Tchaikovsky changed my life today over a span of about twenty minutes.

                Anyone who knows me well knows that Shakespeare and music are two of my great loves. Anyone who knows me better knows that two of the things I complain about most are music theory homework and Romeo and Juliet.

My complaints about the former are typical of many of my peers: “I’m a performance major. I don’t need to be able to analyze instrumental scores; I’m a vocalist.” I have always had a great amount of respect and admiration for the music we’ve studied in the past, but I always argued petulantly while doing my homework that “picking these pieces apart and talking about them in such technical terms just takes out all of the artistry and expression. It kills the mood.

My issue with the latter is much more unique. I have been obsessed with Shakespeare ever since I could read. My parents had the complete works on a bookshelf in our basement, and I used to go down and read them aloud (albeit very badly, I’m sure) just because I loved the way the words sounded. As I got older, I started to really understand what they were all about, and began delving into all of the plays and dissecting every word to be sure I was getting the fullest meaning out of the text. It became one of my hobbies, and led me later to pursue an outside field (and eventual second major) in theatre. Shakespeare had no flaws in my eyes…except for one massive, important work: Romeo and Juliet.

I have never hated the play; I can see as well as anyone that it’s really well-composed and well-written. However, the more I studied this play (once in high school, twice in college), the more I felt completely disillusioned and annoyed by the characters of Romeo and Juliet themselves. As a child, I assumed that there was nothing more romantic than Romeo and Juliet because it was Romeo and Juliet. The issue I began to take with the play was that their relationship was completely ridiculous; I was that girl in high school who wouldn’t date because she thought high school students were stupid and immature and didn’t really understand what love is. Granted, I still think that. That’s why I started getting so annoyed with Romeo and Juliet. They were just two stupid kids who thought they had fallen in love at first sight, when in actuality they were just giving into to their raging hormones.

The last time I read this play, I had their relationship explained to me in a different way that made me hate them somewhat less. It was the idea that their relationship is supposed to be kind of ridiculous because it’s supposed to represent something transcendental and fated, not held back by conventions. “That’s great,” I said to myself, “but it still sounds like a lot of flimsy theatrical justification for a hurried romance.” I understood that Romeo and Juliet were supposed to act as a catalyst to end the family feuding, but I couldn’t get past the way their relationship itself seemed so unrealistic.

Today in class, we talked about Tchaikovsky’s Romeo and Juliet Fantasy Overture, and all of a sudden, my whole perspective on all of this changed. Tchaikovsky, it seems, understood the theme of this show better than any scholar I’ve ever read, and he expressed it better through his musical technique than any author has ever done with words.

Everyone knows the love theme from this piece, but I had never heard it in the context of the overture. This gorgeous, rich theme springs unexpectedly out of the midst of turbulent, violent music that perfectly captures the bloody brutality of the family feud. I finally understood: That’s the whole point!

Romeo and Juliet’s relationship isn’t about relationships at all, and it’s not really even about the family feud. Today I finally understood that the “transcendence” of their relationship is not the fact that they fell in love against all odds; the transcendence is that out of the darkness of violence, brutality, bloodshed, and hatred, a sudden light of heartbreaking beauty and innocence is born when it seemed that there was no hope for such to exist. Romeo and Juliet aren’t characters – they are an ideal of hope in the middle of terror. They are the sacrificial unblemished lamb led to the slaughter so that peace and justice can reign once again. The sacrifice of their pure, star-crossed, youthful love is what it took for forgiveness to be had. The tragedy is merely that something so hopeful had to die before the dream of a better world could be realized.

The point of all of this is that I learned two very important lessons today in a music theory class. The first is what I’ve already stated; that is, I finally understood the real meaning and theme of Romeo and Juliet. The second, though, is that music theory doesn’t detract from the art of music – music theory is the art of music. If it hadn’t been for our brief discussion of Tchaikovsky’s sudden chromatic modulation to introduce the love theme after extensive measures of violent, harsh music, I never would have understood the full theme of the play itself, and the masterful expression of the musical love theme would have fallen on deaf ears. I would have hummed along and thought, “Hm, this is a nice piece” without ever actually understanding why the piece is so brilliant.

I am finally convinced that music theory is not only relevant and important to my development as a musician, but that it is absolutely vital. In fact, it has proven to be relevant not only to the way that I approach music, but to my perspective on other things as well. So while this isn’t necessarily life-altering or earth-shattering, I feel very strongly about my change in perspective and just needed to share.

Sometimes I think my life is just a series of starting projects that I never finish.

The pattern ends now.

For the rest of this summer, I'm going to try my best to finish everything that I've started, or at least keep up with things that I've let go (....like this blog, and the other two that I have on blogger...)

Unfortunately, this will not be an easy feat. I've started so many different things that I will be overwhelmingly...well, overwhelmed.

Nevertheless, it's time for me to stop sitting around waiting for things to become accomplished. Now is the time for me to live my life to the fullest and finally get something done.

I'm starting with the guitar that I have owned since Christmas of 5th grade. I'm not entering 14th grade and have still not learned to really play it. The past few days has produced a solid F major chord, Dm7 chord, Gm7, and C7. (If that sounds a little random, it is--I picked a song to learn instead of just learning a series of common chords.)

Let's see how it goes. :)

I feel like I should just stop having expectations.

I also feel like our society has been conditioned to a sense of entitlement that I have always tried to fight against. I've never wanted to be a selfish person.

But conditions are conditions, and I have come to realize that I have been affected whether I like it or not. I have come to expect that on my birthday, I should have the right to be selfish and expect everything to go the way I want it. It's only one day, right?

But then I get my hopes up every year that my birthday is going to be some amazing day and that something spectacular or wonderful is just bound to happen...and then I get let down because life, of course, is not predictable.

So here I am, on my 19th birthday, alone. Studying for finals. Feeling very tired. And wishing that I had someone here to spend it with me. 63 of my facebook friends have wished me a happy birthday, but I haven't felt this lonely in a while. It's great that people thought of me, and it makes me feel very blessed, but I think I would rather have one person that I really care about sitting here with me and enjoying this day than having 63 people passingly think of me.

Oh gosh, I sound like some flimsy tragic heroine who can't do anything but whine. Someone please tell me to get over myself, because clearly I need to do so.

On a brighter note, the weather today was the most perfect it's ever been on my birthday. That in and of itself is pretty incredible. The natural world gave me a gift that no person could ever give. :)

Lately, I feel like my whole existence at this point in my life is just a paradox, a contradiction. It's so confusing.

