Thoreau

I was looking over some of my Henry Thoreau quotes that I have written down over the years of reading his stuff. Not only do I love Thoreau even with his quirky, far out personality, but I am a huge fan of great quotes, and when you put the two together, it is a beautiful thing, so I wanted to share.

• I know where he’s going. He’s going where he’s supposed to go. So he can be where he’s supposed to be, at the time he’s supposed to be there. Why? So he’ll be liked. My God, a whole country of us who only want to be liked. But to be liked, you must never disagree. And if you never disagree, it’s like only breathing in and never breathing out! A man suffocates on courtesy.
• Retirement? What an absurd idea! Why spend the best part of your life earning money so that you can enjoy a questionable liberty during the least valuable part of it? Why work like a dog so you can pant for a moment or two before you die?
• Maybe to prove less is more. You see, I’m really very wealthy; I just don’t have any money, that’s all.
• If you have built castles in the air, your work need not be lost; that is where they should be. Now put the foundations under them.

Lament

My all time favorite Bible verse. When times are rough, I always look to this to help me get through.

God proves to be good to the man who passionately waits, to the woman who diligently seeks. It’s a good thing to quietly hope, quietly hope for help from God. It’s a good thing when you’re young to stick it out through the hard times. When life is heavy and hard to take, go off by yourself. Enter the silence. Bow in prayer. Don’t ask questions: Wait for hope to appear. Don’t run from trouble. Take it full-face. The “worst” is never the worst. Why? Because the Master won’t ever walk out and fail to return. If he works severely, he also works tenderly. His stockpiles of loyal love are immense. He takes no pleasure in making life hard, in throwing roadblocks in the way.
Lamentations 3:25-33

Looking Back

I wanted my blog to be a place where I could express myself and allow others to get to know me better and on a slightly different level. My blog, Recorded Thoughts, became more or less based off of one of my very first posts titled, “The Beauty of Simplicity.” As the title states, I prefer things done on a simpler scale and my blog is visible proof of this. I decided against adding all sorts of bright colors, gadgets and doodads to my page. Most of my entries were intentionally kept short, sweet and simple because I did not want my audience to lose interest and to so I cut right to the point and the base of my thought. Because of this, everything has a purpose in being there.

Most every entry I did, I began with a photo that I liked or intrigued me and worked backwards by writing about what it made me think of or feel, ultimately my thoughts on the photo. Therefore I decided to call my blog “Recorded Thoughts.” I knew from the beginning of the semester that this way of writing was what I wanted to do. To some readers, what I write may come across more personal because I blog about what has been on my mind that day or at that moment. Usually whether or not it bears a little bit of my soul, I will write it down. I am not ashamed. I wanted it to be more informative to let those who follow my blog will have a better understanding of who I am and catch a glimpse of what goes on in my head throughout the day.

Since the people who read my blog probably do not know me very well, I wanted to create one that would allow for people to understand who I am a little better, not just through my words and thoughts, but through the other modes of communication. I wanted to add some of my favorite songs, even though I find that they regularly change, not only to share with those who choose to read my blog some wonderful songs but because music is such a large part of me. So much so that I decided to devote my first blog entry on the topic. I posted two videos to have a change of pace and venture out from posting just pictures. They just so happen to combine both electronic and audio because they deal with music. One is a live performance by one of my favorite artists, Justin King, and the other is a music video that I found on iTunes’ free download of the week that I fell in love with and had to share.

Although I covered all of the different modes of communication, the majority of my blog consisted of writing and photos, which in all reality is what a blog should really contain. Even so, I could have used more electronic sources, or at the very least a wider variety of videos that show more things that interest me or that I enjoy besides music to go along with what my profile says, “I have an enthusiasm for life and a love for the world and all that it holds.” Overall I am pleased with the way that my blog turned out and the way that it portrays me.

