the beat less leave me breath less

Do you have any idea how amazing the Beatles are/were/will be? I just don’t think you have an idea. I don’t think we praise them enough. I know, I know, they are icons, they are mentioned all the time and everyone talks about them as inspiration, but have you listened to EVERY single song? Because you SHOULD. I’m serious. I haven’t been this astounded or moved by talent and genius in well, EVER. I know I love U2, but I think, no I know, the Beatles trumps them. Sir Paul indeed. Oh my God. I don’t even mean this from a music fan stance. I love music, but I don’t know anything about it. I once gave really bad advice during a recording session when some musicians were stuck on a particular part of a song. I learned then and there, surrounded by talent and genius I don’t even understand, that I know nothing about music and how it is made and that I should shut up. I’m not shutting up about the Beatles. Oh my God. You have to download or buy EVERY song. You need all of it. There are no “best of’s” for these guys. You need to hear their evolution. You need to hear the stuff that they did. How they freaking made pop music. Oh my God. Why did either of my brothers never let me borrow their Cds. Why am I only just now realizing this? Do you even realize? Everything you hear today can be traced back to them. Are you kidding me? Why did I not know this? My brother played for me an underground Cd that a DJ made by mixing Jay-Z’s “Black Album” over the Beatles “White Album.” My brother called it genius. I don’t know about that. Groundbreaking, maybe. Ingenius, yes. But plain genius, no. It sounded like garbage to me, but it just shows you that the Beatles are in everything. They’re like water like oxygen like neutrons. My nieces and nephew will understand. They beg for “Sgnt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Clubs Band” from the backseat of their minivan. At 8 and 4 and 2, they’ve been exposed to more music in that minivan than you and me put together. If they don’t grow to be musical geniuses themselves, at least they’ll know them when they hear them and they’ll know that the Beatles, the Beatles are somewhere in the background. Oh my God, buy EVERY song. Right. Now.

no crib for her bed

At 12:30am I decided to strip my bed and wash the sheets. No problems, extra sheets and duvet cover are waiting in the linen closet. Then, in the mist of stripping I start to tear off the mattress pad and the feather bed cover. I decide that any dust mites living in my bed need to go. It is the time for my occasional freak out upon the realization that bugs could be living with we me in my bed. And so upon this freak out I strip my bed and wash everything in hot water and bleach, except I usually don’t do this at 12:30 am. That’s the problem, what was I thinking? But once the bug-infested items have been stripped, there is no way in God’s green earth that they are going back on the bed.

Why do we do these things? We do we have missteps and miscalculations? We make tiny insignificant decisions all the time. We decide on the black shoes instead of the brown. We brew tea rather than coffee. We let the book we’ve started lay unread for weeks on the bedside table. We avoid eye contact with the stranger who is trying to make conversation in a store. We hang up before we say too much, or “I love you too.” Or we strip the bed in the middle of the night leaving no place for sleep. Nothing is insignificant. Nothing is missed.

In the back of my mind I was thinking that I could wash the sheets and bedding and replace them in time for me to sleep tonight. I then looked at the clock and realized my mistake, my misstep, my insignificant miscalculation. Even though it is spring break for me and sleep can begin and end on a whim, there are things I want to accomplish tomorrow. There are conversations with strangers I want to start. Sleep tonight is important. I will change my routine and sleep in the guest bedroom. My bed, my haven will be missed.

maybe it's a sign

"Oh yeah. I think you told me this," I said to L. as we were driving down the road in her big, beautiful, new-to-her Tahoe.

"Did I tell you this already," she asks.

"Yeah, it was like in the back of your car for weeks."

"Uh, no," said L.

"Oh, just kidding," I responded as I'm remembering that the story which I though L. was retelling me was actually a Nick and Jessica story from Newlyweds that Nick had told to Jessica.

