love notes

dear London,

They say love at first sight, but I didn't need to see you to know. I've felt it, lived it, known it nearly my entire life: we're MFEO.

I realise a lot of people say that to you---thousands of people, millions---daily. And why not? You're beautiful. That winding river, silently swifting past the marvels of ages. You're brilliant, the wit and words of centuries at your call. You're fascinating, never wanting for a story antique or contemporary, and you're open, welcoming, kind. For even after all that, you loved me back. You knew me, too. You said Yes, this is what you've been waiting for. Yes, I've been waiting for you, too. And those few months we had together were some of the best, my world transformed; I'm light, I'm quick, I'm joy at your touch.

The day I left you, I watched others' goodbyes from the bus. It was early morning, the shadows long outside the Underground, the sky working up a rainy grey. I watched a father and son, a goodbye with a gift. The father handed a small pot to him, a willowy orchid in full bloom. He patted the soil in, brushed imaginary imperfections from the lean stem. And then he held his boy in a long embrace, a cane to steady his shaking. The son was the last on our bus, clearing the final stair as the coach hissed into gear. I smiled because he looked like you, like the London I so love: British, through and through. He was middle-aged, wiry hair fast receding, with a nubby blue jumper over everyday chinos. I smiled because he held that plastic pot snug to his heart, careful of the flower's long neck and the low-ceilinged coach. I smiled because he wasn't two steps into the bus when his phone rang, which he answered instantly with a cheerful "Dad!"

Yes, I'm on the coach now, he reported. Walking down the aisle. Do you see me? Yes, the plant's lovely, dad. Mum's going to love it. And I'll take good care of it too, promise. It's got a seat all it's own back here---Oh! There you are! Can you see me, dad? Do you see me? Yes, that's it!

I turned, the voice far behind me now. He was standing, still clutching that snowy orchid in one hand, the chunky mobile in the other. But he was waving now, madly, wildly, even as the coach pulled far from Victoria Station and around the corner and out of the city. He sat down then, holding the phone back to his ear. Yes, dad. I love you, too.

I think about him often; about that morning; about leaving you. I cried, you know. But I also thought, How lovely, this gift. I still keep that small seed of True Love you gave me, now blossoming in memory and nurtured care. I'll take good care of it, I promise. It's got a place all it's own, and it--every day---calls me home.

always,

E.

wie heiβt der Mann mit dem Scnurrbart?

A message to the mustachioed men of this mountain campus:
Just because the Honor Code allows them, doesn't mean you should have one.

You are not cute, hip, edgy, or artsy
and I think we all learned a very long time ago
that whatever Lindsay's up to doesn't count as cool

{also, I am learning very helpful words in my German class}

the beat

Oh, hooray! A wonderful New Year and we're already five days in---Lauren flew in Friday, we scrapped Wooten House on Saturday, and moved into our last-minute-crisis apartment late last night. It's been a crazy weekend, to say the least, and what with today's full class schedule and some serious book buying to do, it's not over yet. So, please, put your hands together for the Lovely Liv, my super savvy sister who's going to take over the keyboard while I work on moving in, moving out, and moving back in again.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Christmas morning was just as magical as always (if not more so), and Elizabeth had many amazing prezzies to open. Little did she know that one such present contained what could possibly alter her world, or at least change her outlook. The package read "To: Elizabeth Love: Destiny." Inside was this little bundle of joy:

Let me back track--- When my mom, my little sister Naomi and myself went to Europe this November to pick up Elizabeth, we had this running joke about the JoBros and how Elizabeth is most compatable with the oldest one, Kevin. Take what you will from that, and if you can't quite imagine how unfortunate this is, I invite to watch a film of epic quality: CAMP ROCK. Okay, moving on. So Naomi and I were at Rite Aid (anyone who knows me, knows that Rite Aid is my one of my favorite places ever and my own personal weakness. The Delilah to my Samson, The Spencer Pratt to my Heidi. You get the picture.) and we were walking down the aisles, when in a serendipitous moment I reached for the beautiful, eloquently written Tiger Beat magazine. A classic. It's sure to have many gems hidden within the Jonas Brother, Miley Cyrus, Disney superstar filled pages. Sure enough we came across this little piece of heaven on Earth: Kevin Jonas, promising us true love in the year 2009. CLEARLY this was a sign. That is all I need to say.

