“If I had to live my life over...

I would have talked less and listened more.
I would have invited friends over to dinner even if the carpet was stained and the sofa faded.

I would have eaten the popcorn in the "good" living room and worried much less about the dirt when someone wanted to light a fire in the fireplace.

I would have taken the time to listen to my grandfather rambling about his youth.

I would never have insisted the car windows be rolled up on a summer day because my hair had just been teased and sprayed.

I would have burned the pink candle sculped like a rose before it melted 
in storage.

I would have sat on the lawn with my children and not worried about grass stains.

I would have cried and laughed less while watching television, 
and more while watching life.

I would have gone to bed when I was sick, instead of pretending the earth would go into a holding pattern if I weren't there for the day.

I would never have bought anything just because it was practical, wouldn't show soil or was guaranteed to last a lifetime.

Instead of wishing away nine months of pregnancy, I'd have cherished every moment, realising that the wonderment growing inside me was the only chance in life to assist God in a miracle.

When my kids kissed me impetuously, I would never have said, "Later. Now go get washed up for dinner."

There would have been more "I love you's" and more "I'm sorry's"


. . . but mostly, given another shot at life, I would seize every minute . . . 
look at it and really see it . . . and never give it back.”
-Erma Bombeck

I've never loved reading something so much, (and that's saying a lot).

on a wonderful day.

On a wonderful day like today,

I defy any cloud to appear in the sky,

Dare any raindrop to plop in my eye

On a wonderful day like today.

On a wonderful morning like this

When the sun is as big as a yellow balloon;

Even the sparrows are singing in tune

On a wonderful morning like this.

May I take this occasion to say

That the whole human race should go down on its knees,

Show that we're grateful for mornings like these

For the world's in a wonderful way

On a wonderful day like today.

-- Anthony Newley - 1965

I am posting this at exactly 12:01 AM because as of one minute ago, Monday officially began. If you were to ask me about the last seven days, I'd probably say I'd rather not talk about it. My lip wax last Tuesday? Rather not talk about that either. And whether any of my major/minor end-of-January-crises are warranted or not, I'll take defying raindrops (or snowdrops) and 12:01 AM. 

this should come as no surprise.

I took thelma out for her very first ride of 2k11, and it was as wonderful as I thought it would be. I once heard someone ask a friend in class, "Who did you fall in love with for the first time?" and she replied, "Oh it was with my bicycle" -- I thought about that this afternoon as I pedaled all the way to center street and back.

And lets be honest, spring is worth celebrating. And if there is anyone who adores springtime and red bicycles with wicker baskets as much as me, it would probably be ee cummings. So because this is a favorite, and because it's a tradition -- after spending a whole day riding my bicycle, and a whole night watching love movies on the balcony (picnic basket/twinkle lights/Ewan McGregor singing and all), this poem is most definitely worth sharing.

--

sweet spring is yourtime is my time is our time 
for springtime is love time
and viva sweet love

(all the merry little birds are
flying in the floating in the
very spirits singing in
are winging in the blossoming)
lovers go and lovers come
awandering awondering
but any two are perfectly
alone there's nobody else alive

...

(secretly adoring shyly
tiny winging darting floating
merry in the blossoming
always joyful selves are singing)
sweet spring is yourtime is my time is our time 
for springtime is lovetime
and viva sweet love

-ee cummings

really, though... viva sweet love.

blacking out.

I saw this post earlier today on Cup of Jo,
and was reminded of something I saw a few weeks ago on Tyler Knott's website.

I think this idea is so neat,
and the message so sweet.


(almost makes me want to add on my male checklist:

-must be able to write poetry

but I'll settle for at least being willing to read together for now)

valentines day homework.

In lieu of Valentines Day next week, my all-time favorite professor-ever-ever-ever-ever x 10 gave us this homework assignment:

Kiss somebody as if you had never kissed them before.



(I. About. Died.)

He reasoned that since he's at least 50 years our senior (he's 71) and probably has enough experience at this point to understand "a little bit more about life,"
he concluded with us in class that there is nothing more important than to experience what we all spend so much time reading and writing and talking about:
And that is love.

He quoted Mr. Cummings (kissing homework and ee cummings in one day? I almost fell off my chair)

And read the following:

i carry your heart with me
i carry it in my heart
i am never without it
anywhere i go
you go

...

Here is the deepest secret that nobody knows

...

And this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart


i carry your heart
i carry it in my heart




My heart nearly exploded.


And on my way out the door, I considered writing a letter to this professor just to tell him how much I love this class, and in a very important way,
how much more I love life thanks to him, too.

Because truthfully, I doubt I'll get around to kissing someone as if it were my first time this weekend, (my first real kiss kind of cursed my luck since age 15)

But the more I've thought about my 9:30 class yesterday morning, the more I realized that I left at 10:45 with a little bit more love for love.

And that was the perfect homework assignment for Valentines day.

we call it true love.

I kind of loved this poem. A lot.

And I apologize for all the poetry lately, but I can't help but share what I love. And I know in the past it's usually been my confessions about Zac Efron, but over the last few weeks it switched over to poetry. So please share this particular love with me (because the real life ones I'm never willing to share) and read on:

It is true love because
I put on eyeliner and a concerto and make pungent observations about the great issues of the day
Even when there's no one here but him,
And because
I do not resent watching the Green Bay Packer
Even though I am philosophically opposed to football,
And because
When he is late for dinner and I know he must be either having an affair or lying dead in the middle of the street,
I always hope he's dead.*

It's true love because
If he said quit drinking martinis but I kept drinking them and the next morning I couldn't get out of bed,
He wouldn't tell me he told me,
And because
He is willing to wear unironed undershorts
Out of respect for the fact that I am philosophically opposed to ironing,
And because
If his mother was drowning and I was drowning and he had to choose one of us to save,
He says he'd save me.