I've always been a patient person, but I've always longed to know what the future had in store for me. Now, when I'm so close to adulthood and still not that far from childhood, I feel so in-between. I keep telling myself to be patient, that the future will be here before I know it, and I don't want to have any regrets when the present becomes the past. But at the same time, I'm so desperate for life to really start. I want to fall in love. I want to have a family. I want a career. I want so many things, but I can barely make up my mind about what I want to do right this second. How, then, can I expect to make these majors decisions about my life?

I feel like I'm talking in circles, but I think that's the point I'm trying to make. Everything just keeps going around and around, and I don't know what to do about it. I'm so ready to move forward and so terrified that I'm going the wrong direction, or that I'll make a mistake that will have some major impact on the rest of my life. I want to be careful, and I want to be reckless. I want to guard my heart, and I want to throw it away freely to the first man willing to cherish it.

I feel so young some days, like I have so much time between now and the future, but other days I feel like it's all just barreling toward me. I'm not sure which I prefer.

On another unrelated and completely related note, I've recently developed feelings for a guy that I don't even really know that well. He's in a class of mine, and in our somewhat limited interactions, I've really enjoyed what he's had to say. He's intelligent, thoughtful, pleasant, everything that I find agreeable. I want really desperately to get to know him better, but I don't even know if he's ever even really thought about me. I'm not in a place in my life that I think I could handle a relationship anyways, but I have this dread that I'll miss out on something wonderful if I don't at least try to get to know him better. Is that ridiculous? Am I just crazy and hormonal? Or is there something to all of this? I'm not really used to feeling so helpless. I like to have everything under control, and this is really throwing me off. What should I do? I don't even know where to begin. I've been so preoccupied with other things for so long that I've never really seriously thought about guys before. I've managed almost 19 years of not being concerned about dating, and all of a sudden this guy I barely know looks at me and I'm positively melting.

Patient. Impatient. Time is out of joint.

Priorities have a funny way of rearranging themselves without letting you know. One day you just wake up and think, "Huh. Things have changed. When did I miss that memo?"

For example, when I started this blog, I swore to myself it wouldn't be one of those things that I let fall by the wayside.

Here I am, and I haven't blogged in about three months. Pathetic.

But is it? I'm thinking about all of the things I've done instead. I've made about a billion new friends who have added so many wonderful facets to my life. I've assumed a leadership position. I've discovered a newfound love of swing dancing. I've completed my first semester of college. I've been out working on houses for Habitat for Humanity and helping raise funds for said organization. I've grown in my faith and closer to all of the people who matter most, even those that are physically much farther away than they used to be. I've become more confident, outgoing, responsible, independent, self-reliant. I'm having the best time of my life, and every day keeps getting better.

So what do you think, One Love? Can you forgive me for neglecting you? I'm sorry, but living became more important than just talking about life. :)

I can't believe it's been that long since I updated this blog.

What have I been up to? Well, I'm now the Director of Outreach for student government in my residence hall, and I've been working with Habitat for Humanity with several build sites as well as fundraisers and projects.

I've also been ushering at the IU Auditorium. And every Monday, I'm still swing dancing.

I've made a bunch of really fantastic friends, some of whom I barely knew a month ago.

Even now, I'm working on music theory with a few people that I've never met before. College is such a different experience. And it's completely entrancing. I feel like I'm always moving, always doing. Sometimes it's a little tiring, but I love every moment of it.

And yet, with everything that's going on, I feel at a loss for words. What do I really have to tell? My life is just that. Life. Right now, it's pretty fantastic, and I'm an incredibly happy person. I'm finding a lot of personal satisfaction in my faith, my schoolwork, my hobbies, and everything.

Then again, maybe I can't think of anything to say because it's 12:30 and my energy level is not great right now.

I promise to update more later. I apologize for my neglect of my favorite medium of expression.

...--particularly a first year theory course (not basic theory, but level 1 theory, if that makes sense)--might appreciate this.

I've been really bored lately, so I started writing/drawing a comic inspired by my music theory lecture teacher. Obviously, none of you probably knows Dr. Hook, but you still might get a kick out of the musical subtext and the situations that Dr. Hook (aka Music Theory Man) gets into, particularly if you've ever had to drudge through the nitpicky rules of part-writing.

So if you care to check out my somewhat pathetic handiwork (I'm no artist, and I don't pretend to be one), go to www.musictheoryman.blogspot.com

So yeah...that's about all I've been up to lately other than lots and lots of schoolwork and practicing.

Hope you're all doing well!

Love, Sarah

I love IU Auditorium. Why, you ask? Because they provide Bloomington with wonderful entertainment events.

This weekend, I had the sheer joy of seeing one of my favorite musical icons perform.

My love of Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons is a long history that I won't relate to you because I'm sure you would be bored, but I love their music and became even more obsessed when Jersey Boys came out on Broadway. That's yet another long chapter in the Frankie Valli saga involving a written correspondance with John Lloyd Young (Tony winner, star of Jersey Boys, most recently seen as Henri (the shop teacher with no fingers) on GLEE!) and seeing the show three times because he wasn't there the first two times.

I digress. (A phrase I use all too frequently...) I love Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons and I loved getting to see the story of their lives and careers on Broadway. Now, I have finally finished the story by getting to see Frankie Valli live.

The show was pretty incredible. For a 75 year old man, Frankie's still got it. It took him a few songs to work up his energy, but once he got going there was no stopping him. It helped him considerably that his current Four Seasons are gorgeous and very talented. It was so awesome to see people of all ages attending this show. Here I was, 18 years old, seating next to a couple who had to have been in their 60's. It was even better when a large number of the older generation got up and started dancing. I wish I had joined them. :)

My life is complete now, though, having heard Frankie Valli sing "Can't Take My Eyes Off of You" in person. That was pretty epic.

...if it ain't got that swing!

I learned to jitterbug over the summer. I loved it, even though it was pretty basic.

I recently joined IU Swing Club, and it is official.

I'm in love with swing dancing.

I'd always loved the idea of swing dancing (particularly since I'm OBSESSED with the 30's and 40's), and I'd danced before in the past with musicals and show choir and what have you. But this is so freeing. There is absolutely nothing like swing dancing. It's so social, so informal, but so classy and so amazing.

Now, my life revolves around Mondays when I get to go swing dance for a few hours. I get really excited when other opportunities to dance arise, like tonight at a local restaurant. They're featuring a swing band, and I really want to go.

The only problem is finding someone to go with me. Most of my friends are in break dancing club every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday...so I'm out of luck on that count. Hmmm.

..to an empty house.

This weekend, I am going back home to see a friend on her birthday.

This will be the first time I've been in my house since we buried my cat a few weeks ago. Both of my parents are out-of-town in Denver, Colorado.

I'm really not sure how I feel about this.

I need to go home and get some things for my dorm room, and I have to be in town tomorrow. I could just go home and come back and sleep in my dorm tonight, but I really don't want to have to drive an hour back to my hometown in the morning. Not to mention I don't really feel like driving back tonight.

