To tailors, coasts and mendings

Not all who wander are lost.

Not all lost wander.

Not everyone has butter on their toast, but a lot of people do. Majority I'd say.


I need to write more. I think I will. Later. Perhaps on a better timed evening of blue shades and dancing breezes or in an early morning. Which ever I meet first.

But.

Later.

Tchau bacalhua.

A Yurt in the Dirt

Dear Society,
If there are any objections to living the rest of your life in a larger than life tent than I don't want to hear them. And if you would like to persist and convince us why the idea is less than a stroke of genius than please put it into the suggestion box but if there are no objections to be raised I will tell you about Yurts and why it never hurts to live in a Yurt.

You know when you have an epiphany of some sort? And your heart swells and grows three times too large? That occurred when I realized just a week ago that my idea that I need to live in a house is so wrong, its wronger than wrong. I can live life in a yurt. People all around the world do it. Mongolians, desert dwellers, some star wars characters do it and not to mention nomads and I will one day. They are like those tents in Harry Potter that have an expansive spell put on them to create more space to include beds, a kitchen, a wood fire stove (practical in a tent? yes. Safe? hopefully, fingers crossed tightly on that detail) You can have stories in a Yurt, not only floors, but bedtime stories that change just by the fact that you are tucked up so nicely in a bunk bed and you are staring up through that large window that opens to the stars and stories are being whispered all around, like passing a bowl of popcorn. It's a life long girls camp opportunity with much less estrogen and cat fights. (Fingers also crossed on that one). But Yurts, Yurts, Yurts, they circle my head daily, rugs skip through too, colors like chartreuse and mandarin chase each other around and I just smile at the sky happy in my mind yurt.

So when you are asking yourself, where will Abbey end up someday? I'll be in a Yurt in a parent's backyard with surfboards on the side, blonde babies booking it about, lavender on the side with sunflowers and only a swimsuit with a skirt wrapped around. I'll die of skin cancer, sure, but I'll have lived in a yurt in the dirt. It just cannot go wrong!

Oddie and Arrin (Addie and Orrin)

There's Addie, a wee graduate. 

There's Orrin, the O-man. 

This is simply a nostalgic post, after finding every moment I could set down and run over to the house next door with the drooliest beast and his friends (these are the dogs) who guard the door and extensive amounts of leaping geckos, spotted lizards, and scurrying miniature prehistoric beasts. I would hear screams before I even got inside, they would waft out the screen door, one would be from Addie for Coco and another would be Orrin having a shout because he could! Swimsuits and life-jackets later 

we were swimming, or leaping, or kicking like mermaids, or playing tag strictly in the shallow area, throwing each other all about racing to the side of the pool, climbing out and opening our arms leaping out stomachs aimed for the water because you can always belly flop when you are wearing a padded life jacket. 

More screams let every neighbor know, this is FUN! 

Then when Dillon gets back from work (warning: quintessential family scenario ahead) he hops in the pool and soon there are whirlpools and Erik is flipping up and in too, Orrin gets more deliriously joyful, sometimes jealous and sometimes enraged but these emotions are fleeting mostly and if not we can talk to him and then 

we are in a black flatbed truck with surf and paddle boards bouncing in the back and I Spy is occurring, Addie always smacks her hands and flings a hand motion towards you when you get it right. I taught her to shoot little guns with her fingers, to clap and clap, which is much more darling on her than on me. 

Finally we reach a bay we can take them out in, and we do and its wild horses racing down the waves as fast as they can be picked up, or survivors shipwrecked trying to stroke those lazy turtles that 

Breathe 

sporadically across the face of waves. Feet in the water tingle dramatically as if at that very second they were being eyed like some delicious entree but Oman and Ads are perched far enough on the front of the boards that I don't fret. (even nannies fret). 

Addie loves to demand the horse to go "FASTER FASTER" and then in that critical moment when the wave catches under the feet of the surfboard the screams get higher and higher and I'm barely paddling because my arms are useless to laughter brigades. Completely helpless to all of that. 

And any perfect surf sesh deserves a slushee even for the naughtiest nymph and goblin, or if they were especially good you get a F'Real as an option. I was sometimes so good I got a F'real, for real. 

