Beauty in Musical Words

Whenever I listen to music that has beautifully written lyrics I feel like my heart opens up and there is a deep emotional power that seeps into my soul. I think what I like most about lyrics are the fact that it is poetry put to sound. Even still, there are some lyrics that are so provoking that I envy the artist who can bring their thoughts to life like that. It is even better if amazing lyrics are set to even more amazing sounds. That is why I believe music is proof that there has to be a power greater than us out there, because honestly how could a bang in the sky create a world where the concept of music is born. There is no way something that beautiful and satisfying is created by a chance explosion. Music is a universal language of the heart.

Who says?

Maybe there are aliens.
Maybe there are pink and purple trees.
Maybe our solar system is hanging as a mobile over an infinite baby's crib.
Maybe my eyes are green, or maybe they're brown and blue.
What if I asked a question nobody had the answer to?
Maybe I have a garden.
Maybe you don't.
Maybe people can see right through me, or maybe they can't.
What would you do if they could?
What if  sickness caused me to have no hair on my head but instead a soul in my heart?
What if instead I have hair on my head but my heart had no soul?
Maybe you like to drive down the road and sing real loud.
Maybe you like to dance until you have nothing left in you.
What if somebody loved the way they danced?
Who says that we need to make sense of the world?
Maybe you have to make sense of the world, but what if I don't?
What if cat's stood up and made speeches?
What if honey bees started to make ketchup?
How many times do you have to drive around a block to look for a house number?
How many times will your heart beat in your lifetime?
Maybe there is no time in life unless your heart is beating.
Maybe you can tell me what I want to hear, or maybe you can't.

Either way, everyone is different and everyone is the same.

Twilmooclipsbrawn.

On one recent occasion I was browsing through my friends on Facebook as one conversation via status update caught my attention. A person I know was talking about a certain author who has recently become quite famous due to her series of books regarding vampires. This person was completely ripping the author a new one, stating that they actually hated her because her female character was the weakest female character in the history of literature and that the author could not write at all. Now, I have personally read these books and because I am quite familiar with many different literary styles, I can also attest to the fact that this author isn't some sort of Ernest Hemingway. The ideas in her book are not profound. There is no meaningful insight into the human character nor do the books delve into deep levels of intellectuality. However, what troubled me was the fact that this person said they hated someone they do not even know.
About two weeks ago I was on the threshold of starting a new literature class. I showed up for the first day but quickly realized I would be unable to continue it due to the already compounded amount of homework I have each night. But as I listened to the professor describe the type of fictional literature we would be reading in class, they mentioned it would not be the trash that plagues the shelves of decent bookstores. My immediate thought was a reference to the fictional series about vampires.
What is it with people hating on the author so much? I don't see their names all over the place, their stories hitting the big screen, or their merchandise in Hot Topic. Why is this particular author given such a bad rep? The biggest problem most literary buffs have with her is that she adds nothing of value to the world of literature. I beg to differ. I in fact believe that she does. The purpose of her books are to get people to read. She put down her thoughts in a creative way and she was successful. Her chapters keep readers enticed. I have heard countless debates over which male character should win the heart of the female protagonist. This is what I believe is the beauty of her work. It gets people to discuss her books, to enjoy something other than the monotony of life. So what if her books happen to appeal to a majority of pre-teen girls, at least they're reading! Nobody ever asked people to take it upon themselves to read her work, and yet they are which I find is the point of her success. Books are meant to be enjoyed; to be talked about with others. For one to say that another person's writing is trash seems to me to be absurdly judgemental. If someone is so concerned about the trash infecting the shelves of bookstores, why don't they do something about it?

(P.S. If the person/s I have written about happen to read this, I just want to say that I'm not trying to offend you but am simply giving my opinion about the matter as well!)

