How's the World Treating You?

"Not what we say about our blessings, but how we use them, is the true measure of our thanksgiving."
-W.T. Purkiser

The golden-deliciousness of falling leaves and the crispness in the air can mean only one thing: fall has unmistakably encroached on my beloved summer. I truly wish I were a soul who thrived in all seasons, but alas, it is not so. I had the notion the other day, however, that if fall were not the precedent to winter, I'm sure I would relish it much more than just the deciduous aesthetics and the inevitable, ever-present aroma of pumpkin bread. Though, I'll admit, there is one thing about this time of year that does bring comfort despite the impending abysmal doom of winter that shadows it. "That", my peeps, is the feeling of gratitude that arrives just as naturally as the changing colors of the season. 

I don't have many talents- it's true. There are plenty of things at which I am exquisitely mediocre. I do, however, pride myself in being able to find joy in the simple things in life. A warm day, a good song, something scandalously delish to eat, a hearty laugh... You get it. I try to recognize these on a daily basis and, when I remember, thank my Maker for the small flutter of happiness they bring to my day. But there are oh so many other things- grander things- that grant gratitude acceptance into my door and serve it tea and scrumpets. In the true spirit of Thanksgiving, while I am surrounded by falling leaves of decadent autumn tones, I give thanks for the many things in my life that without which, would make it positively empty...

Dad. Amongst all else, for teaching me about how to think so that it makes me a better person. Mama. Amongst all else, for your anchoring encouragement of "Faith, not Fear." Brothers. For your honest hearts and your funny bones. Sisters. For your virtue. God. For His unfailing mercy. Christ. For His sacrifice. Ears. For their ability to hear the music I love so poignantly. Edith, Victor, Jane, Goethe, Lucy Maud, Flaubert. For the words they have written which have sculpted, refined, inspired, and changed my soul. Heart. Literally, for it's perseverance in beating each and every minute. Figuratively, for how ardently it beats. It is a hopeful, fervent, enduring heart. And It, more than anything else, is my most reliable reminder of what matters most. Tastebuds. For the exquisite joy they have granted me. (I wanted to put this one at the very top, but even I am not that shameful.) Shawn. For everything. You are my rock. Maddles. For giving me the ever-so-smallest glimpse into the future joys of motherhood. Memories. For their ability to endure, when their begetters, by design, cannot. Writing. For the catharsis and self-awareness that it cultivates. Thomas S. Monson. For his unfailing optimism. My Tricks. For everything that each of you has brought to my life. I am a better girl for being in your company.
Home. For it's sanctity and comfort.

Make no mistake, I am wholly undeserving of all of the above. But until the universe and all else that conspires in my favor realizes it, I will cherish each like a hoarder until my dying day. Shakespeare said, "They do not love that do no show it", and I would venture to say the same is true for gratitude. Are we truly grateful for our blessings if we do not give thanks where and how thanks are due? True gratitude is probably more than just saying "Thank you, thank you very much" (I'm also thankful for Elvis, obvi). I think when our lives are characterized by optimism, and service, and concern for others, and when we have an unrelenting hope, that that is probably when we can claim gratitude as a characteristical appendage. 

Any virtue, if it is sincere, is more than just a feeling- it is a way of living. It's almost effortless at this time of the year to recognize how full our lives are; it's harder to maintain that recognition as the season fades. This Thanksgiving, may we not only identify those things in our lives which make it better, but resolve to let that gratitude reside in our hearts a little longer than usual. There are oh so many ways we can be the very thing that someone else is grateful for, and that, perhaps, is the simplest and surest way of showing that we are indeed grateful recipients for all "our cribs, our cars, our pools, our jewels"... You feel me? 

If anything brings comfort, it is recognizing what we do have, even when our circumstances may seem bleaker than February in the 801.
Happy Thanksgiving, and Happy giving of thanks.

Peace and Love.

Girl: Happy

 "Reality continues to ruin my life."