We all get back in the Sister Walls, Dill's pickup, and cruise down the highway with the two silliest, squirmiest, funniest, gorgeousest babies on the North Shore just telling tall tales of bathroom trips and booger quesadilla's (Dillon may be twenty four but a good booger joke is never lost on him) (I may be nineteen but a good poop reference is never lost on me either). You'd think heads would start nodding, they do, except they aren't Addie or Orrin, Dillon drinks rockstars to keep it all on the road and I just keep my bouncing noggin up with stilts and many supports, including heads of Addie or Oman but I get pushed off quickly. 

Addie and I sing Frozen and Orrin accompanies with more gusto than either of us could muster up, he has hand motions for the drama of it all, he has a sneaky grin flashed when he screams, "be the good girl..." And wouldn't this surprise you? We laugh, boy, does he feed off that quick loud breathes we call chuckles, his practically gummy smile almost falls off his face he loves being funny so much. Those missing teeth, those cowlicks, those heavy breaths out noses when thinking extremely hard. I'm talking about Dillon, not the kids. 

But those two gave me Hawaiian joy. And lots of good lessons. Nannying, parenting, being with little people

it's good stuff! 

Exceptional at best

Jazz music, when sung by a Jay, a wild Jay, has a way of soothing traffics hum and stalling others in mid flight. A little Aretha Franklin, a touch of Etta James, yes'm, it is the golden ears of legend.

If we all have a bird that we can claim, a song bird that sits perched in our chest, that preens itself and considers it self the most lovely thing of all and then when the clock strikes twelve, or the moment hits, we open our mouths and that little bravado of a beast sings forth then I must have a mockingbird. She's kindly. But what she loves is others songs. Especially that of a Jay, sometimes the Jay will stop and sing with this little black tweet and oh how her chest puffs up, she constantly prepares for these moments and attempts harmonies with a glance from Jay sticks to melody and then will break forth with a little soulful improvisation and a few songs later and a whole song album later with many lines messed up or purposefully played with the Jay is singing by herself once more and the mockingbird sits, claps, hums, taps and mimicks whatever she can conjure up at the time. It was fun. Real fun.

Muggle Syndrome

It must be. There is no other reason to explain what is happening. 

I'm a wizard. 

Nay a witch.
And now it is becoming clearer than ever.
Thought you would like to know. 

Sincerely, Abigonnagal 

Just any Day will do.

There is a host of days, official days, that go unnoticed for their worth of celebrating. 

For instance, did you know that there is a National Nutella Day? 

Everyone in most schools will fondly refer to Wildlife Wednesday.

There is a Childrens Day in June. That threw me a spoon. 

Today, January 23, is

National Handwriting Day

National Pie Day (and no not 3.14 Pi, real Pie, the pumpkin kind) 

and

Measure Your Feet Day.

Now why? Why is it the official day to measure your feet? Because there should be at least one day a day year where your small pigs and miniature fingers get recognized for their length and how important that is. Now I have found myself with the ravaged remains of a Chocolate Haupia Cream Pie sitting perched, legs crossed, measuring time with forkfuls of pie and spotify tracks trying to just truly appreciate this moment and the fact that today is for pie, and for me today is for this pie. I am celebrating the work and what I would call love, what others call sugar, that went into this slice of heaven. So I have another proposal (as usual) a proposal, a toast, an idea, that we begin every day with the intent to celebrate one element of this life. 

Beginning with Mother Teresa Thursday. (Hear hear comes roaring out from behind the silken curtains, popcorn is thrown joyously into the air in the peanut gallery, and a few sparkling ciders are broken out just to further toast Mother Teresa and her day. Thursday.) 

We can do one act of service, celebrate the goodness in not walking away, and pretend we all wear matronly veils and try to truly see the true beauty of those all around us. 

(one more cheer? Okay, alright, thank you, thank you. I'll take my bows now) 

Hawaii is doing well.

