts for the different handwriting (Ella's was cramped and rushed, Char had a wide, smooth grace to his script), and this section was always my favorite. If I think back on all of the relationships I've had, there was always a focus on sending letters. The first summer I was in love, I wrote my boy a letter every single day, sitting in a willow tree over the lake at Interlochen, MI. I don't kid around. I was going to do it like they did in the books, and the books I read had heroines who got it done.
I would be lying if I told you that I didn't have more than 1 or 2 different schemes for my wedding. At various stages of my adolescent and young adult life, I have found myself intricately planning what it would be like, if I had to do it all right then and there. One version involves a ceremony at the tiny white church on the hill in Topinabee across the lake in Michigan, and the getaway "boat" waiting for us, complete with streamers to match the white and teal colors of our Donzi speadboat. Another idea was to have it take place in the chapel at Wellesley, in October.
Plans and ideas have only become more tangible these days because of a)the internet b)pinterest and c)my job. Over the summer, I spent entire days on pinterest, and my co-workers fed my addiction with more blogs. But it's funny, the more I look at past ideas, the more I realize I don't have my heart set on anything in particular. Some of my Wellesley friends with serious boyfriends have everything (we're talking E-V-E-R-Y-T-H-I-N-G) already planned out, and have super high expectations. I find that...annerving.
Sure, the first thing is actually having a relationship that lasts more than a few months, which hasn't been the case in the last few years. And, let's get real, I am not really in the mood to be finding anything serious for a while. It's fun---being free and young, especially at weddings. But it is nice, to check in with myself and my pinterest board, and feel chill with the fact that, no matter how much I plan and dream and scheme, real life will be different. And real life, will probably be even more beautiful than I could ever imagine or plan.
So, bring it on.
In the meantime, I'll be busy pinterest-ing, thanks.
Tuesday, May 1, 2012
tats
I had one of those moments today, where I in a flash saw myself being so serious and someone else being so genuinely not-so.
Those are always funny.
So I thought about it for two minutes. If I were to get a tattoo not full of deeper meaning and the central yearning in my soul (which is to travel and fall more in love with the world), what would I get?
First idea: "Jingle Bells" to make me giggle and think about silliness in Vienna, and because I wish it could be Christmas every day.
Second idea: "barbed wire" around my bicep, but made of forget-me-nots instead of spikes.
:D
Monday, April 30, 2012
lily-of-the-valley
I walk past you, early each morning.
You wouldn't notice---early, each morning, I stop and glance your way.
Since last Tuesday, a few of the lower buds have opened. Tiny, crisp, perfect white petals revealed.
But only a few have opened, the rest remain tightly furled, hiding away their secret crispness,
perfection.
I'll keep stopping. Waiting. Wondering.
When will the day come?
I wait, to pick only one of you.
Perhaps then, I could give you as my gift.
The sole offering.
Sweetness and fragrance, a
tiny
reminder of morning.
(Quiet walks in the morning.
With thoughts in one world alone)
You, little flower, are all I could conceive of to give.
(Asking nothing
in return.)
You wouldn't notice---early, each morning, I stop and glance your way.
Since last Tuesday, a few of the lower buds have opened. Tiny, crisp, perfect white petals revealed.
But only a few have opened, the rest remain tightly furled, hiding away their secret crispness,
perfection.
I'll keep stopping. Waiting. Wondering.
When will the day come?
I wait, to pick only one of you.
Perhaps then, I could give you as my gift.
The sole offering.
Sweetness and fragrance, a
tiny
reminder of morning.
(Quiet walks in the morning.
With thoughts in one world alone)
You, little flower, are all I could conceive of to give.
(Asking nothing
in return.)
life post-wellesley
Today is the start of the last week of undergraduate classes. ever.
In the next two weeks, I have 4 papers and one take-home final ahead of me. Then my birthday, Berlin, graduation, and barbecues up the wazoo.
Naturally, I'm procrastinating the work and just dreaming about what life will be like, in under a month.
I've got some ideas.
Post-graduate Priorities (in no particular order):
In the next two weeks, I have 4 papers and one take-home final ahead of me. Then my birthday, Berlin, graduation, and barbecues up the wazoo.
Naturally, I'm procrastinating the work and just dreaming about what life will be like, in under a month.
I've got some ideas.
Post-graduate Priorities (in no particular order):
- Hike. As in, at least a couple times a month in the summer, I want to do a real hike. Grab some friends, a tent, pack supplies, and do two day hikes in Vermont, NH, and Maine.
- Read. I'm 100 pages into Game of Thrones. One of five. I've also got a whole list of Russian novels to delve into, after I finish my Russian ideology and novel course. We didn't cover any Tolstoy, so I've got plenty of material.
- Coffee and tea. Outside. Barefoot. Sweaters. Sitting on the dock in Michigan. Sitting on the grass at my grandma's. Cafes in Boston. Anywhere, really.
- Cook outs. Complete with burgers, beer, and friends.
- Jam. Make so much music with people I like. Continue the morphological sillies project with Ellen (check it out on my youtube page)
- Spend time with family. Crafting with my sister. Chilling with my brother-in-law. Driving around and being crazy with my little bro. Walking the dogs with my mom. Getting coffee with my dad. Cooking for my grandmother and bringing her new wines to try. Listening to my other grandmother's stories. I actually am even starting to like my cousins more.
- Tan. I love my summer skin.
- Beach trips. With girlfriends, frisbies, magazines. Fried food, corona.
- Nap. I love sleeping outside.
- Star watch. Northern Michigan, on the dock, in my sleeping bag. It's a symphony of shooting stars and Northern lights. All to myself.
- Sail. This summer, I want to really learn how to maneuver the sunfish on my own.
- Canoe. I'm the only one who really takes my grandfather's wooden canoe out on the lake. I can't wait for early morning and sunset canoe trips around the bay.
- Guitar and piano. I'm going to spend this summer learning only popular music on these instruments. Maybe I'll be able to play and sing a couple new piano tunes by the fall. Ben folds, Ingrid Michaelson, Regina Spektor---
- Quiet. Have time for writing, thinking, and praying. A lot has happened this year, this semester, this month. I feel like I should write a book.
Check out my pinterest page for some pretty pictures to go along with these dreams: click me
-lab
Sunday, April 29, 2012
a recital, or two
yesterday, at 12:55 as I was walking down the hazard stairs from the quad towards the music building, in my concert dress, shoes, jewlery and with my hair done, i stopped. looked at the blue sky. breathed in the fresh air. and thought this:
i thank You God for most this amazing
day:for the leaping greenly spirits of trees
and a blue true dream of sky; and for everything
which is natural which is infinite which is yes
and then the last two lines of my favorite poem:
(now the ears of my ears awake and
now the eyes of my eyes are opened)
I had spent the morning in quiet preparation for my marathon recital (really, it was a monster program, I'm a crazy person). Waking up around 7:30 despite having gone to bed quite late, I finished the program and program notes, ate breakfast, and started to slowly get ready. I decided to wear my dress all day, because it was new and I wanted to feel comfortable in it. Then I headed to Jewett to warm up, to print everything out, and to put up signs.
My favorite part of the morning was after I finished warming up. I thought to myself....time for 1)second breakfast and 2)curling my hair. I've written about doing hair before, but in the context of women all doing each other's hair, and how it's a special thing for us to be together. I have other associations with hair as well. It is always my time in preparation of something, to be alone. To relax, and be quiet. I took care of everything else, and then could go home, and spend 35 minutes just making my hair look beautiful and clearing my mind. After so many years of theatrical performances and concerts, the step where I get to to do my hair and makeup is always what soothes me and really gets me mentally prepared for the concert.
i thank You God for most this amazing
day:for the leaping greenly spirits of trees
and a blue true dream of sky; and for everything
which is natural which is infinite which is yes
and then the last two lines of my favorite poem:
(now the ears of my ears awake and
now the eyes of my eyes are opened)
I had spent the morning in quiet preparation for my marathon recital (really, it was a monster program, I'm a crazy person). Waking up around 7:30 despite having gone to bed quite late, I finished the program and program notes, ate breakfast, and started to slowly get ready. I decided to wear my dress all day, because it was new and I wanted to feel comfortable in it. Then I headed to Jewett to warm up, to print everything out, and to put up signs.