-Bill Watterson

Mercy... It's been forev, hasn't it? Now that summer's over, it's much harder for me to find things to be grateful for. Psyyyyyche. Here's what I've got for ya:

http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/thumb/6/6b/Gone_with_the_Wind_cover.jpg/200px-Gone_with_the_Wind_cover.jpg

Always and forever have I been a fan of the 17-hour movie. I can never figure out who is more beautiful: Scarlett or Rhett. Anyway, I've always wanted to read the book and just never had three years to kill. I finally decided that it was high-time I just sucked it up and read the 1100 pager. May I just say, it is absolutely addicting. I simply cannot put it down. And Rhett is even MORE charming on paper, if you can imagine that.

 www.youtube.com

This band never ceases to amaze me. Homeboy's. got. feelings. But his voice is so satisfyingly manly that you don't even think he's a sissy for feeling so many things. I listen to this emo gem all the time lately, and I'm not even going through a break-up. It's that good.

http://www.bangitout.com/images/MattDillon_Vespa_635053_400.jpg

  Ok, Ok. I know you're probably sick of reading about him. But I can't escape my love for him. Last week I dreamed that he was my boyfriend and we were living in Manhattan and he was ever-so-madly in love with me. He opened all my doors and cooked me dinners and rubbed my feet, and that's only the PG version. You can imagine my utter heartache waking up only to find I was certainly not in Manhattan and certainly not his star-crossed lover. I really was completely despondent the whole rest of the day. 

http://atfirstbite.files.wordpress.com/2008/06/snicker.jpg

There it is. A frozen Snickers. They're aight at room temperature. But throw one in the freezer and your tastebuds will literally think they've won the lottery.

http://drchristineschaffer.files.wordpress.com/2011/03/heating.jpg

 Laugh allll you want. But seriously, I heart my heading pad more than life.

http://sassymamahk.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/bopbj2014010917_p1_v1_m56577569832185384_254x500.jpg

Yeah I don't yoga. But I am totally obsessed with yoga hair ties. I want one in every color of the crayon box. Including that weird Cerulean blue color and Burnt Sienna.

Whether or not it makes me less of a girl, I'm not sure- but I happen to love this show. It's a nice, refreshing, gory change from all the CW garbage I watch. Disclaimer: The only reason I didn't put Chuck Bass on this list is because he deserves his own post entirely. Duh.

Hope you all are finding much to be grateful for, despite the a$$-bitingly cold weather. 'Tis the season, after-all. 

Peace and Love.

Talk About the Good Times

"No man was ever eloquent by trying to be eloquent, but only by being so."

-George Henry Lewes

Certain words, pairs of words, phrases- reading them makes me feel more real. I love the art that lies within an eloquent, silent elocution of prose. At times I find nothing more stirring than a string of carefully chosen words. I recently just finished Flaubert's Madame Bovary, written around 1857, I think. It had both romance and debauchery- two elements my needy soul craves in a story. But what I la la loved about it wasn't so much the tale being told, as the way it was told. And I have often had this reckoning when reading other works born in that period of time. It's in the very language: flowery without being fussy, calculated yet seemingly natural, as if from the beginning of time, words were always meant to be dispelled in exactly that way. When I read things like this, it makes me long for a time in which I've never even existed; when one's words were their very brand, their instrumentality for distinguishing themselves amongst everyone else. 

 A very good man once said, “Sloppy language and sloppy ways go together. Those who are truly educated have learned more than the sciences, the humanities, law, engineering, and the arts. They carry with them a certain polish that marks them as loving the better qualities of life, a culture that adds luster to the mundane world of which they are apart.” (-Gordon B. Hinckley) 

Truly a votary of anything eloquent, I agree with that very good man with all my heart. How we speak, and what we choose to speak about, can either beautify or tarnish the way we are perceived by others. How charming is it to be in the company of someone who speaks not only articulately, but with the polish that inevitably comes from quiet confidence and a subtle but apparent appreciation for the "better"? I know that whenever I converse with someone who speaks eloquently, intelligently, and with optimistic undertones, it revives my desire to do so. Regretfully, we don't have to search very far to find conversation which revolves around the negative, the harsh, the cynical, the base, and the everyday vulgarity that seems to proliferate like Nobody's biznass. It is effortless to indulge or even instigate the casual kind of discourse that revolves around nothingness and is propagated by cheap and pallor-ic cadences, for the path of least resistance is quite easy to succumb to. But nothing that comes easily is really ever worth having. (Nothing LASTING, I should say. For if I'm going to be honest, there are a good many things that come puh-retty easily which I do consider worth having: eclairs, Pepsi, lemon bars, Cafe Rio, cheeseburgers, naps, mascara, laughs. And yeah, after "cheeseburgers" I had to really stretch the imadge so as not to seem like a total obese-tress.) But are we really better off after engaging in such trite conversation? Do we stand more firmly footed, walk more assuredly and with more direction, and find more nobility in ourselves through speaking insubstantially and even crassly at times? Doubt it.  