I went on a swim the other morning, one of those particular ones that get you lost in the depths. Spilling over coral down to sandy pits beneath and spinning through the water it was perffaith. (It's welsh and would translate into something relatively close to perfect). But the best part was that this swim began a new year, a new season, a new semester and a slightly new corner for me to look out on. Upwards and forwards, talleyho! And for some reason this blonde surfer kept chasing me through the waters, strange. But exciting, then I remembered his name is Dillon and that he can hold his breath longer than I can and so I should stop kidding myself that I was going to win the race. But having a friend there in the ocean, appreciating the Pacific and aquaponics. I swallowed some water, deep, salty ocean water. Tasty. Mouth puckering. And it made me cough, then sputter and then snort. Everyone needs a good snort of salt water, it really clears the sinuses. Like hot sauce clears your throat when you naively lick it off your fingers when it spills out. Other things happen when you're out there, you can hear this crackling, bubbling sound. As if a teeny Mr. Magorium was jumping up and down on packing wrap, tapping out an eternity of snap, crackles and pops. This and tortillas. I'll always love tortillas. That's what defines a day to remember.

A quick turn of time.

I am hoping that I will be granted a time turner this Christmas, the long, spindly chain to wrap around my hand in its eternal rounds of loops and gold, the spinning sand piece and the constellations etched all about it. Not only is it an excellent dabbling of jewelry to enjoy it also serves as a doorstep into the past. I would love to re-walk the hot tar of Hillsdale again in blissful delight that is involved with you, my dear best friend, Libby Daniel. It seems yesterday, we all say that, but in all pure honesty it does. It feels like I just stepped out of that gold rimmed afternoon where we took photos against the dying Fall light. Do you remember that, Lib? We were practically drinking in the last rays of sunshine that evening. We just could not let it go and I think we were granted a little bit of a miracle that evening, I think the sunset took longer than it usually would. I think it hesitated near the horizon, at the rim of dusk, gazing down at these two girls and a sister and her friend who could not stop relishing in all of its glory. Its been a few years now, since I first met you in a small Sunday school classroom, immediately jumping onto the opportunity to have a new friend, a dissociated member to the cast of faces already on Hillsdale. I couldn't conceal my awe, I was in awe, it was this being of orange and sass that I could not look away from. None of us could. You wandered into our open arms. We have always seen the gold in you.
Dear Libby,
Hey girl. It's your birthday, uh-huh, it is. Nineteen. It feels a little older now that you are here actually. I feel as if I access bits and pieces more to my own age as everyone else reaches it. As if we are filling up a canteen, you are familiar with these as I well know, an aging canteen that is not empty but nowhere close to as full as it should be. Can you believe that we are nineteen? We, its always been a we too. Abercrombie and Liberatchi. Are we ready to keep on moving up? Of course, of course we are. Perhaps. But the beauty is that no matter what state we currently find ourselves in, its happening. It is an unexpected slide that we get to fall upon and then find our course, get our seating and figure out along the way. So here we go, fitting our wee bums (no matter what we tell ourselves) into this seat that we have found, yours is probably a pillow with embroidery and I am hoping mine was knitted for me. This will be fun, no? Yes, this is fun. I love you, soul friend. I love you so. Soulfully. See you so so so so soon. It's only a leap and skip away from each other now. Hawppiest Birrdayiest Day. I love you, again, I love you.
Love, Abs (you were first)

Muneribus

Kindness, a gift greater than any other. I have officially met kindness, he is not very tall, has hair whiter than my sweet Gma's, scrunches his nose frequently and laughs very, very often.

I have seen and met many people since arriving in this state of rainbows, monsoons, and aloha. It is exactly what it was promised it would be. And there is one who fully emulates the beauty of the Aloha spirit, but how did he come to be that way? How does any person reach the situation where we give freely and ask for nothing in return? It cannot simply be where we were raised, though soft Hawaiian days may have assisted in molding this boy, or those who raised us. Perhaps it is an innate gift endowed to us to bear each and every day. Like anything it must be that choice you make every morning when you arise and settle your feet upon the earth beneath you and choose kindness, we have to choose those type of things each morning with the sneaking rays of sun that slip through the cracks in the walls and through the slats of our windows.