My favorite part of the morning was after I finished warming up. I thought to myself....time for 1)second breakfast and 2)curling my hair. I've written about doing hair before, but in the context of women all doing each other's hair, and how it's a special thing for us to be together. I have other associations with hair as well. It is always my time in preparation of something, to be alone. To relax, and be quiet. I took care of everything else, and then could go home, and spend 35 minutes just making my hair look beautiful and clearing my mind. After so many years of theatrical performances and concerts, the step where I get to to do my hair and makeup is always what soothes me and really gets me mentally prepared for the concert.
A recital is unique. All of the pressure is on the soloist. The pianist, sure, has some pressure, but really the soloist is the one being showcased, and usually, judged by a music faculty. If the pianist messes up, it's not really a huge deal. In most every other kind of concert, music is created by a group of people working together. Chamber music, choral music, orchestral, ballet music, operatic. The load is shared, and each individual has to play its role within it to function properly. You can be assured that the audience isn't going to be just focusing on you the whole time. (Unless if you're Elizabeth Rowe of the BSO, then yes, I am NOT taking my eyes off you!).
A recital is a mental and physical journey for the performer. The audience stares at you, and with the length usually around an hour, the program typically travels through a range of time periods, contexts, and emotional backgrounds. Like acting, it can be dangerous to put too much of yourself into the expression in the sense that, if it hits too real, it can distract you from the next section. And after each piece, you have to be mentally prepared for what is still to come.
Yesterday I spent the whole day in quiet preparation. The last 15 minutes I had to myself, I spent sitting outside on the curb (yes, in my dress...) listening to my ipod and waiting for my mom to arrive with the food. I have these new headphones that I'm obsessed with. They're actual big ones, they keep my ears warm, and they have great sound quality. The next step from these is the $150 ones that I wasn't willing to splurge for just yet. Those will be first on the wish list if I get a full-time job. I put on Brahms intermezzi and a Chopin nocturne and just sat there in meditation on the music, really thinking about the journey I was about to embark on with my flute music. The Reinecke Sonata and the Prokofiev Sonata have seen such troubled times in my life this year, I feel like they are as much my friends and companions as my a cappella group. I wanted to be sure to present them as honestly and accurately as possible, but to do so in my own unique way. I thought, how wonderful! To be given a beautiful day for such beautiful music. And a beautiful new dress, too.
That is what I love about classical music. It's old news---but every musician, even a little kid, can take it, live it with, and present it to you as something new. Something they've poured themselves into.
When you watch someone perform a recital, I think you learn a lot about them. You experience their endurance and their transformation from your friend in class to an artist with a whole secret life. My brother got it right in the introduction to his program for his violin recital a few weeks ago, when he said that violin was one part of his life he felt most of his friends didn't know. But it is a very important part of the jigsaw puzzle, maybe even one of the corners. I hope everyone who came yesterday feels like maybe they know me a little better. Wellesley folks hardly ever get to see me play flute (especially because I practice at all kinds of odd hours of the day). A few parts of each piece I feel like are...well, me in a nutshell. A bit fanciful and dreamy, but then very real, even harsh in that respect.
I guess this started about one topic and turned into another---
maybe I've just been listening to too much Mahler (the whole C# minor to D major symphony, wtf?!?)
-lab
Friday, April 27, 2012
a metaphor
On the phone with my dad the other day, I mentioned how I think someday maybe I'll try to be a writer.
I think about things in metaphors, phrases of speech, and vivid descriptive images. Is that normal?
So, the other day, Wednesday perhaps, my dad happened to buzz me right as I was figuring out a new metaphor for life. A replacement for the box of chocolates idea.
Life, to me, is more---a game of hearts.
Growing up, we always used to play hearts at my grandma's. Allow me to introduce the players:
Player 1: My father, James, the typical musician type, who forgets the rules in between every time we play, gets easily frustrated, and makes satisfying reactions when you do something bad to him.
Player 2: My Unlce Terry. Three words to describe him as a hearts player: quiet, calculating, stealthy.
He is kind and calm during play, but not to be trusted. Not even with a thirty or more year age difference between the players.
Player 3: My sister Alice, a confident and opinionated opponent, with a sturdy head on her shoulders. She'll burn you if she played her hand right, and she won't hesitate to double cross.
Player 4: Me, little Lucy. I was the youngest of the players, but once I learned to shuffle (during boring Easter Sunday the year before when I spent the entire day sitting at the dining room table practicing) my deal became aggressive and lethal, and I take after my uncle in the quiet stealth tactic.
We played altogether, at every family gathering once everyone else retreated to the television or the comfort of their beds. During play we would tell stories, laugh, and raid the fridge for more snacks. I can't remember anything with more fondness---
Allow me to return to my metaphor. Life, is just like this game we used to play. You come in, as you are, and you try to use your skills and abilities to your best advantage. But, you're dealt a random hand. Some rounds, you get the best hand, and you use it to your massive success. Other hands, you're given nothing in particular, and you reap just that, nothing in particular. You just carry on to the next hand, hoping for a change in fortune.
But the tricks are also inherent in the game---I've experienced being dealt the best possible hand, but then having one trick from an opponent ruin it all. It is the worst of blows; setting yourself up for a wonderful, lasting victory, only to release that one hitch in the plan foiled the whole thing. You're left in wonder; how could this possibly have gone wrong?
Yet, there is also the reverse miracle---being given the worst hand, and then without even meaning to, shooting the moon. Have you ever done that? I did....when I was 12.
I hope someday, I will do it again.
At the end of the game, it doesn't even seem to matter whether you blew everyone to smithereens or lost miserably. It's just the joy of having played and spent the time with people you love that seems to stay in your memory.
-lab
I think about things in metaphors, phrases of speech, and vivid descriptive images. Is that normal?
So, the other day, Wednesday perhaps, my dad happened to buzz me right as I was figuring out a new metaphor for life. A replacement for the box of chocolates idea.
Life, to me, is more---a game of hearts.
Growing up, we always used to play hearts at my grandma's. Allow me to introduce the players:
Player 1: My father, James, the typical musician type, who forgets the rules in between every time we play, gets easily frustrated, and makes satisfying reactions when you do something bad to him.
Player 2: My Unlce Terry. Three words to describe him as a hearts player: quiet, calculating, stealthy.
He is kind and calm during play, but not to be trusted. Not even with a thirty or more year age difference between the players.
Player 3: My sister Alice, a confident and opinionated opponent, with a sturdy head on her shoulders. She'll burn you if she played her hand right, and she won't hesitate to double cross.
Player 4: Me, little Lucy. I was the youngest of the players, but once I learned to shuffle (during boring Easter Sunday the year before when I spent the entire day sitting at the dining room table practicing) my deal became aggressive and lethal, and I take after my uncle in the quiet stealth tactic.
We played altogether, at every family gathering once everyone else retreated to the television or the comfort of their beds. During play we would tell stories, laugh, and raid the fridge for more snacks. I can't remember anything with more fondness---
Allow me to return to my metaphor. Life, is just like this game we used to play. You come in, as you are, and you try to use your skills and abilities to your best advantage. But, you're dealt a random hand. Some rounds, you get the best hand, and you use it to your massive success. Other hands, you're given nothing in particular, and you reap just that, nothing in particular. You just carry on to the next hand, hoping for a change in fortune.
But the tricks are also inherent in the game---I've experienced being dealt the best possible hand, but then having one trick from an opponent ruin it all. It is the worst of blows; setting yourself up for a wonderful, lasting victory, only to release that one hitch in the plan foiled the whole thing. You're left in wonder; how could this possibly have gone wrong?
Yet, there is also the reverse miracle---being given the worst hand, and then without even meaning to, shooting the moon. Have you ever done that? I did....when I was 12.
I hope someday, I will do it again.
At the end of the game, it doesn't even seem to matter whether you blew everyone to smithereens or lost miserably. It's just the joy of having played and spent the time with people you love that seems to stay in your memory.
-lab
Wednesday, April 25, 2012
wednesday musings
You reach a point where it doesn't really matter anymore, what's happening or not.
I'm so sure; it's so real; it's only getting moreso, and my own self-assurance is all I need.
There is so much in this world that I can't control, but I can be the master of my own heart and mind, and that I can trust. I have this wonderful secret, the secret that changes everything, and daily I ask Him into my heart and into my mind. And we sit quietly and figure me out.