When you start transposing actual stories with reality TV stories, I think it's time to take a break from TV. I think it's time indeed.

weak in the knees

So excited about Patrick Dempsey in the new show, Grey's Anatomy. Not excited about all the gory blood and goo. The former and the latter are both substance for making me weak in the knees.

connections

When the Counting Crows came out with Anna Begins I was elated. I couldn’t believe that there was actually a song with my name in it. I had witnessed friends in songs like Sarah and Ayesha. When I was five or six and my father listened to the Oak Ridge Boys, there was the song They Call The Wind Moriah that was a brush with fame for my middle name, but nothing could match having your first name in a song. Nothing. It would mean that people would think of you every time they heard that song. While Ayesha would be hard to forget, it’s a toss up as to which Sarah in my life I would be remembering.

I was bitter that my name was so different growing up. I didn’t like to be so unique. All my friends had ordinary names and I was jealous. It wasn’t until late high school that I was OK with being an Anna, but it stills seemed like an underground name that I didn’t share with many other people. Then Anna Begins was on an album by a popular band I was thrilled that my friends would hear that song and think of me. It was my teenage egocentric thinking that wanted my name in the speakers of my friend’s stereos. I’m sure no one thinks of me when they hear that song.

Having a brother who works in the music biz has a lot of perks. I’ve met some famous people, I’ve gone to A LOT of free shows, and I get to hear some back stage gossip at times. None of it impresses me anymore. I know that musicians are just regular people who happen to be famous for a living. They are nothing special, just a little untouchable. I’ve even left bars and conversations with famous musicians because honestly, sleep was more interesting than their self indulgent, drug induced 3 a.m. conversations. But the connections to the people aren’t the perks I care about anymore. It’s the music.

My brother just gave me a DVD with over 900 songs on it from his library tonight. His iTunes collection is better than a music store. He’s a music file of the first degree and thank God for digital storage because his Cds were taking over his home. He gave me a copy of EVERY single Beatles song and as I’m downloading and sampling some songs I see a song titled Anna (Go To Him). I don’t recall ever knowing that the Beatles had a song with my name in it. Oh My God. Do you know what it’s like to hear John Lennon and Paul in the background singing your name? Well, unless you are a Julia or Lucy or Pam or Maxwell or Joan or Maggie Mae or Eleanor Rigby or Dr. Robert or Michelle or Martha or Sadie or Nowhere Man or Sergeant Pepper or Rita or Jude, then no, you have no idea. Well, let me tell you something. Hearing the Beatles sing your name is AMAZING!!!!!!! I’m just sayin’. And every time you here the song, I want you to think of me.

today’s post brought to you by the letter “r”

So you know you work with interesting kids when the Kindergarteners are studying the letter “R” and they have to write a word that starts with “R” and draw a picture and a six year-old draws a circular thing and writes “rims” and then a few days later when you ask him about how much he likes cars and rims and he tells you that he likes “spinners.”

I love my job.

reason #452

I had a big post I was writing for you. It was about my childhood and friendship and baking. But, it got lost somewhere in the comos that is the black hole of Microsoft Word. I would just like to point out that the only programs that I ever have problems with are ones made by the evil PC loving world. People in PC land hear me, "APPLE COMPUTERS NEVER CRASH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! AND WE DON'T GET VIRUSES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! AND I'M SORRY YOU THINK YOU ARE COOL, BUT YOU ARE NOT BECAUSE THE WINDOWS INTERFACE YOU USE IS A COPY TO THE ORIGINAL MACINTOSH OPERATING SYSTEM. SO SUCK IT AND IF YOU LEAVE A COMMENT ABOUT HOW OBNOXIOUS THIS POST IS THEN I WILL CUT YOU!!!!!!! I'M JUST A LITTLE FRUSTRATED AND I'M ALLOWED TO BE. IT'S MY BLOG. GO GET YOUR OWN PC LOVING BLOG!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" Ok, I'm done. And I'm a little bit sorry. But, not really.

i should do this for a living

A new slogan for FoxNews, "FoxNews, if Hitler were alive, he'd watch us too."

sleep late, dream more

Your own bed, like a sanctuary from the harsh elements of the world, a retreat from things that need to be retreated from. Mine is all white, a pristine island in my home, safe and warm and cuddly. I’ve filled it with mountains of pillows, a featherbed and the biggest, fluffiest down comforter I could find in the states. Needless to say, I love my bed and many a weekend it is extremely difficult to get out of.

