stuff antonia says.

Tonia

First of all, I have some blog-type questions for whoever happens to read this (aka Erica.)

Should I un-sync the blogposts with the facebook notes app? For some reason, I don't like the idea of having a lot of bitty "notes" that would be otherwise appropriate and normal in a blog-type scenario. But I realize linking to a whole new website as opposed to fbook could be annoying for some. Thoughts, anyone?
Should I change the url to something shorter than inhisbeautygraceandlight.blogspot.com? I think it's kinda intense, but then, I don't know if this is actually important.

Now on to better things.

This has been an exceptionally good week, even if slightly marred by today's emotional freakout about the future/changing my major/potentially graduating in 2013. So, I made a list of the good and somewhat unordinary things that have happened this week, and things I am really looking forward to that make me generally happy :)

Gateway to India is happening on Saturday (6:30-10:30)!! I have fun memories of attending last year, and I thought it was generally beautiful and fun. I've been looking forward to it all semester :)
Friday, my Spanish class (the last of the day) is canceled, so early start to the weekend! And today, my AmLit class was canceled, which made room for
an awesome phone conversation with my mom about life and calling. It was so needed. She has a really amazing way of grounding me in the middle of a panic-attack-explosion. I love her a lot.
It's been a pretty solid week academically. Nothing crazy going on, and I've been handed back some decent grades. I definitely needed the encouragement in that area...
My dad sent me a gorgeous bouquet of flowers yesterday upon reading my last post. I can't help but smile at them and at the thoughtfulness of my dad...something that lots of girls go without. :)
Yesterday especially was filled with lots of sunshine, and the rest of the week should have some too! Mags and I read outside for a good while because it was just that beautiful outside. We both got a bit of sun on our winterpale skin :)
the annual UBC outdoor service is this Sunday!! I loved it last year, and it's another event I've been looking forward to for a few weeks.
Tomorrow Robbie Seay, John Mark McMillan, and Jillian Edwards are playing at CG. I bought my ticket, I am ready to go. I love all three of them, so naturally, I'm pretty psyched.
I just got back from CG, reading on the front porch while the most incredible storm exploded. Lightning unfurling frantically across the dark sky, rain slapping the pavement, cars gliding through the slick streets, and thunder clamoring from every direction, harmonizing with the bells of Pat Neff. How utterly epic. {the heavens declare the glory of God, the skies proclaim the works of His hands.}
Stompfest is coming. If you have talked to me recently, chances are I have expressed HOWEXCITED I am about this fact.

I like how there turned out to be exactly 10. And that this was been a praise kind of week.

Back to the books...

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a thing of beauty is a joy forever.

Tonia

That's right, John Keats popped into my head when I was standing in H-E-B trying to decide whether or not I wanted to purchase flowers. Yellowish pinky orange gerbera daisies, to be exact. One criticism I have heard about buying flowers is that they die so soon. And to this I make the Keats reply above.The other thing that popped into my head was one of the last really good memories I have of my great-grandmother, "Nano." On one of my visits to her apartment, I brought her a boquet bouqet bouquet of flowers in her favorite colors. Nano, always one to be appreciative of beauty, oohed and ahhed for quite a while as I cut them and arranged them in one of her many old vases. She told me that my great-grandfather always said

"If it came down to it and I had to choose between a loaf of bread and a bunch of flowers, I would always choose the flowers."

I like to think that this love of beauty runs in my veins from my Nano and her husband, whom I never even met. It certainly seems genetic--my grandmother, "Mimi" would rather buy a painting than invest in anything "practical" any day. And to think that it goes further than that, that the One who crafted the moon and the stars and the sunshine and these gerbera daisies of ambiguous color...and us, for that matter...loves beauty as much as we do, and infinitely more.

So, basically, buying flowers is never a bad decision.

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take this sinking boat and point it home.

Tonia

I did that thing where someone posts ambiguous lyrics and says "it just means a lot to me right now, ok?"
Cliche as it is, that's where the title of this post came from, and really the whole song "Falling Slowly" [yes, yes, the one from Once] has meant a lot in different ways this week...even though I have no idea what the song as a whole is supposed to be about. I think maybe addiction? Listen here to decide for yourself. It really is a beautiful song.

........
Later.

Well, I promise I was actually going somewhere with that last post. Sometime soon I'll share more about direction and the future and such, but it's just too late for my thoughts to be together.

But one thing remains on my mind. Today was a tough one at Waco Arts. It just seemed like we were hit full force with the world the kids live in. Tragedy, violence, hatred, brokenness. It's just so distanced from my reality, it's mind-blowing. That Baylor bubble? it's real, and the edge is as close as a footstep.

