My Life.

Once upon a time there was a day when I tried to upload my poetry....

That was about two weeks ago...

The internet was either faulty or google was just pms-ing --- either way, the post would not save. I gave up trying to post and thought that I would just do it later...well, later came and I moved and I got promoted at my tea job and then I still I didn't do it because quite honestly I forgot after all of that. 

Since then I have been trying to motivate myself. 

So, I signed up for some writing classes focusing in Fiction. I have been doing that class for the past week as well as working more often and saving up for grad school. I have also started a book challenge so that I can start reading all of the lonely, unread books on my shelf. I started a blog for that as well because a lot of people were extremely interested in what I was reading (and the fact that I was doing it at all...which is weird for me...). Now that my good friend Jilly Lif has reminded me to come on back to this blog I am going to start writing and posting here again. Sorry for slipping away but I guess life just gets in the way and so you start new things. I can't wait to get back into the groove. <3

Love and Peace!

The side of the road looks just about the same in every town in America. The black tar crumbles into small gravely stones. Small stones fade into green patchy grass. In the morning sun the blades of grass cast long shadows onto each other. In the background a cluster of blurry trees or fields. Wherever you are you can find it, and whenever I needed to find center I would walk it. It had always felt like home, and home could be anywhere.

Mac honked just as I was shutting the front door behind me that morning, my beach bag over my shoulder, SPF 75 banging against my hip. I ran to his Buick and jumped into the back seat.

Lanie sat across the seat from me; her long brown hair blew in the wind as we took off, too quickly, down the road. Katie sat lazily in the front, lolling back and forth with the sway of the car. “To the lake!” Mac yelled, and excitement bubbled out of us in screeches. Our bags lay in the center between us. I slipped my hand underneath them and found Lanie’s small fingers. I gave her a sideways smile making only small eye contact. A flush crept into my ears.

The sun was hot that day, but the wind from all of our open windows gave me goose bumps. I looked down at the side of the road and imagined a tiny man running in the gravel full speed along side of us, jumping over debris to keep up. He looked exhausted.

Mac hit a straightaway and started driving fast, dodging traffic on both sides. This was business as usual, but always a bit nauseating. I grabbed Lanie’s hand tighter and made a seasick face. I turned toward her to give the full experience of my expression just as Mac zigzagged around another “Sunday driver” and slammed my back into the door. Laughter burst out of my mouth, “Jesus, Mac!”

I stayed looking right into Lanie’s blue eyes and giving her funny faces. This was our juvenile love life. She looked forward and then looked back at me feigning terror. I joined her, giving her my best “he’s gonna kill us” face; our hands still locked together, and then I felt her real fear, a quick, out of control jolt. Her look of terror filled with watery tears. I had no time to look forward and see why. A deafening bang hit my ears. She was squeezing my hand tighter; her tears flew from her eyes and landed on my face. The split second that the car was on its side felt like forever. The force of it flung our hands and bodies apart. I saw her tears mid-air floating toward me. I felt the hot gravel on my back as I lay across my open window, and then the ground was at her back and instead of tears, blood hung in the air. My eyes closed.

I opened them again on the side of the road. My face on the part of the road that turns to gravel; green blades of grass filled my vision, and just beyond a blurry cluster of trees. Directly in my view, between the trees and grass, was a bloody hand with small fingers that lead to an arm, that lead to Lanie. I felt every scratch and nothing at all. My eyes closed again, this time filled with tears.

The comfort fell out of the side of the road that morning. The blue-gray gravel always looks cold now; the blades of grass look sharp and menacing.

-J

I sat across from a couple on the J train a few weeks ago. The J is an above ground train. You walk up at least two sets of steep stairs to get to the platform. I tend to jog up them out of habit. I've missed a train a time or two by taking my time with those steps.

The temperature was around 80 degrees that afternoon, and yet I jogged up the steps anyway. By the time I got to the platform I was dripping sweat. I couldn't wait for that blast of cool to come. When the train arrived, I stepped onto an icy car and felt the instant relief that always comes from the subway in the summer. It is unreal. On my usual commute there are quite a few people crammed into each car. I tend to travel with rush hour. This day, however, the train wasn't as crowded as usual. I was even able to find a seat. I sat down and immediately noticed the two people across from me were together.

There is always a good few inches of distance between people that don't know each other on the train, as long as the crowd allows it. These two people were crammed up against each other and enjoying it. I took quick glances at them, trying to be subtle.

The woman had light brown skin and long dark hair. It was wavy and thick and I could only imagine way too hot for this weather. She was wearing a loose fitting white dress and sky blue flip-flops. The purse that sat beside her seemed rather generic to me. It was small and light brown. The man wore a navy blue t-shirt, that said something in Spanish on it, and khaki shorts. He also had light brown skin, but he was bald with a goatee.

