My Goldfish Friend

I bought a goldfish yesterday.
Some might consider it an impulse buy, but I don't believe a 75cent fish is ever an impulse buy. It's a gift you give yourself.

The whole thing, from fish to net to flakes to blue aqua rocks, cost me $6.72. I'm using one of my mother's large vases as the bowl. I named her Buffy. My friend also bought one, and named hers Joan Jett. Together we're "new fish mommies."

Buffy's a pretty, amber sort of gold, with a black spot running from the tip of her dorsal fin all the way down to her mouth. The rest of her fins are gold in the middle and rimmed with black, lacey edges. She's the most beautiful goldfish I've ever seen, and I love her.

I read in a book about a lady who had trained her goldfish to recognize three taps on the glass rim meant it was feeding time; I'm trying to do this with Buffy. The author never said how long it took for the goldfish to catch on. My fish hasn't quite gotten the idea of the flakes being on top of the water, and she seems pretty unaware of my vigorous tapping on the rim of the vase everytime I go to feed her.

I'm sure we'll have a breakthrough eventually.

I also read on a random website that sometimes goldfish need enrichment in their boring, glass bowl lives, and that every now and then I should surprise mine with extra nourishment and nutrients. Take, for instance, cucumbers.

Cucumbers.

I can't imagine.

How small would you have to chop them?
And how many would I give her? How much is too much?
Would there be an even bigger mess to clean up than the mess she leaves from fish flakes?
Would the leftover cucumbers turn the water a gross sort of pale green?
Do cucumbers mold in water?
Wouldn't the mold contaminate the goldfish?

.... Feeding cucumbers to a goldfish?? Fancy that!

Fish really are fascinating creatures, though. I feel like I could sit by my bedside table and watch her swim around and around for hours. The way they move alone is inspiring to no end. I've always been jealous of sea creatures and their ability to effortlessly propel themselves underwater. Sometimes it doesn't even look like their moving, they're just floating. "Being and breathing," just like my favorite Yogi Baron Baptiste says about meditating during Twisting Triangle pose.

It's a strange thing about goldfish, but I feel like Buffy will help me with my writing. I can't explain why, but it really just feels like good authorship to have her around. I'm not sure if it's her presence that is making me feel so inspired, but I've already got big plans today for me, my laptop and my saved, unfinished Microsoft Word documents.

It's a little unnerving knowing I'm sharing my room with another living creature, though. I haven't had a pet of my own in a really long time. There's a quiet sort of reverence and awe that comes over me when I observe her in all her secret, marine splendor. A respect for Buffy's life.
I know she's just a goldfish, but she's a living, breathing thing. All living things deserve respect. Even the small, curious looking beetle I found on my pillow yesterday, which I carried all the way downstairs and outside to put on a leaf.
You get what you give, you know?

Suffice it to say, I really hope she doesn't die in two weeks. I'm already hopelessly attached to the way she voraciously eats, and also the way she just stays, floating in one spot and her odd preoccupation with swimming backwards until her Caudal fin touches the glass wall behind her.
She's kind of an odd duck for a goldfish, by my understandings. I like that about her, though. She's got gumption.

Before I close this goldfishy post, I want to share something I learned yesterday about the communication habits of Chameleons.
My two friends and I were at the pet store, and one of them fell in love with an adorable young chameleon with its tail curled up, lazily, yet cautiously crawling up the small branch in its terrarium. Later in the day, she was looking up Chameleon care facts, and shared with me one of the most amazing and astounding things I've ever heard.

Did you know that Chameleons change color not only to camoflauge themselves for predatory or protective reasons, but also to communicate with each other?

Witnessing a feat like that is something I can't even imagine.
Stumbling upon two beautiful, highly unique creatures unaware of my intrusive presence, communicating with each other by usage of bright flashes of varying color, and affectionate flicks of their unnaturally long tongues?
What are they saying?

If I were a biologist, I would make it my life's work to study the patterns and meanings of Chameleon communication. In fact, the whole thing makes me want to be a biologist just so I could study it anyways.

God has created the most fascinating world, hasn't He?



My loves,
My doves,
my eggs.

Sold, Bought or Processed.