I love Dove dark chocolate squares. When I’m feeling like indulgence I buy a bag and place them in pewter Jefferson cups in my living room. At night, while watching the telly, I’ll reach over and grab one and suddenly there’s a little bit of heaven in my mouth. Dove has become a packager of messages as well as chocolates. Each wrapped bit of pleasure comes with a tiny piece of advice. Even though I find them annoying, I compulsively read EVERY single one when I unwrap the chocolate. My one and only favorite was “sleep late, dream more.” I couldn’t have said it better and I couldn’t agree more and in my bed it’s easy to do.

Technology, while at many, many times I am confounded by the complicated ways that everything in your life can communicate with each other wirelessly, I am secretly in love with this idea. I’ve had an Apple Airport base station for about 3 years. Yes, it was hella expensive when bought it. I never got it to work until yesterday. That’s right, yesterday, but now I can be online anywhere. I can walk and blog, but why would I want to do that when I can do it from my bed, my cozy cuddly bed. Bloggin’ from my bed, it’s the best and worst thing for me. But hey, I could get behind a message like “sleep late, blog from bed.” And I will.

bono for president

We all know how much I adore U2. I’m not a groupie. I’m not obsessed. I learned from the inside of the music industry that groupies are sad people with no real purpose. They are often looking for idols. They find them in music. I don’t do this, but there is no better music than that of U2. Even at their worst, they are far and above anything before or that will be. And I can’t explain why. The words, they do a lot of it. Bono’s persona does a lot of it. The guitar riffs do a lot of it. Altogether they could be no better. They are the perfect band, the perfect blend of melody and word.

Bono spoke at the receipt of the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame awards that in today’s record business, bands like U2 would not be given a chance. That with today’s push for commercialism, U2 would not exist if it were just starting out. It’s a scary thought, that we could be missing out on another U2. It’s scary to me. And I know it’s true. I’ve seen record contracts be extended, records barely marketed and bands dropped. I’ve been personally affected by the record industry and it’s need for money over talent. It’s a sad thing that true artists are out there with no good outlets, no ways to support their families through their art. My brother has found other outlets, he’s still using his talents. He’s worked with artists and on albums you’ve heard. He’s been a small part of the future musical cannon. But, he never got to realize it for himself. His band’s dreams were squashed by the boy bands of the moment. He’s a backstage player now. He’s a part of the nameless ensemble. It’s OK, he has a life with happy children and he gets his occasional brushes with fame. It’s just hard sometimes to not play the “what if” game. We had at one time, dreamed of rock-n-roll success. So, what if, what if Bono ruled the world?

a blogiversary

A year ago today. One year from where I’m sitting right now, I started writing to you. I was questioning life. I was questioning purpose. A year and a few months ago, I had no idea what a blog was. Even though I know the old Webmaster for the Dean campaign who helped spurn the blogging of the political masses, I had never really heard of blogging. Having a personal website, yes. Having a journal, yes. Blending the two on a regular basis, no. So how did this happen?

A few years ago I read GOOD IN BED by HER. I noticed at the back of the book that she had a website. It took me a year to finally type it into my browser. And because of HER blog, I found THIS blog, then THIS blog, then THIS one led me to THIS one and she led me to HER, and so ON and so ON. I read and read and read and read. I would come home from work and read the HER back-story for hours. I was enthralled by her romance and her love of life. I would click on all the links SHE had snarked. I felt like she had done my literary or chick lit investigation for me. I loved HER writing. Period. I loved HER put-it-out-there attitude. I found HIM through the same maze of other blogs. I’ve helped him with his new purchased of an apple computer. Mostly, I just love his honesty

Reading blogs became an obsession. Then I decided that I could do this too. It was a media I quickly fell in love with. I emailed my computer freak cousin and asked him how to create a blog. Then somehow I found Blogger and our relationship began.

