Two Winter's Nights

Two Winter's Nights:
A Story

"He stepped down, trying not to look long at her, as if she were the sun, yet he saw her, like the sun, even without looking."
-Leo Tolstoy, Anna Karenina

1. Happy Henmas gift exchange (Club, stationary, tea, Tolstoy, and russian brow brushes) 2.  A novel.  3. Mashed sweet potatoes, blackberry avocado salad with candied walnuts, and bbq tofu supper. 4.  The Nutcracker at RWB.   5.  A sad girl with a sore tailbone.  6.  Speed skaters across a lit bridge.  7. Skates. 8.  Frosty friends.   9.  Winter layers and Bear the cat.   10.  The city falling into night.


had a merry little christmas

Everything falls gently; like the snow...if you let it.


Then who the hell was I

The time has come, where winter's coolness has effected the skin, but the sun bleeds right down on me, picking me up where ice runs thin. Grab several layers of sweaters, scarves, and woolen socks; bring all your favorite books, and come hideaway all day (all night).


The sweetness of that soft spot next to the nose.


Often to get my flow sometimes I have to begin, right here and just roll. I lose my mind (all day) and exhaust myself stressing into the night. At past the midnight hour, I begin to think about what I was supposed to begin hours ago and what I really wanted to do all along was just sit, right here, writing these words. 

So regretful the time I wasted, when all along I could have been filling spaces. My terms final essay needs to be fine tuned, it's done but it's just not quite done yet. 

A little (personal) treat for finishing the year. Above, plus around 15 more. When the bells of January ring, I may crawl into a literary cavern where I am forced to read literature. It's practically a dream come true.


"His struggle with words was unusually painful and this for two reasons. One was the common one with writers of his type: the bridging of the abyss lying between expression and thought; the maddening feeling that the right words, the only words are awaiting you on the opposite bank in the misty distance, and the shudderings of the still unclothed thought clamoring for them on this side of the abyss."
-from The Real Life of Sebastian Knight by Vladimir Nabokov 


pocket the sun

Well I might be stuck, but I'm not so sure. When the sky empties and the day falls and the sun drops down like a coin from a pocket onto the ground for someone else to pick up, later; another day...You might find the moon slipping into your palm and the next thing you know it's nightfall and everything is falling all over again.

Patience was kind.

Don't make me sad, don't make me cry.
Sometimes love is not enough
and the road gets tough
I don't know why.



A friend an I were having a discussion about academia, which is of course nothing unusual during exam season. I was reading a theory of music textbook trying to discover if there was something special (besides the obvious)  that occurs in classical music vs pop music, while simultaneously encircling valuable quotes from Bloom's The Closing of the American Mind, when conversation began to drift. My explanation of my essay became convoluted because I had been stewing over the same pages all day/night, so we scrapped the toughtalk. I changed the topic to instead asking advice on a rather trivial subject matter in my personal life. I was very persistent on getting an answer out of him, not forceful mind you. The friend is a Bio-anthropology major and although I know very little of what both of these subjects consist of, the advice that came out of him was quite possibly the best I've ever heard.

"Modernists would say, 'Forget about it, completely. Then come back and look at it later.'"

I know he's talking about bones and artifacts when he tells me this, but still.
As plain and as trivial an answer this is, why is it such a complex action to perform?


"The swans are always on my mind, and they lend magnificence to life. It is strange to note that nothing in the whole world, not in art, literature or music, has such an effect on me as these swans and cranes and bean geese. Their calls and their appearance."

happy & home

“Our souls are worn down through continuous contact with one another.”

What will you do tomorrow? What was done wrong yesterday. Did I forget something along the way? Put an end to the fret-and forget about what was and is long gone and long ahead. Stick to the moment, revel and enjoy each lasting breath. Each blink of your long spider-lashes. Each swirl of winter's icy wind, every snap snap snap the snow underfoot makes. Love everything (petite ou grande). Toujours aimer beaucoup. Surtout vous. 


Oh what I'd give just to fly from point A through M. I am wishing it were possible now- but it's certainly  plausible some day.


just like a--

poem of photographs
flowing &

december doldrums

Move away, and you start something--something no one back home ever thought of. But why do you have to go to do it? In our snow-covered prairie city we have all the opportunities we need.

Talk about getting caught up in the winter doldrums, I succumbed to extreme feelings of loneliness, boredom, and overall displeasure with la vie.

Today, I woke up (early), made a breakfast of toast with cucumber/mayo/cheese, almond milk, and raspberries. I'm trying to eat b a l a n ce d breakfasts. After yoga, I had coffee, OJ, and oven baked some potatoes with onions, garlic, and mushrooms. More coffee..a bit of studying, relax--and then back to work.

I certainly think yoga is the key to my self-happiness, or at least it opens the door to it. At my lowest time (around a year ago today) I began doing yoga and was feeling pretty on top of my game. I'm going to try and keep it up-going to once class a day or at least 5 classes a week. Hopefully then I'll be back to normal--or better than.

Exams, papers, and magazine contributions. This is going to be a busy month. Not to mention many friends return home from far away (both coasts). My mind will wander to Australia where my sister is. And also to where my Grandparents are.

I kind of just needed to do this to release, and get back on track.

Maybe one day I'll share some beauty in this blog, but for today my insights will have to suffice.


No one knows where we go; when we're dead or when we're dreaming.

--We have ideas about this, theories, myths, outlines, hymns, songs, poems, and god dammnit we even have names for it. Nightmares & daydreams. Heaven & hell. But where the hell do we really go?