"I don't want to sell anything, buy anything or process anything as a career. I don't wanna sell anything bought or processed, buy anything sold or processed, or process anything sold, bought or processed- or repair anything sold, bought or processed. You know, as a career, I don't want to do that."

These lines from the 1989 cult classic, "Say Anything" are a few of my favorite movie lines ever. I finally realized why tonight: I feel the exact same way about my life and my future, and frankly, that scares the livin' bajeezus out of me.


Life is abysmally confusing. And expensive.
So is college.

The more and more I think and research my choices for further education, the more I'm convinced college is a complete egoist scam that serves no other purpose than for graduates to flounce around after course completion singing, "I've got a bigger degree than you, na-nana-nana-naaaaah!"

I mean, really. To what end? You get a degree so you can get a job, right? Oh, wait. You don't meet the required standard. You have to go back to school to get more schooling, only to find out there's no available positions at this time for your career of choice. Or, we're sorry, but you're just too overqualified for this job. We need someone less knowledgeable on the subject. Say what? I spent thousands and thousands of dollars on this degree so I could work at this company, only to find out that I know too much?
Ooh, how about this one: I graduated from Harvard! Whoo!.... 5 years later: I hate being a lawyer. This sucks.
Or this one: Sorry. You've done the work and have the degree, but it just comes down to the fact that you're not innovative enough for this line of work. What can you offer to this field that nobody else can? You have the grades. Your creativity and ingenuity is lacking. No positions currently available for you.
Or my personal favorite: Uhhhh, my four years are up. I still don't know what I want to do with my life.

See what I mean?
Of course, I have to constantly remind myself that this isn't true. I know lots of people, close friends and loved ones, who are going to college and who have gone to college, and it's done them a great service, and they're not all a bunch of egotistical, sufficiently unhappy maniacs.

But what about me?

Now, I've known for the past ten years that college is not an optional decision. Not because of overly strict parental authority, (remember: This is not The Breakfast Club, here) but because I grew up in a very man-centered society, and because women were not expected or encouraged to go to college. This blew my passionate, stubborn seven year old mind to volcanic proportions. And I decided I was going to grow up to be a feminist who went to college and got the biggest degree that I could just so I could prove to everyone that women really are smarter than men, because God says so. Because God gave me this flashy degree and this flashy career, and He still loves me. So there. Pppbbbbbth. (I was a very independently minded seven year old, I tell you.)

This incredible enthusiasm and passion to preserve and protect the sacred sanctity of the female sex drove me all the way through high school, where I even pushed hard to graduate two years early.

Now, a few years later, I still firmly believe in the education of all young people, male or female, if it's what they really desire, but I'm not as overbearing as I once was, and I'm far less judgemental on the subject. I also regret that my adamantly formed opinions caused me to have a rather bitter taste in my mouth regarding that society I grew up in.

I am, regardless, still a feminist at heart. Perhaps only a closet-case one now, though. You can take the woman away from power, but you can't take power away from the woman, you know what I mean?

Anyways, all this to say: I've never thought about not going to college. Up until about two years ago, when I started to realize my interests were leading me away from the CEO parking space, successful mother and businesswoman, part-time professional chef and astronaut, Forbes' Woman of the Year fantasy my seven year old self lived for, and towards something a little less impressive. And a lot less stable.
You learn something new everyday.
You also learn something new about yourself every hour of your life. Trust me. I am the epitome of this philosophy.
Tonight, after a stressed-to-the-point-of-collapse episode full of tears and incoherent blubbering, I learned that long-term college may not be in my future. In fact, a BA altogether is probably completely out of the picture for my life.
This was a strangely liberating experience, after 10 years of "I'M GOING TO RULE THE WOOORLD!"

At this point, my associate's degree is up in the air, too. College is severely over-rated for somebody like me. Now, I don't want to sound like a self-absorbed, delusional freak of nature here. I'm not saying that college is over-rated for everyone, because so many people can and should go to college and universities and get their BAs and their MAs and their PhDs because that is the best thing for them to do. That all makes total sense to me. I have a close, close friend who is bound and determined to get her PhD in Psychology, someday. My cousin has a chance to go to a $35,000 a year private college to get her nursing degree so she can save lives. My best friend is headed for years of hard work to get a degree in fashion so she can revolutionize the clothing world. These dreams and goals are all so integral and important for these individuals. I wouldn't want any less for them!
But as for me, I'm not really sure what all college has to offer me.