But I have never enjoyed being home by myself. I'm easily spooked, and after my car got broken into a year ago, I've been even more ill-at-ease.

I just don't know. I don't know what I'm going to do to keep my mind off the fact that I will be completely alone in the house without even a small, comforting, furry animal to keep me company. The idea just creeps me out a little.

It's funny, I haven't really felt homesick this whole time. Then my parents left for the weekend, and suddenly I felt incredibly lonely. It's like, I can't feel homesick if I know they're only a forty-five minute drive away, but when they're out-of-state, I can't call them up in case of an emergency. It's not a good feeling.

Well, whatever. I guess I'll do whatever I have to do. I'll figure that out, I suppose.

I suppose I'm just checking in and saying hi. I'm feeling very happy and content today, and a blog seemed like a good idea.

How is everyone? How is life? How is anything? Talk to me. I'm in a listening mood.

I realized that the majority of my posts on the One Love have been comparable to a Russian short story. Excruciatingly long, in other words.

I spend so much time talking, writing about me and my life. Now, all I want to do is hear the stories of the rest of the world floating on the wind, whispering in my ear.

Hope everyone is well, and if not, I pray things work out for the best.

Love, Sarah

I realize the irony of what I'm about to say, which is that people need to stop complaining. (The irony being that I'm complaining about people who complain too much.)

But really, this is more constructive criticism than actual complaining. And please don't take it personally. This is totally stemming from a bad experience I had in my choral ensemble today, it has nothing to do with any of you. You're all too cool to make it on my "things/people that really bug me" list. ;) 

So here goes.

What purpose does complaining serve? Does it make things better? Do you magically get what you want out of life by letting out a little whimper and whining that you would be better off somewhere else or doing something else or being something different?

Please, do us all and yourself a favor and suck it up.

Life is what it is, and it's also what you make it. But you can only work with what you HAVE. Complaining is not making anything happen. Complaining is just wishing for different materials. You will never get anywhere in life if you stare at what's in front of you and look at your goals and think that the two can't go hand in hand. Yes, they can. You just have to find a different way to go about it.

For example, let's say someone in a, oh...I don't know...choral ensemble, maybe? Let's go with that. Someone in a choral ensemble is placed in the second soprano section. This person believes that he or she (...well, okay, I think we all know it's not a he, considering I totally just mentioned the voice part in question) would be much better suited to the first soprano section. This person proceeds to tell everyone who will listen and even some who won't that she would be so much better off in the soprano section.

What this person does NOT take into consideration is that:

a) there might be other people in the second soprano section that are by nature first sopranos

b) The reason said other sopranos and the certain someone in question were placed in the second soprano section MAY be that they just needed more people in that section than in the first soprano section

c) That said, it should potentially be taken as a compliment that they placed you as a second soprano because it could mean they thought you could handle it better than other first sopranos.

d) IT'S A VOICE PART IN A CHOIR! It does NOT mean that all of a sudden your dreams of being a coloratura or a prima donna at the Met are crushed to pieces. It means that for a semester you'll be singing in a lower range. That's it.

People seem to take everything so personally. They see what they THINK is the best position and assume they should be in that position. Maybe they should be in that position, but maybe they are where they are now because they have to pay some dues and work up to that position. Maybe it's a learning experience. Maybe it's a challenge. Whatever it is, it's all that you have and you should make the best of the situation.

The only thing you can accomplish by complaining so much is alienating yourself from other people. I'm not saying all complaining is bad. Everyone needs to complain now and then. It's a release. But please, complain to the people who will still love you at the end of the day regardless of whether or not you're being a complete diva. Don't complain to people you met five minutes ago who now feel that you are a person to be avoided.

Annnnd I'm off my soapbox. Sorry about that. I just needed to complain. ;)

This morning I buried one of the most loyal companions I ever had. For eleven years of my life, my cat Max was one of the most dependable and loving beings in my life. I know how dramatic I sound, but my cat and I were pretty near inseparable for a large portion of my life.

When we first got Max, I remember asking my parents, "Can he by my cat?" My mother's reply was that the cat belonged to the whole family. I didn't care, so long as my older brother Matt didn't try to claim him. We were very competitive as children. Regardless of what anyone said, though, I knew that Max would be mine.

I was right. Within a few months, Max would follow me around curiously, rub up against my legs, meow at me desperately in an attempt to get some extra food, which more often than not worked exceedingly well for him. (Did I mention that Max was 19 pounds when we got him? He was always hungry. Always.)

Within a few years, Max spent most of his time at my side or in my lap. He used to take his paws and knead my arm or rub his head against my shoulder. Many a time he sat on the back of the armchair in which I sat and draped his arm to rest on the top of my head. I don't know when it happened, but somewhere along the line I became his mother. My parents used to laugh about how attached he was to me. He loved everyone, but Max and I had a special bond.

I spent a lot of time on my own as a child. I didn't mind it. It was all just time to act out my lively imagination. Nevertheless, being alone did wear on me, whether or not I realized it at the time. Sometimes I would just feel so lonely I wanted to cry. Sometimes I felt a little invisible. Sometimes I really would cry, just hoping for someone to hear me and come running to hold me. Max always came. I can't count the number of times I held on to him when I was upset.

Even as I grew older, when things got rough, I would find Max and hug him tightly, listening to his incredibly loud purrs. He was so affectionate, so constant. He was an absolute blessing.

Two years ago, Max got pretty sick. We couldn't figure out what was the matter. After an entire summer of visits to vets and specialists, he was diagnosed with a degenerative cancer-like disease. They said he had maybe three to six months to live. Like the incredible cat that he was, he held on for two whole years.

During the time that he was sick he was never very happy, so we would take him outside for walks. He had always been an indoor cat, but he used to sit at the front door and just stare into the outside world like a part of him was missing. The night he died, somehow the garage door managed to open. My dad swears he closed it, but sometimes the garage doors seem to have minds of their own. Max got out, and my parents looked everywhere for him. I had no idea that he was even gone when I came home on Friday evening to make pizza with my parents. My mom got a phone call that evening that Max's body had been found.

They took us to the ravine between our house and the neighbor's. Max was stretched out, his arms lying in front of him like a rampant lion. They say cats don't smile, but I'm pretty sure they can after seeing the peaceful, happy expression on my cat's face. He had finally gotten to be where he'd always wanted to be. It was a fitting end. Between his outstretched arms laid two sprigs of bright red flowers. It was strangely beautiful, despite how terribly my heart hurt.

So, here's to Max, the best cat that anyone could have ever asked for. I feel so blessed to have been the one who got him.

<3 Sarah

I am, at heart, a people person.

