confessions of a girl who loves to sing.

She stands on a stage in front of her audience, wearing the dress she only wears for them.
Hands by her side, smiling that secret smile; she sings with the confidence she only feels around them.
They adore her. They hang onto her every note, mesmerized by her music
Before them, she can sing out loud and unrestrained.
She holds out her arms, giving them things she gives to no one else.
Holding her hands wide open, she receives what they alone can give her.
When she curtsies they clap loud and unrestrained.
"More!" they cry. "Encore!" they beg.
She's never been known to turn them down.
They understand. They understand the songs she sings for them.
Her performances for them are unparalleled.

So clearly she feels their respectful presence,
is it any wonder that she forgets she's just a girl...
standing on a chair in her high-ceilinged kitchen.
All alone except for the echo of her own voice.



{Picture of: St. Vincent.}

Winter... or summer?

My favourite season is upon us!!!

As much as I love the carefree flavor of summer, I prefer autumn. And yes, even winter is preferable to summer. {Spring is marvelous too but it only lasts for about three days here!}
I don't know why, I love the crisp autumn months and the frosty days of winter. I feel that there are so many delicious opportunities to feel cosy when it is chilly out. Cold days mean hot cocoa & soup, dancing fires, and snuggling into blankets with a favourite book.
Though, my cynical self is saying it also means school, winter doldrums and frozen fingers & toes. {My cynical self likes to put a damper on things! I try to ignore her.}
In my opinion, summer is too hot. I have always thought it is much easier to make yourself warm when you are cold then to make yourself cold when you are too warm.
I was delighted to find that my favourite author, Bess Streeter Aldrich, believed this to be true as well. In a book of her short stories called Journey into Christmas, she shares a few of her memories in the last chapter, aptly entitled 'I Remember'. This is one of them:

'...And in a higher grade there was the first experience in debating. The procedure was explained, including the new words "affirmative" and "negative". The question to be debated was: Resolved, that winter is better than summer. I was affirmative. And what's more the leader of the affirmative. Came the great day and I went to the front of the room. "Ladies and gentlemen," I began, at which there was a faint titter proving that my appellation had been chosen unwisely. But I was firm with them. "Ladies and gentleman," I repeated. "You can always get yourself warm on a cold winter day, but you can't never get yourself cool on a hot summer day." Maybe my earnest glibness caused the outburst, or maybe it was their pent-up emotion, but everyone broke into laughter. And the teacher said: "Sit down. This wasn't meant to be funny. If you can't think of good reasons, don't give any." I sat down. Funny? I had no more intention of being funny than Douglas did when he debated with Lincoln. Through all the years - at least until air conditioning became known - I have never changed my mind that you could always get yourself warm on a cold winter day but could never get yourself cool on a hot summer day.'


It's always so nice to know the authors we love share similar thoughts and ideas with us. {Looking back, I realize, I may have mentioned Bess Streeter Aldrich an inordinate amount of times... What can I say, she is my favourite author!}



{Painting: "Stapleton Park near Pontefract" by John Atkinson Grimshaw}

And speaking of poetry...

I had to write a poem for school this week. I much prefer reading it to writing it. {I suspect a lot of people do.}
The poem was supposed to be a dramatization. But, I found out that I am not very good at dramatizations at all. Happily though, I was allowed to write infree verse! Which, to me, is preferable over trying to rhyme and fit everything into a meter.
I spent most of the week wondering what in the world I was going to write about, and finally last night I penned this:

My mind
and this piece of paper
are kindred spirits
undeniably.
We lay and think
blank thoughts. Both with
wrinkled brows.
Eyes wide open;
neither blinking nor seeing.

So I sit. I stare and
the paper stares right back.
Who will win this contest? I wonder
if he or I will cave in first.
Who will crack, showing signs
of life and lose
this
uninspired
staring
game.

Not a dramatization, but thankfully my "teacher" is laid-back. {Goodness, I love homeschooling!}
My littler brother's only comment after reading it was: "Why doesn't it rhyme?!?"
Obviously he did not appreciate my attempt at imitating such poets as Carl Sandburg and William Carlos Williams. Ah, well. :P