Raindrips through sunshine. How.

I've got a golden ticket, and I flet like singing. Well its not actually gold, but there's a gold inscription that means everything to me.

He talked for over an hour, and I was surprised at the change in my attitude. I wanted in and out, homework was desperate for attention, and my body and mind tired mid-week. I wondered why he didn't seem rushed, when this appointment was next to impossible to schedule in the first place.

He talked for over an hour, and in the course of that hour I was left with little stories to delve into again and again, little life lessons that will filter accross my memory at some later date, to teach me of truth that I need to understand in that moment. He was in tune, and knew how to calm me, to teach and even console me.

Then T said something, and it was an answer to the poetic mess my mind had created. So many stories, people and their love for me coming together. So many questions still, but so much peace.

I have a piece of paper that means everything to me. I will find answers, I will find joy, and even more peace. I am not afraid, I do not question, I will listen and be taught, obey with exactness and watch the heavens unfold.

a dancers lament

stage make-up. hate it. In the words of a theatre ballerina, while taking off fake eylashes... "why again did I decide to dance? Why not trak? Then I could have looked ugly, and mascara wouldn't be neccessary!"

She took the words right out of my mouth. truth and light, truth and light.

And as if scrubbing my face raw every night wasn't bad enough, Edwin request that are hair be 'fluffy and curled' for the israeli dance. It used to be that slickng your hair back in an effortless, nasty, bun made up for the blush and eyshadow drama. Put enough gel in and the hair style will hold for two, maybe even three shows. huzzah.

but not this time. 5 shows + a dress rehearsal = 6 showers and blowdryer expeditions.

and then I saw this, and I was intrigued. Its called Dry Shampoo. no shower needed. love love love.

because I forgot?!

There's been a lot of awesomeness in my life lately. Black and white versions have been documented in less than cyber ways, but luckily some technology has been used for your viewing pleasure.

It happened on July 3, read here.

celebrated like this

in Love with him.

the awkward ballerina

so here's the thing. I took ballet, for 4 years... IN ELEMENTARY. and now I'm leaping across the stage with 5 other "real" dancers, 2 of them trained ballerinas. boo.

World of Dance is becoming my world for the next 6 nights, tonight's opener rehearsal was an added 'bonus' I didn't know about. Mr. Edwin G himself asked me at 5:45 if I could be at the DeJong at 6. again boo.

Turns out the opener was really a swap meet of dancing, the idea is great, modern doing cougarette jazz, ballerina's shaking their hips in ballroom fashion, and folk dancers making fools of themselves for trying to copy anything that uses upper body at all.

no, I should give us more respect, at least we have matty, he can dance better than any girl out there, most of the cougarettes included.

Folk dance, by definition, is hoping and skipping in various forms, and while its not given the credit it deserves, and can be extremely technical in its own right (Irish, clog....) Its just not a genera that melds to others, rather Folk Dancers don't leap, or cha cha. well, maybe some do. But I sure don't.

Pray for my cute legs, that they might break the 40 degree mark, pray that I don't awkwardly trip and fall as I leap with the ballerinas.

deadline weekend

I finally feel settled, the flowers are ordered, the cake has been chosen and the invitations are done!!! (well there are still a few stragglers, but basically) Saturday we chose music, finished choosing our pictures and met our awkward, but somehow lovable videographer for an interview. The Brown vs. Black tux battle has yet to break, but I'm confident that won't be too tragic, assuming I win of course :)

now what is left....

nothing, I can't think of anything....

oh wait.


his ring.
fine, I'm not done. boo.

ALSO... how in the world did we actually run out of invitations?! We shouldn't know that many people. I blame face book.

guilt

professor leatham talked about web presence, and journal guilt. An old friend named blog turned in its grave. I'm back, with lots of new thoughts, and a new busy schedule to weave blogging time into. but i want to write.

sorry Europe, you'll live on in a black and white memory, handwritten, and tucked away with the piles of journals that previously filled my guilt.

now for streams of conscience entitled, rain filled sunshine, God's characteristics, and the absolute infinity of primes.