"And There's Ghosts in the Walls..."

I, I, I, I am--

leaves are so pretty when they blow down, when they're yellow and brown and red, and you know I could drive for-ever and for-ever and listen to some kind of music and see the leaves blowing across the street, and it's black asphalt or it's white concrete, it doesn't matter, leaves blowing down make everything beautiful always.

Oh, gileonnen, I danced under a streetlight last night. I danced for an hour in my purple skirt under a streetlight, and I swirled and I was barefoot and it was red brick laid down in circle patterns, and my shadow was dancing too, and maybe I didn't look very pretty, but my shadow looked beautiful and tall and lithe and such an excellent beautiful dancer and I couldn't see me but I could see my shadow, and-- I love to dance, I love to dance.

And in my house, in my house, you talk about translations of Exodus and Leviticus over the dinner table. In my house, you watch The Third Man and have discussions about Orson Welles then and now. In my house, you discuss the similarities of French, Italian, and Latin, and sometimes Russian, because Mum studied Russian for so long. Ballo, salto, and danse all mean the same thing, but they're such different words--

I finished Washington Square. It was too sad, but not like anything else. Sad like white cardboard. I couldn't cry.

I love I love you.

The therapist will not help. I shall have to do this myself. I shall do it.

Fish, my Mum wants you to come to Pennsylvania. She is trying to lure you here with Juniata. It's dreadful, but it's entirely wonderful--

I accidentally took the key from the Bed and Breakfast home with me, in my pocket--I forgot. So I looked up the telephone number and called her, and apologised, and she told me it was quite all right, and I'll send it back to-morrow.

I want to make everybody happy, to make everybody happy, really and truly to make--but it won't happen. I can't do it. I keep trying, but it's no use--I won't stop trying, but I'll try to make it hurt less. I should learn, should learn, that I can't fix everything, and I shouldn't feel I've failed when I don't, that's right, isn't it?

I might disappear again, maybe, in the middle of next week. It feels so free to be free, and to read, and to--

I want to ride a train again. I am wishing desperately for balloons. But I have acorns, pockets of acorns that I picked up at Juniata for Rosencrantz and Miss Kylee, but I don't know what I shall do with them.

The young gentlemen who sang at Juniata, a choral group called Cantus, all nine of them signed my programme. It was very silly of me, but I got all nine autographs, and was ridiculously pleased. They were very nice about it. One of them made me think of Courfeyrac. The tall man who was one of the basses had curly black hair and small spectacles, and a gorgeous deep voice, and was so nice, and sang so very well--but the man who made me think of Courfeyrac was tiny and dark and raised his eyebrows a lot. He was a tenor. One of the tenors looked just like Billy at work, which did make me a little sad. It's sad to think of two people who look just the same having such entirely different lives, although I may be being silly again, but that Billy is one of my people with Down syndrome, and can't speak. Anyway, it was perhaps me being silly. At any rate-- It was wonderful, it was very lovely, they got two standing ovations and gave us two encores.

Mum has to go to the funeral of one of her patients this afternoon. Then she and Waen will go riding. I shall read, perhaps.

Or perhaps I shall go out and collect leaves. We saw fireworks last night, and the wind was so strong they blew away to the side before the sparks had gone out. I wanted to dance in the rain for a little while.

People are wonderful

& so much is beautiful, even when that's sad, but so much is beautiful
& i want to write poetry again
look my writing is disintegrating
already
well perhaps
i shall
& sing

"I Like the Theatre, but Never Come Late..."

Educate yourselves.

This man--I worship this man. I read all three of John Bellairs' series when I was little, despite the fact that they gave me nightmares, purely for his illustrations and the fact that I had a crush on Johnny. Is brilliant man. His own books, too, are magnificent, and his friends called him Ted. Like Neddy Burne-Jones, but not! I love nicknaming Edward. ^_^; Ridiculous me.

--At any rate. GOREY = GENIUS. Go ye and read.

...He should have illustrated Ogden Nash. That would have made my life complete.

...And the rocks with eyes in The Dreadful Summons? Are cuter than turtles. Bwah.

"And All At Once I Lost My Breath..."

This is what it is to be eucharistic minister:

If you have ever drunk out of a goblet before-- this is a chalice. You are holding a chalice, and it's heavy, it's gold. It's full of wine, it's bitter wine, very bitter. It's purple-red. It has a nasty smell. It's very ordinary wine, not very good even. You are in a church, up beside the altar, with the Communion rail between you and the congregation, which is people, which is thirty-odd people who are watching you. In this church, for these people, you are not holding a heavy chalice full of ordinary bitter wine. You are holding a chalice full of sacred bitter blood.