I've said before that I believe in the power of the individual. If every living man and woman strove to achieve, a little more each day than the last, their own personal level of greatness, even by the smallest measure and irrespective of means or circumstance, just imagine the different kind of world we would live in. It's hopelessly idealistic, I know. But... so much power lies in mere words! If "words can never harm", then my name isn't Brittany Anne with an "E". Humor me with this naively arcadian notion, but do we not all speak words, all the live-long day, every live-long day? And if by the simple act of choosing to speak them with simple sophistication, and about things that are actually meaningful and pleasant and important, wouldn't the world, even by the ever-so-smallest measurement, be just a little more lovely?  

Please know that more than anything, I am chastising myself in the guise of altruism, but if there's anyone else out there who speaks like a pirate-hooker and knows better, I lower my glass to you, too. Mediocrity is a rampant epidemic, but it doesn't have to be. Seek to emanate the goodness that inspires you by speaking about it. Choose "better" words, words that reflect a meaningful existence. 

 Let us all  "be the good we wish to see in the world", if only with our words. 

Peace and Love.

I Believe In the Man In the Sky

  "...Be thou an example of the believers, in word, in conversation, in charity, in spirit, in faith, in purity." 

-1 Timothy 4:12

It is here that I am most honest, I think. Because I am writing to really no one in particular but myself, I can express and catalog and capture the things about this existence that inspire me, that change me, that cause me to wonder, and the things that are most precious to my heart. I have expressed adoration for music, for family, for "culinary thrills", for summer, amongst many others. I realized today though that in all the time that I have spent writing about things that matter most to me, I have yet to express my devotion to the thing I consider most precious above all the bounteous joys that this life has brought my way. 

"Be thou an example of the believers." Depending upon what one believes, this has infinite application. I believe in many things. I believe in the power of the individual. I believe in the efficacy of beautiful words. I believe that music is the language of the soul. I believe that we should leave the earth better than we found it. I believe that we should all work to make the world worthy of its children. I believe that nothing is too wonderful to be true. It is what we believe in most deeply that directs us to the paths we pursue, like a compass. 

 I am lead to and/or perhaps by the things I believe in most. I have often thought about what my life would be like without my belief system, and though I'm sure that, in the absence of the compass that it has been in my life, I would have made several different choices which inevitably would have led me down some rather deleterious if not completely dissolute paths, at my core I know that I would always feel that life was more than just the present. Some of us are not inclined spiritually, and that is fine. But as for little old me, religious dogma aside, I believe that all people are spiritual beings. C.S. Lewis said it best, I think: "You don't have a soul. You are a soul. You have a body." In that sense, I know that had I been born into different circumstances wherein religion of any sort was absent, I probably still would have sought some sort of transcendent outlet simply because spirituality is a very ardent part of who I am. 

 

Of all that I love, and in all that I believe, there is one truth more penetrating, more anchoring than all the others, and it is this: Jesus Christ is the son of God, and God is my eternal Father. I believe that anything good, anything beautiful, anything that makes me feel more close to becoming the woman I am meant to be- THAT all comes from God and His perfect son. Belief in Them serves as my most reliable compass.

There is so very much about life that is unsure. That very precariousness has painted parts of my mortality with tangible sorrow, numbing remorse, and abysmal hopelessness, for I have just as much frailty within me as I do strength. But I am yet grateful for these brush-strokes, for it is by them that I have witnessed the power of what I know to be true. It is in those truly helpless moments that my soul has been rescued, redeemed, and comforted beyond any earthly comprehension. I have felt the healing power that comes from bended knee. I have been empowered by the strength that comes from submission. If there is any one thing to which I can attest, it is that God does not forsake. 