And then, well, for everyone else and everything external, I can look with peace and think, well, if it'll happen, it'll happen sooner or later. In my life, trusting God's plan for me has always been the best decision. At every turn, and with no regrets. Yes, I will be faced with decisions, but for now they aren't mine to make. I am a person of action, but I owe it to myself not to take any until it's the right time. And now, is certainly not.
So I wait. I know what I know, I feel what I feel, and I choose to walk outside on rainy days listening to music that makes me grin instead of making me cry.
That is how I would rather live life; skipping down streets and beaming back at the bright sun.
peace&love
lab
I'm so sure; it's so real; it's only getting moreso, and my own self-assurance is all I need.
There is so much in this world that I can't control, but I can be the master of my own heart and mind, and that I can trust. I have this wonderful secret, the secret that changes everything, and daily I ask Him into my heart and into my mind. And we sit quietly and figure me out.
And then, well, for everyone else and everything external, I can look with peace and think, well, if it'll happen, it'll happen sooner or later. In my life, trusting God's plan for me has always been the best decision. At every turn, and with no regrets. Yes, I will be faced with decisions, but for now they aren't mine to make. I am a person of action, but I owe it to myself not to take any until it's the right time. And now, is certainly not.
So I wait. I know what I know, I feel what I feel, and I choose to walk outside on rainy days listening to music that makes me grin instead of making me cry.
That is how I would rather live life; skipping down streets and beaming back at the bright sun.
peace&love
lab
Monday, April 23, 2012
red&black
My final Tupelos Spring Concert---and the release of our new cd In the Red....I cannot find the words to express how proud and loved I feel.
If you care to share this love, please take a minute to watch part or all of the concert from Saturday night. It was magical for me and my best performance of four years singing with my best friends.
Here is my arrangement of "More Than Words", but click below to hear the rest:
If you care to share this love, please take a minute to watch part or all of the concert from Saturday night. It was magical for me and my best performance of four years singing with my best friends.
Here is my arrangement of "More Than Words", but click below to hear the rest:
-lab
rainy morning monday
After a weekend of perhaps 6 hours of sleep total, I let myself go to bed at 10 pm last night.
I woke up at 7 am to the most lovely sound one can wake up to---rain outside my window. It was only the second time this happened this semester. I remember the last time--perfectly.
Walking to work for my 8:15 am shift at the library, a wave a homesickness overtook me. It wasn't for Westford or Vienna, but for Michigan. For the cottage. For the nights when it rains and we go to the movie theater in Cheboygan, and driving home mom would always slow down on the back road. She couldn't bear to drive over any frogs hopping around the muddy, pot-holed dirt road that lead to our cottage. Alice and I would be forced out of the car to get the little guys out of the road. At first it drove me crazy, but when I became the one who had to drive, I found myself slowing down and waiting as well.
When it rains at the cottage, the normal pattern of each day gets interrupted. Life becomes a massive Michigan Rummy marathon, or a reappearance of the classic board game "Dweebs, Geeks, and Weirdos". Other times I would be coerced into a 1000 piece jigsaw puzzle of sailboats with my mom. Cookies are baked, tea is drunk by the gallon, and we're bundled up together in socks and sweatshirts to finish chapters of novels if we can escape the sweet lulling of naptime.
I remember a few mornings sleeping out on the dock in my sleeping bag (I hardly ever sleep inside if I can avoid it) when I woke up to the softest of rains caressing my cheeks. It was like a puppy nudging my face to be taken out, or a lover trying to let you sleep, but wanting so badly for you to open your eyes and reassure them that your existence is more than a dream. I eventually opened my eyes, made a pot of coffee, and went back outside to sit and be lulled and caressed by the sweet rain. At this point in my life, I sweetened my coffee with maple syrup--something I picked up from my crazy New Yorker friend at Interlochen.
....I think I'm ready for a vacation. I'm ready to have my week in Michigan with my family, and to be so happy. Last summer was the first summer I was sad in Michigan, and once is enough.
Rain, rain, please don't go away. Keep on coming down today. Only 18 days for the flowers to grow until my birthday.
-lab
I woke up at 7 am to the most lovely sound one can wake up to---rain outside my window. It was only the second time this happened this semester. I remember the last time--perfectly.
Walking to work for my 8:15 am shift at the library, a wave a homesickness overtook me. It wasn't for Westford or Vienna, but for Michigan. For the cottage. For the nights when it rains and we go to the movie theater in Cheboygan, and driving home mom would always slow down on the back road. She couldn't bear to drive over any frogs hopping around the muddy, pot-holed dirt road that lead to our cottage. Alice and I would be forced out of the car to get the little guys out of the road. At first it drove me crazy, but when I became the one who had to drive, I found myself slowing down and waiting as well.
When it rains at the cottage, the normal pattern of each day gets interrupted. Life becomes a massive Michigan Rummy marathon, or a reappearance of the classic board game "Dweebs, Geeks, and Weirdos". Other times I would be coerced into a 1000 piece jigsaw puzzle of sailboats with my mom. Cookies are baked, tea is drunk by the gallon, and we're bundled up together in socks and sweatshirts to finish chapters of novels if we can escape the sweet lulling of naptime.
I remember a few mornings sleeping out on the dock in my sleeping bag (I hardly ever sleep inside if I can avoid it) when I woke up to the softest of rains caressing my cheeks. It was like a puppy nudging my face to be taken out, or a lover trying to let you sleep, but wanting so badly for you to open your eyes and reassure them that your existence is more than a dream. I eventually opened my eyes, made a pot of coffee, and went back outside to sit and be lulled and caressed by the sweet rain. At this point in my life, I sweetened my coffee with maple syrup--something I picked up from my crazy New Yorker friend at Interlochen.
....I think I'm ready for a vacation. I'm ready to have my week in Michigan with my family, and to be so happy. Last summer was the first summer I was sad in Michigan, and once is enough.
Rain, rain, please don't go away. Keep on coming down today. Only 18 days for the flowers to grow until my birthday.
-lab
Thursday, April 19, 2012
birthday ideas
I read online about a woman who did 33 random acts of kindness on her 33rd birthday. I'm feeling inspired to make some plans for my own, since I don't have any plans yet. Ideas?
Here's the post, it's super sweet: http://mixmingleglow.com/blog/?p=1358
-lab
Here's the post, it's super sweet: http://mixmingleglow.com/blog/?p=1358
-lab
Wednesday, April 18, 2012
two poems for today
the first---
let it go--- the
smashed word broken
open vow or
the oath cracked length
wise--- let it go it
was sworn to
go
let them go--- the truthful liars and
the false fair friends
and the boths and
neithers--- you must let them go they
were born
to go
let all go--- the
big small middling
tall bigger really
the biggest and all
things--- let all go
dear
so comes love
and the second---
Spring is like a perhaps hand
(which comes carefully
out of Nowhere)arranging
a window,into which people look (while
people stare
arranging and changing placing
carefully there a strange
thing and a known thing here)and
changing everything carefully
spring is like a perhaps
Hand in a window
(carefully to
and fro moving New and
Old things,while
people stare carefully
moving a perhaps fraction of a flower here placing
an inch of air there)and
without breaking anything.
-e.e. cummings, my favorite
lab
let it go--- the
smashed word broken
open vow or
the oath cracked length
wise--- let it go it
was sworn to
go
let them go--- the truthful liars and
the false fair friends
and the boths and
neithers--- you must let them go they
were born
to go
let all go--- the
big small middling
tall bigger really
the biggest and all
things--- let all go
dear
so comes love
and the second---
Spring is like a perhaps hand
(which comes carefully
out of Nowhere)arranging
a window,into which people look (while
people stare
arranging and changing placing
carefully there a strange
thing and a known thing here)and
changing everything carefully
spring is like a perhaps
Hand in a window
(carefully to
and fro moving New and
Old things,while
people stare carefully
moving a perhaps fraction of a flower here placing
an inch of air there)and
without breaking anything.
-e.e. cummings, my favorite
lab
Sunday, April 15, 2012
Sunday morning
Sometimes you don't realize how long you've gone without a break.