One year. It’s the longest relationship I’ve ever had. It’s been the most intense. It’s been the most cathartic. I feel obligated to my blog, whether it is read or not, I just have to tell it something. It’s quickened my typing speed. It’s brought friends closer to me. It’s let me celebrate their birthdays. I’ve pissed a stranger off. I’ve profusely apologized for it. And it’s gotten me in trouble.

I’m only deleted one post because of some possible legal altercations. I never told you about that. There’s a reason.

I’ve kept it hidden from family though now I wouldn’t care if it was found. It’s just important that I do this. There is no real rhyme or reason to what I choose to write for a certain day although I’m sure, if you tried, you could find some obvious themes. I once asked, “Where is my ‘what a difference a year makes’?” Well, in this relationship, I’m not questioning anything. I know that this is here to last. I hope it is anyway. I’m happy to do this and I’m even happier you’re here.

irish eyes are smilin’

He stepped through a doorway to the front of the store. He had brown curly hair, light eyes, and an apron on. He was a little pudgy. The customer in front of me was finishing his order he had placed with the thin young blond at the register. I was ready to order with her, but the baker stepped behind the counter of impossibly sweet cookies and prompted eye contact. He asked if he could help me.

“Do you have soda bread?” I asked as I noticed a basket full of loaves and a small sign reading “Irish soda bread $4.75” on the counter when I stepped closer to talk to him. “Oh, yeah. There it is,” I mumbled.

“How many would you like?” he asked.

“Just one.” I said and he went behind the register to a shelf for a fresh loaf. He came back around to hand it to me. His fingers were thick like rolls of pennies. Instead of a ring, there was flour on his hands. “I could love a man with flour on his hands,” I thought. He reached over the check out girl, almost pushing her aside to ring up my little taste of Irish culture.

“$4.79,” he said. I handed him my credit card. The other customer left, the register girl disappeared, I didn’t see her go. He was now in front of the cash register. I moved closer to the counter. He swiped my card, “Are you celebrating tonight?”

“A little,” I said quietly, my eyes averting his.

“A little,” he repeated.

It was true. While there would be no green beer or raucous marauding, I was set for corned beef, stewed cabbage, mashed potatoes, and of course, Irish soda bread.

“Are you Irish?” he asked. It was probably that I asked for “soda bread” and not “Irish soda bread.” Or it might have been my pale skin and dark, almost black, hair and brown eyes, a generic composite that can morph into almost any nationality given the right circumstances or requests for breads.

I hesitated, “Way back there somewhere I am.”

“Way back there somewhere,” he repeated.

The credit card receipt printed, he ripped it from the machine and laid the yellow and white slips out for me to sign. I did so quickly and handed him the white one, keeping the yellow customer copy.

“Thank you,” he said. I turned to walk out, “Happy St. Patrick’s Day.” He said to my turned back.

“You too,” I said and scuffled out the door.

If only I weren’t so shy maybe with him these “way back there somewhere” Irish eyes would be smilin’ on him.

relief

Simply said and simply put, I love doctors. Bless them.

itis

If my sinuses were pumpkin seeds, I’d burn them. I’d scorch and scorn them. I’d stomp on them and shame them. I’d make them go away. One by one while watching their other seedling friends, I’d torture and turn them. I’d poke and prick them. I’d make them bleed.

Instead the sinuses of mine have done a turnabout. They’ve turned into internal blades. From sinuses to knives, they slowly made their change and slowly make their turn. They turn and turn and only for a burn.

And if my sinuses were pumpkin seeds, I’d leave them out to ruin.

apple of my eye

Hello to my new keyboard! I love Apple. I broke my shift key about a year ago and I was really lazy in trying to get it fixed or replaced, fearing that I would have to pay for it. So, I relied Microsoft Word’s automated capitalization thingy and wrote a lot of emails in no caps. The shift key still worked, but it was reduced from a large hard plastic button to a tiny little soft rubber button. So, now, I can CAPS LIKE THE REST OF YOU without using my CAPSLOCK or straining my fingers. Apple sent me the replacement keyboard for FREE. Did I mention that I LOVE Apple! Cause, I do. IN ALL CAPS BABY. MY LOVE FOR APPLE IS IN ALL CAPS!

the London chronicles, explained

Spring Break is looming. Its 2 weeks away and I have nothing planned. It’s mostly due to the lack of finances. I was hoping to go to NYC because I derailed my Christmas trip this year, but even NYC is not financially possible. But, it doesn’t mean that I’m not pining for travel. And lately, I’ve been pining for London again.