That being said, I was also very shy as a child. I'm no longer shy, but I have trouble making friends with people if I don't feel like I connect with them on some level. I love meeting people and having a lot of friends or at least good acquaintances, but I always crave a very personal, close relationship with a good friend. I have that friend, but she's about two and a half hours away and neither of us has any way of seeing each other any time soon. We used to hang out a lot, and I'm having withdrawals from that close companionship.

THAT being said, I'm a little bit miserable right now. School is going really well. I love IU: the campus, the classes, the teachers, and the people in my classes. However, I've been so focused on getting down to business and making sure I'm being serious-minded about everything and managing my time that now, when I have absolutely nothing to do, I have no one to kill time with. I've met so many people, and I haven't disliked any of them. I've even hung out with a few of them on occasion. But I haven't really made a close set of friends, and right now I feel like that's exactly what I need.

A lot of relationships these days are so shallow. That sounds really cynical. Perhaps I should rephrase. I think a lot of friendships today are unhealthy because they are not based on a need for companionship but on a need for status or release from boredom. (Although I can honestly say I'm about at that 'release from boredom' stage.) I see all of these pictures of people on facebook with their friends. Sometimes I wonder how close some of these people really are. Sure, you go out and party with people, but do you really know them? Will they be there for you if something terrible happens, or will they look at you awkwardly and say, "I'm sorry. That really stinks."?

I'm not sure where any of this is coming from. Please don't misunderstand me; this is not a cry for help or anything drastic and desperate like that. This is merely me musing as the result of a rather lonely, uneventful day that has several hours left to go.

It's weird not being at home. At home I had my parents there, at least, if I needed some human interaction. I took that for granted. Way, way, way for granted.

Maybe I should go call them and tell them that. It's probably not a bad idea.

It's been a little while since I posted. I was going to post about my amazing experiences at GenCon (the major geek convention held in Indianapolis every year) the weekend of the 16th, but I never got around to finishing the post. I'll leave it at this: The people at GenCon are some of the nicest, coolest people I've ever met in my life. Everyone there is just so happy to be there. It's like everyone is completely equal. It's really surprising but very, very cool. I can't wait to go back next year.

The reason I didn't post my original GenCon spiel, though, is because immediately after that, I started packing for college. Three days ago, I loaded a ton of my stuff in the car and drove down to Bloomington, where I'm taking up residence for the next four years of my life (possibly more if I stay here for grad school). This has definitely been a different experience, but it's pretty wonderful.

The first day and a half that I was here, I was feeling lonely and anxious to make a set of friends to go around and do things with. I felt really out of place, like everyone else already knew each other and I was an outsider.

That was completely ridiculous. Less than fifteen minutes after I first complained to my parents, some of the girls on my floor invited me to a floor dinner. Our dorm's eatery closed early, so we went over to another dorm to grab some food. Afterward, we went with one of their friends to yet another dorm to help him paint the sign for one of his dorm activities.

Later that evening, a large group of us went to see I Love You, Man at the Indiana Memorial Union theater. I didn't really know any of them that well, but they still included me and I didn't really feel weird about it at all. Maybe I should have. I think not, though. I'm beginning to realize how amazing the process of going to college is. You are completely starting fresh. No one here (except for the people I went to school with) knows anything about who I was in high school. My accomplishments that meant so much three months ago are now nothing, but I'm okay with that. I'm excited at the prospect of gaining new challenges and new success and even new failures as long as I learn from them.

I love meeting new people, and this is definitely the place to do it. Last night I hung out with yet another random group of people I don't know playing games like Catchphrase. Turns out I actually did know one of them from five years ago. His sister was my cousin's best friend, and my cousin and I had gone over to his house to play cards one night when I was in eighth grade. He taught me to play Mao, which has been one of my favorite games ever since. It's a very small world. :) (Which is a little crazy, considering there are about 40, 000 people on this campus.)

After all the festivities and welcome week activities, though, I'm ready to start classes. I have nothing planned for today, which is weird for me. Saturdays used to be the only days I ever had anything planned. I think I'm going to meander campus and map out my classes. Or I might just chill around the dorm. Who knows? I certainly don't.

Wish me luck!

Love, Sarah

It’s been far too long since You’ve Got Mail came out. “Where has the good romantic comedy disappeared to?” we wondered. Nora Ephron’s brilliant 1998 screenplay was like a beacon, especially to book-store going, coffee-drinking Jane Austen lovers. It was fresh, it was lovely, it was everything a romantic comedy should have been.

And then good romantic comedies died.

The fact of the matter is that most of today’s romantic comedies are all about girls trying to find themselves a man. Sure, it’s a universal theme, but I think Hollywood forgets that many women would rather have movies appeal to their artistic and intellectual sensibilities rather than their hormones. (I mean, let’s face it, women deal with hormones on a daily basis. Do we really want to watch other hormonal women all the time?)

So what’s been missing?

The quest! The goal! The need for something greater, the need to find something worthwhile, something to keep us going. It’s a theme that applies not only to romantically-inclined women, but to all kinds of men and women everywhere. In You’ve Got Mail, the conflict was a woman trying to keep her family business alive in a climate barreling toward megastores. Who can’t relate to that?

But that was ten years ago. Recently, the only romantic comedies we’ve really gotten have been about oversexed fashionistas learning about life or about underappreciated lonely women who blossom into oversexed fashionistas. (I exaggerate, but you know it’s not that far from the truth.)

Finally, writer/director Nora Ephron heard our despairing cries and gave us an answer.

That answer is Julie and Julia.

On the surface, Julie and Julia is hard to classify. It’s not really a romantic comedy because it’s not about the romance. However, the relationships in these two stories (that of Julia Child, American woman trying to find success as a French chef, and Julie Powell, modern-day American woman trying to find success as a writer) are of the utmost importance, a fact which becomes clearer with every close-up on the characters’ hands as they work, wedding rings prominent.

The story of Julie and Julia is completely universal. They were both just two women trying to figure out what they were supposed to do with their lives. Julie finds inspiration in Julia’s story, and the parallels between the two women’s lives are beautifully drawn.

The script is fresh, funny, and at times very poignant and heartwarming. What’s great about Ephron’s screenplay is that it’s never cliché. Ever. She has mastered the art of taking everyday people and giving them a little bit of magic, but never letting the audience lose sight of the fact that these are everyday human beings. The fact that the movie is based on two true stories helps, of course.

Meryl Streep is inconquerable as Julia Child. It was simply a brilliant performance, enhanced by the excellent support of Stanley Tucci as Child’s husband, Paul. In their first film together since The Devil Wears Prada, Streep and Tucci never let on for a second that they are actors. They have impeccable chemistry, and I hope to see them together in films more often.