Powerful Love of Powells

This store is the literal reason why I personally do not ever see myself leaving Portland. A dear friend of mine described it like this, "it's an orgasm for book lovers." Which, despite the graphical nature of that statement I whole-heartily agree with. When I first walked in to Powells I felt these 4 powerful physical symptoms:
1. Butterflies in the stomach
2. Rapid heart palpitations
3. Heightend sense of smell which caused me to breathe deeply the aroma of book glue and paper
4. The sense of overwhelming due to the fact that Powells stretches over a block and has four stories.
So far I've taken it upon myself to explore the realms of the Classic Literature section, the Rare Book Room, and the Children's section (all 7 of the Harry Potter books at half price because they're used!). There's no telling what may come of me at that store nor the amount of money I might spend there. But a word to my family should they ever have a reason to believe I've gone missing... check Powells first before calling the police.

Birkenstock Feelings

When I created this blog my main goal was to write about things people could relate to. The rule I made for myself was to never complain about anything, beacuse who wants to read that? But today I think I might make an exception to that rule because I feel what I have to say can be related to by many (or perhaps I'm just in a people-hater mood, but oh well...).
As I was riding home on the train this past weekend I had the pleasure of sitting next to a very unique woman. She was short with shoulder length gray hair that hung limply to her face.She had no wrinkles around her eyes at all but she had considerable wrinkles that highlighted the area around her mouth. She was dressed in a way that I desribe as the "Northwest style", which includes zip off cargo pants, Birkenstocks, an old college sweatshirt, and a trusty back pack stocked with healthy snacks. Although she never formally introduced herself to me I feel as though I know just about everything that has been recently going on in her family. She first caught my attention when I saw a pen in her hand busying itself over a leather bound book sprawled open across her lap. When I looked farther down the page I caught a glance of a date and assumed the writing underneath was an entry. I thought to myself, "who writes in a diary anymore, let alone at the age of 50+ years old." But, as I do keep a blog I suppose I have no room to judge, right? Anyway, after about five minutes she started to talk to the man next to her, which I assumed was her husband, and if not then I'd have felt immensely sorry for this fellow. This woman started to delve deeply into the dynamics of her family. All of which included a recent death and a will that was being fought over; a step mother who keeps kicking her sister out of the house because of her life choices; the fact that she is the only one that anyone in her entire family will talk to about anything; and the way that she is very open to all of them and wants to solve problems by talking about her feelings but can't understand why nobody else wants to do the same. At that moment my situation felt like one of those instances where there I saw something really gross, but no matter what it was impossible to look away. Because I mean I really, really wanted to turn my attention elsewhere but as my ipod was dead and my phone had no service I was stuck listening to every word she said. And this is where I'm going to complain... I am sure this woman is very nice and has a good heart blah, blah, blah. But as I am so unlike her in the department of sharing deep feelings outloud in public I found it extremely invasive when I was literally stuck listening to what she had to say about her family. The man next to her was a particularly good sounding board though, there was no noise from him what so ever and I have a feeling she picked up on his apathy when, to top everything off, she asked, "Any thoughts, feelings, questions about this?" and his reply was, " Uh... yeah, you're a good sister." It was all I could do to stop from laughing out loud. And this returns me to my point; it is extremely important to talk about things that are on your mind, especially to those who love you and care about you. However, where the line needs to be drawn is when you're out in public. I was a victim to the circumstances, I had no choice but to hear what she was saying and I can gaurantee you that knowledge did not change my life. So people please, next time you are out and about and something is eating away in your mind and you feel as though you need to get it out, then by all means do! Just don't do it when you are stuck in a public place where those around you can't give you the privacy you deserve.

Music = Brand New

Sometimes when I feel like my life is gone crazy and I have no way to describe how I'm feeling I turn to music. Lyrics, especially good ones, are how I relate myself to songs. The one band I relate to the most is Brand New. They pretty much sum me up entirely in The Boy Who Blocked His Own Shot

"You are calm and reposed. Let your beauty unfold. Pale white like the skin streched over your bones. Spring keeps you ever closed. You are second hand smoke. You are so fragile and thin, standing trial for your sins. Holding onto yourself the best you can. You are the smell before rain, you are the blood in my veins."

Every line they write is amazing to me.

You Pick Me Up Where My Brain Leaves Off.