Maybe everybody doesn't believe that exactly, but a lot of them do. The children, who don't understand entirely, still understand that it is important. You know that it is important. You're dressed in your acolyte's vestments, because the eucharistic vestments don't fit you yet, you're not tall enough. A red cassock, a white surplice, a cross around your neck--but the cross is the eucharistic minister's cross, with a stained-glass picture of bread and wine on it, very small. When you get taller, you'll wear a black cassock. These things all mean something, they all mean something.

The priest is giving the bread, flat thin bits of bread that look like styrofoam poker chips with crosses on them. Some people eat them at once, some people save them. She says, the body of Christ, the bread of Heaven, when she gives it. If the children don't want to eat it, she makes a cross on their foreheads with her thumb. Then you come after, with this heavy chalice full of wine-blood, and you put it forward, and you tip it up first to a woman's mouth and she drinks and you say, the blood of Christ, the cup of Salvation, and then you take it back, wipe the rim with a white cloth, turn it one space to the right, and give it to the man next to her. He takes his bread and dips it in the wine. You still say the blessing. You do this for every one of these people, and they, most of them, are doing something holy, something truly important. You are giving these people the blood of Christ in a chalice, and it's bitter, and it smells bitter. You are serving people. You are giving them to drink.

There's one man who is Roman Catholic. You take his bread and dip it in the chalice yourself, and then put it in his mouth. You serve the children just as you serve the adults, but you have to bend your knees. You serve your parents, your mother and father, just the way you've served everyone else. You give the wine to people you know. They don't smile at you, some of them, because what you are doing is too important to them.

At the end, you pour the sanctified water in what wine is left, and, if you were older, you would drink it; but you're too young, so the acolyte, who is usually the lay minister, takes it and drinks it instead. You scrub out the inside of the chalice with the white cloth, and put it back on the altar.

It is the strangest thing you have ever done.

And that's why I want to go on being lay minister. It's so odd. It's-- I want to understand it better. It feels so sacred, but I don't think I believe it enough yet. I'm the lightest sort of Christian--I believe in things, but I don't go to church as often as I should, and I only believe the New Testament--I'm an acolyte and a lay minister, but I don't usually think about what I'm doing-- I don't know whether I'll ever feel about the wine the way some people do, but even I can feel that it's sacred. I'm going to do it again soon--I'm just interested.

But I promise, next time I do it, I won't dramatise it quite so much.

"Are Not So Far From Wordly Cares..."

Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee....!

Waen made cups at Juniata, teacups and teapot, at the pottery shop. Four teacups and a teapot, out of brown clay. That was in April. Well, they fired them for her, and gave them to her this time, and we just had a tea party!

Mum and Waen and I, that is. ^______^ Only I had hot cocoa, since I don't like tea. But we had a tea and cocoa party in her handmade clay cups and pot, and it was absolutely wonderful, oh, goodness--!

And I went out walking this afternoon, and now I have even more acorns; and I love life.

Because it's just like leaves turning goldens and browns and orange and red and falling in the wind.

<3

"I Am Wise, and I Know What Time it is Now..."

Okay! ^____^ So, like the rest of my flist, I, too, have been longing to post three songs. And finally Miss Zara shewed me how. So, so!

Rythem, Rythem og Rekum Yfir Sandinn. In Iceland, Uncle Joi, Olifur-Andre, Siggi, Jenny, and Jon all sang this song for us at different times. It's about a man riding across Iceland and hearing the wolves around him. I like to imagine that he is riding where we rode. I like to imagine, really, that he is riding Blesi, but I don't think that would really be anything to sing about. Blesi was a wicked little horse, and he never went faster than a trot anyway.

You Took Advantage of Me. Now, admittedly, Miss Kylee already has this song and Miss Zara is getting it, but. Ella Fitzgerald! Bouncy! Pretty! Horatio's song! I probably could have chosen a better one (To Keep My Love Alive! I've Got Five Dollars! I Didn't Know What Time it Was! Isn't it Romantic! &c &c &c!), but. I chose this one. And it took two hours to upload, so I am not changing my mind now. Enjoy! :D

You're Easy to Dance With. Fred Astaire, my one true singing celebrity love since my very small childhood. This is one of my favourite songs, second only to every other song he sang. But, much as I would like to, I cannot upload every single one of his songs. So I content myself with this. Besides, it's pretty. Fred Astaire! <3 Love him.

^_______^ That was fun. Hi.

"Life Was no Prize to be Won..."

OMG ERIN ERIN ERIN. I GOT HALF THE CD TO WORK. I HAVE NO IDEA HOW. I DON'T THINK I HAVE THE WHOLE THING. BUT, DAMMIT, I HAVE HALF.

*dances*

"When we Sat at Little Tables and Drank May Wine..."

I am horrid. First day back and all that--

( For those of you not getting the dubious pleasure of receiving a box of spiders through post-- )

( For those of you who actually care about Soujin's pinwheel status: )

( For LUISA MY LOVE, KITTYYYYY! Icelandic kitty, that is. :D )