Now since having shaken the very hand of kindness I have begun to feel a little change within me, a small urge to do things for others more often than I have before. One of the things I want the most is to make others happy, it cannot be too hard now can it? There is always the Cosmo approach to it, hit your head on something, throw out a few jokes, do a jig, and appreciate some old Charlie Chaplin techniques. Also the Mother Teresa approach: "We can do no great things: only small things with great love." I'm a firm believer of this one, my very favorite shirt that I have acquired over the years actually sports the Mother herself and that quote and this is, indeed, my own interpretation of that. Small kindnesses: a hug at the right time, listening intently and devotedly, a lovingly written note, a fist bump, holding a door open, all the small things that remain in our memories so fondly. Those things. And just loving is also enough, when you give that to others you would be surprised at how they grow. We all know what it feels like to be loved, loved in just the right way. And love changes for each person, there is, as F. Scott Fitzgerald once said, "There are all kinds of love in this world but never the same love twice." Love is a kindness that anyone can share, and everyone can accept. We love as easily as we breathe but do not always share it as fluently. So what if we expressed that love as frequently and easily as we breathed? Just a thought. I may exercise it, an outpouring of love for those about me not held in but spread about to all that want a cuppa. So if you receive a letter or another form of communication from me soon know that your ears will be filled with love. And then last of all, the Piccadilly approach. Just kill 'em with kindness, be yourself, be authentic and those around you will respond to that in a positive fashion and fill in the space you have left for them to be them. Beautifully or Dastardly. Either way they are they. And that is a kindness in of itself.

So I want to thank kindness and kill 'em with small things and laughter. And maybe do some real school work. That'll do, that'll do.

Placing Happy

I feel inclined to place ten pieces of happiness out for inspection and to be followed with a few hallelujah's.

1. Today was one of those sublime mornings where all my good intentions to complete school work wafted away with each singing breeze and instead I sat cross-legged on my floor, lost in a laughing contest and conversation with an old friend over the telephone.

2. Whilst holding a class discussion in History today I got to discover my new classmates views of history and I was the one to prompt it out from them. I got a few funny looks but one girl gave me a reassuring foot pat and a "good job" and that was all I needed frankly. And Daniel went before me and covered the entire chapter, that cleared up a lot of stress. Anthropology majors are good people.

3. John, Paul, George & Ringo. They feature more in the daily than one would expect. I'll always love that Gringo Ringo.

4. Acknowledging how beautiful pregnant women are.

5. I was informed that there are 59 days until Friday the 13th. I get to return to my Valley on that day, and though that's not a piece of paradise like Hawaii there is no denying the adoration one has for home. Nothing fits quite the same as the place where your feet trod with such surety. Home is where I am with you? Utah, you have become a home.

6. Savages. Woman. Finding those whom you can raise your voice considerably with are a real gift actually.

7. The mountains that lace upwards behind campus. I cannot stop expecting to see a giant rear back it's excellent head with craggy eyebrows and tiny eyes from those hills. They are a fairy tale. It's everytime I begin to look at them my mind rushes to Spiderwick, Narnia, Atlantis and Land before Time all at once, there is to much childlike imagination running through the trees up there. It's just as grand when you enter in as well, give or take a few mosquitoes of course!

8. That cubism exists, that grizzly bears do not live out in Hawaii, that you can reserve silence and deserve it as well, that scripture power never ceases giving and that that imagination plays such a key role in the past. Say goodnight to the dwarfs of dreams.

9. I came into my dorm this morning after rushing out into the morning to Intercultural Communications with Pajama's strewn about my room, my room was unruly. And when I returned it had all been set into place again, what a sweet mercy, I felt tears prick in my eyes because I needed a little push and help and I didn't even know it. Still smiling to myself.

10. Music, and the fact that The Head and the Heart now have a new album out. Shake. Be still my soul, I have listened to it over and over. And I found Ben Howard, take a gander and listen to Keep Your Head UP. I'll keep this kid close.

urge

I have a whole garden full of urges to be able to write something stirring. Oh man, words must be the most ridiculous medium that there is. They, simply put, will not listen. Not matter how you push or prod, demand and require, they will not just yield to you something akin to Donne or Hemingway. I'll forgive them on a later date and for now just thank the heavens for language. I'll walk their paths, the paths of words. See where they connect and intermingle with one another. After all I was searching for was me.

