Beautiful song. Beautiful book. You'll see more video posts from this artist. I love her voice and quirks dearly. I hope you're not getting too sick of all my videos! I wonder if I can find the guitar music for this song....
Saturday, March 10, 2012
#23 On My Bucket List
I now want to go to the Color Festival. I really want to do this one day!
(#23 on Kelsey's Bucket List)
Wednesday, March 7, 2012
KONY 2012
"KONY 2012 is a film and campaign by Invisible Children that aims to make
Joseph Kony famous, not to celebrate him, but to raise support for his
arrest and set a precedent for international justice."
I have followed this campaign for the past three years now, and though I haven't done much to aid this cause, I hope to do so now. It was worth the 27 minutes.
Tuesday, March 6, 2012
El Cheapo!
It all started with this little guy:
Dropped off on my lawn on Valentine's Day, this golden item hosted a roll of toilet paper with the question "If you've got to go, go me! El Cheapo with Andrew Tate?" Of course I said "I would love to!" El Cheapo was our school's Winter/Spring dance that was casually based.
Our group consisted of 14 marvelous folk: Beno Seely and Alyssa Gates, Nate Frei and Emma Chapman, Parker Young and Jennifer, Michael and Kristen, Simon and Emily, Josh Dawson and Megan Asplund, Andrew and me. Andrew Tate is a superb friend, who I could easily write a series of blog posts on how suave is (if you're curious, you can click on his name).
After being picked up in a dashing El Cheapo van, we headed to Kiwanis park, where we entertained ourselves in chalk art featuring: fruit pictures, our dates, Y-mount - or a noble pirate ship that Andrew and I sketched- and a hit-man (shown below).
Afterwards, we got lured into the Provo City Library (one of my favorite places) for a scavenger hunt. It was pretty much amazing! Though Andrew and I didn't officially win any awards for any of the categories, we both agree that we struck gold on finding the coolest books such as David Bowie and Dinosaurs!
Afterwards, as we journeyed to our next destination, there appeared a red cooler off the side of the road which held exactly the contents of our dinner. (Nice touch there.) We parked ourselves at a large pavilion that had a lake full of ducks. Although the air was crisp and chill, we found comfort running around playing capture the flag and settling down to a cup of cider, soup, french bread and brownies. Dinner was indeed outstanding.
After warming up our hands and bellies from dinner, we decided it was time to dance! Surprisingly we stayed almost 2 hours until the very end. I think we all showed off our signature moves and enjoyed each others' company. At the close of the night, we had delicious ice cream at Michael's house, and then traveled back home.
El Cheapo was definitely "ginger peachy". I knew it was going to be brilliant, but I admit that it surpassed even that. The friends in my group were just spectacular, and the activities were thoughtful and very enjoyable! I'm very glad that I "got to go", and go with Mr. Tate.
Dropped off on my lawn on Valentine's Day, this golden item hosted a roll of toilet paper with the question "If you've got to go, go me! El Cheapo with Andrew Tate?" Of course I said "I would love to!" El Cheapo was our school's Winter/Spring dance that was casually based.
Our group consisted of 14 marvelous folk: Beno Seely and Alyssa Gates, Nate Frei and Emma Chapman, Parker Young and Jennifer, Michael and Kristen, Simon and Emily, Josh Dawson and Megan Asplund, Andrew and me. Andrew Tate is a superb friend, who I could easily write a series of blog posts on how suave is (if you're curious, you can click on his name).
After being picked up in a dashing El Cheapo van, we headed to Kiwanis park, where we entertained ourselves in chalk art featuring: fruit pictures, our dates, Y-mount - or a noble pirate ship that Andrew and I sketched- and a hit-man (shown below).
.JPG) |
| An areal shot of our group mural. Michael is standing on Andrew's shoulders. See our hit-man's staff? |
 |
| Our treasures. (Parker and Jennifer aren't pictured... sorry guys!) |
 |
| The coolest books ever! (I am laughing here...) |
 |
| Candlelit dinner with our Cup O' Noodles which warmed our hands quite nicely. |
 |
| BIG smiles! |
 |
| Yes Andrew. I suppose you rather are steamy. |
 |
| Beautiful lasses! |
 |
| Four out of our seven fantastic dancers! |
Sunday, March 4, 2012
Wednesday, February 29, 2012
Overland
Smoke filled the spaces,
on our skin, in our hearts.
Sorrow crept at the cracks
of our tears gathering.
Nearer came the train
to bring us apart
once again.
I wrote this snippet of poetry on January 21st, in honor of WW1 soldiers leaving their loved-ones. I usually get these urges to write- but time and the bustling of life usually gets in the way. Actually, I just don't make time for it. I am trying to improve and I have a few more ideas for some poems and I am really excited to test them out. I would love your feedback on this little bit! (I feel like it's a bit bland...) I apologize for this short entry, I'll recap soon!
on our skin, in our hearts.
Sorrow crept at the cracks
of our tears gathering.
Nearer came the train
to bring us apart
once again.
I wrote this snippet of poetry on January 21st, in honor of WW1 soldiers leaving their loved-ones. I usually get these urges to write- but time and the bustling of life usually gets in the way. Actually, I just don't make time for it. I am trying to improve and I have a few more ideas for some poems and I am really excited to test them out. I would love your feedback on this little bit! (I feel like it's a bit bland...) I apologize for this short entry, I'll recap soon!
Saturday, February 25, 2012
Among Things
I admit I maybe forgot about this blog.... though not in the bad sense. It almost seems to me I've been running to keep up with the clock-but I guess that's just how life goes! To brief ya'll of recent events, I received my license this December and by Jove am I loving it! I drove by myself for a long distance the first time last week, when I was running to volunteer at the Springville Art Museum. I blasted the Tangled soundtrack and felt the warm February Utah breeze (we've had an uncommonly warm winter) from my rolled down windows. Drivers passing in the other direction can easily vouch how broad my grin was. Whenever I drive I can't help but feel slightly giddy (or giddish?)