The music of my heart sings loudly today. I search for the words to tell you of the love I have for you. You are the only person in my life who has stayed consistent. You are my foundation, of which I build my hopes and dreams on.

I know countless words. Endless definitions. Spelling is not a problem, and grammar comes easily for me. But why do I fail to describe the emotions lingering on my heart? You fill me up there and overwhelm my soul. There is no more room to think, I can only feel the love I have for you.

When I see you my stomach turns into a gymnast, doing somersaults, flips, and cartwheels. My heart turns into a drum which keeps time in 6/8.

When I am not with you I yearn to be close to you. You are more comforting than a warm blanket and a cup of tea.

How did you transform my ordinary life into a fairytale, where my only thought is of nothing but you?

Story of My Life

every time you treat me this way

i can't help but feel betrayed.

you said you were different,

you said don't be afraid.

i listened to your words

i heard them with my heart

its one thing to help me pull together

and another to tear me apart

where do the days go that so swiftly pass us by

you have shown me its too late to think

that time is on our side.

as the days turn into months

the months go on to years

i realize all you left behind for me was

the growth of foolish fears

On My Mind

When I was younger I saw my daddy cry, and curse at the wind.

He broke his own heart and I watched as he tried to reassemble it.

And my mama swore that she would never let herself forget.

That was the day that I promised I'd never sing of love if it does not exist.

But darling, you are the only exception.

The Gift of Thinking

I had an epiphany the other day. I was casually walking through the mall with my boyfriend. We had a certain feeling of lightheartedness as we made our way through the throng of people. We were very pleased in our relaxed state as we took ganders in odd shops and moved with the flow of traffic around us. In order to celebrate our mood we decided to buy ourselves Red Mango frozen yogurt. I purchased my favorite, the original flavor with mango, raspberries, mochi, and white chocolate chips. I was contentedly eating my frozen delight when it hit me, like a brick to the skull. I felt.... happy?
Yes, happy.
It was unlike anything I'd ever experienced before. Now I'm not saying that I have never been happy, but I had never recognized it. You might be thinking that that is extremely sad. My friend, it is...
My life has been a series of ups and downs. Sometimes I feel like the downs occur more often than the ups. But I don't want you to think that I am some type of emo person sitting in the corner slitting my wrists, or that I am a huge pessimist that always sees the glass half empty. It's just at that moment in the mall I had never realized all the things I had to be happy for, despite some of the negative things that have happened in my life. I just realized that I am happy being me; happy to be with my boyfriend, happy to have been eating ice cream at the mall and watching people around me live their lives. Life is a beautiful thing and so quickly it can end, without so much as a kiss and a wink. Why should I spend it worrying about tomorrow and fretting about today? Obviously this concept is not a new one, and I fear that I have begun to sound trite. It was just my personal epiphany, and one that I have gladly opened up to and accepted. One of my very favorite sayings pretty much sums it up to a T, "Yesterday was history, tomorrow's a mystery, but right now is a gift and that's why they call it the present."

Sticky Lips

First assignment of my fictional writing exercise book: Write about a scene that you saw for a fraction of a second happen in a public place. Describe who and what you saw. I saw an old man and a younger woman sitting in the mall on a group of chairs as I was waiting for my boyfriend to be done with work. They barely said anything to each other. The old man had an ice cream.

“Do you want me to hold your ice cream for you while you sit?”


“Sure… Just give me a minute to squeeze in between this table.” He handed me a sticky and dripping Rocky Road ice cream. I did my best to hold it in both hands with a napkin around it so that it didn’t drip on to the floor. I watched as my gray haired father carefully guided himself to the edge of the couch and turned so that he was facing away from it. He began to hunch over and slowly lowered himself down with an outstretched hand behind him. I put his ice cream in my right hand and used my left arm to guide him down as he started to sink into the couch. I imagined his back side to be programmed with a beeping noise, much like the backing up signal of a dump truck. As soon as he was settled I moved around his legs and sat on the right of him. I handed him back his melting ice cream.