I have the chance to do something great with my life. Phenomenal, even. I know this. I know that God will open doors for me left and right, if I follow His little trail of breadcrumbs, starting with the most basic of breadcrumbs that He's already dropped into my life: writing.

Writing is who I am. It defines me. I bleed ink. I dream words.
Fine-tuning this skill is not a bad idea, and that is exactly why I probably will go ahead and get my AA, just so I can perfect my technique, and take some awesome electives about the history of folklore and mythology, and women's studies, so I can have more to write about in the future.
But what I really want to do with my life is work an average job, be it waitress, barista or bookstore clerk, and I want to write on the side. I want to travel, and the way that I scratch and pinch and save my money, I know I can afford to do that, and then write about those experiences as well.
Do you honestly think I need a bachelor's degree to work at Starbucks and enter my poetry into local magazines? I don't think so either.

I read more than almost anybody I know. To me, this is the greatest way to gain knowledge, and that's the single, solitary way I'll continue to learn for the rest of my life, through reading.
I believe strongly in reading, relationships, faith and culture. These are the professors I'm going to learn the most from. These classes test on strength of character, ability to transition, fear, tangeability, responsibility, head knowledge and heart knowledge. This is the college of life, and that is where I want to recieve my certificate of completion from.
The best thing about this college of life is there's no application process. We're all already automatically enrolled from the day we're brought, wailing and thrusting into this beautiful world.

In January, I'll be going to a Bible school for one year. I might take a few college classes online. And then after that, I'll probably crack down on getting my AA.
After that, who knows? There's a 12 week cooking college in Ireland that I'm interested in. Maybe I'll go to bartending school. Maybe I'll work at Disneyworld. Maybe I'll start traveling. Maybe God will open doors for me on another continent. Maybe I'll learn Italian and become a Yoga instructor in Rome. Maybe I'll end up in a third world country, teaching English to malnourished children, and sharing the gift of reading and writing with them, so that someday they can grow up and say "I want to be educated and help others, too." Maybe I'll get married. Maybe I'll be a young mother. Maybe I'll be single for the rest of my life.
Life is full of infinite possibilities, and for me, they all stem from organic causes that really have nothing to do with a high-brow education.

Besides. If I ever want to go back to school and get my BA, or even my MA so that someday I can bore countless youths with my university lectures about life and the lessons you learn from "Catcher in the Rye", then you can absolutely bet your bottom dollar that I will wholeheartedly commit to that goal.

As for now? I guess I'm just flying by the seat of my pants. And somewhere, deep down inside of me, that seven year old is actually enthusiastic for this lack of planning. I think she's gurgling excitedly, "Imagine if I do everything I ever wanted to do? How much more impressive would that be than a silly CEO parking space??!!"
I have to say, I agree with her.

So.
Here's to the future, and it's delicious ambiguity.
Here's to supportive parents who agree with your far-fetched idealism, and radical nuances.
More importantly, here's to the college of life, and all the millions of degrees it offers, favoring no particular race, gender or social standard. The only eligibility requirement is the oxygen flowing through your lungs, the realization that you are alive.



My loves,
My doves,
my eggs.

Stickies

I have three quotes on my fridge. Three iconic emblems spoken by three different feminine angels of talent and humanity.

Ever since December, I've been putting quotes on my fridge rather religiously. I rotate them based on an internal clock that rings the alarm whenever the time has come to change them. I can't tell you how often I rotate them, there's no set schedule. Some stay on the fridge longer than others. All I know is that suddenly, I'll walk past them and the alarm will go off. I take them down and spend a few moments deciding which new ones to put up.

The last ones I had were for St. Patty's day.
A poem, a blessing, a quote.

These new ones are based somewhat on my current reading agenda, and also on a few of the thoughts that have been running through my head the past few weeks. Probably ever since Lent started.

