November Memories

November seems to bring out the nostalgic in me – perhaps the beginning of cold days and nights trigger memories. Novembers of past years all seem to hold very sentimental events in my life thus far; from the end of school (possibly forever!) to my trip to Paris.

I still cannot believe that it was really a whole year ago when I took my last test, wrote my last essay and received my last grade. Sometimes I feel as though we have been so conditioned since birth to education that it is like a cup of cold water to the face once said education is over. Of course, the argument will be made that our education is never over, and I do agree. But school does have an end. Isn’t it amazing that something that was once such a horror and a drain (and so complained of) can be missed? All the while through High School and then College I yearned for the day that freedom would come. No more forced tests and no more learning of subjects that held no interest whatsoever. But after the first shock of no school ended, I soon found myself trying to contrive some plan of getting back into the classroom. The grass is always greener, and we never know how good we have it till we are thrust out of our so called prison.

For the past few days Paris has been on my mind; the streets, shops, café’s, rain, river and voices through the alleys. Perhaps I have romanticized it since it’s been ages since I last roamed the streets there, but I suppose that’s what Paris, France really is – a bit of a fairy tale. It has been a while since I last thought of my trip there, as I was 16 when I went, but it makes me smile and sigh for the sights and sounds once more. Paris is one of a kind and once you’ve been you have to return – or else spend your life dreaming of it. Sometimes I fear going back to places that have strong memories tied to them. Not that I have any bad memories of Paris! But more out of fear that the memories have a rosy glint over them.  And so I spend the week with my thoughts in French accent, craving the authentic French restaurant down the highway and dreaming of crowded streets full of starving artists, scribbling writers and the fashionable.

And so I sit here listening to the strains of Brooke Fraser and thinking of Thanksgivings gone by. Over the years I have much to be thankful for – and many blessing to thank God for!

Happy Thanksgiving and God Bless,

~Aithne Someris

* Enjoy:

Brooke Fraser Song Playing Now

The Scraps

Just a few scraps of the poems written tonight:

~October~

Fall has come but Summer laughs

The warm breeze is heavy with Summer memories

And the pond smells of fish and sun

But the leaves still dance

Gold and red in the sun

*This next one was put into my head after the church sermon tonight on insecurity :)*

~Enough~

Most of the time I feel

Less

Less than I should be

Less than I am

Not enough for this

Definitely not enough for that

And sometimes I feel

Enough

But rarely

Does that happen

A compliment

Might satisfy for a moment

Praise can last a day

But in the end -

Not enough

But - Always 'but'

He can give 'enough'

The Lord is always enough

And He makes me

Enough

~A Name~

a name

is such a curious

thing

small and common

yet precious

to a select few

owned but freely given

to so very many

souls

hidden meanings

full of

obvious traits

a name is you

but are you the name

in the end?

~Aithne Someris~

Just Strummin' Along...or Not

So I’ll confess it: I always wanted to be a singer/songwriter.

I can just see it – sitting there on the street corner with a scuffed up love worn guitar across my jean clad knees while I strum and sing lyrics that I scribbled in pencil. I sometimes wonder if real singer/songwriters have this same dream in their head. I think not. They probably see what they do as normal as they way I see going to work 8:30-5:00 every day and making it in the daily grind; as novel as making my morning cups of coffee.

I always loved the idea of making a living off of writing poems and making them into songs to share with the world… or at least my little corner of the world. But then again, this is just not my calling. Or so it seems at the moment.  The fact that I couldn’t play the guitar to save my life is one obstacle in my path. And then there’s my poem writing….esh…no songs coming from that region!

Yes, I’m one of THEM.

I really do love how shocked some people are when they find out that I was homeschooled. The popular stereotypes for my ‘type’ are so prevalent among ‘normal school’ kids/adults that I sometimes think that a book should be written for them to peel back the curtains and see what we really are like.

Although, on the other side: many of our stereotypes are pretty accurate. Like social skills for example. We really don’t have any. Since we’re locked up in our room with a thousand thick text books to make us into geniuses there really isn’t time for being out and making friends.