This kind of thing simultaneously makes me wonder at the relevancy of art in the lives of these kids who face such darkness, and makes me want to keep coming, keep trying to offer them creativity and beauty.
And expression. In class today, my prof pointed out a line from a short story by James Baldwin, in which music shows itself to be a powerful force to "soothe the poison," to create a safe moment, to give beauty, but most importantly, to express. There is power in expression and sharing experiences [here in the form of storytelling.]

For, while the tale of how we suffer, and how we are delighted, and how we may triumph is never new, is always must be heard. There isn't any other tale to tell, it's the only light we have in all this darkness.

While I would argue that there is another Light to the darkness, I guess this quote gives me hope for the purpose of Waco Arts--maybe for these kids to learn how to tell their story. I wish we could do more, though.

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individuality and octopi.

Tonia

it's a depressing reality, really. I have class on Monday. Monday???

Monday, back to the grind, back to the humdrum monotony of homework, tests, and projects.
[And if you asked me, I would tell you that I like school. ]
I just really enjoy being schedule-less, I guess. Filling my hours with poetry that I want to read, movies I've been meaning to see, friends that I rarely get to connect with...not a bad way to spend my time, and I really needed it.
But responsibility is creeping in fast, with the end of the semester. I have to find a summer job, I need to figure out this whole changing majors thing, I have to figure out my other potential major/minor/interest/passion...I have to figure out how to conserve money.

on another note, one thing that has been on my mind recently is how much I value public opinion. It's a subject that has surely been beaten to the ground, with platitudes like "be your own person," and "be who you are and say what you feel, because those who mind don't matter, and those who matter don't mind." [Dr. Seuss]

but I am realizing that I find myself behaving in some ways in an effort to exude a certain persona, instead of doing things, choosing things, saying things, just because...I want to. Not because I wish to appear intellectual, more spiritual, less spiritual, cool, socially conscious, brave, nonchalant, wise...

anyways. I have no further thoughts on that, really, except that it's dishonest...and I'm working on it.
A final thought. I've read a bit of All the King's Men...and I unexpectedly found the reason behind my parent's attempt to keep reeling me back home this week:

When you get born your father and mother lost something out of themselves, and they are going to try to bust a hame trying to get it back, and you are it. They know they can't get it all back but they will get as big a chunk out of you as they can. And the good old family reunion, with picnic dinner under the maples, is very much like diving into the octopus tank at the aquarium.

an interesting theory, anyway.

well...that's all there is, there isn't any more :)

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one of many literary crushes.

Tonia

Since I just picked up "Sailing Alone Around the Room" by Billy Collins yesterday at Half-Price, and a great book/commentary of Whitman's poems at the opera house in Denton...be expecting some poetry. I will write about adventures with no power soon enough I think.

but for now, here's this. (And you should read it, even if you don't like poetry.)

Aristotle

By Billy Collins

This is the beginning.
Almost anything can happen.
This is where you find
the creation of light, a fish wriggling onto land,
the first word of Paradise Lost on an empty page.
Think of an egg, the letter A,
a woman ironing on a bare stage as the heavy curtain rises.
This is the very beginning.
The first-person narrator introduces himself,
tells us about his lineage.
The mezzo-soprano stands in the wings.
Here the climbers are studying a map
or pulling on their long woolen socks.
This is early on, years before the Ark, dawn.
The profile of an animal is being smeared
on the wall of a cave,
and you have not yet learned to crawl.
This is the opening, the gambit,
a pawn moving forward an inch.
This is your first night with her, your first night without her.
This is the first part
where the wheels begin to turn,
where the elevator begins its ascent,
before the doors lurch apart.

This is the middle.
Things have had time to get complicated,
messy, really. Nothing is simple anymore.
Cities have sprouted up along the rivers
teeming with people at cross-purposes –
a million schemes, a million wild looks.
Disappointment unsolders his knapsack
here and pitches his ragged tent.
This is the sticky part where the plot congeals,
where the action suddenly reverses
or swerves off in an outrageous direction.
Here the narrator devotes a long paragraph
to why Miriam does not want Edward's child.
Someone hides a letter under a pillow.
Here the aria rises to a pitch,
a song of betrayal, salted with revenge.
And the climbing party is stuck on a ledge
halfway up the mountain.
This is the bridge, the painful modulation.
This is the thick of things.
So much is crowded into the middle –
the guitars of Spain, piles of ripe avocados,
Russian uniforms, noisy parties,
lakeside kisses, arguments heard through a wall
too much to name, too much to think about.

And this is the end,
the car running out of road,
the river losing its name in an ocean,
the long nose of the photographed horse
touching the white electronic line.
This is the colophon, the last elephant in the parade,
the empty wheelchair, and pigeons floating down in the evening.
Here the stage is littered with bodies,
the narrator leads the characters to their cells,
and the climbers are in their graves.
It is me hitting the period
and you closing the book.
It is Sylvia Plath in the kitchen
and St. Clement with an anchor around his neck.
This is the final bit
thinning away to nothing.
This is the end, according to Aristotle,
what we have all been waiting for,
what everything comes down to,
the destination we cannot help imagining,
a streak of light in the sky,
a hat on a peg, and outside the cabin, falling leaves.