After a solid week of hitting the bed exhausted by 10 pm almost every night, I finally checked myself. Stopping to take stock of what's been going on, where my time has been spent, and what is wrong. Starting with my insane spring break of working 30 hours at the Helpdesk instead of relaxing at my grandma's, it only got worse. The next week was lost to recital preparation, the following week in a crazy mix of emotional turmoil and food poisoning, and this past in a daze of homework and exhaustion. I literally haven't blogged or written in my journal for two months, my room is a mess, and I've realized I don't even know where my favorite journal is anyway. Hopefully I can find it whenever I get around to cleaning my room.
But the worst part, is that I let myself get completely ahead of myself. I've jumped into something that I thought was right all along and suddenly I've realized it's not. Now I get to attempt to retrace my steps, wich means climbing back up the cliff I jumped onto. And the effect it could have on some people around me may be similar to what would happen if they were the one holding the rope, straining to pull me up. I'm upset at myself, because I'm going to disappoint some people I really care about.
Yesterday I decided that I needed to get out of Wellesley. I have Johnny's car for two weeks while he's in France and I looked up a few spots and asked a friend for suggestions. We both had the exact same thought, and I asked my more intense hiking friend to go, since it sounded like it would be a little difficult. We headed bright and early (10 AM haha) to the Blue Hills Reservation in Milton, only a half hour South of Wellesley, and we both returned completely new. The trek was rough, very steep up and down, but the views of Boston, the clear blue sky, and the fresh smell of spring made it worth the effort.
And the best part, is that getting through that trail and abandoning myself to nature I was able to confront everything I've been too busy to think about for the last few weeks. I was hurt, it did suck, and I decided to just chill, but then got swept up in something new. But, truly, my heart did not heal. And did not move on. And, well, right now it doesn't have to. It can stay right here for a while. Here feels really, really good.
How wonderful, to explore somewhere new in the outside in the world, but also in the inside. How funny, that I could convince myself so strongly that my heart had changed. I ought to know myself better than that.
-lab
After a solid week of hitting the bed exhausted by 10 pm almost every night, I finally checked myself. Stopping to take stock of what's been going on, where my time has been spent, and what is wrong. Starting with my insane spring break of working 30 hours at the Helpdesk instead of relaxing at my grandma's, it only got worse. The next week was lost to recital preparation, the following week in a crazy mix of emotional turmoil and food poisoning, and this past in a daze of homework and exhaustion. I literally haven't blogged or written in my journal for two months, my room is a mess, and I've realized I don't even know where my favorite journal is anyway. Hopefully I can find it whenever I get around to cleaning my room.
But the worst part, is that I let myself get completely ahead of myself. I've jumped into something that I thought was right all along and suddenly I've realized it's not. Now I get to attempt to retrace my steps, wich means climbing back up the cliff I jumped onto. And the effect it could have on some people around me may be similar to what would happen if they were the one holding the rope, straining to pull me up. I'm upset at myself, because I'm going to disappoint some people I really care about.
Yesterday I decided that I needed to get out of Wellesley. I have Johnny's car for two weeks while he's in France and I looked up a few spots and asked a friend for suggestions. We both had the exact same thought, and I asked my more intense hiking friend to go, since it sounded like it would be a little difficult. We headed bright and early (10 AM haha) to the Blue Hills Reservation in Milton, only a half hour South of Wellesley, and we both returned completely new. The trek was rough, very steep up and down, but the views of Boston, the clear blue sky, and the fresh smell of spring made it worth the effort.
And the best part, is that getting through that trail and abandoning myself to nature I was able to confront everything I've been too busy to think about for the last few weeks. I was hurt, it did suck, and I decided to just chill, but then got swept up in something new. But, truly, my heart did not heal. And did not move on. And, well, right now it doesn't have to. It can stay right here for a while. Here feels really, really good.
How wonderful, to explore somewhere new in the outside in the world, but also in the inside. How funny, that I could convince myself so strongly that my heart had changed. I ought to know myself better than that.
-lab
Tuesday, March 20, 2012
graduation speech, take 1
Good morning. My name is Lucy Bergin, and I would like to share with you a story about my voice.
Some of you may laugh because, yes, I am a singer, and yes, I sing way too much in public, especially early in the morning in the Pomeroy dining hall while madly gesticulating to reanact anything from weekend adventures to my take on KONY2012. That voice is not, however, what I would like to talk about, because, let's face it, not everyone can hold a recognizable tune. Yet, if there could only be one thing I took with me after 4 years of Wellesley education, it would be that each of us has a voice. And something worth saying. And now, I'm saying it.
Has there ever been a time in your life where you lost your voice? I don't mean from illness, I'm talking about the overwhelming sensation of having important words and no ability to speak them. We hear every day about silenced peoples, and the activists among us seek to speak to these situations, for women's rights internationally. For oppressed and persecuted nations. For children without families, without prospects, and without food. But if you stop to think a little more locally, a little more personally, within your tiny frame that is your body, soul, heart, and mind, can you find a time when you felt the need to scream something to the world, but could not?
This might be surprising to hear, because I generally come off as a happy-go-lucky whistling curly-haired ball of sunshine, but not so long ago I experienced what I used to tweet about as the (hashtag) wellesleyblues. Last semester, after having spent a year abroad in Vienna, austria, I returned home with high hopes but a heavy heart, and watched as plan after plan and dream after dream of mine crumbled, until I felt I was left with nothing. Twitter became an outlet for my frustration, where everything seemed to lead me back to the (hashtag)wellesleyblues, which would usually be followed by (hashtag)escapetowyoming. That was my plan. If not Wyoming, then, Russia! At least there I would be cold, but get to wear furry hats and drink my worries away with smooth vodka and Shostakovich string quartets, right?
Last semester I lost my voice. I lost my identity. I lost the ability to declare to the world, or even to my dog, that: I AM A MUSICIAN. Wellesley helped me realize what I was too afraid to admit in high school. Truth smacked me on the face during my first two years here; the truth that I cannot live without music. When I sing, people listen. I could be powerful. But last semester, as I struggled to go to class, to get through a whole day when all I wanted to do was have five minutes to myself and my coffee, I started giving up. My mind consisted of a constant strain of internal dialogues, and I began to associate more with young Werther from Goethe's novel. I never considered borrowing my lover’s husband’s pistols or wearing a blue frock coat and a yellow vest, but I cried myself to sleep more than once, only to wake up more certain that I must have been a German poet in the 18th century in a past life. I stopped going to class. I stopped practicing. I stopped talking about what mattered, what was important. I couldn't pay attention to my friends when I was with them, and I didn't know how to reach out to them when I wasn't.
I didn’t sing on my own because it was too much---I, who used to walk down the street whistling, or break out into show tunes with words made up depending on the friend I passed in the library. I, who could get lost in the Jewett practice loop for hours learning music, who snuck into the chapel to play the piano in the middle of the night in the dead cold of winter. And drank cocoa with schnapps and giggled. My existence had become complete and utter silence, where once music and passionate discourse had reigned. And I had no idea how to change it, and could not scream for help.
So it is my plea today, for each of you to stop for five minutes. Reflect on where you are at, right now. Is there something you need to say? Because saying these things, getting the truth out there, is only going to make you stronger. More able to go out into the “wide wide world” and not get too “lost”, as the old Wellesley song says. (You know what, it will also make you happier, and that’s pretty important too.)
The last few months have been full of conversation and music for me. I've been able to work through everything that had built up over the last 2 years, from the time I thought I was going to die in Haiti, to the culture shock of leaving behind a place that I called home, and people who had changed my life forever. I kept a blog while living in Vienna last year, and I remember comparing leaving to arriving. When I flew to Vienna, both of my suitcases were 8-10 kilos overweight. When I flew home in June, my suitcases were the proper weight, but I was worried about my heart taking me over the limit. It literally felt like a tank flattening my organs and setting up camp inside, and I was powerless to lessen the load on my own. Singing with the Tupelos, finding a therapist I could trust, spending time with people who love me, that is what got me through. Somewhere along the line, I began to play guitar again, and to spend time mourning, again, the loss of my uncle, who was taken from us by cancer. It was finally ok for me, to be sad every now and then. Only now, two years later, can I say without weeping immediately, that my uncle did not live in vain, and that I did not love him too little. I join the ranks of Americans who will stand up and cry out for a cure to cancer. I make this cry everytime I pick up my guitar, the beautiful red one he gave me when I was 12 and far too young to have an instrument that fancy. She’s the most beautiful sound I ever heard, and that’s why I named her Maria. Every time we hang out, the two of us, and every time I crack open a bottle of beer, I am remembering and loving my uncle. I hope someday I can take both, and help find a cure to save other beloved uncles.