Looking back at the beginning of the semester and I remember how terrified I was at the thought of trying to find time to write 24,000 words on top of the weekly posts and regular assignments and on top of all of that, my other classes. Not only am I happy that I was able to reach that number but I must admit that I enjoyed doing it, something I never thought I would say. Maybe even enough to keep up with it once the year comes to an end.

Where Has All of the Time Gone?

I can barely believe it…there are only twelve days. I am going to be a freshman here at Iowa State University for twelve more days, at the very most. Where in the world did all the time go?!?! I still remember the summer before going away to college like it was last week. I was having pre-college homesickness. I was so scared to leave the comforts of home: no more homemade meals, no more free laundry, no more car, no more bed on the ground, no more Italian cappuccinos. I was not sure what I was getting myself into.

I had wanted to move out and do my own thing all year long, and now that it was finally time to go, I was not ready. I felt like a bride before her wedding, always having nightmarish dreams about being that freshman with the map on campus at the end of the year, or having the hellish roommate, or accidentally shrinking all of my clothes in the laundry. I must admit that I cried profusely the night before I left. Although I would be leaving all of the comforts of home, I think the real reason was because I was leaving my boyfriend at the time behind and I was scared of what was going to happen to us once I left. Cheesy, I know, but it is the truth.

I look back at that time and I cannot help but laugh at the fact that I was so scared of coming here because I see that I had nothing to worry about. I was fortunate enough to know enough people who had gone here previous year(s) to show me around campus or other freshman who were willing to go around with me to search out where all of my classes were for the semester, my roommate is now one of my best friends, and after completing my first load of laundry in an unfamiliar place I was pleased to see that nothing shrunk.

I am really not ready to go back home for the summer. All of my friends are here now. It is going to be so strange not waking up to them and going to sleep to them, eating homemade meals with my family again, and fewer spontaneous late night activities. I am undeniably going to miss them all. I know I am blessed to have been surrounded with such marvelous people, but I want to be selfish and keep them all with me all of the time instead of them going back to their respective homes all over the world.

I have decided that three months is too long being apart. I would much rather be with my buddies than work a nine to five job filing silly papers. So what about the money, I am sure that I would make do, somehow. I have come to terms that this is an unrealistic plan if I hope to live in my house this summer.

Even though this year has not officially been completed, I am already looking forward to the beginning of next year. There are so many new opportunities, circumstances and challenges to face and look forward to.

Although my high school romance ended the first month of being away at college, it has brought only better things. Not only has it allowed for a year of personal growth, new friendships and the broadening of my taste buds, but I have in turn found myself a fabulous guy that any girl would dream of dating. But now instead of getting a fresh Italian cappuccino made especially for me every morning, I have someone special who will drink them with me for now.
Life is good.

So no more minutes. Let us count moments—moments that wedge themselves between days and weeks and rainfalls.

Secret Treasure

It has been one of my dreams to accidentally find a secret box containing something that was hidden in a secret spot of sorts. What started this somewhat strange fascination of mine was the movie Amelie that I watched when I was twelve years old. First off, it was a bad choice of a movie for a twelve year old to watch, let alone one to watch with the whole family. I would not recommend it. Besides the point, Amelie is in the bathroom of her apartment when she hears the shocking news that Princess Diana was killed in a car accident. Out of her horror, Amelie drops her perfume bottle which in turn knocks loose a tile in her bathroom under the sink. She bends over to clean up the mess and notices that the tile was loose and reaches her hand into the opening to pull out a small tin. She opens it to find the memorabilia of a young boy who lived in her apartment years earlier. She decides that she wants to track down the owner of the box and return it to him. How cool would that be?!?!?

If I were to ever find a secret treasure like that, I would really want to keep this little treasure, but I think in the end, the curiosity of who the owner is would get the best of me and I would want to know who this person is and the reason they put the specific things in their container. Why those items? What sentimental value did they have for them when they originally picked them? What does it mean to them now?