I.

I kept asking myself why I needed to stand so rigidly. Why were my ankles keeping each other company and why were my heels fit so firmly to the floor.

Unresisting I felt all of it enter. The universe rang about in the echoes of the shower space. Calling to corners and to the passerby's. Asking the whole entire time the same question, be change? I needed to change. The breath of angels need to change. And so do I.

Because who sees who you truly are? You could ask the members of late night bathroom trips, or friends that belong only in your well-lit kitchen. You could look to past love's, future love's, even those who you can only pretend you got to love. (They always seem to be the most heart-felt ones about it all) You could peer into the carpet bag of magic tricks of your grandfathers, or shake out the dust in your aunt's music books. Scamper about searching for linen skirt of your mom's because it knew her so well, so perhaps it could accommodate you similarly? Continue looking, ask all of your acquaintances and keep checking with your friends. Who sees who you truly are? Can you even see you? There are layers of old coats and marbles on a few, some are dressed up in rag-time tunes. There are a few who can truly see you, who you truly show you. Family is a funny place to start. Greeting with plum hands and heavy scarves. But the path torn with the hopeful awaits hope. Peace peeks behind curtains. Keep a sharp eye out for the words you most need to circle over and over until they remain stalwart and alone on the page. Keep a kind eye out for those souls who beat like yours. Keep a hand out for the breath of angels. Swim in the ocean with the salt and heat all in your head and beneath your feet keep corals colleagues dart and spin away.

 

I stood even straighter, an Alice potion effect took place, I think I grew. My spine pulled towards the ceiling and I could feel the dust settle on the slick floor. And then I stilled, everything stilled, and a lightness expanded in my head. The same when alone in the ocean for the first time. I breathed a fresh new breath and shook off my old bones and stepped into my cadmium towel.

Orangication

I know now there are some who are made to smile, they cannot stop! No matter how hard they try, the smile cannot be wiped off with an eraser, napkins, sticks, stones, little rocks, serious words, or even those sad stories you hear on the radio. They try, geniuinely, and sadness is never a stranger but for some unexplainable reason, a smile cannot help but perk up the corners of their mouth, even their eyes cannot resist twinkling doggishly out at the world. No, it just doesn't happen. Sweet smilers.

Extraordinary Post Conditions

 

Who needs to beard yourself when you have the sea? There's sand and a breeze, I cannot fathom that the "sea could possibly just be a wetter version of the sky" (Regina Spektor line), a rhythm deep in the cavernous caves created by crabs, children are adorned only in sand, the sun becomes your very best friend (until he scornfully burns you when he gets jealous). But until that moment and even then still, all of it is sublime.
Just fine.

Take heart and look about I know that there is not one way possible that Hawaii could have risen out of the depths to be this majestic beauty, the queen of the ocean.

If not for our loving Heavenly Father, he knew what this land can do to a heart, to the skin, to the soul, to anybody from anywhere.

 

Pineapple and folding chairs.

Cheeky kids letting you know all about it.

"This is the place"

Fawnd Farewells

Second post in one night stretch, usually unheard of from me but I have one more offering for my blog.

 

I start the collegic days tomorrow. More than I have up to this point.

 

I feel at war with myself as both fawn and school boy choose their paths within me.

 

What thoughts is the fawn having? She does not want to be left behind but has always been shy in the beginning of beginnings. Knees as fragile as tender shoots buckle under the idea. Large eyes bat at the mere mention of classrooms. Rib cage rockets with a heart destined for the whole nine yards.

 

What thoughts are on the rushing boy's mind? He seems as proud as brass to be out and going forth ready for all the new knowledge that will teach him how to conquer each constellation and every kilometer. Swaggering with strained jeans and bruised calves. As ready for anything as he ever will be. He checks two houses down to ensure his friends are following and making way to the same path. Cheeky monkey as he is, he's going to be more than fine!

 

But what if a few variables changed. The friends did not arrive, or friends had not been acquired yet. How would he be feeling? His swagger would trip with anxiety but smiling like he meant it he would continue and carry on. Because all the bravest do. Just as the fawn would too, as soon as her bus pulled in as well. Change is inevitable and not only that but good.