So, now you’ve heard about my voice. You’ve also heard my voice. My full, confident, courageous voice, that Wellesley helped me find and strengthen. I am proud to be a Wellesley woman, surrounded by amazing future world leaders, educators, activists, environmentalists, doctors, researchers, travelers, mothers, sisters, and friends.
Some of your voices I know. Some I don’t. But of this I am sure; you all have something powerful and important to tell the world, each in your own beautiful way. And when you realize this, don't be afraid to give your time at Wellesley a lot of credit. Wellesley has made an impact on us all, and we need to tell the world. Go out, and speak!
Thank you.
Some of you may laugh because, yes, I am a singer, and yes, I sing way too much in public, especially early in the morning in the Pomeroy dining hall while madly gesticulating to reanact anything from weekend adventures to my take on KONY2012. That voice is not, however, what I would like to talk about, because, let's face it, not everyone can hold a recognizable tune. Yet, if there could only be one thing I took with me after 4 years of Wellesley education, it would be that each of us has a voice. And something worth saying. And now, I'm saying it.
Has there ever been a time in your life where you lost your voice? I don't mean from illness, I'm talking about the overwhelming sensation of having important words and no ability to speak them. We hear every day about silenced peoples, and the activists among us seek to speak to these situations, for women's rights internationally. For oppressed and persecuted nations. For children without families, without prospects, and without food. But if you stop to think a little more locally, a little more personally, within your tiny frame that is your body, soul, heart, and mind, can you find a time when you felt the need to scream something to the world, but could not?
This might be surprising to hear, because I generally come off as a happy-go-lucky whistling curly-haired ball of sunshine, but not so long ago I experienced what I used to tweet about as the (hashtag) wellesleyblues. Last semester, after having spent a year abroad in Vienna, austria, I returned home with high hopes but a heavy heart, and watched as plan after plan and dream after dream of mine crumbled, until I felt I was left with nothing. Twitter became an outlet for my frustration, where everything seemed to lead me back to the (hashtag)wellesleyblues, which would usually be followed by (hashtag)escapetowyoming. That was my plan. If not Wyoming, then, Russia! At least there I would be cold, but get to wear furry hats and drink my worries away with smooth vodka and Shostakovich string quartets, right?
Last semester I lost my voice. I lost my identity. I lost the ability to declare to the world, or even to my dog, that: I AM A MUSICIAN. Wellesley helped me realize what I was too afraid to admit in high school. Truth smacked me on the face during my first two years here; the truth that I cannot live without music. When I sing, people listen. I could be powerful. But last semester, as I struggled to go to class, to get through a whole day when all I wanted to do was have five minutes to myself and my coffee, I started giving up. My mind consisted of a constant strain of internal dialogues, and I began to associate more with young Werther from Goethe's novel. I never considered borrowing my lover’s husband’s pistols or wearing a blue frock coat and a yellow vest, but I cried myself to sleep more than once, only to wake up more certain that I must have been a German poet in the 18th century in a past life. I stopped going to class. I stopped practicing. I stopped talking about what mattered, what was important. I couldn't pay attention to my friends when I was with them, and I didn't know how to reach out to them when I wasn't.
I didn’t sing on my own because it was too much---I, who used to walk down the street whistling, or break out into show tunes with words made up depending on the friend I passed in the library. I, who could get lost in the Jewett practice loop for hours learning music, who snuck into the chapel to play the piano in the middle of the night in the dead cold of winter. And drank cocoa with schnapps and giggled. My existence had become complete and utter silence, where once music and passionate discourse had reigned. And I had no idea how to change it, and could not scream for help.
So it is my plea today, for each of you to stop for five minutes. Reflect on where you are at, right now. Is there something you need to say? Because saying these things, getting the truth out there, is only going to make you stronger. More able to go out into the “wide wide world” and not get too “lost”, as the old Wellesley song says. (You know what, it will also make you happier, and that’s pretty important too.)
The last few months have been full of conversation and music for me. I've been able to work through everything that had built up over the last 2 years, from the time I thought I was going to die in Haiti, to the culture shock of leaving behind a place that I called home, and people who had changed my life forever. I kept a blog while living in Vienna last year, and I remember comparing leaving to arriving. When I flew to Vienna, both of my suitcases were 8-10 kilos overweight. When I flew home in June, my suitcases were the proper weight, but I was worried about my heart taking me over the limit. It literally felt like a tank flattening my organs and setting up camp inside, and I was powerless to lessen the load on my own. Singing with the Tupelos, finding a therapist I could trust, spending time with people who love me, that is what got me through. Somewhere along the line, I began to play guitar again, and to spend time mourning, again, the loss of my uncle, who was taken from us by cancer. It was finally ok for me, to be sad every now and then. Only now, two years later, can I say without weeping immediately, that my uncle did not live in vain, and that I did not love him too little. I join the ranks of Americans who will stand up and cry out for a cure to cancer. I make this cry everytime I pick up my guitar, the beautiful red one he gave me when I was 12 and far too young to have an instrument that fancy. She’s the most beautiful sound I ever heard, and that’s why I named her Maria. Every time we hang out, the two of us, and every time I crack open a bottle of beer, I am remembering and loving my uncle. I hope someday I can take both, and help find a cure to save other beloved uncles.
So, now you’ve heard about my voice. You’ve also heard my voice. My full, confident, courageous voice, that Wellesley helped me find and strengthen. I am proud to be a Wellesley woman, surrounded by amazing future world leaders, educators, activists, environmentalists, doctors, researchers, travelers, mothers, sisters, and friends.
Some of your voices I know. Some I don’t. But of this I am sure; you all have something powerful and important to tell the world, each in your own beautiful way. And when you realize this, don't be afraid to give your time at Wellesley a lot of credit. Wellesley has made an impact on us all, and we need to tell the world. Go out, and speak!
Thank you.
Thursday, March 8, 2012
smiles, happiness
new beginnings
tiny buds on the tips of branches
working hard and getting it DONE
formulating exciting paper topics
swing dancing
meeting new friends
otter creek black I.P.A
Tupelos St. Paddy's Day Teaser
Good friends
Going to NYC this weekend
preparing my favorite music for a wonderful day---
going dress shopping
a most beautiful, beautiful week and week to come!
-lab
new beginnings
tiny buds on the tips of branches
working hard and getting it DONE
formulating exciting paper topics
swing dancing
meeting new friends
otter creek black I.P.A
Tupelos St. Paddy's Day Teaser
Good friends
Going to NYC this weekend
preparing my favorite music for a wonderful day---
going dress shopping
a most beautiful, beautiful week and week to come!
-lab
Monday, March 5, 2012
thanks, hellogiggles
I love the website hellogiggles.com. They have so many different contributors and articles, and it always brings a smile to my face. I especially needed to read this article this morning:
http://hellogiggles.com/take-comfort#comment-120883
It's so easy for me to get ahead of myself and then to start worrying about all of the dreams and plans I make up in my head. What if they don't happen? What if things don't turn out the way I wish they would?
Let it all go---only then can love take its place.
-lab
http://hellogiggles.com/take-comfort#comment-120883
It's so easy for me to get ahead of myself and then to start worrying about all of the dreams and plans I make up in my head. What if they don't happen? What if things don't turn out the way I wish they would?
Let it all go---only then can love take its place.
-lab
Sunday, March 4, 2012
heaven
take me here---
http://hellogiggles.com/nycs-hidden-gem-the-speakeasy-bookstore
The thing is, I am in fact going to NYC next weekend for a field trip. And I didn't get a spot for the additional opera ticket, so I'm going to have the whole evening to bum around the city. But I feel like this kind of adventure needs to be undertaken with at least one partner in crime, if not an entire team of book-loving fortune seeking creatures.
-lab, on her third hour of work in starbucks
http://hellogiggles.com/nycs-hidden-gem-the-speakeasy-bookstore
The thing is, I am in fact going to NYC next weekend for a field trip. And I didn't get a spot for the additional opera ticket, so I'm going to have the whole evening to bum around the city. But I feel like this kind of adventure needs to be undertaken with at least one partner in crime, if not an entire team of book-loving fortune seeking creatures.