These quotes that I've been putting on my fridge make me happy. I don't know why. it's a secret little thrill I get inside everytime I open the fridge door and the words fly into my face. A little tickle in my brain. A loving, little nudge in a new direction. A little whisper of peacefulness.

Perhaps the greatest part, however, is noticing the effect they have on others. Sticky quotes have a marvelously captivating presence about them. Individuals can't walk into the kitchen without taking a side glance at them on the shiny black exterior of the refridgerator. And then they can't help pausing to stand and read them all, letting them soak in to their cognitive processing. There's always a little bit of a flutter when I put new ones up. Sometimes I don't say anything, instead I watch and wait for everyone to notice the subtle change of pattern and color in front of them. Sometimes I announce, "New quotes on the fridge!" To which I usually recieve the reply of someone getting up from their chair and traveling into the kitchen to benefit from a different sort of bodily nutrition, of food for thought.
There might be a discussion afterwards.
There might be a confused frown.
A laughing smile.
I never know what reaction I will get from these notes.

A lot of times they have a theme, even though I never mean for them to. Sometimes there's three or four quotes on determination, and inspiration. Sometimes, they're about finding peace and proclaim a gentle reassurance.
The ones I've just put up a few moments ago were all uttered by female intuition. I guess that's the theme for this rotation.

Two of the quotes I discovered through my reading, the last, I researched specifically.

"Beauty and grace are performed whether or not we will or sense them. The least we can do is try to be there." -Annie Dillard, from her Walden, "Pilgrim at Tinker Creek."

"I have the choice of being constantly active and happy or introspectively passive and sad. Or I can go mad by ricocheting inbetween." -Sylvia Plath, from her posthumously published diaries, "The Journals of Sylvia Plath."

"We ourselves feel that what we are doing is just a drop in the ocean. But the ocean would be less because of that missing drop."- Mother Teresa

I guess my secret desire with these quotes is that someday, somebody will respond to them. Someone will take the time to find their own favorite quote and stick it right up there, right next to mine. Giving me some unforeseen food for thought. A new sticky quote on the fridge friend.

Wouldn't that just be the cat's pajamas?

Works of Art

I went dancing with Natalie and Anna Knight on Monday night and learned how to foxtrot, waltz, and east coast swing.
All of which I quickly forgot how to do by the next morning. But that doesn't really bother me, I've got plenty of time to re-learn and retain dance steps in the future, when I have a solid partner who won't disappear after one evening.
I do love dancing, though.
I hope I get to do a lot of it in my future, especially when I'm old.

There was this exuberant, vivid old couple, well into their nineties, who were dancing in the advanced class and they absolutely captured my attention and irretrievably stole my heart.
He wore a blue sweater vest and khakhis, she a purple scarf and matching violet pants. Together they made happy smiles fantastically haute-couture.
As soon as I saw them I was struck with awe-inspiring wonder. Together since the flood, greatly advanced in years, taking dance classes for the simple fun of it, because their impressive health allowed them to do so!
How great it would be to even be alive, or even just barely walking at ninety-five, and there they were.
Foxtrotting arond the dance floor with more vibrance and vitality than some of the couples half their age.

It made me think of that Eleanor Roosevelt quote, "Beautiful young people are accidents of nature, but beautiful old people are works of art," for that is what they truly were. Beautiful. A stunning, detailed work of unforgettable, inspiring art.
A picture representing 100,000 words. Words of love, wisdom, happiness, and unfathomable teamwork. They were a perfect pair of sweet, earthly angels.
I only wish I could have known them!
I can't imagine what the story of their lives must be like. So revelatory of true sacrifice, I'm sure. And real, honest, unpretentious love.

That is what I want out of life. To have loved so fervently the same person for the span of a decided lifetime, to share with one person a lifetime of happiness, heartbreak, earth-shattering joy and faith-breaking blows.
To be healthy enough to dance with the only one I've ever truly loved when I'm only five years away from my own birthday centennial.
I guess that would be the diehard romantic in me, but I'm fairly certain I'm not the only one who feels like that.
Age is beauty. It really is. And love is eternal. And life is worth living if only to find that one true love.


My loves,
my doves,
my eggs.

