Love is alright.

Weddings are nice and Jackie Kennedy had a very nice dress. End.

In a nut shell.

Lets go from the top. My weekend kicked off with me getting my telephone back from the fix it shop, which it probably never did, it probably just sat in the shop and then they handed it back to me and said it was fixed. So with the excitement of receiving modern technology back I took to taking photographs. After getting a coffee with Be we set out on the road to Lella's school open day where we watched the fashion student's garments on the runway. Here me met up with Zee, Mammy and Pappy. In great family tradition we then went to yum-cha. It was divine as per usual. When the gathering came to an end, we all kissed goodbye in the car park. I wished that we could have stayed but life has to keep rolling. So as the day came to a close we steamed some dumplings and buns that we had bought from the grocer and sat down to watch a movie. End day.

So naturally after Saturday comes Sunday. I got to spend the day with Be, so we went grocery shopping and passed the day with knitting and reading. It was very nice and I even went for an afternoon walk. Something I rarely do, but I felt the cabin fever creeping in. I thought I might learn something about my surrounding area on my walk. But all I realised is that it is as boring as I thought and that the police cars park in car spots that match the number on the car. What a supreese! So that was that.

My house.

This shower should be illegal its so good.

Freshly baked bread.

Slides projected on the walls.

Jenni's rocky road.

Jenni's hugs.

Chopping the hedges.

Driving practice.

The Adventures of Tom Sawyer.

Girls at the park saying to Zee: "you're sister looks funny with that bun on top of her head".

Kisses from Mishka.

Poem suggestions from dream boys.

The first easter hunt I have ever had.

The softest bed.

This is nice.

Human voices.

Listen and learn. I love T.S. Eliot.

Here.

Mama makes a mean pudding.

I love pudding. Today I borrowed a 385 page book of pudding recipes. I just finished reading it and currently have about one third of the recipes picked out to make. As Lella says, We'll be eating pudding for a long time. What a joy!

Zee posted these photos of Mamy and her childhood dog Anna, she's the coolest and she makes mean puddings.

Melvin state of mind.

Today when Lella and I got off the train and walked home in the hot hot sun we saw a sausage dog standing outside a bread shop. Before either of us realised Lella was saying "owwwwww" and I was shouting "helloooooo".

If there is one thing that I know that I want it is Melvin Franfurt Snr. Though we havn't met yet, and we may not for many years, I know we'll be in love. We'll wear matching crovats while we skate along board walks. We'll meet Lella and her chubby dog, Badgely, for coffee. Badge and Melvs will play for hours while Lella and I do the things we do. Melvin and I shall drive along in our Volvo station wagon, listening to sweet tunes and feeling the wind in our hair. What a life Melvin, I can't wait to share it with you.

Images via weheartit and Old Parked Cars.

Sanctuary.

Wilber stood behind the glass window with an indifferent facial expression, his hot cocoa forming steam streaks on the glass panes. He shifted his weight, rocking from heel to toe as his small russet coloured sausage dog, Alfredo, lingered around his worn in boat shoes.

The small cottage nestled in the heart of the city seemed odd in its squatness as the bland grey buildings stretched up towards the sky that seemed so full of life and wonder.

The rooms of the cottage smelled of off-set printing, paper and tea-leaves. A sense of love oozed from the interior walls of the cottage. Photographs of people - appearing as if they were filled with joy and surrounded by others whom they loved - sprawled across almost every wall. Each wall that wasn't covered in these delighted faces was filled from floor to ceiling with an array of books from every imaginable encyclopedia to the literary classics of Charlotte Brontë and Tolstoy.

Wilber ventured out of his house rarely, only for the bare necessities and even then he tried to stretch the time between each outing as far apart as possible. In the outside environment he felt as though the world was spinning slightly too fast on its axis, as if everything around him and himself could become un-hinged in a second.

As he stepped onto the footpath his heartbeat would speed up, a small pearl of perspiration would glide from his hairline, down the smooth wrinkles of his forehead to his furrowed brow.

In a swarm of people Wilber felt alone. He couldn't control his senses and instincts. His elevated stress levels did not decline in any sense until his little cottage was in view. Even then every step between him and his front door seemed to large.

As Wilber shut the heavy wooden door behind him and turned to see the ever anticipated comfort of his home, his breathing slowed. He closed his eyes and absorbed the familiar scents of everything he loved. Everything he needed. His muscles loosened as a sense of safety reigned over him.