I have often thought to myself, "I live a charmed life". And I must say, I do: I laugh, I eat, I sing, I play, I read, I write, I love, I sleep, I work, I pray. I pray. I pray to a seemingly chimerical being, yet He is as real to me as my own flesh-and-blood father. It is He to whom I submit bended knee, and it is He to whom I plead for rescue. And though not always on my ideal timescale, not once have my requests been ignored. I have felt, despite His omnipotent power, His tender concern for little nobody Me. He created all the Heavens and everything that they contain, the earth and all it's majesty, and still, though compared to Him I am the dust of the earth, He hears me. To me, God is not to be feared. He is to be loved. For He is the most merciful, patient, benevolent Being that I have ever come to know. Truly, I have come to understand that there is nothing more panacea-ic than prayer. The more I learn to align my desires with that of my Maker's, the closer I feel to self-mastery.

His Son, Jesus Christ, is the Savior of the world. It is by Him, through Him, and of Him that I can become the perfect version of myself. His grace provides the comfort and the promise that I have so often sought in my moments of despair. The more I come to know Him, the more that Hope permeates my life. His existence provides the perfect framework for what I want my life to mean: virtue, patience, compassion, humility, service, faith, love, and purpose. Without Him, I would have no compass. He is my direction. He is my path. He is my destination.

I so much want to be an example of the believers. I want to live like I believe, because I do believe. In fact, there is nothing I believe in more. And, consequently, it is this belief that allows me to so fully appreciate all the numerous other things that I have so often blabbed about here, in this private little space. My belief in a Heavenly Father and in his perfect Son has made my life as full as it is. If you are just a little bit lost, helpless, or feel like something is missing from your existence, I would invite you to seek out the spirituality that is organically within you. Nourishing that part of my soul has brought me nothing but peace, direction, and at times, exquisite joy. Whatever you choose to believe in, let it be your compass. And if it is honest, it will lead you to everything good that you are meant to become. 

Peace and Love.

P.S. See for yourself just how hopeful life can be: 

{Clickity Click Here}.

Image source: http://lds.org/new-era/2002/12/images-of-christ?lang=eng

Tweedle Dee

I grew a little bit yesterday: I submitted an essay to Real Simple magazine for their annual contest. Cross your fingers! 

Peace and Love.

Image source: http://healthyshouldbeeasy.wordpress.com/tag/detox/

I'll Remember You

 

 January 8, 1935 - August 16, 1977

 

I'll remember you
Long after this endless summer has gone
I'll be lonely oh so lonely
Living only to remember you

I'll remember too
Your voice as soft as the warm summer breeze
Your sweet laughter, mornings after
Ever after, I'll remember you

To your arms someday I'll return to stay
Till then I will remember too
Every bright start we made wishes upon
Love me always, promise always
Oooh, you'll remember too

 

I'll remember you.

Peace and Love, my Love.

Promised Land

" ‘I’ve been through all this before,’ he says to his heart.
“ ‘Yes, you have been through all this before,’ 
replies his heart. 
‘But you have never been beyond it.’ ”
— Paulo Coelho, Warrior of the Light

I learned of a word recently that I had yet to ever encounter: willowwacks. It means "a wooded, uninhabited area". It's an awfully silly sounding word, but I do love what it implies: portions of space yet to be "habitated". Of course, I have no use for this word in the literal sense; I immediately thought of it metaphorically- as in, "the uninhabited regions of my soul" or, "the uncharted corners of my heart". With all the immeasurable fibers that make up our beings, surely there are portions of ourselves yet undiscovered? Absolutely, there must be fragments of our hearts yet unearthed? 

Quite the admirer of all things romantic, I have always appreciated the notion that the love we emote is physiologically connected to the heart. Did you know that our hearts are enclosed in a double-walled protective sac called the pericardium? ...Neither did I. The pericardium services our heart by protecting it, anchoring it's surrounding structures, and preventing overfilling of the heart with blood. (You have no idea how difficult all this is for me to type. Squeamish McGee, that's me. Anyway...)Passed the pericardium lies the outer wall of the heart, which is composed of three layers, and just passed those three layers are the four chambers of the heart. Two of those chambers are "receiving chambers" (they receive the blood) and two are "discharging chambers" (release the blood). I know you're probably bored out of your mind right now, but I swear I have a point...