In the spring of 2003, I was footloose and fancy free and decided to go to London, alone. I had the money and I took the time and went. It was brilliant. The previous posts were my emails home, which I would write from 2 Internet cafes on Queensway Road in Bayswater, just a block from Kensington Gardens.

I miss Queensway Road. I would pop into Queensway or Bayswater tube stations to begin my days in London. I did a lot of wandering. I did a lot of shopping. I did a lot of loving London. There is just something about that town. I miss the tube.

I want to go to London again. Soon. But, because I can’t I thought I’d share my emails with you. I hope you got a glimpse of the London I love. I hope you pine for it too. I hope you visit. Soon.

the London chronicles

Sent: Friday, April 11, 2003 6:28 PM
Subject: london day 7- last day


I don't want to leave!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I may not, actually.

So today started with breakfast at hotel again, earlier than usual around 8:30am. Then to Leicester Square to pick up a half price ticket, this time Les Mis. It was a toss up between Phantom and Les Mis, but the revoluntionaires won. I have to say that today was the first dayt here was a que and I guess that's cause I got there when it opened. But, let me also say that if you thought there were no Americans in London, all you have to do is go to the half price ticket booth in Leicester Square, they're there. Met some women from California, must have been a grandmas adventure to England. So, then to Farlow's on Pall Mall, since was right around the corner. Sorry, Tem, Barbour jackets are cheaper at the Orvis Outlet in the states. Then to the Tate by way of double decker bus. Saw everything again, Piccadilly Circus, the Horse Gaurd's, Westminster Abbey, Parliment, ect... Got off at Pimilico School and after wandering around a bit, went in and asked about working in the London as a teacher, they directed me to a website, of course. Then to the Tate for real. Saw some great contemporary stuff and lots of stuff by Turner(I didn't know him- not an art history major or minor- but, he's pretty darn good). Then to Covent Garden to the London Trasnsport Museum to buy a poster of the tube. Covent Garden is so fun and while there walked by a restuarant as a waitress was saying to a waiter "I guess the mobile was sitting on the table." Then another waiter, running away, says "I'll just go look and see if there are police around." There is a big problem of mobile phone theft here, and in the states we beg people to recycle! Ate a cafe in the middle of Covent Garden Piazza, Italian again. Then back home to rest a little. Then out to Kensington High Street. Stopped by a french bakery on Kensington Church St. (thanks again Auntie A) for a chocolate eclair- yummy! Ate it in Kensington Gardens. Then on a mission to find a jelewry store for a charm for my bracelet. Think Sloane Sqare, right- WRONG! After walking up and down's King's Rd. I finally figure there is no jelewry store, ask for help and they point me to Gucci's- um, no! So, then hop tube to Harrods, run in, buy a charm, run out to Leicester Square, down Charing Cross (sorry A, 84 is now a Pizza Hut) and to LES MIS!!!!! It was AWESOME, probably the best I've seen and the last time I saw it was New York so that's saying something, I think. Recommend highly, in fact would like to stay in London if not only for the amazing theatre I've seen in the last week. Then tubed it home again and here to write to you. Not that exiciting of a day, but I'm so sad to leave. I don't want to go back, no no, you can't make me!!!!!!!!!!! From Bayswater, Queensway Road, this is my last email from London! Be home, this time tomorrow :(:(:(:(:( But, it's not my last trip, want to come with me next time?