As far as music goes, I am working on Allemande by J.S. Bach and Minet's Old French Dances. They are gorgeous. I've also recently been obsessed with Classical 89 radio. They play the best variety of classical music, along with Spanish guitar and for an added bonus they play BBC World News at the start of very hour.
I am also currently working on a project similar to the one that I started with this blog. I am collecting poetry, written works (word clambake!), and quotes into my book I made at my writing summer class in 2010. So far,I have a many poems my dear Ms. Dickinson, William Wordsworth, Robert Burns, Kipling, Byron, Keats, Moore, Andrew Marvell, and my new favorite: Billy Collins. I was introduced to Billy Collins from one of the other English teachers at Timpview. His books The Trouble with Poetry, The Art of Drowning, and Sailing Alone Around the Room are my favorites. His poem, Monday highlights his particular style that I am in love with:
The birds are in their trees,
the toast is in the toaster,
and the poets are at their windows.
They are at their windows
in every section of the tangerine of earth-
the Chinese poets looking up at the moon,
the American poets gazing out
at the pink and blue ribbons of sunrise.
The clerks are at their desks,
the miners are down in their mines,
and the poets are looking out their windows
maybe with a cigarette, a cup of tea,
and maybe a flannel shirt or bathrobe is involved.
The proofreaders are playing the ping-pong
game of proofreading,
glancing back and forth from page to page,
the chefs are dicing celery and potatoes,
and the poets are at their windows
because it is their job for which
they are paid nothing every Friday afternoon.
Which window it hardly seems to matter
though many have a favorite,
for there is always something to see-
a bird grasping a thin branch,
the headlights of a taxi rounding a corner,
those two boys in wool caps angling across the street.
The fishermen bob in their boats,
the linemen climb their round poles,
the barbers wait by their mirrors and chairs,
and the poets continue to stare
at the cracked birdbath or a limb knocked down by the wind.
By now, it should go without saying
that what the oven is to the baker
and the berry-stained blouse to the dry cleaner,
so the window is to the poet.
Just think-
before the invention of the window,
the poets would have had to put on a jacket
and a winter hat to go outside
or remain indoors with only a wall to stare at.
And when I say a wall,
I do not mean a wall with striped wallpaper
and a sketch of a cow in a frame.
I mean a cold wall of fieldstones,
the wall of the medieval sonnet,
the original woman's heart of stone,
the stone caught in the throat of her poet-lover.
-Billy Collins
There is just a crisp, concise organization of brilliance that he has. I'm sure you'll hear more from me about this chap. I just realized that I have so much more to say but I want to break up this post into a few parts. The ones coming up after this one shortly will be about my experiences writing this year, more poems I need to share that I've written and collected, my suave date with Mr. Tate (yes, it does indeed rhyme) and friends and other marvels.
As far as music goes, I am working on Allemande by J.S. Bach and Minet's Old French Dances. They are gorgeous. I've also recently been obsessed with Classical 89 radio. They play the best variety of classical music, along with Spanish guitar and for an added bonus they play BBC World News at the start of very hour.
I am also currently working on a project similar to the one that I started with this blog. I am collecting poetry, written works (word clambake!), and quotes into my book I made at my writing summer class in 2010. So far,I have a many poems my dear Ms. Dickinson, William Wordsworth, Robert Burns, Kipling, Byron, Keats, Moore, Andrew Marvell, and my new favorite: Billy Collins. I was introduced to Billy Collins from one of the other English teachers at Timpview. His books The Trouble with Poetry, The Art of Drowning, and Sailing Alone Around the Room are my favorites. His poem, Monday highlights his particular style that I am in love with:
The birds are in their trees,
the toast is in the toaster,
and the poets are at their windows.
They are at their windows
in every section of the tangerine of earth-
the Chinese poets looking up at the moon,
the American poets gazing out
at the pink and blue ribbons of sunrise.
The clerks are at their desks,
the miners are down in their mines,
and the poets are looking out their windows
maybe with a cigarette, a cup of tea,
and maybe a flannel shirt or bathrobe is involved.
The proofreaders are playing the ping-pong
game of proofreading,
glancing back and forth from page to page,
the chefs are dicing celery and potatoes,
and the poets are at their windows
because it is their job for which
they are paid nothing every Friday afternoon.
Which window it hardly seems to matter
though many have a favorite,
for there is always something to see-
a bird grasping a thin branch,
the headlights of a taxi rounding a corner,
those two boys in wool caps angling across the street.
The fishermen bob in their boats,
the linemen climb their round poles,
the barbers wait by their mirrors and chairs,
and the poets continue to stare
at the cracked birdbath or a limb knocked down by the wind.
By now, it should go without saying
that what the oven is to the baker
and the berry-stained blouse to the dry cleaner,
so the window is to the poet.
Just think-
before the invention of the window,
the poets would have had to put on a jacket
and a winter hat to go outside
or remain indoors with only a wall to stare at.
And when I say a wall,
I do not mean a wall with striped wallpaper
and a sketch of a cow in a frame.
I mean a cold wall of fieldstones,
the wall of the medieval sonnet,
the original woman's heart of stone,
the stone caught in the throat of her poet-lover.
-Billy Collins
There is just a crisp, concise organization of brilliance that he has. I'm sure you'll hear more from me about this chap. I just realized that I have so much more to say but I want to break up this post into a few parts. The ones coming up after this one shortly will be about my experiences writing this year, more poems I need to share that I've written and collected, my suave date with Mr. Tate (yes, it does indeed rhyme) and friends and other marvels.
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