Amy Adams sheds the Enchanted glitter and the Miss Pettigrew glamour for a lovely performance as an earthy, at-times-insecure, low-level-government-working woman. Chris Messina does a very nice job playing support to Ms. Adams as Julie Powell’s very loving and supportive husband, Eric.

The thing I love most about this movie, however, is not the plot, not the actors, not even the script. The thing I love most about this movie is the way it portrays the importance of a strong marriage. We’re living in a world where divorce is commonplace and families are being torn apart on a daily basis, and most of us just ignore the problem until the problem becomes our problem or the problem of a family member. The fact of the matter is that marriage is not what it used to be, and people don’t see it the way they used to. In this movie, it’s made very clear that neither of these women could have gotten where they were if their marriages had failed. At one point, Julie and Eric have a big argument and he leaves. Julie makes an effort to fix what’s wrong, and Eric comes back shortly thereafter. Isn’t that the way it’s supposed to work?

Overall, Julie and Julia is an absolutely delightful film that will make you feel really good at the end of a long day, or really at any time of day at all.

Be warned, however: You will inevitably leave the theater feeling incredibly and inexplicably hungry.

Until my ear surgery from four years ago decided to fail me. Basically, my hearing bones were destroyed by a few rogue skin cells (yes, skin cells), and I had to have them replaced with a titanium prosthesis. Which is not nearly as cool as it sounds. Apparently, having a few bones replaced with titanium does not give you super-hearing, and thereby does not make you a superhero...darn.

However, a few months ago my ear decided it was tired of having the piece of titanium holding it together, and so it began to shove it back out through my eardrum. Once again, I was left with seriously damaged hearing in my left ear.

Which is really problematic for a vocal performance major with an outside field in theater. Hearing is a very important part of those things.

Today, I was once again blessed with the gift of restored hearing via a small pink triangular box with a little wire that wraps around and sits in my ear canal.

Yes, I now have a hearing aid. I used to HATE the idea of getting a hearing aid, back before my first surgery when they discussed the possibility of me needing one if the surgery failed. Mainly, it was a vanity thing. Now, however, I'm very intrigued by this tiny device that allows me to hear on my left side again. It's really incredible what they can do these days. My hearing aid is so small and inobtrusive (nothing like the giant screechy flesh-colored earplugs my grandparents wear). It sounds kind of like listening to everything through an iPod earbud. It's kind of cool, really. So I feel very lucky to have it, and I'm ashamed of my former reluctance to sacrifice a modicum of normalcy to wear a hearing aid.

In other news....

22 days and counting until I leave for college. Last weekend I went down to Bloomington and recorded two demo songs to send to a potential voice teacher. I have been contacting teachers since January, and all of their studios were full. It's been an incredibly frustrating experience. However, I think I may have finally found a teacher who is willing to take me. I have heard wonderful things about her teaching, so keep your fingers crossed for me. My life next year is really going to be stressful if I don't find a teacher that will be a good fit for me and my voice and my personality.

...some halfway exciting news. Really, it's only exciting for me, but I thought I'd share. :)

I recently found out that I got fives on both my AP Literature and Composition and AP Music Theory exams. Fives are the highest scores you can get, so I guess it's kind of a big deal. I now have three Fives to my name (one from last years AP Language and Composition exam). So I feel pretty accomplished.

The sad thing is that I paid 80 dollars for each exam, and I can't even use the credit. Ah, little ironies of life. :)

I just received the call that the husband of my mother's close friend passed away this morning. He's been sick for a very long time, but there's this part of me that still felt like he wasn't going to die anytime soon.

I hate it when things only get put into perspective when something bad happens. Why can't we learn to take better care of the things we love before we lose them?

Even when he was really sick, he managed to come to my graduation open house. It broke my heart to see him that way, but I was so grateful for having him there. Now I feel completely awfully, though, because I didn't get my thank you notes sent out in time, and he'll never get to hear how much it meant to me to have him there.

I've been so absorbed in my life lately that I haven't spared enough thoughts for the lives of others, and now I am overcome with grief at my own selfishness. I made a mistake that I will never have the opportunity to make right.

Still, I know that as horribly as I feel now, this is a blessing. If nothing else, I have learned yet another lesson. I hope I have the strength to become better, if not for my sake then for the sakes of the people I love.

If you have a spare moment, please spare some thoughts or a prayer for the family of Howard Earles. He was a wonderful person, and he will truly be missed.

...until I see Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince! YESSS!

I now how lame I sound right now. :) But for being eighteen years old, I am still ridiculously in love with Harry Potter. I think I probably always will be.

I feel like a kid at Christmas, only more excited.

I'm particularly excited, though, because Book Number 6 happens to be my special favorite, and because I have a lot of hopes banking on this movie. Movie Number 5 really let me down. I was disappointed by it quite miserably, and so I'm waiting for HBP to redeem the film franchise for me.

So, my friends and I are going to stake out our local mall about two or three hours before the movie to make sure lines aren't already forming to get good seats in the theater. We got our advance tickets, but we want to try and get the best seats in the house. If possible, which it probably isn't.

But it gets even worse. Last night I went to hot topic, where I rarely if ever shop, just to get myself a harry potter shirt and sweatshirt to wear tonight. And I have the rest of my outfit--and the rest of my day--planned around this movie. I even made a mix CD and itunes playlist to play in my car and on my phone for my friends and I to listen to before hand. None of the songs are HP-inspired, though, so it's not AS bad as it could be...

I even stayed up til 3 am this morning just so that my body could prepare itself to drive home after the movie tonight--er, tomorrow morning.

I think it's time for me to get a life.

...was just put on this earth to make every other musician look bad. Maybe not every other musician. But she is so brilliant that I can't even be jealous. She's just amazing.

If you get a chance, I highly recommend you take a listen to her latest album, Far. My favorites include Laughing With, The Calculation, Dance Anthem of the 80's, One More Time With Feeling,....okay, well, they are all my favorites.

If you are looking for deep lyrics with a gorgeous blend of jaunty melodies and haunting legatos, this album is indispensable. In my opinion, which I'm sure differs from that of many other people. :)

Anyways, I'm off to shoot off some leftover fireworks with my friends. Farewell.

The title of my blog is perhaps misleading. In fact, I am not blogging to talk of love at all--well, no, I suppose that's not entirely true. I am talking about one very special love of mine, and that love is Shakespeare.

I have always had this insatiable desire to read Shakespeare ever since I was very young. From about the time I could read, I slipped down to my basement to take my parents' two-volume Complete Works set so that I could pretend I was a great actress, thou-ing and forsooth-ing, dying tragically and prancing merriliy upon an invisible stage. I owe all of my passion for the theater to Shakespeare, even though I didn't understand a single word of what I was reading for the longest time. But I just loved it, the way the words tripped off my tongue, dancing in the air before me. Everything sounded so wonderful.