“Thanks Vivienne.” He said

“No problem dad.” I replied

We sat there in silence observing the people in the mall walk by us. There seemed to be many young kids and parents circulating the store in front of us. I realized why. The store was a candy store and their special of the day was 50 cent cotton candy. We watched a long time as many children finally acquired their bright blue and pink sugary treats only to get it all over their faces and onto their clean white shirts in about two point five seconds. I looked over and realized my father was no different than some of the children. The chocolate ice cream had made a brown and sticky coating on the sides of this mouth. There were small brown dribble circles where the ice cream had dripped and sank into his shirt.

“Here dad, do you want me to go get some more napkins? You’ve got ice cream all over yourself.” I asked.

“Oh?” He sounded as though he was just trying to sound interested for my sake. It seemed like the mess of the ice cream didn’t bother him one bit.

“I’ve got to use the bathroom soon.I’ll clean it when I go.” He replied.

I let out sort of a half laugh. He always seemed to be content in whatever situation he was put in, regardless of who put him in it. After another minute or so I asked, “So dad, how have you been these past few weeks?”

There was a short pause. “I’ve been doing well Viv. You know just about everything else besides that.” He replied.

“Yeah, I know dad. I just feel like you seem to be doing so much better than you should." To this he said nothing and after another short while I said, "Mom died only two months ago.” I said this as though I was trying to convince him that he should feel more depressed than he was acting.

“Things happen that we can’t control. It was her time to go and that’s nothing I can have a say in.” He said briskly.

I didn’t really know what to say to that so I said nothing. Obviously everything does have a purpose and a time, but I felt alone in the grief I had for my mother’s death. Why did everyone seem to be okay with her passing besides me? I felt as though my dad should be upset like I was. I thought about pushing the issue further, but came to the conclusion that it wouldn’t do any good, so we sat in silence once again.

Sea of scribble

Life is a continuous search for knowledge.

It comes in any shape or form. For me knowledge comes in books. Books books books....and more books. I do love reading. I think I read anything I can get my hands on. From informational pamphlets handed out by banks to books on how to Feng Shui an apartment. There is no bias in my opinion on what I like to read. This has come to my attention recently as I have started to notice myself retreating into the depths of Borders for hours at a time. Today it was four hours; yesterday it was six. Maybe this will all change once I start school, but for now I'm content with perusing book shelves and reading snippets of chapters. And honestly, I don't want it to change! I just bought a book today on how to sharpen my fictional writing skills. I am going to start right away with the exercises in the book. Perhaps they will help me with blog topics....

If you locked me up in this room for the rest of my life and I'd say I'd died and gone to heaven.

Rows of Planted Family Trees

I am an only child. All my life I have had the only child stereotype hanging over my head. "You're spoiled" is the most common remark I hear when I disclose to people my lack of siblings. Obviously that is something I could not control, but  I used to beg my parents so badly for a little sister or a big brother (I was too young to understand that I was already the oldest). When I was eight years old, my mom got pregnant. At first I was overjoyed! I was finally getting the little brother or sister I so desperately wanted. After I sat and thought awhile, though, I realized that I wouldn't be getting all the toys at Christmas. I would be over shadowed by this newcomer, and mommy and daddy would give all their attention to my new sibling and not me. (Okay, I guess you could say I was spoiled... but it wasn't my fault, it's all I had ever known.)
Well as the next few weeks passed mom started having problems with the baby. She went in for an ultrasound and the doctors realized that the baby's heart was not developing properly. Eventually she lost the baby, and we were all devastated.
When I think back to this experience I can't help but realize the importance of family. Family is the most powerful unit on earth. We are given our first life experiences in the family unit. We are taught by our parents, our grandparents, and anyone who spends time with us. Which brings me to my next thought... Family doesn't always necessarily mean that you need to be blood to be considered "family". Because I had no siblings I made up for that lack in other ways. Growing up, my closest friend was my neighbor. She was my same age and lived about five houses down. When she was ten years old her mom died from cancer. Since that time she became my sister. My family was her second family and we spent all our time together. I did have to learn some of the things from her, like sharing, that siblings inherently learn from each other. Still, however, we were inseparable. Then, when we were twelve we met a couple who lived across the street from us who had no children. And from that time on we became like family to them. We were like their children (besides their adorable wiener dog child that they shower with love), and they were like another set of parents.