the London chronicles

Sent: Thursday, April 10, 2003 5:52 PM
Subject: london day 6


Long day again. Woke up to breakfast and words that the war is over. Is this true? Haven't heard any news during my day so I'll wait to get back to the hotel. It's cool to hear the British side of the news. Of course, the news is better here because it's just the facts, not the dribble analyzing stuff we get in the states (yes Dad, FoxNews is a JOKE!!). The news and paper focus on what the British troops are doing of course and it seems as though they are the ones who have taken and have control of Basra. Before I left, I thought we were fighting along side each other, but according to the news over here the Brits and the Yanks have split up the country. Anyway, so started the day by going to Paddington Station to make sure I could easily find my way to the Heathrow Express for Sat. morning. Looked for platform 9 and 3/4, but no luck. As traveling on tube today reading a book by a british writer I was reading a bit about two friends (one who is actually living in NYC, but in London to visit) meeting for tea at Sloane Square. The irony is that at the exact time I read that sentence my trained pulled into Sloane Square. Strange when the stars allign like that. Then to Victoria Station to Buckingham Palace. Toured the Royal Mews and saw the carriages that carry the royals, brilliant stuff. Decided was hungry and would grab a bite from a sandwhich shop. Ordered a Brie sandwhich which I thought would be just that, but no, it had butter on it. Um, who puts butter with brie, isn't that a little redundent in terms of turning up the fat? Then tried to tube it to the Tate Modern, but went to Tower Hill rather than London Bridge (got the Tower and London Bridge mixed up), but as I popped out the station, realized my mistake and was looking at the Tower of London I thought "haven't been here in a while, why not" (sound familiar?). So, took tour and saw the crown jewels and saw where sweet Lady Jane Gray was beheaded and now buried. The Beefeater tour guide was great, very lively. It started to drizzle and continued on and off all day, but not bad. Yesterday it snowed for about 5 minutes, that was strange. Then to the Tate Modern, for real this time. Saw some great stuff, a Jackson Pollack circa his splatter years and some Matisse and Miro and what not, good stuff I'd say. Then to Leicester (that's Lesster) Square to get another half price ticket. This time for "Tell Me On A Sunday." It's a remake and extension of Andrew Lloyd Webber's work from about 20 years ago. It's a one woman, one act musical. Fabulous! I gave a standing O! It's about a 28 year old London girl who goes to NYC to live because she needs a change (ironic much). It just opened on April 4 so I'm glad I got a chance to see such a new show. Then tubed it home. Got caught up in my book and missed one of my connections so had to backtrack. Then here again to write to you. Hope all is well, who knows about tommorrow as I have many plans for my last day, but I can't possibly squeeze them in. Would anyone mind if I just defected and stayed a bit longer???? For those Les Mis fans out there, ONE DAY MORE!!!!!!!!!

the London chronicles

Sent: Wednesday, April 09, 2003 6:29 PM
Subject: London day 5


Long day today. Woke up on time for breakfast then headed out to Madamme Tussaud's, they took my email receipt thankfully. Saw some fun things, but there were only 2 rooms of notable, recongizable figures, disappointing. Then, SHOPPING, went to Piccadilly Circus on to Jermyn Street (thanks to my Auntie A. for the tip). There was a shop called Floris which mixes fragrances and is the fragrance maker for the Queen. The stuff is AMAZING!!!! Then to Fortum and Mason, a really posh food hall with lovely British food stuffs. Then to Regent Street to Liberty. The fabrics were amazing, but at $40 at meter I just looked. Though bought a bag or two for me and mum (sorry to ruin the surprise). Then on to Hamley's, the best toy store and bought some things for the neices and nephews for Christmas or sooner if I can't wait. Ate lunch at a chain type italian place, actually quite good. Then to Leicester (pronounced Lesster- don't know why) Square to buy a half price theatre ticket for tonight. Then decided to see what movies were playing and noticed Harry Potter still on the bill and thought, why not see HP in the land in which it was concieved as I haven't seen the second movie yet (yes mom, after the movie I went straight and enrolled in the London School of Witchcraft and Wizardry- I thought you'd be proud). Then flew home on the tube to drop shopping bags and freshen up then took a cabbie back to Leicester (remember it's Lesster) Square. The ride was great, went round Hyde Park past the Marble Arch, plast Claridges and so many other fancy things. Then made it just in time for the movie. There was a family of two young children in front of me and every so often they would ask their mum something in their little Bristish accents, it was bloody brilliant. Then time for dinner and I wondered around and around trying to find a place that wasn't Pizza Hut (how sad) and landed on a very small resturant where I finally had fish and chips. The waitress asked if I wanted ketchup, I had to ask for vinegar (what's that about?) Those of you who know old London there used to be Fish and Chips on every corner (about 10 places). Now, I really have to search, there definnately aren't any that I've see where you take it away. I asked SJ last night about it and he said it is because of McDonald's and the like. And after seeing McDonald's, Burger King, Subway, KFC, Pizza Hut, TGIFriday's, Ben and Jerry's, Hagen-Daz, and Baskin Robbins on every street, I understand. Sometimes I understand the term "the bloody Yanks." So, part of London is dying I think, but what can you do, you can't live in the past forever. Also, haven't seen any signs of people having tea in the afternoon, but maybe that was dying 12 years ago too, but my family sought it out. I make sure to have tea every morning just on principal! Then on to the play, I got tickets for a new musical here call "Our House." It is written by and based on the music of Madness, a British band from the 80s. It was a great play about a London romance, I hope it makes it to the states. Then tubed it home to here to write to you again. Alright, ta ta for now, more tomorrow night I think.