Now that I understand the words being spoken, the awe and wonder I once felt has increased tenfold. Shakespeare is my little slice of perfection. Within his works is a line or two for every occasion, and often whole plays or sonnets perfectly suit certain moods.

My latest Shakespearean obsession is A Midsummer Night's Dream. I read it again a few days ago, and since have been devouring every word spoken by Helena in this play. Hermia may be the great beauty of the play, but I've only ever been interested by the unfortunate circumstances of Helena. What's more frustrating than a girl being led on by a guy, only to have him leave her to chase after her best friend, even after said best friend has expressed no desire to be wooed by said male? Helena really gets the shaft. Even in the end, she only gets the guy because the guy has been bewitched by a magic flower. How lame is that? I'm actually kind of railing against Shakespeare for this one, much as I love him, because it's just not fair that the only way Helena can be loved (or so it seems) is by trickery and magic. Not that she'll ever know that's the only reason Demetrius suddenly loves her again. Then again, without it, Demetrius may never have realized that he would never get Hermia and that what he really wanted had been in front of him all along. I guess I have mixed sentiments on the matter.

Regardless, I've been eating up this play like a starving animal, and Helena's lines just really speak to me.

"Things base and vile, holding no quantity, Love can transpose to form and dignity. Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind, and therefore is winged Cupid painted blind. Nor hath love's mind of any judgment taste; wings, and no eyes, figure unheedy haste. And therefore is love said to be a child because in choice he is so oft beguiled. As waggish boys in game themselves forswear, so the boy Love is perjured everywhere."

I love the way Helena is fully aware that while Demetrius is being stupid for loving Hermia, she is just as foolish for keeping after him. But the simple fact of the matter is that she loves him, and there's nothing to be done about it, no matter how silly she feels about it.

Love is such a nice word. Perhaps that's what draws me to this website. The One Love. For me, the one love is being connected to other human beings, real (like the other TOL bloggers) or fictional (like my beloved Shakespeare's characters).

After all, "the greatest of these is love."

Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind. Greater, then, is The One Love, which looks only with the heart.

Love, Sarah

(I realized as soon as I posted this that at the beginning of my blog, I said I wasn't going to talk about love, and I really didn't intend to. The blog was supposed to just be about how much I love Shakespeare. Somehow or other it came around to love itself, though. Thus proving that I am incapable of staying on topic. Haha.)

To all of the American bloggers, I'd like to wish you all an excellent Fourth of July weekend. I didn't blog yesterday because I was too busy celebrating by shooting off fireworks for five hours with my best friends in the rain. (And it rained all five hours, by the way.) I also paid homage to the 224th anniversary of the deaths of two of our nation's most influential founders, John Adams and Thomas Jefferson.

It's strange to think about how different our country is from the day it was founded so long ago, and yet one thing still rings true: the insatiable American appetite for freedom, something I pray we may never lose. I hope that in the coming years we, as a country, can renew our dedication to citizenship. I hope we can relearn to love those rights we have worked so hard to maintain. I hope we can relearn to appreciate the rich depths of history stored in the pages of our nation's past. Overall, I hope we can all appreciate what we have, and that we can continue to learn and fight for the things we so desperately believe in.

Happy (fifth) of July!

Love, Sarah

I had a very strange experience last night.

To begin with, I purchased the 1999 version of Shakespeare's A Midsummer Night's Dream yesterday for about $6 at Barnes and Noble (the one with Michelle Pfeifer, Rupert Everett, Stanley Tucci, Christian Bale, Calista Flockhart, et al.). I had a lot to do yesterday, so I didn't get around to watching it until about 11:00. By the time I finished, it was around 1 am.

I went directly to bed, and had possibly the strangest sequence of dreams I've ever had.

I don't quite remember all of it, and some of it is just too bizarre to relate (like not being able to remember if I'd taken tylenol or not, for no particular reason).

And then I was in some fancy gardens by moonlight, dreaming of random people I don't know and fairies and all sorts of bizarre things.

Then the dream shifted, and I was talking to my aunt and my cousin about a squirrel that had just been found. Apparently, this particular rare species of squirrel had been thought extinct, and everyone was so thrilled that one had been found. So we went out to an open field at the foot of some rolling hills, where a whole crowd of people was gathered to see the squirrel (which could fly) wake up in the morning and frolick about the landscape.

So I watched the squirrel flying around as the crowd of people oohed and aahed. And then I woke up.

The squirrel part of the dream was by far the shortest, but it is the most clear and distinct portion that I remember. The rest was just a foggy, mystical haze.

Perhaps the fair folk danced across my pillow yestereve, placing drops of love's flower across my eyes, whispering in my ears nonsensical wisdom, letting my mind explore a world unknown.

More likely, however, I have an overactive imagination and an over-fondness for Shakespeare and movies with Christian Bale in them.

I bid thee farewell, sweet nymph queens and forest kings of the One Love, and may thy midsummer nights all be bursting with magical dreams.

Goodnight. :)

And by terrified, I mean a mixture of nervousness, anxiousness, excitement, eagerness, deathly fear, chagrin, reminiscense, childhood lost, the future barrelling toward me like a train. (I was about to say a subway train, but after what just happened on the DC metro I realized that would seem tactless, however unintentional on my part.)

Why am I feeling all of these things simultaneously?

Tomorrow and Friday I'm officially orientating (I know that's not a word) myself at Indiana University and registering for all my classes and taking placement exams and basically planning the next four years of my life. And I'm horrendously overwhelmed. I'm so excited, don't get me wrong, but at the same time I feel this inexplicable longing for the old days when I used to dream about growing up. Now all I want is to go back to dreaming.

The problem is, there is so much I want to do with my life, and I'm afraid I won't be able to do any of it. I should stop worrying. I know God's got a plan for me. But the fear of the unknown is probably my greatest fear, and I definitely don't know how this is all going to pan out.

In the meantime, I just found out that one of my best friends is making a very stupid decision that could potentially ruin the rest of her life, and I'm fairly stressed out about that.

In perspective, my little freshman orientation jitters are nothing compared to what my friend could be up against. My woes have just become even more trivial.

And I'm calm again. Amazing how that works.

If you care to, maybe spare some thoughts or prayers for my friend. I'm pretty sure she's going to have a hard battle ahead of her, and I'm not sure if she can handle it alone.

...with The Legend of Zelda, Twilight Princess!

That sounded a lot lamer than I thought it would. Nevertheless, I am one happy geek/prom queen. (I love the way that sounds. For once, the geeks rule and have a tiara to prove it.)

