| Portrait |
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| 02:24pm 12/11/2009 |
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beads, wire, about 8 inches high
TC is a name of the firm :) |
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| Somhairle MacGille-Iain: Curaidhean (Heroes) |
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| 08:45pm 11/11/2009 |
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His hour came with the shells,
with the notched iron splinters,
in the smoke and flame,
in the shaking and terror of the battlefield.
Word came to him in the bullet shower
that he should be a hero briskly,
and he was that while he lasted,
but it wasn't much time he got.
He kept his guns to the tanks,
bucking with tearing crashing screech,
until he himself got, about the stomach,
that biff that put him to the ground,
mouth down in sand and gravel,
without a chirp from his ugly high-pitched voice.
No cross or medal was put to his
chest or to his name or to his family;
there were not many of his troop alive,
and if there were their word would not be strong.
And at any rate, if a battle post stands,
many are knocked down because of him,
not expecting fame, not wanting a medal
or any froth from the mouth of the field of slaughter.
I saw a great warrior of England,
a poor manikin on whom no eye would rest;
no Alasdair of Glen Garry;
and he took a little weeping to my eyes.
( Thainig uair-sin lis na sligean ) |
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| 09:04am 12/11/2009 |
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" Memory is the sense of loss, and loss pulls us after it. God Himself was pulled after us into the vortex we made when we fell, or so the story goes. And while He was on earth He mended families. He gave Lazarus back to his mother, and to the centurion he gave his daughter again. He even restored the severed ear of the soldier who came to arrest Him - a fact that allows us to hope the resurrection will reflect a considerable attention to detail. Yet this was no more than tinkering. Being man He felt the pull of death, and being God He must have wondered more than we do what it would be like. He is known to have walked upon water, but He was not born to drown. And when He did die it was sad - such a young man, so full of promise, and His mother wept and His friends could not believe the loss, and the story spread everywhere and the mourning would not be comforted, until He was so sharply lacked and so powerfully remember that his friends felt Him beside them as they walked along the road, and saw someone cooking fish on the shore and knew it to be Him, and sat down to supper with Him, all wounded as He was.There is so little to remember of anyone - an anecdote, a conversation at table. But every memory is turned over and over again, every word, however chance, written in the heart in the hope that memory will fulfill itself, and become flesh, and that the wanderers will find a way home, and the perished, whose lack we always feel, will step through the door finally and stroke our hair with dreaming, habitual fondness, not having meant to keep us waiting long."
Marilynne Robinson, Housekeeping. |
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Read 1 - Post |
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| on a crafty kick! |
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| 09:48pm 11/11/2009 |
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mood:  accomplished
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and i had a ton of turquoise beads... so i spent the day making this stuff
( more stuffs! )
and i still have a ton of the turquoise beads left!!! |
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Read 2 - Post |
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| no subject |
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| 10:41pm 11/11/2009 |
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Out of my mouth is coming, at some
distance from me, a thin gnawing sound
which you could confuse with prayer except that
praying is not constrained.
Or is it, Lord?
Maybe it's more like being strangled
than I once thought. Maybe it's
a gasp for air, prayer.
Did those men at Pentecost
want flames to shoot out of their heads?
Did they ask to be tossed
on the ground, gabbling like holy poultry,
eyeballs bulging?
As mine are, as mine are.
There is only one prayer; it is not
the knees in the clean nightgown
on the hooked rug.
I want this, I want that.
Oh far beyond.
Call it Please. Call it Mercy.
Call it Not yet, not yet,
as Heaven threatens to explode
inwards in fire and shredded flesh, and the angels caw.
--Margaret Atwood, "Half-Hanged Mary" |
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| Regina in Dallas Tomorrow |
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| 08:10pm 11/11/2009 |
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I'm going to the Dallas concert tomorrow!! It's my first time seeing her live, I'm so psyched. I hope no one in the audience is rollin' on E and being lame like someone talked about earlier. Does she stay after the show to meet fans?
Also, does anyone have the large version of the picture in my icon. I took the icon but failed to give credit to the maker and now I'm not sure where its from. If you made it or know who did I'd appreciate a source so I could give them credit.
Anyone else going tomorrow!? I'm up way near the front on the left side. See you there! |
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| A Hero of Our Time, Mikhail Lermontov |
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| 01:54am 12/11/2009 |
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Я возвращался домой пустыми переулками станицы; месяц, полный и красный, как зарево пожара, начинал показываться из-за зубчатого горизонта домов; звезды спокойно сияли на темно-голубом своде, и мне стало смешно, когда я вспомнил, что были некогда люди премудрые, думавшие, что светила небесные принимают участие в наших ничтожных спорах за клочок земли или за какие-нибудь вымышленные права!.. И что ж? эти лампады, зажженные, по их мнению, только для того, чтобы освещать их битвы и торжества, горят с прежним блеском, а их страсти и надежды давно угасли вместе с ними, как огонек, зажженный на краю леса беспечным странником! Но зато какую силу воли придавала им уверенность, что целое небо со своими бесчисленными жителями на них смотрит с участием, хотя немым, но неизменным!.. А мы, их жалкие потомки, скитающиеся по земле без убеждений и гордости, без наслаждения и страха, кроме той невольной боязни, сжимающей сердце при мысли о неизбежном конце, мы не способны более к великим жертвам ни для блага человечества, ни даже для собственного счастия, потому знаем его невозможность и равнодушно переходим от сомнения к сомнению, как наши предки бросались от одного заблуждения к другому, не имея, как они, ни надежды, ни даже того неопределенного, хотя и истинного наслаждения, которое встречает душа во всякой борьбе с людьми или судьбою...