They sat talking quietly between themselves, draped over one another, very thankful for the air conditioned car, I'm sure. I noticed that they were speaking in Spanglish. I could only understand a few words, and even then the train noise covered a lot of what they were saying. At one point they got a bit louder and the woman started to tell the man something amusing, and then it happened.

The man laughed. His bald head flew back and his goateed mouth opened up and he cackled a maniacal chuckle that I never would have expected. "Ah ah ah ah ah!" This man laughed exactly like The Count. I couldn't help but smile. The best part was that the woman also let out a chuckle. Her's wasn't quite as maniacal but it matched his in cadence almost perfectly. They laughed together for the rest of my train ride and I tried so very hard to keep my attention paid elsewhere, but in the end I couldn't.

I see this couple regularly now and they are always giggling together. I can always hear it, even when the train is full of rush hour riders. Human beings are so amusing.

-J

The beast looked at me and then looked away. His pink tongue parted his lips in defiance. His beard dripped with drool and his eyes darted, cold and quick. His ears drew back as if angry and he slunked low, walking toward me. At first, I was curious, then slightly fearful. I knew him well, but well enough? When he got to where I was standing he continued through my parted legs. The fear broke quickly. His wire hair grazed and tickled my legs. Something was wrong here, very wrong.

I gazed around the room. My eyes flitted from surface to surface. Everything had its place and everything seemed to be in it... except... The morning light, filtered through a thin black curtain, fell on to the smooth and empty wood of a table. It was missing, but what was it?

I shook my head trying to clear the morning fuzz of my brain. Then, it hit me. Instant anger bubbled up inside of me. How could he? It was uncontrollable. He knew better! My rage, like a light switch, is often irrational in the morning, but this day it was justified. For if the morning goes badly, why shouldn't the rest of the day?

I turned to look where the beast had gone to and found him in his usual place. When I peered into the dark cramped cave he had claimed as his own I saw what I had first mistook as defiance was truly shame. He did know. And yet.

"Are you kidding me?!" I exclaimed.

"What?"

My lady stood in the doorway.

"HE ATE MY FUCKING BREAKFAST!" 


So I know... He's a dog. But really? Come on! Sometimes Swayze can be a real jerk.


-J

Broccoli and Feta Pasta Salad

There's inevitably going to be a recipe posting and food photograph or two on here, because I love to cook almost as much as I love to illustrate.  Cooking has so much creative freedom and exploration to it.  Plus, I find it so rewarding in the end to eat what you've worked for in the kitchen. 

This broccoli and feta pasta salad recipe is slightly adapted from one of my favorite food sites, thekitchn.com and can be specifically located here.  I made this dish last night to share during a quaint summer get-together with a former co-worker friend and her husband.  It paired nicely with our grilled turkey burgers, and is also delicious the morning after the oils have soaked in a little too. 

Broccoli and Feta Pasta Salad

(slightly adapted from thekitchn.com)

1 lb. tri-color pasta

1 medium head of broccoli (broken up into small-medium florets)

1 cup pitted kalamata olives (sliced relatively thin)

2 tablespoons red wine vinegar

5-6 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil

8 oz. crumbled feta cheese

1/4 teaspoon dill

salt + pepper to taste 

Slice and rinse fresh broccoli.  Heat a large pot of water to boiling.  Cook pasta according to directions on pasta box. Drain and return to large bowl and toss with olive oil until coated.  If you have a pot for steaming broccoli, fill medium pot covering the bottom with 1-2 inches of water.  Place broccoli in top steaming pot over the boiling water and cover.  Check the broccoli periodically with a fork every 2-3 minutes for doneness.  When the fork pierces the broccoli easily, but not mushy, drain broccoli and mix with pasta.  

If you don't have a steamer, simply sautee the broccoli in a little olive oil in a pan on low-medium until done.  Slice up kalamata olives and mix with broccoli salad mixture.  Add the rest of ingredients and mix.  Salt and pepper to taste.  Let it sit in refrigerator for an hour or two to cool or overnight.  

Summer is the time for salads!  

Happy cooking!
-Caroline

#TBT ! In Other Words... Thinking 'Bout Teachin' and Grad Schools

Lots of thinking today...

What does a recently turned 25 year old Dragon Child do on her days off from selling massive amounts of tea to the general population of Colorado? Think about what the bloody hell she is doing with her life and how it can be improved!