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domestication, headbands, and "major" decisions ;)

Tonia

SPRING BREAK 2010 WHOOOOOOHOOOOOO!!!

I mean...nothing all that thrilling. I'm only in Dallas, no beaches or adventures here. But oh, the chance to sleep has been amazing.

in addition to sleeping, I have been

--watching The Big Bang Theory, Season 2. Four socially awkward, yet witty scientists + one pretty blonde across the hall=awesome.

--explaining the current season of Private Practice to my mother. Don't criticize, please. I love that show.

--enjoying my mom's AMAZING cooking.

--making delicious Oreo Balls (or "truffles"). mmm mmm good. You can tell I am not adept at cooking, because 1. the recipe is very simple. (no really, you should check it out) 2. it took multiple texts to my dear friend Sara Lemister to execute this very simple recipe successfully. Luckily, they turned out splendidly. This cooking discussion brings me to my mother's plan for me for the summer. She shared with me her concern regarding my lack of cooking knowledge, and that it would hinder me in my future marriage prospects. She feels this has been her personal failure, and is therefore going to teach me how to cook this summer. I feel like I'm in Mulan or something. I mean, it's 2010. A small part of me feels like something feministical should rise out of me and proclaim that all men and women are created equal, or precious in his sight, or something, and then tag on "with liberty and justice for all" somewhere in my speech...but then I realize, that at some point in my life, single or married, I will no longer have a meal plan, and I don't want to keep heating up these to live on.

Still, can't believe my mom some days.

--talking with Alia for hours at a time. Always good. At our traditional Starbucks, though both of us profess conversion to locally-owned coffeeshops instead. Still for nostalgia's sake, it is the place we met, because similar conversations have happened there, not to mention nearly the entire writing process of The Visitors, the production that she, Joshua, and I wrote and produced our Junior year of high school. So long ago...

so basically, I have been sleeping, watching TV, eating, and talking.

What sloth. I should be reading All the King's Men for cultures, but I can't bring myself to. I've heard it's good, but I mostly just resent it because I tend to resent books quasi-assigned over breaks. psh.

Speaking of books...well, I have no other great lead-in besides, I may be switching my major to Great Texts (of the Western Tradition). (<---is that parenthetical part typically included???)

anyways, here are some questions I have been asked so far:

Q: So, how is that different from English? (my current major)

A: Well, the classes sound cooler, and so do the profs. It sounds like some of the better parts of BIC, but more in-depth. And the booklists sound cool, too.

Q: What do GTX majors "do" with that degree?

A: Um, well, I don't have an answer for that now as an English major, so maybe this answer doesn't bother me like it should...but nothing specific. Even the website phrases this, oh so delicately: "Students in the applied arts may want to pursue a second major or a minor in Great Texts in order to strengthen their liberal arts background and broaden their educational horizons."

So maybe my answers aren't so great, but mostly, I'm just excited about the idea. And I have a few people I need to talk with to be sure about this decision, too. There it is.

My last thoughts:

I wish I was cool enough to wear this knitted headband thing, but I don't think I can pull it off. From the front, especially, I look like the lady on the cover of this book.

So I'll keep messing with it.

tomorrow=brunch, movie, and shopping with my little Wickett Erica Wickett. (The other sounds too much like "my little pony.") yayyyy!

anyways...off to more Big Bang Theory :)

1 comments |

admission of failure?

Tonia

Nothing significant, except a quote and a sort of response poemish...in light of this week, it's humorous that I'm posting, but this has been on my mind lately.

"What is this praise He's after? It is Praise Living. It is GOD leaning in and shouting, "I am the center!" and the sum of our lives nodding back in agreement." --D*Crowd, Praise Habit

Piety.

If my life were a pie,

cut accordingly,

You might not get a slice.

She might get one,

and one for her as well,

and maybe even one for him.

And I suppose

there would be one piece

for some others to share.

But the rest?

all for me.

I, a glutton of my own self,

would feed on the largest part.

And maybe I would feel guilty,

with that weight

sitting heavy now in my belly.

Or perhaps I would just exercise

to distract myself.

And maybe, I would get so sick

that next time, I would

give away more slices.

But You? Not a sliver.

If I were clever (or pie-ous?), I would say,

"You don't need a piece,

for You are the whole pie. You are both

center and crust, sustaining and fulfilling."

And well, maybe I can say that.

But really, if it came down to it,

I would be content with the entirety

and a fork.

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