Haha, not really. But honestly, one day I will write that book. The one that dispels all of the rumors that go around about us poor unsocial homeschoolers. And I won’t even have to leave my room!

Au Pairing…um…no. Not now. Not ever.

A good friend of mine just got the marvelous job offer of au pairing over in Europe for the next few months to a year. The lucky girl wrote to me about all the details which sounded so exciting and wonderful coming from her. She ended her message saying that I should honestly look into au pairing and that it would be a wonderful opportunity to travel over to Ireland perhaps and make money at the same time.

She meant well, but what she didn’t know is that I honestly could not au pair. Well, I mean, I could , but I won’t.

I babysat consistently from the time I was 11 to age 18. And I have all the horror stories that come with watching of children for seven years to make a buck: Getting locked in a room with a three year old and a baby for hours. The dog attacking me. Blowing up the popcorn. The cat that screamed like a human child and had the tendency to get stuck on high ledges. The kid that spilled blue milk on the suede lazyboy. The child that threatened to tell her mother on me for punishing her and her little sister.

Yeah, I’ve seen it all. And I’m just a bit convinced that seeing the same in a foreign country would not rid me of my lack of enthusiasm for watching strangers’ children.  But don’t get me wrong – I don’t see all children as little monsters. I just think that I am not the best person in the world to put in charge…something WILL go wrong.

Just thought I’d share:

I recently discovered that the beautiful song “How He Loves” done by the David Crowder Band was not in fact written by David Crowder (what can I say? I’m always assuming that the guy singin’ was the guy writin’!). But that song was in fact written by the talented Southerner John Mark McMillan after the sudden death of a good friend.

As I said above: I always wanted to be a singer-songwriter. But even though I will never be one, the singer-songwriter genre is a bit of a favorite for me. After I found this guy I bought his latest CD “The Medicine” and have been playing it ever since. I never really share music that I love here (well, besides the few songs below) but this guy is wicked talented and you can listen to his songs again and again. 

And now I leave you on this chilly fall night that is really only made for cozying up with a cup of coffee and a good book~

~Aithne Someris~

The Woes of an Empty Coffee House

It's way past my normal bed time, but after spending over an hour at the local coffee houses near me I’ve still got just a wee bit of a buzz going. I started at one local coffee shop tonight, but in the end I was back at my Starbucks (yes, mine – the amount of money I have thrown at the place should make at least my table mine).

Originally I had gone to the local Caribou Coffee not too far from my house, and I had sat there for at least 20 minutes with a pom-a-mango frozen drink in my hand and a pen in the other. But the fact was that the place was deserted! It was 7 PM and there was no one there. I had never really realized just how much the social aspect of a coffee house effects your enjoyment in the coffee and atmosphere. Suddenly the décor which normally is a perfect start for a novel (comfy and homey) was…boring and dull. I sat there for twenty minutes with the hope that someone interesting would come in so that I could people watch, but nothing. I nearly went home, but then I decided to go back to the old stomping grounds of the local Starbucks which is always hopping – and if not always has interesting characters brewing the coffee.

I walked in the familiar door with new decorations, but still the same old Starbucks that I have spent countless hours and pennies on in the past four years.  There really is something about always going back to the same-old-same-old. As I expected it was very busy; I almost thought I wouldn’t be able to find a table! It was quite a contrast to go from an empty coffee house to one that was thriving. I love people watching and this was going to be interesting. Sometimes I wonder if the staff at Starbucks takes hits of espresso in between making drinks – the level of happiness at times is quite shocking! Suffice it to say, between the good black coffee and the very nice guys working as baristas tonight I have to say that I’m not quite sure if any of my money is going to Caribou any time soon.