Love ya,
Anna

the London chronicles

Sent: Tuesday, April 08, 2003 6:35 PM
Subject: london day 4


Here is a mass email to you guys to fill you in on the day's haps.

Woke up late, tired after not sleeping well on Sunday night and walking all day yesterday. NO full story, but yesterday was London Eye then Westminster Abbey then HARROD'S!!! then the play "Mama Mia" So today, had planned to go to Madame Taussaud's, but seem to have lost my ticket that I prepurchased- such is life, but I will try to figure something out, still have the email receipt. So, decided to go grab some lunch since slept through "half past 10" continental breakfast at hotel. Went into a Mediterian shop and got a chicken scharwma- we call them gyros. It was much tastier than the ones we have in the states, authentic here probably. Then took it to Kennsington
Gardens to eat and map out the day. Decided just to stroll through Kennsington Gardens, as walking, spotted larg building to the right. Said to self "Is that Kennsington Palace?" Got out map and sure enough, I'm staying a block away fromt he royal dwelling. So, decided to stroll over
just to look and then decided , well let's take a tour, haven't been here in a while, why not. So, took tour and stolled along through the state rooms, took all the time I wanted and looked at everything carefull. Lovely! Also, special surprise! I saw the wedding dresses for Queen Victoria (my fav.) and Queen Eliz. II, and one other (can't remember), THEN, I to my absolute delight there was a room FULL of DIANA'S DRESSES. HORRAY!!!!!! And, my fav. one was there, the white sleeveless one with all the pearls on
the bodice and a long white skirt. So, then left the Palace and walked down the street over where all the Embassy's are. The buildings are old and so big and beautiful. I saw embassies for Romania, the Phillipines, Israel, and Russia. I'm sure there were others, but they didn't have posted signs. So, then that led me to High Street Kennsington where I took in some shopping. Went to Barker's, a dept. store here, then to Laura Ashley where
I bought some things. I know we have Laura Ashley in the states, but they are closing and actually it's cheaper here. Then to Marks and Spencer, the dept. side, not the grocery side. Then caught a bus back to hotel, got ready and off to Leciester (pronounced Lesster) Square to meet SJ (one of Tem's friends) for dinner. We ate at a Mexican restuarant and I think England is too far away from Mexico to know what Mexican food is. I had a "fajita chicken salad" which was just chicken on a salad, litterally
sprinkled with spices. Good, but not Mexican. Of course, you can arguer that our Mexican food isn't Mexican either, but there were no burritto, or chile relleno's on the menu. Then tubed it home, SJ went halfway with me and then to here to write you this email. That's my day. If you don't want more installments then let me know, otherwise you will be getting updates, probably everyday, as I have no one to talk too (save Mom, thanks for calling) and this is my connect with the poeple I love at home. Hope all is
well. Tomorrow the Tower of London or more shopping, well if you know me then I bet you'll know who wins!