I returned home through the deserted side streets of the village. The full moon, red as the lurid glow of a fire, was just coming up over the jagged skyline of the housetops. The stars shone placidly in the dark-blue firmament, and I was amused at the thought that there once were sages who believed the heavenly bodies have a share in our wretched squabbles over a tiny territory or some other imaginary rights. Yet these lamps, which they thought had been lighted only to illuminate their battles and triumphs, still burn with undiminished brilliance, while their passions and hopes have long since died out together with them like a campfire left burning on the fringe of a forest by a careless wayfarer. But what strength of will they drew from the certainty that all the heavens with their numberless inhabitants looked down on them with constant though mute sympathy! Yet we, their pitiful descendants, who roam the earth without convictions or pride, without joys or fear other than the nameless dread that constricts the heart at the thought of the inevitable end, we are no longer capable of great sacrifices either for the good of mankind or even for our personal happiness, since we know that happiness is impossible; and we pass indifferently from one doubt to another just as our forebears floundered from one delusion to another, without the hopes they had and without even that vague but potent sense of joy the soul derives from any struggle with man or destiny . . . |
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| Soupe à l'Oignon Gratinée |
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| 08:50pm 11/11/2009 |
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... also known as French Onion Soup.
I've been making this for years, but kind of according to my own recipe, which was good. But tonight I took a look at Julia Child's, and I have to say she totally kicked my ass. I'm really not surprised though - the woman did write a few cookbooks, after all.
I used to use red wine to fill out the broth. Julia's uses vermouth and brandy - a distinct improvement. However, it did mean that I was stuck with some "superfluous" red wine. On a Wednesday, no less! :)
( Recipe! )
See more at The Cast-Iron Darling!
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| no subject |
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| 08:47pm 11/11/2009 |
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"Now I will walk, as if I had an end in view, across the room, to the balcony under the awning. I see the sky, softly feathered with its sudden effulgence of moon. I also see the railings of the square, and two people without faces, leaning like statues against the sky. There is then a world immune from change. When I have passed through this drawing-room flickering with tongues that cut me like knives, making me stammer, making me lie, I find faces rid of features, robed in beauty. The lovers crouch under the plane tree. The policeman stands sentinel at the corner. A man passes. There is then a world immune from change. But I am not composed enough, standing tiptoe on the verge of fire, still scorched by the hot breath, afraid of the door opening and the leap of the tiger, to make even one sentence. What I say is perpetually contradicted. Each time the door opens I am interrupted. I am not yet twenty-one. I am to be broken. I am to be derided all my life. I am to be cast up and down among these men and women, with their twitching faces, with their lying tongues, like a cork on a rough sea. Like a ribbon of weed I am flung far every time the door opens. The waves breaks. I am the foam that sweeps and fills the uttermost rims of the rocks with whiteness; I am also a girl, here in this room."
Virginia Woolf, The Waves
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| High Fidelity |
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| 07:31pm 11/11/2009 |
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It's brilliant, being depressed; you can behave as badly as you like.
- High Fidelity, Nick Hornby |
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| Twelfth Night (or What You Will), William Shakespeare |
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| 07:28pm 11/11/2009 |
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"She pined in thought, and with a green and yellow melancholy she sat like Patience on a monument, smiling at grief. Was not this love indeed? We men say more, swear more, but indeed our shows are more than will; for still we prove much in our vows but little in our love." |
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| 04:27pm 11/11/2009 |
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So I've been tryin to come up with some cute stocking stuffer type things... usually I fail pretty bad at Christmas, so this year I'm trying to plan in advance, heh.
Petite <3 pendants! Tiny and cute and just dorky enough for most of my girly friends. They're super simple to make too, except that I had to make the steel "<" symbol stamp first. Originally I was going to make earrings, but I hate making earrings hehe. |
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Read 26 - Post |
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| SUCCESS! |
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| 01:48pm 11/11/2009 |
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French toast that actually comes out soft! Aside from the bread crusts- I'll have to use a bread with softer crust next time. I used 5 thick slices of a loaf of French bread that I bought the other day.
I made this recipe. I left out the orange zest & Grand Marnier, though. Next time I would add vanilla & cinnamon.
I'll have to keep experimenting. |
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| Vegetarian Question... |
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| 12:07pm 11/11/2009 |
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mood:  hungry
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Tonight, we are having a pot-luck, and the theme is Vegetarian...
Since I still have to straighten the house, when I get home, I won't have much time. Does anyone have any suggestions as to something quick to make that will make even the meat eaters happy?
Also, I have a friend who is coming, and she has no stove... A griddle and a microwave, but no stove or oven. She is also unemployed. Any suggestions as to what she could make, and bring?
Thanks! |
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