I recently finished the third and final book in the ‘Hunger Games’ series by Susan Collins and it was wonderful to be reminded of how a book can just suck you right in. Since I have been working full time there has really been limited time for reading. And as I am no longer working at the local library no longer can I get to see the new books traipse onto the shelves for my reading pleasure.  But I had the delight of spending a lovely twenty-four hours deep in this book – although I did have to go to work during the day – but within one day I had finished. When a book is well written it can take you over. Suddenly you find yourself looking out to space thinking over what a character would have said to the comment the person sitting in front of you just made. And impossible things can suddenly seem only too probable. My favorite books are the ones that make you think. The ones that leave you with questions on what you believe about the world long after you’ve closed the pages. The book that forever changes how you see something; whether it be pearls or forks. The kind you have to read two or three times to grasp everything that the writer was trying to say with that one character or line of thinking.

And that’s all for the moment,

~Aithne Someris

The Blog Post That Was Never Written...

I get a new blog post idea at least three times a week. But do I act on them? No. Sadly I get many ideas and then never have the time to type them out. Or, I get an idea and after smiling to myself over what I would say or how I would phrase this thought when all of a sudden I just loose it – both the desire to write out that post and the imagination to do so. I have no clue as to why that is, but tonight I thought that it would be a great idea to write a blog post with ‘excerpts’ of blog posts I could have written…it’ll be like I actually wrote them out completely! Or not….

What Would You Do? So a few weeks ago I became just a wee bit addicted to this television show. The premise is half Candid Camera (anyone remember that one? Or am I too old?) and half news reporting(ish). The show will set up scenarios that all center on the general public having to make a choice of what to do. I must admit it is interesting to watch – because you sit there in your comfy house and you’ve already judged what you would do. And you wait for that one (or ten) person who will actually do what you believe is the right thing. Of course this show mainly centers on trying to get a reaction; many time the show producers will amp the tension by telling their actors to make a bigger scene…

The funny thing is – that sometimes I’m not quite sure that there should actually be a reaction. Many of the more ‘tame’ issues and scenarios are really not that big of a deal. And I do not honestly see society falling into decay over them. But that’s just me.

Venting. Yeah, it’s not pretty. But sometimes it’s needed. Ok, so that last sentence was false.  Venting our problems seems to be quite addicting and contagious. I’ve seen it first hand and how it can just tear apart an otherwise grand time with people. One minute you’re commenting on how the weather sucks and the next thing you know the person in front of you is telling you all that is REALLY wrong with the world. Like their job, their manicure, their car or their life in general. I’ve noticed one alarming trend – or affect that this can have:

The person you vent to now has a sudden urge to vent to someone else. Now, it’s not only the weather that sucks. Work is horrid too. Their nails are chipping. Their car needs work that they can’t afford. And life is just….suckish. I say all of this from experience – it happened to me only everyday this past week. After listening to people list out faults I would drive home in silence. And then give my mum the whole spiel on why life/work/car sucks right now.

Being a writer. It’s awful really. Once you’ve discovered the joy of writing down your thoughts and wistful story plans, not writing is like death. Something is just missing. And sadly this whole writing thing takes time to do; time to think it through, time to type it out, time to get the courage to post or send to an editor.

Suddenly, if you’re not writing – you feel like your entire mind is mush. Blank. Useless. And if you don’t have the time to write….

Although at times I know that I really DO have the time. It’s just being used in different ways right now. Like sleeping, reading, and zoning out after work (normally with my laptop).

*my word, reading this a few hours later I see that I am quite the over dramatic writer when the mood and coffee strike...*

Traveling the world. Why do I get such a strong sense that the few states and countries (France and the UK) are not enough for me? I can feel my feet itching so often now. Even the city seems to call to me.  Sometimes I’m not quite sure if my mother ruined me. I grew up with all of the stories from her about the many places she went to after leaving home at 17. Switzerland, Africa and Nepal are among that many countries that I can see in my mind due to the stories that have been my heritage.

She has ruined me. For now the one week vacation to Paris when I was 16 is no longer enough to satisfy my lust for the new and far away. The glips I saw of London when we went for one day is but a teasing memory.  I honestly have no idea what the travel is supposed to do for me. It’s not like I ‘need’ to go. I could probably become a fairly well rounded person if I just stay in my small town within an hour of the city….but what fun is that? Here I am at 19 a college graduate with a full time job and life is becoming a bit stagnant. I’m thinking an overseas adventure is needed…

And that’s about all from me for now.