-lab, on her third hour of work in starbucks
Saturday, March 3, 2012
"the way i feel about you is
beyond words."
thanks nouvelle vague, for giving me the words. to say everything, and nothing.
click here
-lab
beyond words."
thanks nouvelle vague, for giving me the words. to say everything, and nothing.
click here
-lab
Wednesday, February 29, 2012
beauty-making
One of my earliest childhood memories is of the way I took care of my hair.
From a very early age, I insisted on keeping my light brown hair as long as possible. It was very straight and not too thick, and flowed to the middle of my back. My mother used to trim all of my siblings' hair outside on the picnic table with her special pair of scissors. I remember hair trimming would usually coincide with teatime, in which I got to put 7 sugar cubes into one tiny cup of english breakfast tea with milk. It was always in my Miss Tiggy Winkle cup, so it was very special.
My sister and I had a terrible time with snarls at the base of our necks, until my mother came up with the rule that every night before bed, we had to braid our hair into two braids (you know, she's a Wellesley woman). She refused to do it, but taught us how to braid our hair so that we each could take care of it. We could only keep our long, beautiful, brown hair if we could take care of it.
As I grew older, my hair turned darker, wildly curly, and thick. It became hard to manage, but I did the best I could. In middle school while on a church missions trip, I learned how to French braid. After the trip, I remember standing in the bathroom of our summer cottage for hours one stormy afternoon, braiding my own hair until my arms ached from the angle and until my braids were perfect. From that point on, I started doing everyone else's hair around, in addition to my own.
This progressed through highschool, when I did my own hair for my formals, and won junior prom queen with a dress I got on sale and a hairstyle I stole from "Pride and Prejudice". I even made my own little bobby pins with pearls on the end. However, I kept on doing hair styles for my friends as well. I'm one of my sister's go-to hair stylists, and basically won the love of our best friend's insane mom by how well I did my sister's hair for her friend's wedding last summer. Seriously, my friend's mom treats me so much nicer and is always ecstatic to see me, it's a creepy sudden shift. But I can't complain.
All of this was brought to my mind by this past weekend. Saturday night, the House Presidents hosted a formal in the Alumnae Ballroom, complete with a fantastic live performance by the Harvard "Nostalgics", a motown 12-piece band. At Tupelos rehearsal a few nights beforehand, it came out that 3 different friends of mine were planning to have me do their hair (news to me!). So, Saturday night, we all gathered in my closet of a room, drank wine, ate snacks, and setup a hair salon. I gave each friend a different hair style, we helped each other with makeup, and we decided what jewelery to wear, and it was almost funner than the dance itself. What is it with women and our joy of getting ready together? We crave the approval of others, yes, but I think it is far deeper than that. I believe that women are naturally wired not only to want to feel beautiful, but to help others feel beautiful. Every mother wants her daughter to feel beautiful, but it also goes between friends. It is always a joy to do someone's hair or makeup, because I love the chance to make someone feel as beautiful as they should be feeling every. single. day.
Too many women in the world struggle with self-image issues. Is it then any longer a question why women in general love getting their hair and nails done? It is therapeudic; massaging areas on our bodies which are flooded with nerve endings---I always save the hairdresser for a time I'm really stressed out, and then I get a wash, a scalp massage, and then my cut. Doing my friend's hair Saturday helped each of them to calm down and to feel beautiful, but also stimulated nerves that are biologically soothing and comforting. In our crazily stressed lives of the 21st century, we could always use a bit more of that kind of treatment. We also could afford to hear more often, that we are beautiful. It's not always enough to keep telling yourself that, and it's nothing to be ashamed of.
In one very small, beautiful way, this is something special about women. We like to help each other be as beautiful as possible.
If I think about it, that could sum up my entire college experience at Wellesley. While here, I have helped others discover their beauty, both inner and outer. My dear friends have no idea how much they have done this for me, too ---
-lab
From a very early age, I insisted on keeping my light brown hair as long as possible. It was very straight and not too thick, and flowed to the middle of my back. My mother used to trim all of my siblings' hair outside on the picnic table with her special pair of scissors. I remember hair trimming would usually coincide with teatime, in which I got to put 7 sugar cubes into one tiny cup of english breakfast tea with milk. It was always in my Miss Tiggy Winkle cup, so it was very special.
My sister and I had a terrible time with snarls at the base of our necks, until my mother came up with the rule that every night before bed, we had to braid our hair into two braids (you know, she's a Wellesley woman). She refused to do it, but taught us how to braid our hair so that we each could take care of it. We could only keep our long, beautiful, brown hair if we could take care of it.
As I grew older, my hair turned darker, wildly curly, and thick. It became hard to manage, but I did the best I could. In middle school while on a church missions trip, I learned how to French braid. After the trip, I remember standing in the bathroom of our summer cottage for hours one stormy afternoon, braiding my own hair until my arms ached from the angle and until my braids were perfect. From that point on, I started doing everyone else's hair around, in addition to my own.
This progressed through highschool, when I did my own hair for my formals, and won junior prom queen with a dress I got on sale and a hairstyle I stole from "Pride and Prejudice". I even made my own little bobby pins with pearls on the end. However, I kept on doing hair styles for my friends as well. I'm one of my sister's go-to hair stylists, and basically won the love of our best friend's insane mom by how well I did my sister's hair for her friend's wedding last summer. Seriously, my friend's mom treats me so much nicer and is always ecstatic to see me, it's a creepy sudden shift. But I can't complain.
All of this was brought to my mind by this past weekend. Saturday night, the House Presidents hosted a formal in the Alumnae Ballroom, complete with a fantastic live performance by the Harvard "Nostalgics", a motown 12-piece band. At Tupelos rehearsal a few nights beforehand, it came out that 3 different friends of mine were planning to have me do their hair (news to me!). So, Saturday night, we all gathered in my closet of a room, drank wine, ate snacks, and setup a hair salon. I gave each friend a different hair style, we helped each other with makeup, and we decided what jewelery to wear, and it was almost funner than the dance itself. What is it with women and our joy of getting ready together? We crave the approval of others, yes, but I think it is far deeper than that. I believe that women are naturally wired not only to want to feel beautiful, but to help others feel beautiful. Every mother wants her daughter to feel beautiful, but it also goes between friends. It is always a joy to do someone's hair or makeup, because I love the chance to make someone feel as beautiful as they should be feeling every. single. day.
Too many women in the world struggle with self-image issues. Is it then any longer a question why women in general love getting their hair and nails done? It is therapeudic; massaging areas on our bodies which are flooded with nerve endings---I always save the hairdresser for a time I'm really stressed out, and then I get a wash, a scalp massage, and then my cut. Doing my friend's hair Saturday helped each of them to calm down and to feel beautiful, but also stimulated nerves that are biologically soothing and comforting. In our crazily stressed lives of the 21st century, we could always use a bit more of that kind of treatment. We also could afford to hear more often, that we are beautiful. It's not always enough to keep telling yourself that, and it's nothing to be ashamed of.
In one very small, beautiful way, this is something special about women. We like to help each other be as beautiful as possible.
If I think about it, that could sum up my entire college experience at Wellesley. While here, I have helped others discover their beauty, both inner and outer. My dear friends have no idea how much they have done this for me, too ---
-lab
Tuesday, February 28, 2012
morning
Did you know that my name, Lucy, means light?
I wasn't a Roman child born at dawn (the typical recipients of this name back in the day) but I was born at I think 10 AM. They thought I was going to be a boy, and would have named me "Luke" in that case.
Many years ago, maybe even when I was 12, my mother gave me a little card that talks about the meaning of my name. It's so silly, the little things people give you that you hold on to and put up somewhere in every room you live in. I have this card from my mom, a letter from my sister, a note from my dad, and a couple of pictures that have walked with me through life since I received them, as tiny reminders of my family's love and faith in me.
The card from my mom lists under my name three words: "delightful, clear-sighted, caring". Sometimes it makes me giggle to think about them, because in truth, these three words are really the core of who I am when I am the best version of myself.