Love ya,
Anna

i always knew this was true

You Belong in the UK

Blimey! A little proper, a little saucy. You're so witty and charming... No one notices your curry breath

What English Speaking Country Do You Belong In?

what dreams may come

not even elevator earthquakes.
Joseph with his coat couldn’t tell
me why the back of my eyelids show
pictureless dreams, leave me imageless.


The end of a bad poem I wrote in college titled “I don’t dream, I don’t write.” I was a confused poet at this stage. I was taking traditional poetry writing classes alongside a language poetry class. The language poetry and its deconstructive ways fouled me up. It left my poetess vessel empty. I tried and I forced poems and continued to work with Pulitzer Prize winners and Poet Laureates, but my poetry never bounced back from Tan Lin and his structureless lessons on structureless writing. The above fragment is from a forced work. Obviously, I was blaming my dreams on my minds confusion. I remember sitting in class after having read this poem to be work shopped and my Pulitzer Prize winning professor claimed that it was unbelievable that no one dreams of earthquakes. I tried to argue, weakly I said that I actually had a recurring earthquake dream, one in which I was in an elevator, hence the line. He also said that no one dreams in color and my reference to Joseph’s coat of many colors was misplaced. I couldn’t argue with him because I couldn’t, in that split second, recall a dream filled with color. He shut me up because he had gray hair and spoke quietly and sparsely and he created tension between us. There was so much silence between us. I wanted to beat the silence, but I was wading through my own understanding of poetry and he wasn’t helping so I just shut up. I never really spoke in his class again except to read my poems that people, including him, then berated. I think about him every once in awhile. It is usually when I am recalling dreams and I think how wrong he was, that my dreams can be vibrant and violent or quiet and sad. My dreams can be whatever my mind needs to process. He was so wrong. But, every time I recall I my dreams I cannot for the life of me remember if it happened in color. The color never plays an important role so the remembrance of its existence escapes me. Until today, pulling into to a school parking lot I remembered the navy blue bedspread and matching couch, I remembered the tan butcher-block kitchen counter tops and the silver utensils. I remember my friend’s dark brown hair and his sister’s semi-red hair. I remembered the color. I remembered the color.

hand picked

As I was peeling the skin away, small specks of dirt began to cling to my fingers and under my nails. The dirt was mixed with the familiar iridescent stickiness. When I was finished peeling, I rinsed my hands and dove in, teeth first. It was the best orange of my life. The pith and pulp tasted earthy and the orange flesh, plumped with juice, tasted the brightest and sweetest of any orange ever. It was hand picked and hand delivered just for me from my mother’s 2nd cousin’s wife’s backyard orange tree in Florida. I wish everything was hand picked this way. I can take the dirt if the sweetness under the skin is the best in life. Sweetness under the skin, it’s what we all want. A hand picked orange, a hand picked life, a hand picked love.

on the sunny side of the street

It seems like everyday I have the intention of doing big things. On my drive to work, I can’t wait to get back home to get things done. I’m thinking about the dishes in the sink, the clothes that need to be washed, the inches of dust on the tables, the books I want to read, the movies I want to watch, the friends I want to call, the letters I want to write, the blogs I want to read, the things I want to say on my blog, etc. etc. As you can see it’s an exhausting list. It’s really just a caffeine effect. By the time I get to work I am in the zone; working with kids, assessing their progress minute by minute, I love it. Then, on the way home I’m thinking about the above laundry list, but once I open the door to my apartment I go straight to the computer, check my usual blogs and emails. Then, I forget all about the things that seemed so important in the early morning coffee rush. I say, “screw it” to the dishes in the sink and I usually just find one thing to occupy my time. It might be a purse I want to design, a friend I need to talk to for hours, or my list of TiVoed specials. It’s usually nothing fantastic. The funny thing is that the days where I come home and run around like a spinning top and get everything in order, I feel so much better. My mind is sharper and I can take on the world. I think that it’s those days that I woke up on the right side of the bed. It’s those days where I tend to walk on the sunny side of the street.