Till the next thought takes me captive,

Aithne Someris

p.s. I never re-read this post before publishing it - forgive any typos :)

Just a Little Post About Nothing and Everything

Tonight I sat in the local Starbucks with two newly purchased books in front of me while my left hand held my favorite blue ink pen and scratched across the blank pages of a 'random thought' journal. The grande mocha sat to my right as I alternately read, wrote and sipped. The two books before me were already holding a place on the book shelf at home. But I often feel that when Borders sends a 40% off coupon it is my duty to use it. And so before heading off to Starbucks I made a quick stop and picked up a new version of some books I already owned. Although in my defense – I like these versions better for the quality of the books. These come with soft supple pages and covers that make it easier to sit up half the night in bed reading your eyes out. Which in my opinion is a good thing.

The first book I repurchased was ‘Mansfield Park’ by Jane Austen (don’t even get me started on Ms Austen!). I know that I’ve read it before (most likely ages ago), but I have been in quite an Austen mood for the past month or so: re-reading “Persuasion” (my absolute favorite) and “Pride and Prejudice” (Mr Darcy, anyone??). Although ‘Mansfield’ has never been a favorite I feel that that alone should make me read it again. I always disliked Edmund…to so miss Fanny who was right in front of him for so long! And for Fanny to sit by as he ran after another woman! Although the more you learn about the culture at the time the more the story makes immense sense. And so I have decided that it is time to give Mr Edmund another chance – and another reading.

On the opposite side of the spectrum sits my other book. “Wuthering Heights” by Emily Bronte; such a contrast! With its dark, brooding and at times dubbed satanic ‘hero’ and the willful, selfish and fierce girl he loves to obsession. A wee bit different from Ms Austen, eh? This is a book I love and hate at the same time. I have yet to fully read through the whole thing. I have started ‘Wuthering’ twice only to come to the part of the book when Heathcliff comes back mysteriously rich and begins to take out his revenge on the people of his youth. For some odd reason both times I ended my reading at that moment. I love the early part of the story, but the ending is a bit of a downer.  I once picked up the book and paged to the end just so I could read what happened to them all.  I suppose Heathcliff’s end is not so surprising…. It’s just as dark and mysterious as himself. But now I plan on actually reading the whole thing through – the good – the bad – and the horrid. But I have to say that I love the dark mood of the book at certain times. When I read it it’s like I can feel the wind wiping the trees into a frenzy and rapping against my window. I see the dark moors laid out before me.

I fear I’ve been quite out of ideas for writing in the past three to four months. I’m not quite sure why that is. At times I can begin to see the outline for a story in my head, only to find an hour later that I have dismissed it for some reason or another. Writer’s block perhaps? It’s bad when the only things I can think to write of are my recent book purchases and sitting in Starbucks.

But, in life news: I am still working full time. Which is quite a change from full time school – but I’ve adjusted to it just about completely now. The good thing about working full time is that it has given me a chance to save up for some things I’ve been dreaming about doing for a long time now. The first thing on the list is to travel to Ireland. So I’ve been setting that up for next Spring – I’m pretty excited! Although this trip will be a bit odd for me: I will be going alone and I’ve never really done that for a long trip. Add to that the fact that it’s in a country I’ve never been to and I’m a little nervous! But I’m 99% sure I’ll be fine J.

Until the next time my random thoughts get down on paper,

~Aithne Someris

~ Revival ~

Revival

Like a breath of wind through sturdy trees

With the power to bend, but not break

Like the current of a green stream

That can smooth a stone but not crush a tadpole

Revival comes upon us all

The call, the voice, the urge

To change, to grow, to strengthen

Determination

To pursue with greater passion

To run with longer strides

Awake

Eyes bared to see the world as it is

Not as we wish it was

Like fingers of lightning touching the soul

Revival comes in a moment

A New Beggining

Well, I fear every time I write a new post I am apologizing again for not having done one in quite a while. So, I have decidedly chosen NOT to apologize since I have been one very busy woman! To give you a bit of an up-date: I recently got a full time job which would be why my writing went from a few poems/story lines a week to just about nil. But I have made up my mind that I do not want to leave writing all together, and since I know that I need loads and years of more practice - the best time to start would be now!