 

I get to trip off to bed now, and then to class next. Wish me a fond one, love! 

A Great Pear

The strange, lovely mystery of life is our ideas of what is ideal.

Sometimes holding onto our ideal is crippling and others it gives our souls flight. But the true beauty of the idealic (no not a real word but see what it can become for you) is that it is dressed in dreams and hopes like a beautiful garment meant for only you, a perfect fit, in fact! In the end real life is messy but our ideal is always somehow upheld and respected. What we think is what occurs! Marvelous, yea, yea it is. Thought provides such unbelievable power and weight for the present. You get to be exactly what you think. As Roaldy Dahl said, "If you have good thoughts they will shine out of your face like sunshine and you will always look lovely." And it's more than just looking lovely but the sunshine within you from the thoughts which keep you warm at night. I am not always prone to the thoughts that I call dripping drops of unbearable sunshine. No sir. But I know exactly where to find them if I do need to go looking, and prayer is one place to run to, my odd day dreams, ridiculous memories, and admiring those around me. People are always incredible, surprising, spontaneous, merciful, lovely, and we all have a streak of something rough and untamed within us. We sometimes find ourselves to be superior but I will let you know that its not true. No one is better than you. I know I'm not. Surprise! Just kidding we all knew that. No, we are all lucky enough to be equal so why not offer that gift to those around us, equality. Let's not forget what a full job being human is, just being you is. Being that awesome is hard! Ask Obama if you want, he'll tell you all about it. Or Will Smith, Leo the Di, Miss Watson, Emma, etc. We are who we are.

I kept hearing this in prayers today, a plea to our Father in Heaven, supplicating for our hopes and dreams that we can live by those and gain them. I have never ever heard that uttered aloud in a prayer before but we all have them. Sometimes, we ignore them. Say, little guy I don't know what you are doing poking your nose around here but you are crazy and I cannot take you in with all my other sensible things I already possess. Or you are not real. Ha, it is. We each have a job on this earth and I think one of the ways Heavenly Father helps us realize it is planting in each of us a dream. They are shy creatures dreams, easily frightened and we need to follow them mercilessly. I have a dream said Martin Luther King Jr. and he was right, he did. And we do too! And Heavenly Father is more than willing to help us hobble after that dream, toddle after that flashing lightning bug to hold for ourselves, peeking in at and not even quite believing that it could be real.

Here is my dream

Seldom leaving my haven of home

a small house for the two and more

open doors and breezes that should be bottled up

peeling pears for pear pie (is it any good? in my dreams it is)

venturing from the homestead to the big, lovely planet

service, endless service

a peace corp existence simply

add in some marine life just for good measure, please

a few wild hearted ninnies to call my own

scruff and guitar

honest tea until we can drink no more

an immaculate word or two to share

books upon books upon books with books on those

ART, yep, ART

words as easy to share as a smile

love jam

and laughter as quick as a flash flood in Utah but not as rare

being apart of the church always

taking breaks to give life to living

pack ratting, its who I am

road trips

hawaiian spirits

give me those who know happiness just as well as they know their own, sweet voices

 

Not to much to ask is it?

I know it will all get taken care of. In it's own time.

"This is a prayer of contentment." C.S.

 

Always Gold to Me

There are more things that should be considered precious than actually are. And I am not just simply talking Gollum in a cave holding his precious to him, humming to himself and reminiscing about that nice raw fish he had for lunch. Though that is precious! I have a certain soft spot for the little guy. But a different precious entirely. The sort of precious that causes you to stop what you are doing to glance fondly at the wooden congreve Cube that someone labored to make for you, and it's not just the Cube (though it possesses all sorts of magical qualities and a potential to do unbelievably great things) but it's the hands which crafted it, that cut themselves once or twice in the making and that proudly presented me with my Cube.

That is what is precious.

Can you believe that we forget that? That in our hackled times we look at those most precious to us as something to irk us. That get's under our skin.