His paralysing state of affinity was disturbed only when Alfedo glided past his calves and slumped at his feet, welcoming his closest companion back into their sanctuary.

This is where Wilber belonged, with the familiarity of his well kept books, his noble friend and his tired and treasured possessions. Wilber doesn't need the distractions of loud strangers or the buzz of morning coffee. He only needs the things he loves, for there with Alfredo and his books, he is whole.

Image via Weheartit.

Note: this is no way to treat books. Paper has a longer memory than elephants.

Dance me to the end of love.

Dance me to your beauty with a burning violin

Dance me through your panic 'til I'm gathered safely in

Lift me like an olive branch and be my homeward dove

Dance me to the end of love

Dance me to the end of love

Oh let me see your beauty when the witnesses are gone

Let me feel you moving like they do in Babylon

Show me slowly what I only know the limits of

Dance me to the end of love

Dance me to the end of love

Dance me to the wedding now, dance me on and on

Dance me very tenderly and dance me very long

We're both of us beneath our love, we're both of us above

Dance me to the end of love

Dance me to the end of love

-Written by Leonard Cohen, performed by Madeleine Peyroux

Yesterday I went to our beloved family friend's wedding. My Da married the two in a garden whilst the rain slightly sprinkled. Mama made the dress, and it was lovely. The celebrations stretched into the dark and we finally came to the time for dancing. As I watched the newly married couple sway across the dance floor I couldn't help but smile. They looked at each other with such happiness and love, it was something to be awed at.

As the music got louder and moved into the more contemporary genre my darling nephew was drawn to the dance floor. He has a natural sense of rhythm and feels the need to dance whenever he feels a beat moving though his feet. By the end of the night he had us all on the dance floor, surrounding him, for he wouldn't dance unless we were all on the dance floor busting some moves.

It was a very enjoyable celebration of love.

Photograph by Jeff Carter.

Those good days of old.

This is my darling nephew's Schleich dog. He reminds me of Inspector Rex, of how I used sing and dance to the theme song when it came on, and how I desperately wanted to learn to speak German so I could enjoy Inspector Rex to its ultimate capacity. He taught me to say Scheiße, and although I now have deserted my want to learn to speak German and am now focusing on Korean, I still love Inspector Rex. And I shall always remark; "look its Inspector Rex" to the closest person whenever I see a dog that looks similar. So, bis bald mein lieber freund.

Rhythmic unicorns.

Love; Having a double connection to a disc-man that plays the Carpenters all day. Walking down a wharf eating ice-cream, holding hands and listening to the Carpenters. Skating till the sun goes down listening to the carpenters. Not having to speak, because words had become superfluous, so you just stare into each others eyes and listen to the Carpenters. Well there it is, love. From the dictionary of Anooke.

Image via ruffled.

On the shore of the wide world.

When I have fears that I may cease to be

Before my pen has glean'd my teeming brain,

Before high-piled books, in charactery,

Hold like rich garners the full ripen'd grain;

When I behold, upon the night's starr'd face,

Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance,

And think that they may never live to trace

Their shadows, with the magic hand of chance;

And when I feel, fair creature of an hour,

That I shall never look upon thee more,

Never have relish in the faery power

Of unyielding love; - then on the shore

Of the wide world I stand alone, and think

Till love and fame to nothingness do sink.

-John Keats.

Image via tumbleanne.

Like birds of a feather.

"Love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs" -William Shakespeare.

Image via weheartit.

It feels good.

... to twist the night away. I have never been dancing. I haven't done a lot of things that I thought I would have by this age.

T. S. Eliot and Tennyson have a power of words over me that I cannot explain. Sam Cooke makes me feel that there is love. Disrespected books make me want to weep. My ability to make tasty guacamole makes me proud.

"Keep love in your heart. A life without it is like a sunless garden when the flowers are dead" - Oscar Wilde.

Spring.

Happy first of Spring my little ones. Enjoy this lovely season. It makes me want to be in love in a movie. With a boy who reads poetry aloud and drops fresh wild flowers on my doorstep, whilst riding past on his skateboard wearing boat-shoes, a bow-tie and a cardigan. I love Spring.

Photographs by Anooke.

Her light.

Beginning to faint in the light that she loves

On a bed of daffodil sky,

To faint in the light of the sun that she loves,

To faint in his light, and to die.

...