So, I guess my point from all this... from the let down of not having a blood sibling, to finding my sister in my best friend, and to my neighbors finding children in us... is that we are shaped by others close to us. Family to me doesn't mean that it has to just be blood relatives. We are taught about life and love and trust and happiness by those who are willing to be around us. I have the best family in the world, even if we all have different last names. Now, when I still get the "Oh, you must be spoiled!" remark from people about  being an only child I just brush it off and think about how lucky I am to have my extended family.

Peter Rabbit

One of my very favorite stories when I was a kid. I can't say what made me think of it today but I thought perhaps you would enjoy reading it. It definitely jogs my memory back to my childhood! The Tale of Peter Rabbit is so classic and simple. Some of the best literary works are children's stories. Enjoy.

The Tale of Peter Rabbit by Beatrix Potter

ONCE upon a time there were four little Rabbits, and their names were
Flopsy,

Mopsy,

Cotton-tail,

and Peter.

They lived with their Mother in a sand-bank, underneath the root of a very big fir-tree.
'Now, my dears,' said old Mrs. Rabbit one morning, 'you may go into the fields or down the lane, but don't go into Mr. McGregor's garden: your Father had an accident there; he was put in a pie by Mrs. McGregor.'
'Now run along, and don't get into mischief. I am going out.'
Then old Mrs. Rabbit took a basket and her umbrella, and went through the wood to the baker's. She bought a loaf of brown bread and five currant buns.Flopsy, Mopsy, and Cotton-tail, who were good little bunnies, went down the lane together to gather blackberries:
But Peter, who was very naughty, ran straight away to Mr. McGregor's garden, and squeezed under the gate!First he ate some lettuces and some French beans; and then he ate some radishes;
And then, feeling rather sick, he went to look for some parsley.
But round the end of a cucumber frame, whom should he meet but Mr. McGregor!
Mr. McGregor was on his hands and knees planting out young cabbages, but he jumped up and ran after Peter, waving a rake and calling out, 'Stop thief!'
Peter was most dreadfully frightened; he rushed all over the garden, for he had forgotten the way back to the gate.
He lost one shoe among the cabbages, and the other amongst the potatoes.
After losing them, he ran on four legs and went faster, so that I think he might have got away altogether if he had not unfortunately run into a gooseberry net, and got caught by the large buttons on his jacket. It was a blue jacket with brass buttons, quite new.
Peter gave himself up for lost, and shed big tears; but his sobs were overheard by some friendly sparrows, who flew to him in great excitement, and implored him to exert himself.
Mr. McGregor came up with a sieve, which he intended to pop on the top of Peter; but Peter wriggled out just in time, leaving his jacket behind him.
He rushed into the tool-shed, and jumped into a can. It would have been a beautiful thing to hide in, if it had not had so much water in it.
Mr. McGregor was quite sure that Peter was somewhere in the tool-shed, perhaps hidden underneath a flower-pot. He began to turn them over carefully, looking under each.
Presently Peter sneezed - 'Kertyschoo!' Mr. McGregor was after him in no time.
And tried to put his foot upon Peter, who jumped out of a window, upsetting three plants. The window was too small for Mr. McGregor, and he was tired of running after Peter. He went back to his work.
Peter sat down to rest; he was out of breath and trembling with fright, and he had not the least idea which way to go. Also he was very damp with sitting in that can.
After a time he began to wander about, going lippity - lippity - not very fast, and looking all around.
He found a door in a wall; but it was locked, and there was no room for a fat little rabbit to squeeze underneath.
An old mouse was running in and out over the stone doorstep, carrying peas and beans to her family in the wood. Peter asked her the way to the gate, but she had such a large pea in her mouth that she could not answer. She only shook her head at him. Peter began to cry.Then he tried to find his way straight across the garden, but he became more and more puzzled. Presently, he came to a pond where Mr. McGregor filled his water-cans. A white cat was staring at some gold-fish, she sat very, very still, but now and then the tip of her tail twitched as if it were alive. Peter thought it best to go away without speaking to her; he has heard about cats from his cousin, little Benjamin Bunny.
He went back towards the tool-shed, but suddenly, quite close to him, he heard the noise of a hoe - scr-r-ritch, scratch, scratch, scritch. Peter scuttered underneath the bushes. But presently, as nothing happened, he came out, and climbed upon a wheel-barrow and peeped over. The first thing he saw was Mr. McGregor hoeing onions. His back was turned towards Peter, and beyond him was the gate!
Peter got down very quietly off the wheel-barrow, and started running as fast as he could go, along a straight walk behind some black-currant bushes.
Mr. McGregor caught sight of him at the corner but Peter did not care. He slipped underneath the gate, and was safe at last in the wood outside the garden.Mr. McGregor hung up the little jacket and the shoes for a scare-crow to frighten the blackbirds.Peter never stopped running or looked behind him till he got home to the big fir-tree.