What can we learn from this turn of fate? TIGER BEAT magazine is a compass which can guide us in our quest to find happiness this year. I have a good feeling about this year. Nine is my lucky number.

From me and E to you, wishing you a New Year filled with true love. Peace Out!

xoxo

LIV

midnight eleven

Weird. Is a weird word.

1. I just microwaved my hot water bottle in a pitch-black kitchen. How does my brain remember that three minutes and start habit when my eyes aren't helping at all?

2. Mum's finally read Twilight. And liked it. Liked Edward.

3. This is my three hundredth post. It feels like more.

4. I image-searched mountains and an orangutan came up instead.

And that's it. I know. An even number. I'm sorry.

{h} o. m. e. for christmas

One of the happiest things about coming home was the much-anticipated O.M.E. reunion. We've laughed, we've cried, and when the blizzard reached epic weather proportions, we set out to reenact our very own version of Shackleton's Antarctic adventure (we even got to be rescued).

This Christmas was magical. The lights, the snow, the friends, the family---but nothing so beautiful as the traditions, new and old. Christmas Eve we shared our HIGHS + LOWS over fondue and candlelight. We rhymed lines for our rice pudding and danced the Snoopy dance in full Nativity costume next door. Siblings piled into one room for the long night, sharing secrets and daring our greatest Would You Rathers. I felt ten years old all over again.

In the morning, we ate orange rolls at the round table. We'd opened such beautiful, thoughtful presents and the kitchen smelled like cinnamon. Someone hopped up to add some music to the scene. And then we were all crying.

Well, I was crying. Then O. Weeping, actually. Regina Spektor's The Call? Absolutely requisite for life. It fills you with childhood, with friendship, with memory and hope. It reminds us of New Zealand, it reminds me of Wales. Everything I feel in my most nostalgic moments are tied up in this simple song; I hear Truth in every line. And there we were, a mess of tears and laughter, a Christmas gift I will never forget. We listened to it again and again, and I still can't shake that feeling of perfect peace, surprised by joy.

That night we met in the middle, boots laced up tight and scarves wrapped up twice. We took our usual route, the loop through these streets that have taken us through every new season these past years; through dramas and traumas and life. 19th East was empty, the long stretch of Yale desolate. The wind blew harder, the snow fell faster, and I've never been so happy---our new Christmas song truer than ever before.

All you can do is try to know
Who your friends are
As you head off to the war

Pick a star on the dark horizon
And follow the light

You'll come back
When it's over
No need to say good bye

queen lucy the valiant

welcomed into our home
christmas morning

LUCY PEVENSIE RHONDEAU

one pound, seven ounces
nine inches
grandchild of a champion*

My brother has this look of wide eyes and open mouth that he reserves for moments of pure, abject terror. And while it doesn't show up all that often (you're a total stud, D), it sure got our holiday off to an exciting start.

He flung her across the floor, unknowing. "It's alive!!" he shouted, the be-ribboned tote dropping to his feet. I'm sure every pair of eyes matched his; us girls had no idea of the surprise mum + dad had planned. But our second's panic was replaced with an instant love---Lucy hardly had to prove her place in the family at all, winning hearts with the simplest nudge of a nose or a hesitant hop across the room. And while I think O would rather the rabbit not pee on her jeans---or her jacket or her face or her bed---this Mini Rex (Regina?) is here to stay.

Oh, Lu. We so love you.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
*pedigree chart upon request

ahem.

{completely unofficial + inexplicably prolonged hiatus from blogging.}

back after all the cookies are out of the oven and the last present's under the tree. promise.