I was talking to a friend the other day about just that--the different versions of yourself. My sister has this sweet, higher voice when she meets grown-ups for the first time or has to talk on the phone, and it's funny because I'm exactly the same way. At my job, customer service essentially, helping people fix their computers/sometimes explaining what the word "browser" means to PhD professors, I have aquired my sweet calming phone voice. I love it, and sometimes it comes out without me meaning to use it.
I had one friend in Vienna who brought out the sweetest side of me. There was one afternoon a bunch of us spent cooking together, right at the beginning of our romance, and I felt like I was walking on air. The sweetest version of me was dancing around, taking control of my body and making it weightless. After everyone left, I had this crazy amount of energy and made myself go out into the courtyard and play guitar like crazy until my blood calmed down.
But I also know the worst side of myself---and God has been teaching me lately that that is good too. I tend to be the opposite of a lot of christians I know, in that when times are good I draw close to him. when times are rough, I try to keep doing everything myself and can't bring myself to ask for help, or admit that I did anything wrong. Now that I have experienced myself as the worst version, stuck in the pits of self pity and non-emotion, after having cried so much that I exhausted my tear valves and just stopped--feeling, I have stronger faith in God.
God sticks with me no matter which version of myself I am. He created me to be His light, and to delight in life and beauty. My favorite thing is share this delight with the people in my life--that is when I feel the most like myself. That is the best Lucy---
Do you know what your name means?
-lab
I wasn't a Roman child born at dawn (the typical recipients of this name back in the day) but I was born at I think 10 AM. They thought I was going to be a boy, and would have named me "Luke" in that case.
Many years ago, maybe even when I was 12, my mother gave me a little card that talks about the meaning of my name. It's so silly, the little things people give you that you hold on to and put up somewhere in every room you live in. I have this card from my mom, a letter from my sister, a note from my dad, and a couple of pictures that have walked with me through life since I received them, as tiny reminders of my family's love and faith in me.
The card from my mom lists under my name three words: "delightful, clear-sighted, caring". Sometimes it makes me giggle to think about them, because in truth, these three words are really the core of who I am when I am the best version of myself.
I was talking to a friend the other day about just that--the different versions of yourself. My sister has this sweet, higher voice when she meets grown-ups for the first time or has to talk on the phone, and it's funny because I'm exactly the same way. At my job, customer service essentially, helping people fix their computers/sometimes explaining what the word "browser" means to PhD professors, I have aquired my sweet calming phone voice. I love it, and sometimes it comes out without me meaning to use it.
I had one friend in Vienna who brought out the sweetest side of me. There was one afternoon a bunch of us spent cooking together, right at the beginning of our romance, and I felt like I was walking on air. The sweetest version of me was dancing around, taking control of my body and making it weightless. After everyone left, I had this crazy amount of energy and made myself go out into the courtyard and play guitar like crazy until my blood calmed down.
But I also know the worst side of myself---and God has been teaching me lately that that is good too. I tend to be the opposite of a lot of christians I know, in that when times are good I draw close to him. when times are rough, I try to keep doing everything myself and can't bring myself to ask for help, or admit that I did anything wrong. Now that I have experienced myself as the worst version, stuck in the pits of self pity and non-emotion, after having cried so much that I exhausted my tear valves and just stopped--feeling, I have stronger faith in God.
God sticks with me no matter which version of myself I am. He created me to be His light, and to delight in life and beauty. My favorite thing is share this delight with the people in my life--that is when I feel the most like myself. That is the best Lucy---
Do you know what your name means?
-lab
Monday, February 27, 2012
ode to Monday
i thank You God for most this amazing
day:for the leaping greenly spirits of trees
and a blue true dream of sky; and for everything
which is natural which is infinite which is yes
(i who have died am alive again today,
and this is the sun's birthday; this is the birth
day of life and of love and wings: and of the gay
great happening illimitably earth)
how should tasting touching hearing seeing
breathing any--lifted from the no
of all nothing--human merely being
doubt unimaginable You?
(now the ears of my ears awake and
now the eyes of my eyes are opened)
-e.e. cummings
good morning, world.
-lab
day:for the leaping greenly spirits of trees
and a blue true dream of sky; and for everything
which is natural which is infinite which is yes
(i who have died am alive again today,
and this is the sun's birthday; this is the birth
day of life and of love and wings: and of the gay
great happening illimitably earth)
how should tasting touching hearing seeing
breathing any--lifted from the no
of all nothing--human merely being
doubt unimaginable You?
(now the ears of my ears awake and
now the eyes of my eyes are opened)
-e.e. cummings
good morning, world.
-lab
Saturday, February 25, 2012
Oh, Friday night
You know it's been a good Friday night when you end it puddle jumping through Boston with one of your favorite people in the world, and then having a heartfelt conversation about life, love, and decisions and both agreeing that it is conversations like these that are the most important to a friendship. They are the core.
What can I say? I came to Wellesley to make amazing friends, and I am surrounded by them. How did I get so lucky?
-lab
What can I say? I came to Wellesley to make amazing friends, and I am surrounded by them. How did I get so lucky?
-lab
At church, we've been going through a series about encountering God and experiencing the different facets of His love and personality.
It gets me thinking on my own about the different personality traits I like the best about God. (this is why I go to church, really, so that I get amazing ideas and think about them more on my own. plus fellowship. and the pizza!)
God loves surprises. He is the best at them. It always comes back to the fact that He holds the entire map of my life in His hands, while I only get to see one little section at a time. My friendship with Grace would be an example of an extended surprise in my life. When we first met, at midnight on the last Sunday in October, I thought she was conceited, a bit over-bearing, and never for a second thought she would turn into not only someone I would lean on, but someone that I would love with my whole heart. She's never getting rid of me now---especially not since meeting her wonderful mom and aunties (and Charlie, the Dachshund!)
But there are smaller surprises too, and God uses them to remind me of his laughter and fun way of loving me as I need to be loved. Last semester it rained every single Thursday. Seriously. And you would think that after the second week of class I would have gone out and bought an umbrella. Ohhhhhh no. Every week after yoga, heading home and thinking with a sinking heart about all of the homework I had for Friday, and how much I wanted to crawl in bed forever, the sky would open up. The first time it happened I remember simply shrieking with delight and starting to skip. The second time, I giggled. The third time I danced.
My God loves to dance, and He loves to see his children alive with joy and delight. So, I can't be all that surprised that just when I thought I was starting to live a dream, he tapped me on the shoulder, pointed me in the opposite direction, and whispered, "look what I have prepared, just for you, darling".
May we all be listening for just these whispers...
-lab
It gets me thinking on my own about the different personality traits I like the best about God. (this is why I go to church, really, so that I get amazing ideas and think about them more on my own. plus fellowship. and the pizza!)
God loves surprises. He is the best at them. It always comes back to the fact that He holds the entire map of my life in His hands, while I only get to see one little section at a time. My friendship with Grace would be an example of an extended surprise in my life. When we first met, at midnight on the last Sunday in October, I thought she was conceited, a bit over-bearing, and never for a second thought she would turn into not only someone I would lean on, but someone that I would love with my whole heart. She's never getting rid of me now---especially not since meeting her wonderful mom and aunties (and Charlie, the Dachshund!)
But there are smaller surprises too, and God uses them to remind me of his laughter and fun way of loving me as I need to be loved. Last semester it rained every single Thursday. Seriously. And you would think that after the second week of class I would have gone out and bought an umbrella. Ohhhhhh no. Every week after yoga, heading home and thinking with a sinking heart about all of the homework I had for Friday, and how much I wanted to crawl in bed forever, the sky would open up. The first time it happened I remember simply shrieking with delight and starting to skip. The second time, I giggled. The third time I danced.
My God loves to dance, and He loves to see his children alive with joy and delight. So, I can't be all that surprised that just when I thought I was starting to live a dream, he tapped me on the shoulder, pointed me in the opposite direction, and whispered, "look what I have prepared, just for you, darling".
May we all be listening for just these whispers...
-lab
Friday, February 24, 2012
anticipation
How is it that the best part of something good happening in life actually occurs before the event takes place?
I live and breath anticipation, looking forward to something that I have planned to happen. when I was little, I remember counting down the hours and minutes until I would finally get in the car to go over to a friend's house for a birthday party or a sleepover. I would have my bag packed and my coat on and sit on the couch with my stomach a mixture of butterflies and soda pop and ask my mother upteen times "can we leave yet? can we leave yet?". "Fashionably late" was not in my vocabulary...
