kis•met \ˈkiz-ˌmet, -mət\ - noun; often capitalized

1. fate.


'tis the season

image found here

well, almost. 
i love christmas so much. all of the decorations already up in the stores make me so happy. and while i don't start listening to christmas music until after thansgiving, i couldn't pass up this adorable picture. everything about christmas is just so magical. the anticipation is killing me.


customer service

Today, as I perused through the blogs that I read regularly, I came across my friend Amber's blog. She's one of my dearest friends, and has an adorable baby boy. (Just scroll through her blog to see the pictures). Today, she wrote an amazing post about customer service and how people should really give customer service representatives a break. As long as the representative isn't being rude to you, they're usually doing everything they can (and are authorized to do) to help you out. As I currently work in a similar department, I've experienced everything she's talking about and more. 

Read her post about it here.


Do it yourself: rope bracelet.

Today I went to J. Crew and bought a cute skirt on clearance just so I could do this:

I saw this amazing tutorial for a do it yourself: rope bracelet made from the handles of the J. Crew bag. I modified the big knot at the bottom of the bracelet a little, but my way worked just as well. It was wonderfully simple to make, and the tutorial I found explains it all so well. 
(which is especially great for the artistically challenged, such as myself)


stella, the water cat

taken using the 8mm camera app   
music: "singin' in the rain" from the motion picture soundtrack


pen pal

I have a friend from high school who now teaches fifth grade in Morogoro, Tanzania.
He needed pen pals for the girls in his class, so I volunteered to get to know one of his students through perhaps my favorite medium, the written word. I am now anxiously awaiting my first letter from a fifth grade Tanzanian girl, and I cannot wait to get to know her, and about what life is like in Morogoro. Learning about other cultures is one of the best ways to expand your knowledge of the truth and beauty that exists in the world. I thrive on it.


life according to some pictures

1. storm clouds. 2. rubber ducky and the rain 3. my fuzzy kitchen helpers
4. my new hair cut. 5. the city at night. 6. the mountains before the snowy season.
7. the temple all lit up. 8. rain (can you tell that i love it?) 9. my kitty loves me.


because i love my cats

The picture in the middle is my favorite. It was Stella's first time seeing rain. 
She was mesmerized, and wouldn't leave that window.


the king has returned

remember this post?

Last night we saw The Lion King. It was the very first movie I saw in theaters, and was just as spectacular on the big screen yesterday as it was when I was five. It always has been and always will be my favorite movie. It's only in theaters for two weeks. Hurry and go see it.


just a little something i wrote about the culture i love so much.

The old women in their hats sit in the front pews with
Little children gathered at their feet to hear their stories -
Unaware of the wisdom they are taking in.
Simply enthralled with the tale of a bird, and a woman:
Blind. Wise.

The sweltering Southern summer breeze drifts -
Lazily through the open windows.

The preacher raises his arms.

"Let us be thankful (yes)
I said Let us be thankful (yes, Lawd)
For all the good in our lives."

Heads in the congregation nod their agreement in unison.

The choir stands and sings songs of freedom.

They are here.
Mr. Hughes,
Dr. King.
Their spirits, palpable.

The rich harmonies wash over us,
Floating effortlessly on the thick, sticky-sweet air:

"Oh freedom. Oh freedom. Oh freedom over me!"

Amen, brother. Amen.

"spirituals"  |  a.                      


Ingonyama nengw' enamabala

Last night I saw the preview for the re-release of The Lion King in theaters.
I squealed like a little girl seeing kittens for the first time.
I am not ashamed.


I am a writer, and I will write.

I had a realization last week while walking to work, listening to Fleet Foxes, and enjoying the cooler air that brings hope of Fall. It came in the form of a Jack London quotation. "You cant wait for inspiration. You have to go after it with a club." I was in a particularly downtrodden mood at the time, lamenting the fact that I had nothing to write about, no good ideas, and thinking all sorts of other equally pessimistic thoughts. It was then that Mr. London came to mind. Right when I needed him. Thank you, Jack. It really was as perfect as timing can be. I realized - though I'm pretty sure I already knew it - I cant just sit around waiting for inspiration to permeate my thoughts. Fabulous ideas take time. Work. Cultivation. More work. More cultivation. I need to write. write. write. Keep the good. Keep the bad because one day it might look good. I bought a new notebook and new pens. I'm ready. I really am. No more waiting to do what I want to do. It's time to just do. Just be. Exist. Think. Write. So, look out inspiration. I've got a club, and I'm coming after you.


read it. saw it. loved it.

I was the youngest in the theater by thirty years. Why no young people were there is a mystery to me. From my next to last row perch, I can see everyone. A group of four women, silver hair dyed blonde, chatted gaily about the upcoming feature. "There's one part you might not like," one says to the other. The miscarriage scene. That has to be what she's referring to. Two other slightly less silver haired ladies sat quietly on the other side of the room. I'd like to think they were contemplating the depth and importance of what we were about to take in, but I'm probably wrong. A man enters alone. Moments pass. A woman joins him. She was probably in the bathroom, but I like to think that they are lovers, meeting for the movie under cover. A secret rendezvous away from their normal lives. Two men sit together. They look happy. I'm happy for them. Then I wonder: Are any of these people Southern? Do they know what its like to live there? What do they think of the South? Don't think that Southerners are like the awful women in the film. We're not. Promise. Maybe in the past. Not now. It's not the norm.