It's true love because
When he went to San Francisco on business while I had to stay home with the painters and the exterminator and the baby who was getting the chicken pox,
He understood why I hated him,
And because
When I said that playing the stock market was juvenile and irresponsible and then the stock I wouldn't let him buy went up twenty-six points,
I understood why he hated me,
And because
Despite cigarette cough, tooth decay, acid indigestion, dandruff, and other features of married life that tend to dampen the fires of passion,
We still feel something
We can call
True love.**



*haha. my favorite part. p-squared theory comes to mind here (remind me to inform you about the p-squared theory later)

**what do you think true love is really like?

how i feel today.

My skin is kind of sort of brownish
Pinkish yellowish white.
My eyes are grayish blueish green,
But I'm told they look orange in the night.
My hair is reddish blondish brown,
But it's silver when it's wet.
And all the colors I am inside
Have not been invented yet.
-Shel Silverstein


Being able to pick up a few more English classes for my minor this semester, I've rediscovered my love for poetry. Ode: Intimations of Immortality by Wordsworth has been my most recent favorite, but today my professor recited the poem above, and I was reminded of my love for Shel Silverstein, and how I can sometimes most easily relate to the simple way in which he says things. I may be a senior in college, and I should now consider Keats, Blake and Browning some of the best by piling my bookshelves high with their Romantic literature, but Where the Sidewalk Ends will forever remain one of my favorites.

and love yourself so more than truly.

those mornings when i wake up either a little too early or a little too late, (like today)
or when all i really feel like doing is burying myself back in my blankets, (especially today)
there is a remedy i have found while reading one of my personal favorites, mr ee cummings.

"may my heart always be open to little birds
who are the secrets of living
whatever they sing is better than to know
and if men should not hear them men are old
...
and even if it's sunday may i be wrong
for whenever men are right they are not young
and may myself do nothing usefully
and love yourself so more than truly"

even though the poem doesn't end here, i have a hard time continuing on with the lines that follow, because i love that final thought more than anything,
to"love yourself so more than truly."

i woke up needing to remind myself that today is going to be a good day,
but ee cummings did that for me.

"i shall not pass this way again"

"In such rare splendor that my heart, Would ache from scenes like these to part."
-Eva Rose York

i read this the other day,
and i think i feel the same way just a little too much.

photo via.

today wouldn't be today without it.

i ordered this book just in time for spring;
(ee cummings is a good read for any day, or any time of year)
so spring is most definitely included --
but for some reason, today is an especially special: "ee cummings day."

with the sun shining (finally)
and one final finished already (au revoir professor white)
and a date to get a cupcake with him,
this poem is probably the one and only thing that makes everything (already great) just a tiny bit better.

so, ee cummings, you know that everything you have to say always makes me happy:
and today wouldn't be today without reading (and sharing) this.

who knows if the moon's
a balloon,coming out of a keen city
in the sky--filled with pretty people?
(and if you and i should

get into it,if they
should take me and take you into their balloon,
why then
we'd go up higher with all the pretty people

than houses and steeples and clouds:
go sailing
away and away sailing into a keen
city which nobody's ever visited,where

always
it's
Spring) and everyone's
in love and flowers pick themselves.

--this poem just feels like spring.
(photo via)

To: You-Know-Who.

To My Valentine.
(but it's really written by Ogden Nash)

More than a catbird hates a cat,
Or a criminal hates a clue,
Or the Axis hates the United States,
That's how much I love you.

I love you more than a duck can swim,
And more than a grapefruit squirts,
I love you more than a gin rummy is a bore,
And more than a toothache hurts.

As a shipwrecked sailor hates the sea,
Or a juggler hates a shove,
As a hostess detests unexpected guests,
That's how much you I love.

I love you more than a wasp can sting,
And more than the subway jerks,
I love you as much as a beggar needs a crutch,
And more than a hangnail irks.

I swear to you by the stars above,
And below, if such there be,
As the High Court loathes perjurious oathes,
That's how you're love by me.

-i read this tonight for my eng. 251 course that i was raving about a couple weeks ago. i. love. this. class.

i also love holding hands, which is why i am writing about this today.

i always wonder why having someones hand in yours feels like one of the greatest things in the entire world.

Cupid & Cummings.

Elliot, Frost, Tennyson - even Whitman, the best of the best cannot come close or even compete with the adoration my heart holds for E.E. Cummings.
Granted, a part of his poetry is somewhat provocative, and would have pushed the envelope 100 years ago...but I believe that Cummings and I are both two helpless and hopeless romantics at heart. If we were to run into each other on the street today, we would become the dearest of friends and I imagine we would spend hours and days in bookstores and coffee shops, talking about love and being in love and hating love and so on and so forth.

The most beloved E.E. Cummings poem there is, (at least personally speaking), is "somewhere i have never traveled" - as I read this poem years ago, it was as if Cupid took out that dreaded arrow and shot right at my heart.

I am in love with E.E. Cummings.

(and if you want to be too, read on)

somewhere i have never traveled,gladly beyond
any experience,your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully,mysteriously)her first rose

or if your wish be to close me, i and
my life will shut very beautifully,suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;

nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility:whose texture
compels me with the color of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens;only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody,not even the rain,has such small hands

The beauty of this poem is in its simplicity - which, I believe, some of the most beautiful things are: simple.

This poem can EVEN go without capitalization and punctuation ...
Honestly people, who can get away with that?

So go on ahead and read Thoreau's "Epitaph On The World", "Life in A Love" by Browning, or anything by Oscar Wilde (and I readily admit that I do love them all) but they just can't beat this.

(whether it's because of Cupid or Cummings, I don't know, I'm just clearly biased).