So the heart, in essence, does it's best to keep the bad out. It sustains the body. And it does all it can to prevent itself from becoming full to the point of danger. Now, dare to venture with me to my much favored and oft-visited land, Metaphoria, where I ask:
{Q} Do our metaphorical hearts do the same? Do our metaphorical pericardia protect us from heartache?
 {A} I think my metaphorial pericardium must only have one layer instead of two, and that that layer must be very thin or take lots of holidays, or is just completely defunct, because many an entity has penetrated it's walls. 
{Q} Does the love we harbor- in essence, our hearts- anchor our livability? 
{A} Yes, love anchors me.
{Q} Is there a danger in letting our hearts be too filled? 
 {A} I can attest to having my heart [seemingly] so filled that it has inflicted upon my well-being.

 I think of all this in relation to willowwacks- uninhabited areas. I've talked frequently and fondly of my own heartstrings; I consider those to be "habitated" portions of my heart. Those people, or places, or things, have made their way passed all protective guards and into one chamber or another and found a welcoming home there. It is those heartstrings which anchor me. But I know that as full as my heart may feel from time to time, that there are still uninhabited portions of those chambers. There are still willowwacks waiting to become habitated. 

Those uninhabited areas- why are they so? Has a metaphorical pericardium made them inaccessible? Or, if the P-Word is out of commission (as in Exhibit Me), are there areas so deeply and secretly and quietly tucked away such that no one has ventured far enough to discover them? Or, is at is simple and as complex as they are uninhabited merely because no one and no thing has been able to make a home there? Yet? 

Those chambers or portions of chambers, corners, taverns, and pockets of my heart that are willowwack'd- (please allow me to take liberties with the word, for 'twouldn't be the first time) they must remain uninhabited for one or all of the aforementioned theories. But to me that is not a completely desperate thought- it's an exciting one. Knowing that there are still unfulfilled, unharvested, un-tilled, undiscovered areas of love that I have yet to experience is inspiring. 

I know that the habitation some of those inner willowwacks lies within me: in the paths that I pursue. As I seek for enrichment, enlightenment, joy, and passion, little by little the uninhabited regions of my heart will become home to the offspring of those endeavors. And I know that as I slowly but surely fill my heart with the things that are compelling enough to reside there, that I will become more Me.
 
And then, I know that maybe certain parts of my heart are uninhabited because no one has been able to penetrate it earnestly enough to take root there. Maybe no one has had the right tools and the right formula to till the fertile ground that waits there. However, if I'm unsure of when, I'm absolutely convinced of the notion that once tilled, the ground there will be floriferous beyond imagining.   

My heart has been impacted, without a doubt, and it has been filled with affection to a debilitating degree at times. The metaphorical "protective sac" surrounding my heart has given entrance to many a wanderer. But feeble and perhaps relenting as that protective layer may be, I am grateful for it's open-mindedness. For no matter how it may end, inviting Love in, no matter how long it stays, will always do a soul more good than harm, if only for the small glimpses of rapture that it brings.

As silly a word as I've ever heard, yet it has inspired me to think beyond the peripheral. Love is true when it can make It's way through the pericardium, over and under and through the many cardiac walls, and make lasting home in the receiving chamber. And as this chamber and that chamber cease to be willowwacks, but become alive and full and habitated with the things that anchor us, we become more alive and full in the process. 


Peace and LOVE.

Photo source: http://www.google.com/imgres?q=heart+shaped+garden&hl=en&client=firefox-a&rls=org.mozilla:en-US:official&biw=1680&bih=809&tbm=isch&tbnid=U7Jk_IOaABC1xM:&imgrefurl=http://blog.groorganic.com/2011/02/11/you-dont-bring-me-flowers-anymore/&docid=IoefhRNK9Jdb3M&w=567&h=567&ei=ymNJTqCHOajmiALi-eHbAQ&zoom=1&iact=rc&dur=303&page=3&tbnh=152&tbnw=164&start=63&ndsp=32&ved=1t:429,r:28,s:63&tx=83&ty=59