He was so tired that he flopped down upon the nice soft sand on the floor of the rabbit-hole, and shut his eyes. His mother was busy cooking; she wondered what he had done with his clothes. It was the second little jacket and pair of shoes that Peter had lost in a fortnight.I am sorry to say that Peter was not very well during the evening.

His mother put him to bed, and made some chamomile tea; and she gave a dose of it to Peter!

'One teaspoonful to be taken at bed-time.'
But Flopsy, Mopsy, and Cotton-tail had bread and milk and blackberries, for supper.



THE END.

Precious light

The silver sky comes creeping through my window, spilling its cool wash of gray into the dim corners of my room. I try and block out the sounds of the morning, but punctuating the silence outside is the shrill call of a bird that is flitting around from one bush to another. My mind tries to float back to effortless sleep, but it is too late now. No matter what I do my waking brain will stay no more settled than the bird flying from bush to bush.

At this moment I am just aching for silence again. All I want is to sleep a few moments longer. I want to wake up when I want to, not when my brain decides.
But my wish is not granted. I hear the thundering of footsteps to the bathroom. The water runs. The feet then trudge to the kitchen where the responsible party clanks around dishes. I hear the gurgle of the coffee pot. I hear the back door open. The piercing shrieks of my dog lets the world know she is up and going potty. More footsteps. I realize they are headed to my room. Then there is knocking on my door. I am summoned to join the rest of the waking household. No use fighting anymore. I am up. I slowly open my eyes.

Good morning world

Hello my name is: Erikka

Hi everyone! I am excited to begin my blogging adventure with you. That being said, let me tell you a little about myself. I am a young college student who does not really have a career in mind but is enjoying school nonetheless. My passions in life include the love of animals, the outdoors, adventures of any shape and form, fashion, art, books books and more books, and the general joys of living. In this blog I want to share with you some of the things that I love and that make my life worth living in the hopes that you will enjoy them also. So for my first post I would love to introduce you to some of the things that bring me the most happiness. 

This is Luke and the love of my life. We are each other's best friends and still enjoy each other's company very much.

These are my babies! The dog's name is Ellie and the cat's name is Vanna White (how clever, right?).

Vanna is a 6-month-old Persian who has recently been diagnosed with two different kinds of heart disease. It was quite a devastation for me but now I am devoted to keeping her healthy and happy for as long as possible. Ellie is a year and a half old and was a rescued puppy from some owners who picked her up on the side of the road in Canada.They drove her all the way down to Washington in an ice cooler only to starve and kill two of her siblings. At the time Ellie was no more than 5 weeks old and less than 2lbs. She is definitely in good hands now and has fattened up quite a bit since then!

Finally, I'd just like to say that I am one of the many lucky people to have been able to grow up in the Pacific Northwest. Here, we are quite bias and like to believe that our chunk of land is one of the most beautiful and spectacular places not only in America, but perhaps the world. No matter where life takes me I will always consider the Pacific Northwest home.

Oh and P.S. it really doesn't rain here as much as you might think!