This morning (I got up pretty early) I checked my emails, took the dog outside for a walk and then immediately got dressed to go to my apartment's pool. One great thing about living in CO is that most apartments are going to have pools, even the really inexpensive apartments. Thank. Goodness.
This state is hotter than hell right now and from what I've heard it's going to stay hot all the way until October! I'm okay with that...especially since winter lasted until May 1st. No really, May 1st was the last day of snow we had here in Denver. What the heck!?

Anyway, as I was sunbathing and reading at the pool listening to all of the stuck up rich teens playing Marco Polo, I noticed one of the teen's dad said:

"Hey, do you guys even know who Marco Polo is?"

"Yeah, of course we do!" said one of the teens.

"Okay, then who is he?"

No joke, the teens seemed so incredibly confident in their answer! All 5 of them answered in unison, saying:

"He was a MURDERER!"

God. I swear I almost dropped my book. No, strike that, I almost THREW my copy of The Tao of Pooh at these 14+ year old kids. He was a MURDERER!? Okay, so I then thought "Wait, wait, wait...maybe I missed something in the 5th grade when I was watching those educational cartoons on world heroes (I was home-schooled you see...)." I got my phone out of my backpack and started googling the following: "Marco Polo murderer".

This is all that I found:

I honestly doubt this children's murder/mystery book is what they were talking about. I mean, but I'm not perfect and this easily could be what they were talking about...HOWEVER...

My next thought? "Our public school system SUCKS."

My second thought? "My manager told me yesterday that she wished she had had someone like me be her art teacher when she was in school."

My third thought? "I would be an awesome teacher."

So, some dumb kids playing Marco Polo actually made me feel excited about being a teacher.

Lordy!

Lately, I have been thinking about what I've wanted to do with my life anyway. I tossed around the idea of opening my own tea house, becoming a screenplay writer, actor, playwright and many other things. I have thought about teaching but I was never serious about it. I'm still not a fan about working with the public school system and if I was going to do any sort of teaching, I would want to be a tutor to home schooled kids and/or teach college kids and skip the whole grade school thing in general. Not sure if that's realistic or not...ha! I've also always wanted to get my Masters in Fine Arts.

...and I then thought, "Ya know, no matter what I want to do with my life, my MFA is going to probably in the end help me achieve that. If not get me a job it will at least get me to write more often as well as help improve my "taste" (the "taste" that Ira Glass tells me I have). It will help me get back on track with staying organized too - which is something that I've noticed I've been lacking.

I seriously sat down and looked up universities that I could attend and because my life is insane (I'm sort of in love and stuff and don't really want to leave my honey and dog...) I looked up ones that do online MFA programs. I am going to make this happen. I am going to get out of this retail jail (even if it is selling tea) and I am going to take my dumpy job diapers off and put my amazing job pull-ups on and be a big kid now!

Love & Peace.

Wednesday DIY Inspiration

I am a magpie; I can't get enough of the rush that comes with finding some sparkly neglected perfect treasure in thrift stores or garage sales. This explains my penchant for hoarding knicknacks that don't have any particular use, and these treasures seem to find ways to simply clutter up my home. "Someday!," I think "Someday I'll have a way to display these lovelies!" or "Someday I'll do something crafty with these random things!" and I never ever do.

I'm hoping to change that in the near future. I'm hoping this blog keeps me on task with some DIY's so I don't get quite so scattered on my days off and try to do a million projects at once (which always results in me not actually finishing anything).

To elaborate on my predisposition to finding crafts and feeling the need to do them all at once, I give you the following inspirational things I found yesterday and felt I had to do immediately:

* Ombre bedding (Via Chevrons and Eclairs):

(side note: that one entry is FULL of gorgeous bedroom pieces, I highly suggest taking a look for further inspiration!)

BUT THEN I saw someone making curtains out of bedsheets on Pinterest and was all "perfect! sheets are what I really want! Less work!"

Ombre Curtain Panels (via Escape From BK)

* Nursery Name in woodblocks with comicbook decoupage (via Eclectic Momsense) for J.L.'s sister's baby shower.

which of COURSE makes me want to do this too:

Batman decoupaged heels

*A Makeup Board (via Laura Thoughts) for my bathroom makeup bag clutter
(and it's like functional art!)

* A lingering project that I have ALMOST all the pieces for: A crocheted doily lamp cover!

(via Zycierzeczy which I cannot read, but can follow image directions pretty well for!)

 I got the doilies made by my cousin for Christmas, and have had the glue and brushes lying around for months, but I can't seem to find a big circular balloon!!! Any suggestions?! A regular balloon creates a teardrop shape that I'm not in love with, so this project keeps stalling out. 

~

Today, I am attempting homemade thank you cards, I've googled comic book shops in NYC, and have begun gathering the necessary pieces to create the makeup board. I also despereately need to clean the apartment, so perhaps just sharing inspiration is as far as I'll get with these DIY's today. 