Then the film starts. I am instantly enchanted. Transported through space and time. Those accents. That scenery. My heart ached for that place. I could almost feel the warm, humid breeze I saw rippling through the leaves of the weeping willow on the plantation. I closed my eyes. I was in the South again. The air is humid, but clear; no city smog exists here. Summer afternoon thunderstorms occur almost daily from June until September. Thousands of stars light up the night sky. Symphonies of crickets, cicadas, and frogs provide the accompaniment to the rhythmic creaking of our front porch rocking chairs. It is quintessential countryside - the perfect small town. Life is different here. Everything moves slower. Its quaint charm has a hypnotic effect. Once you go country, you never go back. My heart smiled. For two and a half hours I was there. In the South. My South. Then my eyes opened again as I walked outside to my reality, and realized that I need that place more than anything in my life.


just lovely.

image found here.

"I am awestruck, excited, smiling inside creamy as a cat." 
Friday, 8 August 1958 | sylvia plath


it's just home.

Nothing made my heart leap quite so much today as seeing area code 803 on my caller ID at work. That's my area code. Home. I ended up speaking with someone who knows, me, my family, and told me, in that sweet Southern drawl, how much she loves my granddaddy. These are my people. Home. Always will be.What is it about the pull of home that is so strong? Authors have explored this theme at length. I think it's best summed up in the words of an old man from Georgia I talked to the other day: "[at home] we understand each other."



I just stumbled upon this article the other day, and since I tend to side with Fitzgerald on the exclamation mark, this article really says it all.

The article had me positively laughing out loud - mostly because it is nothing but the truth.


A Tale of Two Cats

A few weeks ago Chloe saw a moth in our house. Since then, she's convinced that every little dark spot - be it a shadow, a dark spot in the pattern of the kitchen tile, or a speck of dirt - is a bug. She chases these "bugs" all day long, but when she sees a real bug, she loses it. She stares the bug down while meowing at it. I'm not sure what she thinks that will do. Then she runs to find me, uses her "I just found a real bug" voice and takes me to where the bug is. All normal kitty instincts to hunt are lost one this one. Clearly, she's been a house cat her entire life. Stella, on the other hand, is an adventurous little kitty. We think she must have been a stray before we got her. Stella chases the bugs down. She pounces. She eats them. All we have to do is kill the bug or knock it down, set Stella in front of the bug, and it'll be devoured in the next few seconds. All the while, Chloe still meows in the background.



rememory: almost like you've lived it before, and you're just remembering it again. like de ja vu, but stronger. more real. more concrete.

heavily prevalent in african-american literature. both beautiful and mysterious. much like african-american literature itself.

i love everything about this genre of literature. their beliefs, their customs, their ideas. it makes me more aware of all beautiful and true things around me.


happy birthday, freddie

image found here.

Happy birthday to one of the best voices and most talented performers to ever grace this planet. We miss you, Freddie. You left us all too soon.

To see Google's birthday doodle tribute to Freddie, click here. It's nothing short of amazing.


i graduated with a degree in english.

Does it bother anyone else when someone says your expertise is something other than what it is? Lately, at work, people have been saying that I have a background in technical writing. Yes, I am a good writer, but my background is in literature and literary criticism. Technical writing is mostly the writing of manuals and forms. Not what I do. My specialty is reading, analyzing, and writing about books. Specifically, Modern, Postmodern, and African-American books. Do any of you get upset if someone (who knows what your actual specialty is) says it's something different? Maybe I'm just the odd one, but I worked hard for that degree in English - not technical writing. 
rant = over.


midnight in paris

yesterday i went to the broadway theatre downtown to see the movie midnight in paris, per my dear friend elizabeth's recommendation. it was the most delightful film i've seen in ages. from the beginning montage of sights around paris set to what we've come to know as quintessential french music (which only escalated my deep-harboring wish to be an ex-pat and move to france. i have to do it now. it's settled.) to the depictions of the characters. zelda and scott fitzgerald were spot-on, and hemingway was exactly as i imagine him to be - arrogant and obsessed with courage, valor, and fighting. not to mention dali's love of rhinoceroses. the message of it all is perhaps what i loved most - be happy with your present. you can do with it what you want. 
two thumbs up for an excellent film.



tonight we went to provo because spencer's company was a part of a recruitment fair for the business school. while he was off recruiting on campus, i was reliving the glory days with two of my former roommates. first i visited melanie. we went to the store, bought ice cream, went back to her house and relived the 90s - we watched home improvement while sharing a bowl of delicious ice cream. it was so fun catching up on each others' lives.

then i visited elizabeth. we sat at the kitchen table drinking water (which i promptly spilled all over the table - spoiler: i'm a klutz) discussing life, love, and literature - the three most important L's. we talked about all things beautiful and true. from people to postmodernism, poetry to plath. we discussed it all. we talked about the classes she was taking (she is also an English major) and it made me yearn to be back in an academic setting discussing books. there was that little flutter in my stomach at the excitement of sitting in a circle talking about authors and the beautiful things they do with words. talking about literature is just good for my soul. it really is.


book club.

In church this past week, this notice was passed around. All I saw was "book club" so I snatched one up in hopes that it might yield some intellectual discussion about literature. I was wrong.

In case you can't read it (I crumpled it up and gave it to my cat as soon as I realized the lack of intellectual stimulation such a gathering would provide) it says that "Elsa Jean will review the book Pollyanna." Firstly, Elsa Jean is old. Elderly, even. Not that old people aren't intelligent, but the choice of book is a tip off that this isn't going to be the type of discussion I'm used to. Secondly, Pollyanna? Really? It was fine when I was ten, but even then, not really. I was more of a Tolkien girl at age ten. The best part is that they want suggestions of books to read and review. I feel pretty secure in saying they don't want the books/authors that I'd recommend: Morrison, Plath, McCarthy, the Russians, Shakespeare, Danticat, Hemingway, etc. Then again, maybe I'll go and see if anyone is open minded about some good literature. Wishful thinking.

Why is it so nearly impossible to find a book club that discusses real literature?