One Long Blow

Me and Einstein

Bottles with Messages: Messages in Bottles

We were at Lens Crafters and it went something like this:
Jordan: I have my polaroid camera with me.
Reba: Take a picture of me.
Jordan: Here?! okay, but it will make a loud noise.
Reba: Let me first put on some glasses.

Happy Anniversary Mum&Pops.

Sheet music seems most appealing during this time of year. The good and the less good of tones and pitches blend together to echo out carols of delight. I am convinced that my own voice becomes better during this time of year, and an overwhelming burst of confidence hiding in the bottom of my diaphragm from January to November seems to make a once-a-year appearance along with Santa and his reindeers*.
But as we sing the Christmas hymns in sacrament meeting, I feel as though we are but a few harmonies away from the tabernacle choir, and that in itself is something to write home about.
'Tis also the season, not only to sing, but to listen to Christmas music. This year is my third year in which I have had the opportunity to binge on Sufjan Stevens, who sings some mighty holiday melodies. All of his tunes are simple and wonderful, and each year it seems that I allow myself to attach my ears to a single song of his. Vol.III: DING!DONG! has been on repeat, and more specifically is the traditional 12th century French carol, "Orientis Partibus" or "The Friendly Beasts"

*I would love a taxidermied reindeer for Christmas, and I would pay to see a taxidermied Santa, if there is such a thing.

Messy Room
by Shel Silverstein

Whosever room this is should be ashamed!
His underwear is hanging on the lamp.
His raincoat is there in the overstuffed chair,
And the chair is becoming quite mucky and damp.
His workbook is wedged in the window,
His sweater's been thrown on the floor.
His scarf and one ski are beneath the TV,
And his pants have been carelessly hung on the door.
His books are all jammed in the closet,
His vest has been left in the hall.
A lizard named Ed is asleep in his bed,
And his smelly old sock has been stuck to the wall.
Whosever room this is should be ashamed!
Donald or Robert or Willie or--
Huh? You say it's mine? Oh, dear,
I knew it looked familiar!

The unexpected, ever-so comforting Woody Allen

I don't mind spending evenings alone, as long as I have a collective amount of movies I can watch one after another as I eat tomato soup and knit my Christmas presents. I've been cut from work at the Market once more, and luckily I can "rent" dvds for free at the public library.
Woody Allen after Woody Allen after Woody Allen.
I'm reliving 1970's New York.

Muslin:III

Still in an unfinished state, with work still to be done on the back and adding the sleeves.

Illustration of Muslin:III

Indulging in Georgia Geography

It started out with a simple, familiar drive. A drive I drove at least once a month, I-16West to I-75North. That is, until Kelsey pulled out her handwritten directions of lefts and rights on the curved country roads through Georgia. Rolled hay stacks, orchards of pecans trees, and a series of steeple church houses composed of a variety of Christian denominations; Baptists, Methodists, Presbyterians, Lutherans, etc. all epitomize the South. We made several stops to confirm our directions, and a couple stops for the sake of a sentimental souvenir. Our favorite place, no argument, was a trading post outside of the small town of Thompson. We were greeted by an abundant amount of rabbits and a toothless, white-haired, overall-wearing man. His merchandise was all old: aged, worn, and expired; yet he managed to keep himself updated by wearing a modern pair of sunglasses. His things were overpriced as if he were charging for the layers of dust. I made no purchases, but allowed myself to indulge in taking digital photographs. Our journey continued Northeast towards Athens, where introductions were made, tours were taken, and philosophical topics were discussed.
Our hopes are to visit once more to this trading post, and if Kelsey gets engaged anytime soon this is where her wedding registry will be.