But next week! Next week I will try again! I have a lot of random days off coming up, so I will try to buckle down and make some magic.

Do you find you put too much pressure on yourself to create? Did school and blogs and pinterest make us feel inadequate when our crafts/pictures/poems/homes don't turn out as planned, or that we aren't always picture ready & picture perfect? I know I do, and that's why things don't get finished. 

I'm done with all that pressure.

This blog is about sharing the creative force, not about making things perfectly non stop.

So relax. It's going to be beautiful. And if it isn't? That's still ok, too. Promise.

~ Shanna

[all images were borrowed from their respective blog / pinterest]

Poetry #1 - Food Pains

Lately I've noticed that my poetry has been resembling, well, a cookbook and a medicine cabinet.

This past month I have been going on a Paleo Vegetarian diet. I know, I know, they said that couldn't be done! That you have to eat meat to be on a "paleo" diet. Well, yeah I guess that's sort of true but this whole thing started when I read this piece of work and realized that my over all diet was looking very "Taco Bell". I'm sorry but when you use "Taco Bell" as an adjective for your current eating habits then it's time for that diet, girlfriend.
So, Luke and I buckled down and threw away everything in our fridge and pantry that wasn't "paleo friendly". I felt like one of those poor saps on What Not To Wear, longly looking at their clothes (in my case, food) while Stacy and Clinton toss it into the fiery pit of Mount Doom which is the garbage can.
The first week was hard (not to mention I got my Vegetarian Times almost EXACTLY the next day after we started the diet). I found that I was losing sleep because I was so hungry for bread, milk and sweets and during the day I realized that I was depending on food to keep me comfortable while I wrote. I had recently read in my new Writers & Poets magazine (July/August 2013) that it was important not to get too comfortable with certain habits that you may THINK can help you write better. I cannot find the exact quote for the life of me right now... either way, it made me realize that I could be just as inspired to write when I am uncomfortable (you know, starving!).
Here are a few of my babies that I created:

Eat (2013)
---
eat
offer it to the Doc
the grease in my head, the memory loss
the disease.
pre-pubic, baby body
floating face down in canned pop!
Her stomach, her lungs
filled with good intentions
eat and drown, you pink pimple
eat

The Root (2013)
---
Daily doses, everyday in my tea, of
lavender, valerian and white noise.
Add a few drops to my brain and bring
symptoms of late-night lovemaking to my heart.
Slow my activity - I'm a dreaming insomniac -
decibals of waves flow over my head.
Soothing, repetitive snowy lights...
snowy whites...
drift and advise me before bedtime.
I start to ease into a sleeping death
just before the sun rises.

Nude Milk (2013)
---
My beauty ritual
crush my fairy circle
under my eyes and under my feet.
Radiant, skin so bare
Sweet, black fruit air
So my soul's nudity
sweats nature's cleansing milk
polishing tea stained teeth and heart beat
Organic, tablespoon brave
Glow, smooth flesh grave

My Oven (2013)
---
A quick and easy free meal.
Keep a sharp eye out and
direct his heart towards my oven.
The same concentrated flowers
roast and caramelize inside; technique
broils the fraction of time.
I set the temperature to 'intense'.
I get good cooking results every time.

Egg & Oyster (2013)
---
Sea oyster, sweet, salty stretching
Coffee grinder - stuffed with skin
bright and pink and soaked now
in red - pepper blood
eggs cooking - fried, over hard
Ocean kitchen, baby sheers
SNIP SNIP
Chop it up and cut it off - coffee grinder
sprinkle the flakes in our hands.
How I'll heal after this
I will never know.

THANKS FOR READING!

Hello! from Sylvie- Lou Lestrade!

Hello!

I am so excited about this creative collective blog that my good friends and I have started together. What a great way for the four of us to stay in touch as well as share our thoughts, hopes and dreams! This is a test post until we all figure out how this new blog will work. What fun! What adventure!

- Sylvie

Gotta start somewhere!

This is a test post! i'm going to delete it as soon as I figure out how everything falls on the wix page.

yes this picture is officially a year old. but it's my favorite one still. no my hair is not still that color. no i don't still have the monroe piercing. BUT I still wear those ray bans every single day. And those headphones. Hard to believe they haven't given up yet.

so perks of blogger: we can imbed video and photos, and it has spell check. wix has none of those things.
perks of wix: we can have multiple pages, for various content if we decide to split up our posts (seems silly) and for contact / bios / those things that make a website feel real and navigational. blogger has those, but they're flimsy at best.

now the real test - how's it look? thoughts?