I haven't played this game since March. I played it during my spring break right before I went to Chicago, then school started back up and I never had time to play it. Then my friend/prom date (does that make him the geek/royal consort?) loaned me Ocarina of Time, which I never got to play because my brother sold it before I was "old enough" to play it.

So I've been distracted by the N64 for such a long time, I nearly forgot about Link and his wolf-complex, not to mention that pesky but loveable shadow creature on his back. (Literally. On his back.)

But today, that is no longer the case. In fact, I have finally located...

...THE MASTER SWORD!

Yes, that's right. Now, I can transform back and forth from human to wolf whenever I want, and kick butt whenever I feel like it. Which is always. Because I am LINK, THE HERO OF TIME!

Oh geez. Somebody find me a life.

;)

I'm having a BBC love-fest--actually, my whole life is kind of a love-fest with all things associated with the UK; sad considering I'm 100% American with few hopes of traveling anywhere far anytime soon.

Apologies for the tangent. My current love-fest, however, is with BBC miniseries and costume dramas. Over the winter break, my mother and I purchased a collection of Anthony Trollope, a collection of George Eliot, and a collection of Elizabeth Gaskell television miniseries.

I have thus far indulged in Eliot's Daniel Deronda, Trollope's He Knew He Was Right, and now I'm in the middle of Middlemarch (another Eliot). They have all been absolutely brilliant and stunning and well-made. Beautiful.

Why is it that there is so much more artistry and beauty to films made by the BBC (and just European films in general)? Is it that they take more pride in their craft, and focus more on the art than on the money it will make? I think Hollywood has majorly lost sight of the art of film. That's not to say I hate Hollywood; I spend a large part of my money contributing to their films.

However, I'm saddened by the fact that I'd much rather go to the UK and work there, but I'm afraid I would never make it because I'm American. Perhaps that's nonsense. Nonetheless, I'm trying my best to find out how I could go and study my craft outside of the United States, specifically in the UK. Does that seem outlandish?

I don't know.

Anyways. I have once again strayed from my main point. My main point is that I love the BBC, and everyone else should too haha.

Do you ever have one of those days that changes, if only temporarily, your views about things?

Well, I'm having one of those days. A few days ago, I wrote lamentingly about the disappearance of letter-writing. It was well-meaning and sincere, but I feel I must now clarify that only SOME forms of letter-writing are lacking from our society.

This morning I woke up and decided to finish writing my thank-you notes to the people who attended my open house and sent gifts or cards. I had already written about fifteen of them, and I thought, "Surely it won't take long to finish these today."

Nevermind the fact that I had about 35 left to do.

I have now stopped for the day, partially because I have run out of thank-you cards, but more because I'm completely burned out already. I still have 25 left, and I worked for about an hour and a half.

I could very easily go buy some more...but I'd rather just leave it. I'm a procrastinator, and these thank-you's are so very time-consuming.

Don't get me wrong, I think sending these thank-you notes is wonderful. But writing them all and trying to make them individualized and personal for each different person takes a lot of time and energy, and usually I end up sounding like a robotic moron. It's a little bit humiliating.

It's the thought that counts, though, right? I sincerely hope so. Otherwise, a bunch of friends and family are going to open their envelopes and laugh. "Who let HER write the thank-you notes? Her parents should just put her out of her misery."

So I do still stand by my previous sentiments, but sometimes letter-writing goes beyond thoughtful to the realm of redundant.

To the comrades, companions, and colleagues at the One Love,

Lately I have been pondering the disappearance of an old custom, one which used to bring so much joy to the masses and which used to give our mailboxes a magical quality. When I say mailboxes, I mean actual mailboxes. The purpose of this letter is to discuss the little empty piece of my heart that was once sending and receiving letters.

Who would dispute the merit of a hand-written note? The time put into each letter, each word, each sentence to create an overall heart-felt whole. Perhaps the letter is just a friendly hello. Perhaps the letter is a declaration of undying devotion and adoration. Whatever the case, there are few things more thoughtful in this world than simple hand-written letters.

Also, who would dispute the little thrill of excitement that comes from finding, amidst the bills and catalogues and useless informational flotsam and jetsam that never fail to find their way into our mailboxes, an envelope with our names written out on the front. Even the smell of an envelope has a certain excitement to it. The crisp, fresh scent of the paper, the salty-sweet smell of the adhesive, and some individualized aroma of the very person from whom you are receiving the letter, a faint impression of his or her home and his/her life.

The little triangular seal teases you, daring you and enticing you. Open me. You may get a letter opener and carefully open along the lines of the seal. You may rip into the fold like a maniac. Whatever your style, you simply can't resist seeing what's inside that letter, written just for you. You pull the letter from the depths of the envelope, and you hold your breath just slightly, the mystery unfolding with the pages of the letter.

I think there is nothing so clever, nothing so caring, nothing so thoughtful, nothing so warm, nothing so friendly, nothing so tender, nothing so deliciously romantic than receiving a hand-written letter. These are sorely missing from my life at present, and I can't help lamenting their absence.

While I perfectly understand the convenience of instant messaging and email, I think our society could use a little bit of patience -- it is a virtue, to be sure. Maybe if we were a little less addicted to instant gratification, some of our personality problems would subside. There's something so beautiful about having to wait for a letter. Will it be a few days? A week? A month? Longer? It's maddening, at times, but in the end it's worth the wait. Many things in life are worth the wait, but "waiting" is a word society seems to be attempting to erase from our vocabulary. It's sad.

And now, I will climb off of my soapbox, and bid you all a fond adieu. Until next we meet, I remain sincerely yours.

Sarah

The title is somewhat misleading. I'm back in the midwest, sitting on my couch at home blogging. BUT I'm about to post an entry that I wrote in my journal a few days ago in Maine. :)

After my somewhat amazing day of nifty experiences (yes, I did just say nifty.), I hopped in a rental car and drove a few hours up to Portland, Maine to visit a good friend of mine and her family.

A bit of (somewhat ironic) backstory: My friend and I met four years ago through the Click Five boards. We've realized that we're quite similar, and we pretty much talk about everything (althought lately we haven't been in touch much. Busy lives, and all that jazz). Her friendship has been really great in tough times that I couldn't really talk to my other friends about (mainly because they were usually involved), and it's all thanks to the band. The funny thing is, the only reason I know about the One Love in the first place is because of Ben Romans. Perhaps all the best things in life happen because you like the Click Five? (That's tough to fit into the song...see this link: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fZXYYfHICSc)

Anyways, my family and her family went out for dinner. After dinner, I went back to her house and the two of us watched Taking 5, which had just come into her local video store. That was fun. We got to laugh over all of our good times and inside jokes back on the boards and giggle over the 5 boys that started it all. We talked/debated over the merits of Eric vs. Kyle (we were pretty unanimous that, no offense to Eric, Kyle is better all-around. We both do miss, however, the days when we would watch the video for Just the Girl eight times in a row, our hearts never failing to melt a little over Eric. That sounds a little pathetic, but I'm certain we were far from alone.) We also discussed which member of the band is our over-all favorite, but revealing that decision could be misconstrued as brown-nosing. We pretty much laughed about all of the crazy conversations we used to have, and how little things in the movie reminded us of those things, eerily enough.