It's Okay to Be Irish Every Now and Then, Even If You're Mostly Dutch

I woke up this morning to my alarm blasting Galway Girl at 8:30 AM.
This is a wonderful way to wake up on St. Pat's day.

I lazily turned my alarm off and went back to bed for another hour and a half, because I felt that if I was truly going to celebrate Ireland today, I might as well start it off by doing whatever I darn-well wanted too, and at that moment all I wanted to do was go back to sleep.
Bonny morning, indeed.

After waking up a second time, I spent the remainder of my morning meditating on Irish poems. As a beautiful Christmas present, Beks bought me a *slightly-used* first edition (from 1908, people) book of Irish Countryside Poems, Songs and Ballads by Alfred Perceval Graves.
I'll leave it to your imagination skills to bet on how excited I was upon opening that dear Christmas present....
Anyways. I came across a few gems, especially of note one titled "The Exiles", and another known as "Come, Sit Down Beside Me". Pretty much, Irish poetry is so beautiful. I'd like to expand my collection of it.

After that, I spent a leisurely hour 'watching' QVC's St. Patty's Day Celebration as Celtic Thunder were due to perform live, and was almost brainwashed into buying one of those hideous Aran sweaters that they advertise so blatantly well. You know, as I was watching, thinking all along "That is so unbelievably ugly" and alternately, "Oh my gosh, I really want one", the lady who was marketing them said that something like 6,000 of them had sold in the past 12 hours. 6,000. And that was only that particular style. They must have had about 27 different styles of Merina wool Aran sweaters, all selling roughly the same numbers.
I wonder if those QVC presenters get paid on commission....... Sign me up, if they do, please! I can pretend to like ugly sweaters and even uglier jewelry if it means I get a percentage of every single ugly sweater and ugly jewelry item I sell!!!!! Especially if I'm selling 6,000 of each in one single day.
... I didn't mean for this to turn into a marketing rant, I digress.

Anyways. So I got to watch "the boys" perform some of their new songs live on tv, which really, now that I think about it, was kind of pointless because I've already seen them live in concert singing the exact same songs. Only it was still cool. Because I am just that big of a dork and get that excited about something as cheesy as Celtic Thunder. ;)
(I am planning on going to see them again in concert this fall, by the way. Thought you oughtta be in on every part of my slowly increasing digression into insanity and lifelong loneliness...)

The rest of the day I sort of tinkered around, baking Irish Cream Cake and listening to classic folk pub songs and daydreaming of future St. Patty's Days spent in Ireland with real Irish people and Guinness on draft, instead of from a can.... I also spent an absurd amount of time getting ready for work tonight, donning some particularly heart-stealing shamrock spattered-tights, and making-up my eyes with four different shades of glittery green eyeshadow. It was a lot of fun getting dressed up for the holiday, seeing as I actually had somewhere to go this year.

And work really was amazing. Everyone's in a good mood on St. Patty's Day, you know? Everyone is just happy. This is because Irish people are just happy, and being able to celebrate all that St. Patrick did for Christianity is happy too. Even though nobody really celebrates that anymore, they just all go out and get drunk. To each his own.

Patty had Irish music playing when I got there, and everybody had a little bit of green something on, they stocked up on Guinness for tonight only, and everyone who came in ordered some. The kitchen smelled like Corned Beef instead of pizza (tonight's St. Paddie's special), and all the customers were flooded in different shades of green clothing.
A soft, soothing rain started to fall outside, and when I looked out the window down the street, it looked just like a cozy, wet street in the middle of Donegal.
"Happy St. Patrick's Day!"s were being tossed around lovingly, and everybody was in such a beautiful mood.
It felt like home. It felt like Ireland. And that truly put me in the best mood of all.

So really, in the last few moments of this glorious St. Patty's Day, I've just been reflecting on the gift of this beautiful country and beautiful culture that God has given to our world, and the influence it's had on my life.
To be Irish is to have lifelong friendship, love and loyalty, and if you have all of those things, you don't need a lot of money or a lot of non-starchy foods.
St. Patty's has always seemed like such a familial holiday, and I think that's why I love it so much. It's like Thanksgiving, where you celebrate all that you have to be thankful for, only instead, you're just celebrating the fact that you're alive and that you're surrounded by people you love. Which is cause enough to throw back a few Guinnesses anyday, but while we're at it, let's also remember the amazing sacrifices and bounding leaps made by one of history's greatest Saints, and wear some green for good luck.
Win-win situation all around, in my opinion!