Especially since being at college, I have come to terms with the fact that my ability to anticipate can result in huge disappointment. I just love spending time with people--it is probably my number one love language. (They include words of encouragement, giving and receiving gifts, quality time, physical touch, and acts of service). So when a friend makes a date with me, I seriously look forward to it and enjoy it. There are certain friends who I now place into the category (lovingly) of "flake-prone". These people, bless their souls, cancel or just plain forget 90% of the time, and it has nothing to do with me. It is just what happens, it is a fact of their personalities and fate combining. Now, whenever we make plans I actively deprive myself the satisfaction of looking forward to seeing them, and thus when they cancel it is okay. Minimal devastation. Plus, when they actually do come through, then it is pure joy at the surprise of ACTUALLY getting to see them, and that makes up for the joy I missed out on by not allowing myself to experience the anticipation...
On the flip side, when I make a plan in advance with someone fantastic AND have 100% assurance that they will make it, bar any catastrophe/natural disaster/pianos falling from the sky, then I get to enjoy the best of both worlds---savoring the days, hours, minutes of anticipation, and then sucking the marrow out of the time we actually get to spend together.
So in other words, Saturday night could not come soon enough, but I have been enjoying every moment leading up to it fully---life could not be sweeter. How is this state of living possible?
-lab
I live and breath anticipation, looking forward to something that I have planned to happen. when I was little, I remember counting down the hours and minutes until I would finally get in the car to go over to a friend's house for a birthday party or a sleepover. I would have my bag packed and my coat on and sit on the couch with my stomach a mixture of butterflies and soda pop and ask my mother upteen times "can we leave yet? can we leave yet?". "Fashionably late" was not in my vocabulary...
Especially since being at college, I have come to terms with the fact that my ability to anticipate can result in huge disappointment. I just love spending time with people--it is probably my number one love language. (They include words of encouragement, giving and receiving gifts, quality time, physical touch, and acts of service). So when a friend makes a date with me, I seriously look forward to it and enjoy it. There are certain friends who I now place into the category (lovingly) of "flake-prone". These people, bless their souls, cancel or just plain forget 90% of the time, and it has nothing to do with me. It is just what happens, it is a fact of their personalities and fate combining. Now, whenever we make plans I actively deprive myself the satisfaction of looking forward to seeing them, and thus when they cancel it is okay. Minimal devastation. Plus, when they actually do come through, then it is pure joy at the surprise of ACTUALLY getting to see them, and that makes up for the joy I missed out on by not allowing myself to experience the anticipation...
On the flip side, when I make a plan in advance with someone fantastic AND have 100% assurance that they will make it, bar any catastrophe/natural disaster/pianos falling from the sky, then I get to enjoy the best of both worlds---savoring the days, hours, minutes of anticipation, and then sucking the marrow out of the time we actually get to spend together.
So in other words, Saturday night could not come soon enough, but I have been enjoying every moment leading up to it fully---life could not be sweeter. How is this state of living possible?
-lab
Wednesday, February 22, 2012
Friday, February 17, 2012
sparks
"I've found that one of the greatest joys is to bring
a smile into someone's day, someone's life
Oh, my God, you are so good.
I see you in people's faces all around me.
The beautiful and expansive rainbow
And just when I thought I'd seen it all
Along comes another shade, another hue
you are part of that hue and shade."
Again today, I'm seeing patterns in my life. Around this time last year I met my friend Paul at the shop around the corner in Vienna, and that friendship was one of utter inspiration and encouragement to me. A few weeks ago I was introduced to a man named Leon, the father of a girl who goes to Wellesley that I have always known, but of whom I have never been an intimate friend. My friend Grace was the link to all four of us, and I was invited to Sunday supper at their house, after visiting their church in Cambridge. We played music together and ate delicious food, and I felt amazing warmth and encouragement with this family, and especially from Leon. He and Grace write a lot and discuss many topics, and I have now become a part of this discussion. The quote above is from his most recent letter to me, and I am overcome by that subliminal moment of utter resonation.
Everything these days comes to me in metaphors of music---not only do his words resonate within my mind and heart, but it also feels like a sudden coming together. It is as though we have been straining away on separate parts of di Lasso polyphony and then suddenly the moment of final resolution comes, seemingly out of the blue and you are left in awe of how two parts could converge so naturally that you didn't even see that moment coming. Yesterday a famous Wellesley grad, Wendy Gillespie, visited the campus prior to being honored at the Alumnae Achievement Awards Ceremony, and she played a short concert for the music department. She and a colleague played two very short viola da gamba duets by Orlando di Lasso on combinations of treble, tenor, and bass gambas. I have sung di Lasso polyphony, so it was enriching to hear similar lines and journeys set for instruments. The relationship of the two parts is astounding; they are each leading a separate pathway, but the moments of intersection and resolution, while brief, are shockingly natural. They do not sound planned or prepared, it is as if each part spontaneously decides to bend their route, and they happen to cross each other on the sidewalk and exchange a smile.
One moment that keeps coming to mind is the welcome speech that Kim Bottomly, president of Wellesley College (aka Kbots) gave on my first day of freshman orientation, August 2008. She brought up one of the favorite passages on campus which leads up to Green Hall. It is the renowned "Platform 9 3/4" because you enter at the bottom, twist up two narrow staircases, and appear magically on the road above. President Bottomly spoke about how you never can be certain whether someone is on the other part of the staircase when you enter this passageway, so sometimes you end up funnily squeezing by someone and are forced into interaction with that person, whom you may never have met otherwise. She said that the college experience is all about these awkward and funny chance encounters with people, and how these tiny encounters can be some of the most important ones of your life.
Truth be told, I've never been the hugest fan of Kbots. Her speeches most of the time come out kind of flat and lame and in person she's kind of fakey and disengaged. But, I will probably never forget that first speech, and I'm glad for it. My Wellesley experience both on and off campus has definitely rung true of her description. She urged us to embrace those moments and to be open to other people, and I can say that the times I have followed that advice have brought some of the dearest people into my life.
Everything these days comes to me in metaphors of music---not only do his words resonate within my mind and heart, but it also feels like a sudden coming together. It is as though we have been straining away on separate parts of di Lasso polyphony and then suddenly the moment of final resolution comes, seemingly out of the blue and you are left in awe of how two parts could converge so naturally that you didn't even see that moment coming. Yesterday a famous Wellesley grad, Wendy Gillespie, visited the campus prior to being honored at the Alumnae Achievement Awards Ceremony, and she played a short concert for the music department. She and a colleague played two very short viola da gamba duets by Orlando di Lasso on combinations of treble, tenor, and bass gambas. I have sung di Lasso polyphony, so it was enriching to hear similar lines and journeys set for instruments. The relationship of the two parts is astounding; they are each leading a separate pathway, but the moments of intersection and resolution, while brief, are shockingly natural. They do not sound planned or prepared, it is as if each part spontaneously decides to bend their route, and they happen to cross each other on the sidewalk and exchange a smile.
One moment that keeps coming to mind is the welcome speech that Kim Bottomly, president of Wellesley College (aka Kbots) gave on my first day of freshman orientation, August 2008. She brought up one of the favorite passages on campus which leads up to Green Hall. It is the renowned "Platform 9 3/4" because you enter at the bottom, twist up two narrow staircases, and appear magically on the road above. President Bottomly spoke about how you never can be certain whether someone is on the other part of the staircase when you enter this passageway, so sometimes you end up funnily squeezing by someone and are forced into interaction with that person, whom you may never have met otherwise. She said that the college experience is all about these awkward and funny chance encounters with people, and how these tiny encounters can be some of the most important ones of your life.
Truth be told, I've never been the hugest fan of Kbots. Her speeches most of the time come out kind of flat and lame and in person she's kind of fakey and disengaged. But, I will probably never forget that first speech, and I'm glad for it. My Wellesley experience both on and off campus has definitely rung true of her description. She urged us to embrace those moments and to be open to other people, and I can say that the times I have followed that advice have brought some of the dearest people into my life.
This really is one of the favorite ways in which I experience my God as the God of perfect timing. He subtly sneaks people into our life when we least expect it. May we be on guard to embrace each moment before it flashes by.
-lab
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