As sad as it is, I have come to realize that the chances of me ever coming across a secret crevice that holds the burial place for someone’s memorabilia are incredibly slim. Maybe if I tap all of the tiles in every bathroom attempting to find a hollow one or stick my hand into every hole I find in a tree or dig up my entire backyard will I come across one. Sadly, it will most likely always be in vain.

Although I most likely will never find one, I have highly considered making one and leaving it behind somewhere for someone else to find many years down the road. Maybe they will come looking for me, maybe they will not, but at least someone else will get to live out my little dream...and that's all that matters.

A Taste of Poetry

I was in a poetry mood today and I felt the need to write down some of my favorite poems by one of my favorite poets, Czeslaw Milosz. He has such a way with words.
I wish I could write so beautifully…

Love
Love means to learn to look at yourself
The way one looks at distant things
For you are only one thing among many.
And whoever sees that way heals his heart,
Without knowing it, from various ills.
A bird and a tree say to him: Friend.

Then he wants to use himself and things

So that they stand in the glow of ripeness.

It doesn't matter whether he knows what he serves:

Who serves best doesn't always understand.

One More Contradiction

Did I fulfill what I had to, here, on earth?

I was a guest in a house under white clouds

Where rivers flow and grasses renew themselves.

So what if I were called, if I was hardly aware.

The next time early I would search for wisdom.I

would not pretend I could be just like the others:

Only evil and suffering come from that.

Renouncing, I would choose the fate of obedience.

I would suppress my wolf’s eye and greedy throat.

A resident of some cloister floating in the air

With a view on the cities glowing below,

Or onto a stream, a bridge and old cedars,

I would give myself to one task only.

Which then, however, could not be accomplished.

So Little

I said so little.

Days were short.

Short days.

Short nights.

Short years.

I said so little.

I couldn't keep up.

My heart grew weary

From joy,

Despair,

Ardor,

Hope.

The jaws of Leviathan

Were closing upon me.

Naked, I lay on the shores

Of desert islands.

The white whale of the world

Hauled me down to its pit.

And now I don't know

What in all that was real.

Incantation

Human reason is beautiful and invincible.

No bars, no barbed wire, no pulping of books,

No sentence of banishment can prevail against it.

It establishes the universal ideas in language,

And guides our hand so we write Truth and Justice

With capital letters, lie and oppression with small.

It puts what should be above things as they are,

Is an enemy of despair and a friend of hope.

It does not know Jew from Greek or slave from master,

Giving us the estate of the world to manage.

It saves austere and transparent phrases

From the filthy discord of tortured words.

It says that everything is new under the sun,

Opens the congealed fist of the past.

Beautiful and very young are Philo-Sophia

And poetry, her ally in the service of the good.

As late as yesterday Nature celebrated their birth,

The news was brought to the mountains by a unicorn and an echo.

Their friendship will be glorious, their time has no limit.

Their enemies have delivered themselves to destruction.

To Raja Rao

Raja, I wish I knew

the cause of that malady.

For years I could not accept

the place I was in.

I felt I should be somewhere else.

A city, trees, human voices

lacked the quality of presence.

I would live by the hope of moving on.

Somewhere else there was a city of real presence,

of real trees and voices and friendship and love.

Link, if you wish, my peculiar case

(on the border of schizophrenia)

to the messianic hope

of my civilization.

Ill at ease in the tyranny, ill at ease in the republic,

in the one I longed for freedom, in the other for the end of corruption.

Building in my mind a permanent polis

forever deprived of aimless bustle.

I learned at last to say: this is my home,

here, before the glowing coal of ocean sunsets,

on the shore which faces the shores of your Asia,

in a great republic, moderately corrupt.

Raja, this did not cure me

of my guilt and shame.

A shame of failing to be

what I should have been.

The image of myself

grows gigantic on the wall

and against it

my miserable shadow.

That's how I came to believe

in Original Sin

which is nothing but the first

victory of the ego.

Tormented by my ego, deluded by it I

give you, as you see, a ready argument.