I hope you've all had a wonderful St. Patrick's Day so far, and may you continue to have a safe night ahead, wherever you are.
Xoxo


My loves,
My doves,
My Irish eggs.


"Christ be with me, Christ within me,
Christ behind me, Christ before me,
Christ beside me, Christ to win me,
Christ to comfort and restore me.
Christ beneath me, Christ above me,
Christ in quiet, Christ in danger,
Christ in hearts of all that love me,
Christ in mouth of friend and stranger.

I bind unto myself the Name
The strong Name of the Trinity,
By invocation of the same,
The Three in One and One in Three.
By whom all nature hath creation,
Eternal Father, Spirit, Word:
Praise to the Lord of my salvation,
Salvation is of Christ the Lord."
- Taken from St. Patrick's Breastplate



"O! If for ev'ry tender tear
That from our aching exiled eyes
Has fallen for you, Erin dear,
Our own loved Shamrocks could arise,
They'd weave and weave a garland green,
To stretch the cruel ocean through,
All, all the weary way between
Our yearning Irish hearts and you.

And oh! If ev'ry patriot prayer,
Put forth for your sad sake to God,
Could in one cloud of incense rare
Be lifted o'er your lovely sod,
That cloud would curtain all the skies
That far and near your fairness cope,
Until upon its arch of sighs
There beamed Heav'ns rainbow smile of hope."
-The Exiles, Alfred P. Graves



Health and long life to you,
Land without rent to you,
A child every year to you,
And if you can't go to Heaven, may you at least die in Ireland.
-Irish toast.

I Wrote This on March 15th and Forgot to Post It

March 15th.



Today I got locked out of my house for 30 mins while I waited in the wind and rain for my dad to come home with the key. He had forgotten I wasn't already at home, but he remembered to lock the doors. Oddly enough, I got home and after running pell-mell through the golf-ball sized raindrops checking the doors on all sides of the house finding to no avail that all of them were locked, I collapsed on my front porch and I started laughing.

It was like a scene from a movie. Stranded on my front porch with my guitar case in one hand and a starbucks in the other, laughing alone in the rain.

It was at that moment I realized I am exactly who I want to be. My life is so wonderful, despite the rainstorms every now and then, and I'm living the sort of life I've always wanted to live. I've always wanted to be that girl stuck in the howling rain, laughing, and there I was today; I was her. I am her.

I have not a doubt in my mind that I will get myself into these sorts of situations many'a'time again in the future. And instead of having dear old dad around to bail me out 30 minutes later, I'll have to rely on my own intuition and wit to get myself through the trial. To be honest, I don't mind much. In fact, I wouldn't have minded today if my only option was to walk in the rain down to the nearest public convention and ask for some kindly assistance. I probably would have started channeling Mary Poppins, and broken into song, as the wind howled and the water swelled in miniature waving floods below the edge of the curb.

I would have had to leave my guitar case on my front porch, though. No point in risking Kensington's safety for a jolly, rainy 2 mile jaunt into town.

It's been one of those sorts of days, ever since.

The kind where anything that could go wrong will, but I'm in one of those moods where none of it matters anyway, and all I can do is smile, and laugh. And possibly start singing, if there's a song that goes with the moment... Which, there inevitably always is.

And so I leave you with a song that I have been singing all day long. (Get ready for a blast from the past...;)

Cheers, loves.
Two days 'til St. Paddie's!

My loves,
my doves,
my eggs.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nlDPPu53V80&feature=related

Favorite Morning

As I'm sure you all know by now that my favorite food is pancakes, I thought I should preface this post by telling you that I made the most delicious pancakes EVER this morning.
Not an exaggeration, I promise you.
Spiced Whole Wheat Pancakes with Cinnamon Honey topping.
The absolute best thing about these pancakes is that they're made with whole wheat flour, honey, and applesauce instead of enriched flour, sugar and vegetable oil. So they're healthy for you. And you can stay away from the high-fructose corn syrup she-devil (Aka Mrs. Butterworth), by making use of the delicious honey topping, flavored with cinnamon and a little butter for richness. So good.
I served it with a juicy, sweet, blood orange. Heaven.