But in other moments, when we are relaxed and happy as fat housecats on a potted plant we truly see all of our dear precious beings around us. Sometimes you have to leave for some time. Others take a walk. Or even sometimes if you are especially wide-eyed you can look up and see them there, standing before you with all that they are worth wreathing them in the light of a slightly perfect and even more strange being deserves! That's what happens to the luckiest of us. We actually see our friends, family, our strangers and our future for all that they are worth: precious people. As Winnie the Pooh once said, "How lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard." Because we are surrounded by the most precious things there can be and that's just the people that we love. And who is begrudging enough to truly withhold our love from any one? Every last Gollum, every Dumbledore, each and every Steve. They could do with the opportunity to be precious. And that's what I want to do more of. Make my preciouses feel precious and know that they are precious. As precious as any gem, any seven wonder, any star. And even more so. Because they have always been gold to me. And hopefully that will do them good. For that's what they have each done for me. So thank you precious, thank you.

Even these two, they have been vital and precious and always will remain so. 

Thank you world. Stay safe. 

Sincerely, Abigail 

How am I getting home?

This is it, I am in Dublin, safely in the Abigail's (yes, that's exactly how it worked out) Hostel. Thanks Ab, your a keeper I am sure of it! And through the kind graces of Fealuanauu, yes that was her real name, who Theresa and I met on the ferry, we sat in a nice companionable silence and then began chatting and Theresa and the Welshie simply clicked! Stories and thoughts on horses, riding and country music. Yes, they like country music out here! But the Welshie's sweet Irish Dad came and gave us a ride out to Abigail's or else we would have doomed to a fate of walking here. Just like those emaciated statues lining the pavement from the Irish famine. Half dead on our feet! How does travel wipe you out so? It has a knack for me! But now is that moment where you are looking about you and all those moments you were looking forward to and could barely see ahead of you before are tripping along happily by your side, new friends and companions to keep your soul a little brighter when those travelless days come! As Debra said,

You won't ever forget this will you? 

Never, not as long as I live will Wales leave my heart! And as Theresa has been very consistently reminding me, we are coming back. Yea, we are! It's inevitable, I fell in love with everything wet, wild and green out there and quite a few dry things as well! Oh if you could only just begin to imagine their library! Holy Crepe! It's a good one to say the least. Ah, Wales you will now remain one of those countries encircled with faint, golden haze reserved for all things fantastic, reverently special and gut-bustingly funny. This is for you Wales!



            CHEERS!

Feeling 19, at last.

This is weird for me. Normally I am not stoked to age but this time around, on July 22, I was ready to be a whole year older. Nearer to twenty than I have ever been before. I am not excited for the year of twenty but being nineteen just feels right, I suppose. Something I am meant to be. And now I am! To add to the joys of being a nearly adult child is that the royal of royals was born on my birthday! Oh George Alexander Lewis, what a cutie. And rumor has it that Prince Harry himself has happily cuddled him, must be a keeper.

Janie & the Stonehedge

My overwhelming excitement about being in Winchester Cathedral in crazy close quarters with the resting Jane Austen in the ground was, frankly, overwhelming. Me and Lydia erupted out of the Cathedral, skipping, laughing, grabbing and climbing about. Every photo taken afterwards was filled with us grinning ridiculously and grasping onto each other in pure unadulterated glee. Oh Jane. We skipped, jumped and danced back to where our study abroad group was waiting for us and just jabbered about Jane! JAne! JANE! We even wrote a song about her that had a gothic, religious ceremony affect to it. I licked her dying home. Oh sweet Jane. Did you know her brother revealed her identity after she had died as the writer of the greatest roman novels?

Then our day felt as if it stood in that small, circular break in the stormy, dark clouds, the sunshine spot. The ring of sun. Sunny ring. Sunny-D, Baby. But if you are wondering what all the hype is about. It's stonehenge! A place for druids and wizards alike to gather and chant on the two solstices', but we along with all those crazy magicians (but not when we were there) were allowed to walk among the rock giants. Stonehenge. It was more than lovely.

WE HAD

Indian Chanting

Polish Dancing

Sacrifice

Jumping lessons and strained neck-tendons

More sacrifice

 Awed Sighs

I think one couple kissed....

A rock was licked (on the sly)

And the sun was raised to the sky in its setting

Best. Day. Yesterday. Hmmmm.