I said the rose, "The brief night goes

In a babble and revel of wine.

O young lord-lover, what sighs are those,

For one that will never be thine?

But mine, but mine," so I swear to the rose.

"For ever and ever, mine."

And the soul of the rose went into my blood,

As the music clashed in the hall;

And long by the garden lake I stood,

For I heard your rivulet fall

From the lake to the meadow and on to the wood,

Our wood, that is dearer than all;

From the meadow your walks have left so sweet

That wherever a March-wind sighs

He sets the jewel-print of your feet

In the violets as blue as your eyes,

To the woody hollows in which we meet

And the valleys of Paradise.

The slender acacia would not shake

One long milk-bloom on the tree;

The white lake-blossom fell into the lake

As the pimpernel dozed on the lea;

But the rose was awake all night for your sake,

Knowing your promise to me;

The lilies and roses were awake,

They sigh'd for the dawn and thee.

...

There has fallen a splendid tear

From the passion-flower at the gate.

She is coming, my dove, my dear;

She is coming, my life, my fate;

The red rose cries, "She is near, she is near;"

And the white rose weeps, "She is late;"

The larkspur listens, "I hear, I hear;"

And the lily whispers, "I wait."

She is coming, my own, my sweet;

Were it ever so airy a tread,

My heart would hear her and beat,

Were it earth in an earthly bed;

My dust would hear her and beat,

Had I lain for a century dead;

Would start and tremble under her feet,

And blossom in purple and red.

-From 'Maud', Lord Alfred Tennyson.

Photograph by Anooke.

Remember.

On Monday I stopped being a child and became an adult, legally. The celebrations started on Saturday when my precious sisters, brother-in-law and nephew came. Zee had organised a "wig" party, meaning that everyone was required to wear a wig. It was brilliant, with the eventual trading of each-others wigs. One of the best parts was the cake. Mammy and Zee made a masterpiece consisting of profiteroles on top of a mud cake. Be provided the sweets, Lella provided her pretty face, Father provided the tunes and my nephew Hamish provided his amazing self.

The celebrations rolled on to Sunday when I received my first piece of real jewellery. An antique men's signet ring. It makes me feel like a real adult. Now when I drink tea my finger chimes on the china cups and it shines in the sunlight. Hamish kissed me, he is the coolest, I can't believe I share similar genes with one of the most beautiful boys in the world.

I serenaded my mother in the kitchen and made her slow dance with me on Monday.

Overall I had one of the best birthdays I have ever experienced. And in the wise words of Douglas, I can now experience all the immoral things that the world offers.

Image via Weheartit.

Indeed.

"A boy with no hair took my heart. I was warned, but I was enchanted none-the-less. He taught me cool tricks and expanded my vocabulary. He said nice things and called me 'Mein Schatz'. I wrote him letters but he never used the postal service. Every time I saw him my stomach convulsed, I guess thats called butterflies. His embrace was like nothing else, like the rest of the world had never existed and that was all. I didn't like it when he corrected me or said that I shouldn't speak in different languages because I wasn't very good. Then came the day that he told me that he didn't even know what I ate for breakfast, or if I even ate breakfast. I told him that I eat muesli with yoghurt. He said that it was just an example, that his phrase wasn't literal.

Now, he is a world away, speaking foreign languages to other girls."

Photograph by Chiara Romagnoli for Test Mag.

Two souls.

Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same. -Emily Brontë

Photograph by Hello Gaby on Flickr.

Something.

I don't wish to be everything to everyone, but I would like to be something to someone.- Javan

Image via The Never Ending Story, Saga Sig

Pastel marvel.

Oh Marie Antoinette.

I want to be forgotten

I don't want to be reminded.

You say "Please don't make this harder."

No, I won't yet.

I want to be beside her

She wanna be admired

...

You don't miss me I know.

Oh Tennessee, what did you write?

I come together in the middle of the night.

Oh, that's an ending I can't write, 'cause

I've got you to let me down.

-The Strokes, What Ever Happened.

On Wednesday I watched 'The Young Victoria' for the second time, and fell in love all over again. Today I watched 'Marie Antoinette' for the forth time and fell in love all over again. Now I want to watch 'Elizabeth' for the third time and once again, fall in love. It may be considered a waste of time, watching things that I have seen numerous times, but I like it. It doesn't seem like a waste to me, because it is, love. It is History, though slightly altered. And that I like.