I love blood oranges. I haven't had a whole one in almost three years. The first time I ever had one was on an overnight ferry from Italy to Greece, and I fell in love. It was a great experience. I remember sitting there, chowing down on some highly unimpressive cafeteria-style ferry food, and suddenly one of my fellow tripmates caught my eye. What on earth was she eating? Bloody stomach?? It looked disgusting as it was dripping and oozing and just, well, "guts-ing" all over the place. "What IS that???" I asked incredulously, unable to keep my aghast opinion to myself. She grinnned. "It's an orange.."
I looked down at my platter where I, too, had grabbed an innocent-enough looking orange. Say what. That should be orange on the inside. It really should. Hello. Why do they call it an orange?
Tentatively, I sliced it open, and to my immediate surprise- blood red insides.
"WHOAAAAAA!" .... I had to try it.
I popped a small wedge in my mouth and it exploded into robust, sweet, overwhelming flavor. I had to try it again. And again. And again. And- oh. It's gone now. WHERE CAN I GET MORE?!

And yeah. That's pretty much how it went down. After that, I ate as many of those as I could find. Which wasn't hard to do, really. They're very popular in that part of the world, much to my immediate appreciation.

Sweet, sweet memories.

I also had coffee in my favorite mug this morning.... "All You Need is Love." And I've been listening to my favorite playlist on my iPod. It's called Skinny Love, (Named after that amazing Bon Iver song) and it has 39 of the greatest soul-searching, soft, easy, rainy day songs on it. And a few non rainy day songs. Like Firework, by Katy Perry. Which, in my opinion, is an everyday sort of song. I love it.

In conclusion, my morning has been one of absolute favorites. Which is exactly how mornings should be I think.
Now, on to more productive and livelier things!
But first:
As I believe in sharing music, I'm going to outline my Skinny Love playlist below for you, in hopes that you will try a few of the songs and enjoy them. If you don't, that's okay. I like typing lists anyways. ;)

Skinny Love.

I'll Be Your Man- Mcfly
Truador- Neil Byrne
The Hill- Marketa Irglova
Trouble- Ray Lamontagne
Jar of Hearts- Christina Perri
Whiskey in the Jar- Thin Lizzy
I Need a Woman- Mcfly
Hold You in My Arms- Ray Lamontagne
The Dutchman- Steve Goodman
Adieu Sweet Lovely Nancy- Mick Mcauley and Winifred Horan
Firework-Katy Perry
The Homes of Donegal- Paul Brady
Falling Slowly- Glen Hansard and Marketa Irglova
Pencil Full of Lead- Paolo Nutini
I Would Be Sad- The Avett Brothers
Raoul And Her Ladyship- Neil Byrne
Won't Go Home Without You- Maroon 5
Incomplete and Insecure- The Avett Brothers
Shine a Light-McFly feat. Taio Cruz
To Make You Feel My Love- Mick Mcauley and Winifred Horan
Kick Drum Heart- The Avett Brothers
Sadie Jones and I- Neil Byrne
Cherish- Neil Byrne
Laundry Room- The Avett Brothers
Skinny Love- Bon Iver
Rolling in the Deep- Adele
At the Beach- The Avett Brothers
Souls Like the Wheels- The Avett Brothers (My current fav of this playlist)
For Emma- Bon Iver
Sun It Rises- Fleet Foxes
Say It To Me Now- Glen Hansard
Far Away-Ingrid Michaelson
May You Never- John Martyn
Where Do You Go To My Lovely- Peter Sarstedt
Hannah- Ray LaMontagne
All the Wild Horses- Ray LaMontagne
Light You Up- Shawn Mullins
It Means Nothing- Stereophonics
I Hope That I Don't Fall in Love With You- Tom Waits

My Loves,
my doves,
my eggs.
Xx