Here is a poem hot off my Word program written exactly two minutes ago. It's a very dramatic poem basically about my poor wee clover plant that recently started to die. Thankfully I put it in a newer and bigger pot today and am hoping that all will be well and I shall see more green clovers soon. On that note - Here is "Withered" (a word I do quite enjoy, don't you?)

Withered

Once so full of life, now you break apart in my hands

Crumbling into fragments of what you were

Translucent and pale, without the green blood of life in your cheeks

Crinkling when I reach my fingers to caress your white skin

My heart breaks for the lost glory of your full beauty

Has death claimed the final victory over you?

From my hands I pour life water into your dry mouth

Hold onto it with all that you have

Lifting you, I take you from your confined prison – placing you in a seat of healing

Is that a spark of life I see? Or just a glimpse of what used to be?

This picture above is of my little clover plant in its infancy. But now it has out grown my red coffee cup and I had to go and buy it a larger pot. Hopefully it will survive!

An Up-Date and a Wee Peep at a New Storyline!

Hello All!

It has been quite a while since I last had time to write...and I still don't really have the time. But today I decided to indulge in a day of typing away at some story ideas I've been inspired with in the past month.

As you know from my last post - my main focus these last few weeks has been to put 100% of my efforts into finding a job. This meant that I had goals every week - such as to make 15 contacts a day. Whether that be filling out an application, sending in my resume, or speaking with a company that had an opening; I did my best to fulfill my goal each and every day. As you can see, keeping my current part time job AND trying to get in 15 contacts a day easily ruined any possibility of writing or creating new plots.

But, about a week and a half ago I finally got another part time job which helped greatly in freeing up some time that I had before spent trying to find another job. Unfortunately, this job is part time, so I am now trying my utmost to find a way for these two jobs to work together. 


Anyway, I suppose that that is the long and short of why I have been unable to make time for writing. But I have missed it quite a bit! Today I sat down for about 45 minutes at Starbucks and typed out a rough draft for a new storyline that I have been thinking about pursuing. Just to give you a rough idea about what I would like it to look like: I'm writing a story told from the perspectives of two people - both of whom are Lighthouse Keepers. One is a young female named Jenna who has just lost her father (isn't that original?). The state (South Carolina) has told her that if she wishes it she may take over her fathers job since he never had the time to apprentice another person before his death. The other is a young man, James Granger, who is also the keeper of a lighthouse, this one in Florida. The young man was a good friend of the girls father - they wrote each other for about 5 years. Jenna and James begin writing each other starting after Jenna sends a letter to James letting him know of her fathers passing. 


So far I am still trying to think through the entire storyline, but it felt good to get a wee bit of it on paper. I haven't done much fiction in a while, so please bear with me and keep in mind that not only is this a rough draft, but also that I wrote it in 45 minutes without much of a guide as to where I was going with it. I feel awful that I do not have the time to clean it up and polish it to the sheen I would like before thrusting it before your eyes, but I fear that at the moment that would not be time well spent. So, be kind ;), and let me know what you think!


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

                With a glance out the window, Jenna picked up the pen and began to try and write the letter. This letter would be very different from any other she had ever written. Father is dead. Her last living relative was gone. Just like all the rest, he had taken one last breath of life before closing his eyes to the world. 