I hear you saying that liberation is possible

and that Socratic wisdom

is identical with your guru's.

No, Raja, I must start from what I am. I

am those monsters which visit my dreams

and reveal to me my hidden essence.

If I am sick, there is no proof whatsoever

that man is a healthy creature.

Greece had to lose, her pure consciousness

had to make our agony only more acute.

We needed God loving us in our weakness

and not in the glory of beatitude.

No help, Raja, my part is agony,

struggle, abjection, self-love, and self-hate,

prayer for the Kingdom

and reading Pascal.

The HoliDay That Ruined Everything

Our class discussion about how we found out Santa Claus was not real made me recall my own story and I felt the need to do a little blogging about it.

The Christmas holiday season was always, and still is, the ultimate time of year. Not only was I able to see family I would rarely see, eat delicious food and get all sorts of presents, it was the same time for my birthday…which really only meant more presents and a cool party to me. I would begin making my “Christmas Wish List” months in advance. After every commercial break I would be writing down a new toy to my list. Some years it would grow to be a few pages long. I knew full well that I would never get everything on my list, especially a dog which happened to be the first thing on the list every year, but since my parents were allergic, I knew they were high hopes, but regardless I put it down hoping that maybe one year they were feeling extra generous and loving and would reconsider. They never did.

What I loved almost more than the big gifts, were the small little surprises I would find in my stocking Christmas morning. Usually I would have an idea of what was under the tree because they were all mostly picked from my list, but my stocking always carried the unexpected gadgets and doodads and different flavored lip glosses. As soon as I woke up I would skid down the hallway nearly missing the door from my speed and barely skim the top of the stairs to the basement and to the fireplace where my beloved stocking would usually rest on the hearth because it was too weighed down with goodies to hang.

One Christmas morning when I was six years old, I woke up exceptionally early but the adrenaline from realizing it was finally Christmas morning kept me from realizing that the sun had yet to rise. So as I did every Christmas morning, I shot out of bed and down the hall almost missing the staircase and flew down the stairs to the basement, but as soon as I hit the last step I heard something that put me in a shock of joy. “It must be SANTA! SANTA IS IN MY BASEMENT!!!” I stepped down the last stair oh so quietly to be sure I would not scare him off and maybe take with him my gadgets and doodads and different flavored lip glosses. To my utter horror, there was no fat man in a bulging red suit with a massive toy bag draping over his shoulder, it was my mom in her blue pajamas with a Wal-Mart sack sagging from her forearm. I was mortified and did not know what to do. I stood there for what seemed like five minutes trying to register the thought that my mom was the one who had been filling my stocking all of these years, not jolly ol’ Santa Claus.

I finally snuck back up the stairs and back to my bed with a quarter of the enthusiasm I had coming down. I lay in my bed, finally able to make out what had just happened and I began to cry. I cried myself to sleep that night, all because of a silly make believe character, used to make me believe it was possible to reach every house in a matter of hours, no longer existed in my little six year old world. I was crushed. But I got over it, thankfully.

My mom still does not have a clue that the reason I do not believe in Santa Claus is because of her. I doubt I will ever tell her. I think she would be heartbroken to find out that she was the reason I cried myself to sleep that one, sad, Christmas morning. Either that or she would laugh…but I will never know.

Skeleton Boy

One of my all time favorite things is to peek at the free iTunes songs or videos or whatever of the week. Usually I am not particularly lucky and iTunes will fail again at putting up another crappy band. I am in awe at how they consistently put up bad songs, artists and bands. No matter how sucky a song is, I always download it. I am not really certain as to why, but I do. Maybe because I hope that it will grow on me...? Who knows. I suppose to each his own. BUT once in a blue moon they come through. And when they deliver, people, they deliver. I have come across two of my now favorite bands because of this little gadget. They always leave me guessing and it always gives me a little something to look forward to the following week.

This is just one of the few hits I feel that iTunes has gotten spot on. I applaud you for this. The video is intriguing, mostly just the lead singers sporadic dancing and how they keep the little bits of paper out of their eyes, mouths and nostrils amazes me. I mostly just like the song.

Have a listen for yourself if you please.

The Best and Worst Decision

I was eating lunch the other day with a couple of my friends and we happened to look at one of the many “table tents” sitting in front of us. It was about poverty awareness week which intrigued me, so I read on. There were going to be numerous activities but the one that interested me most was a sleep out in front of the Campanile that night. My urge to be spontaneous overcame me once again. How often do you get to sleep outside on central campus in the middle of the week and in a cardboard box nonetheless while raising awareness for a good cause? Sounded like a pretty good idea to me so I asked my friends if they would maybe be up for a little campout and surprisingly they all said yes and rather quickly. I was energized by their speedy reaction and started asking all of my friends that I came into contact with if they would be up for joining us. Most of them said no, but I had a few excited yeses.

I was fully aware that there was still snow on the ground in some areas and that the ground was most likely going to be wet and cold, but nothing that a lot of layers and a cozy sleeping bag could not beat out. Not only was there snow, I had been up since six o’clock that morning and would have to be up and ready by 6:45 the next day, but I was not about to let the weather or sleepiness take away this once in a lifetime opportunity, so the plans continued.

The event technically started at three that afternoon, but we decided there was no way we were all going to sit by the Campanile all day and all night and so we went back to our rooms and were productive instead. More like being productive for what I was going to not be experiencing much of and slept for two hours then showered and got all geared up with three sweatshirts, my winter coat, warm socks, boots and my sleeping bag and headed out to meet with the rest of the crew at 11:30. The two guys that were going to be tagging along were only wearing a long sleeved shirt, a sweatshirt and tennis shoes with a towel as their sleeping materials. I offered to let them use my blankets that were back in my room, but they wanted to prove that they were real men and refused after they found out there was pink in the blanket (heaven forbid). I knew right away they were going to be sorry, but I decided not to say anything and to let them figure it out on their own time. They should know that the girl is always right. ;)

We trekked on over around midnight to find that most everyone had gone to sleep. We chatted with a girl who informed us that our cardboard box beds had been transformed into one massive cardboard mansion and that it was completely full. But she had a tarp! Shortly after we realized we could not fit all five of us on her feeble little blue tarp so we went with plan C…garbage bags. We ventured out about twenty yards from the cardboard mansion so we would not wake anyone and set up camp laying out thirteen even flimsier white garbage bags to separate us from the damp ground. My roommate Kara and I set pulled out our sleeping bags and the guys, Michael and Meng, their towels and flimsy blanket and got settled in for the night but not before talking for two hours or so and not to mention a little tree climbing and rabbit and raccoon chasing. None of us were used to going to bed much before one but the cold air held our senses at a peak. Finally around 2:30 or so, we all hit the hay and using my arm as my pillow and Kara as an extra source of heat and I think I gradually faded away trying to block out every thought of being cold and hoping sleep would make me forget.

Miraculously we all woke up simultaneously. With teeth chattering, Michael asked, “What’s the time? Is it almost 6 yet?” My hand ventured out of my sleeping bag to find my phone and it read 3:23. *@#!%#&@!!! We all started freaking out wondering how in the world it could only be 3:30. Poor Meng was about to get frostbite on his toes since he was only wearing one sock…which I still do not understand how someone could forget to put on the other…but he did. Mine were freezing and I was wearing wool socks and inside of a sleeping bag, I do not know how he made it even that long. At that point, we knew we were not going to make it all the way through the night lying outside under the stars, so we had to come up with a plan. Do we go all the way to our dorms, do we sleep on a bench in front of Carver where we had to be at 7 o’clock the next morning, or do we go hibernate in the MU for a couple of hours? We chose the latter.