                It was now one week later and Jenna was the only one left to write to her father’s few friends and tell them all that had passed. He didn’t have many. Being the keeper of a lighthouse was a lonely life. Jenna had been his closest confident, friend and keeper of the house below the light. But Jesse, her father, did have a small circle of friends that he had kept up with over years. There was Ben O’Riley the lighthouse keeper in Maine. Sam Garfield the lighthouse keeper in South Carolina was another man who had been Jesse’s friend ever since they met at the National Convention for Lighthouse Keepers in 1834.  Jenna tapped the pen on the paper; wasn’t there one more? Or right, James Granger in Florida. The lighthouse keeper. Being a lighthouse keeper meant that it was hard to make friends in the outside world. A lighthouse keeper was continuously busy keeping the light going. No one had time to go out into town and meet the boys at the local pub. Which meant that lighthouse keepers did the only thing they could; went to the bi-yearly Lighthouse Keeper Convention and meet up with other lighthouse keepers. After the convention they often wrote to each other for years.

So here sat Jenna, looking at the blank paper before her trying to figure out how to break the news of a death to men all over the country. 

                Dear Sam Garfield,

It is with a heavy heart that I write to you. I know that you and my father – Jesse Mayfield – were great friends for many years. This past week we had an accident here at the lighthouse. As my father was changing the oil in the light his cigar fell from his hands into the oil. This produced a devastating fire that my father was unable to put out. After trying for a few moments to put out the fire father began to descend the stairs to the house for a bucket of water. Unfortunately, he tripped as he was going down and fell from a great height all the way to the bottom of the flight of stairs. He retained great damage to his head, arms, and both legs were broken. I’m afraid he only lasted the night. By early morning’s light he was gone. I would like to thank you for your great friendship to my father and all I ask now if that you send up a prayer for me as it is looking like I will be taking over the lighthouse, as he never had time to train up an apprentice to take over his work here. Please ask the Lord on my behalf to grant me guidance in this new area of life.

In grief with a hope for a better tomorrow,

Jenna Mayfield~

                Three letters did Jenna write so. Signing her name to each with a sigh of heartbreak. Loosing father was devastating. But being charged with the lighthouse by the state was a miracle of utterly gigantic proportions. Not many women worked the lighthouses; only three females that Jenna had ever heard of, and out of that only one remained now still the ruler of the light. The keeper of the light; that was the general title for those charged with retaining a bright yellow beam from the tall instrument of rescue. If the light went out even once you could easily lose your job. And then where would you be? Many men who worked the lighthouses were unable to ever leave unless in the day. Some loved it; the tie that bound them to the lighthouse and the sea. Mainly the sea, that call was often stronger than the call of duty the bound them to the lighthouse.

~~~~~~~~

Ughness....just re-read what I had written after copying it here, and I must say - it needs loads of work! So, sadly I do not have time for that now - but with any luck I will soon have time a plenty to dedicate to this story.

With Craic and much Love, 

~Aithne Someris~

~ Only an Irishman Will Do ~

I feel utterly horrid for not posting anything for the past...uh...month! I'm afraid that I have been quite busy trying to find a job lately. After graduating college it seems that the next thing expected of you is to either marry or to find a full time job. I have chosen the later. This means that I have not had much time to write, although a week or so ago I had a funny thought for a poem/song (although I fear it is not song worthy) and I quickly typed it out. I feel that the first three stanzas are the best, I seem to have 'lost' it after that. But it was only done for fun in honor of my Irish lovin' friends. So here it is! Be kind, it was only done as a light little rhyme with no real purpose.

~ Only an Irishman Will Do ~

Only an Irishman will do

With sparkling eyes and a heart so true

I say no to all the others

Useless, useless lovers

‘Cause only an Irishman will do!

With heart as stout as his drink

And always ready with a wink

Hair as blonde as the barley waves

Or as deeply dark as the moorland caves

I care not, only be him an Irishman!

Blood as green as the ocean coast

And wit as quick as he can boast

As stubborn as the day is long

Firm arms to wrap me where I belong

Safe with my Irishman!

Eyes that shine with flecks of gold

Or glitter with the green and blue of old

Freckles across his nose

A crooked mouth from which flows

Only an Irishman’s lilt!

A swagger filled with daring

A fellow who is bravely kilt wearing

Always kind and sharing

Is my Irishman!

Lines from smiles worn on his face

That my fingers can gladly trace

Broad shoulders to carry a load

Whether it is my hand or heart that I bestow

For only an Irishman will do!