We scrounged up all of our things and I noticed that my alarm clock had started crystallizing and my shoes were stiff from frost. I did not even bother rolling up my sleeping bag as I darted towards the MU. I just wanted to be in the warmth again. We found a space in the Sun Room and decided to make our new camp for the night on a few couches. I did not fully realize how cold I was until I could not stop shivering for thirty minutes after getting inside. I slept in all of the layers I had on while outside and inside of my sleeping bag and was just beginning to thaw out by the time I started to fade.

I am woken by a rustling bag followed by a loud crashing and colliding of bottles behind me. I was too scared to really look up to see who was in the room because I was afraid that if I made eye contact with whoever this was we would get kicked out and it was only 6 in the morning so I hid my face in my sleeping bag. The person then started vacuuming which made any hope of sleeping disappear. By this point I realized this person was the janitor and not an actual homeless man picking up pop bottles. He wanted to make sure we were awake and he did a very good job of it by deciding to vacuum around our heads. Finally he left and we all popped our heads out from under our assorted bedding in a daze not really sure what just happened or what to say to each other about what just happened, so we just laid our heads back down for another 45 minutes or so when my no longer crystallized clock gave us another rude awakening. I popped up quickly from my sleep and turned off my obnoxious alarm with surprising energy. Slowly the rest came to life and stared at me with their squinty eyes asking if 6:45 had really come, but this time with less optimism. I sadly had to inform them that this time it was so we packed up all of our things and headed out to Carver for a meeting.

We walked in with all of our gear and sleepy faces and immediately got interesting stares and questions. I think I told the story ten times in a matter of five minutes, but I did not particularly mind. The meeting finally started and I was surprisingly not feeling the effect of the lack of sleep the night before. I looked down the row to see how Kara, Michael and Meng were doing and they all three had their heads down on the table. I could not help but let out a little giggle. Although I was amazed that I did not do the head bob during the meeting, the sensation did not hold off much longer. As soon as I set foot in my 8 o’clock class, it was bad news. My eyes were closing and I was not even aware. I barely managed to make it to my 9 o’clock class before I went back to my room and took a two hour nap. It felt glorious and I was once again revived and able to reflect on the experience to its fullest.

I was kind of proud what we had done, although we wimped out and slept inside of the MU, that was beside the point. We did it for a good cause and donated a few dollars to The Emergency Residence Project. But what was even more rewarding to me than that was that created closer friendships, a good story and some pretty amazing memories that will most likely stay with me for as long as I live as one of the stupidest yet best decisions of my college career.

Crown.

Justin King is one of my all time favorite artists. It does not necessarily matter if you care for acoustic music or not (although he does a variety of music), he still has unbelievable talent! I believe I have seen this video at least ten times and I am still in awe of how fabulous he is. I do not understand how so much talent can fit into one human being! If only I was this good...or ever could be this good. Pure beauty. His music and him. :)

So please, sit back, relax, and enjoy.

'Tis the Season.

Finally, the season of tennis is here! Well, sort of. Stupid Iowa weather…how I despise you so. I love hearing the sound of people hitting and having a good time in my “backyard” of Elm and how I often wish I was one of them. I did not think I would ever miss playing competitively, but I am finding more and more every day that I do not play, I do.

I was never that great of a tennis player, I mostly enjoyed the atmosphere that it presented. The game still allowed for some conversation and it still could make you sweat if you tried…which I did, most of the time. So many of my good friends played which was both a good thing and a bad thing. Good because I always had someone to play with and we were never that competitive but bad because when we were things could get tense and another reason is being girls, we like to talk, often more than playing. But whenever I wanted a solid game I would call up my dad. He was number two in men’s tennis in Muscatine so you knew you were looking for a good game when asking to hit around with him. I usually ended up leaving frustrated because I would always lose (of course!) but I secretly did not mind because I really did enjoy spending some quality time with him, however quickly he would beat me.

Now that I do not have my close friends or my dad to call whenever I have the urge to play, I can already feel the portion of my brain designated to tennis disappearing every day I am not out on the courts. It is sad! I want to play...but the snow poses a problem. Grrr.