We had such a good time reminiscing, all thanks to the click Five and that quirky movie they made. I'm getting down off my little inadvertent shrine now to talk about the rest of my trip.

Except there's not really anything else to tell. We hung out and did some shopping in Freeport and downtown Portland. Not much excitement, except my mother developed some strange addiction to blueberry pie. In 24 hours, she consumed three pieces of it (dinner, lunch, dinner again). On the way back, we passed a rehab center for food addicts. We considered sending her there but figured it wasn't really appropriate. (They weren't open on Sunday, anyway.)

Now, I'm back home and kind of sad, but also a little bit relieved. I love traveling, but there's something so cathartic about sleeping in your own bed again. :)

I haven't had a chance to blog in the past few days. Our internet wasn't working at our hotel in Maine, but we've got it back up.

Two days ago (our last day in Boston), we went to Quincy to tour the birthplaces of John and John Q Adams and the Adams mansion. That was exciting for me in and of itself because I hero-worship Abigail and John Adams -- their individual personalities, and their relationship together. No one in American history fascinates or inspires me more. I digress.

We went on a tour of the birthplaces and family homes. It was incredible to stand in the places that John and Abigail (and John Q, also very cool with his own merits) worked and lived and grew. The very room where John penned the Massachusetts constitution (did I mention it's the oldest living constitution in our country? I probably did. That constitution was comprised half my statement for my We the People class. Haha). The room where he set up his first law office, where he studied the Bible with his family and the books of Montesquieu on his own. It was just too cool. I was again overwhelmed by what a strong, wonderful, inspiring woman Abigail was. I want so much to be like her. Did you know she nailed a horseshoe upside down above her door? When asked why, she replied, "Most people nail horseshoes above their door to keep their good luck in. We have so much--I want to pour out and share my blessings with everyone who enters this house." Wow.

Again, I digress.

Then, when we arrived at the Adams family mansion, I actually shed a few tears. To see the place where my heroes died, but more importantly where they lived together and grew old together was just...wow. I saw the chair where John Adams, on the 50th Anniversary of the signing of the Declaration of Independence, sat, looking through his upstairs window at the parades and celebrations below, which he had opted not to attend, but which he smiled upon happily. The chair where he suffered a stroke while watching those festivities, and the room where he was carried to die, where his last words were, "Jefferson survives," when in fact Jefferson had died only a few hours earlier.

That was really moving.

We also got to see the Bible given to John Quincy Adams for defending the slaves of the Amistad because he refused to accept payment. Usually they keep this Bible locked away, but we got to see it all thanks to a special visitor who was touring right behind us.

That special visitor happened to be retired Justice Sandra Day O'Connor.

Talk about a cool day.

Then, randomly on the subway I met a man whose words were quite profound. He really put things in perspective for me about my pursuit of my passions. I realized that I need to stop hesitating and worrying about my plan to go into music and theater. I love them, and I will be happy wherever they take me. I have been so worried lately over my future. I think the biggest problem is that I'm so afraid of "the look" -- the look that says, "Good luck; you'll need it" or "You'll never make it". I know now that it's time to stop worrying about whether or not people think I'll be successful and just go for it. It's what I love, and that's where I need to be (if it's God's will for my life.)

Anyways, this man also talked about the power of writing music and sharing it. He said, "You think you're the only one with these thoughts and ideas, but really there's a million other people out there with the same thoughts. If you hesitate, if you put the idea away, you take it away from those million other people who just might be looking to connect. Something in their past, present, future--you can allow them to connect those things with something you write." That's really powerful.

This man is trying to use his love of music to organize a fundraiser for another man he knows, one of the lost boys of Sudan. He wants to get a music session going to raise money for the guy, who he described as having an absolutely wonderful smile. He said, "You'd never suspect what he went through." (Please, by all means go do some research on the Lost Boys of Sudan. It's a wonderful cause, and it's very moving to think about what happened to them.)

This man gets even more incredible, though. He was talking about his children, and he told us that he has two mentally disabled children -- one 14, one 22 years old. He told us that people say to him frequently, "That must be hard." He says instead that it's easy -- he calls them his greatest blessing. I think I agree. I think a lot of people in the world don't understand that. I think this man had some of the most beautiful insights into life.

It's kind of sad, but I'll probably never meet him again. I don't think I'll ever really forget him, though. What made him so profound to mean was just how simple and straightforward he was. He was so positive, and the world really needs more people like that.

Needless to say, I was inspired multiple times over that day. What with visiting the home of my American history heroes, seeing the first female supreme court justice, and meeting a man with so much love for the world and everyone else in it, I was swamped with opportunities to step up and do something good.

I don't know what my calling is yet, but I know that whatever it is, I want to use it to the best of my abilities to make the world a better place.

I guess this isn't really a bad place to start. :)

Goodnight, and God bless.

I inadvertently lied in my last blog entry. I really was planning on going to Salem, but it took a while to get going in the morning, and my options came down to, "Trek the Freedom Trail and see some of the most important sites in American History," or "Go to Salem, where you've been before, and meander around aimlessly."

I chose the Freedom Trail. So, I went to lunch with my dad and we meandered around the South End for a while, stopped in at the Boston Commons and mozied through the Granary Burying Grounds. What's really creepy, though, is that while I was reading a sign about John Hancock, another name under the heading "Women" (meaning female colonists buried in that particular area of the grounds) caught my attention: Sarah Wells.

No joke! I found myself in a cemetery. I went searching around for her headstone, and found out she died at the age of 22. She had already been widowed, too. How crazy is that? Being a widow before the age of 22 and then dying? That's pretty tragic.

My dad got a kick out of the fact that her maiden name was Savage. So she was Sarah Savage Wells. He seems to think that it's fitting. I like to think that it isn't. :)

Then, we took a cab up to Bunker Hill and began to trek our way back down the Freedom Trail. We went to the USS Constitution, but unfortunately did NOT beat the crowd of 120 middle school students from New Jersey. We tried our best, but we could not get to security before them. So, we waited an hour for a ten-minute tour of a boat that was under construction. Not as cool as it should have been, but still an awesome experience.

I won't talk you through all of the trail. Just trust me that it's definitely something every American (and really anyone who wants to know about American history) should do someday.

Today I head to Quincy to check out the home of my favorite President, John Adams. I'm pretty much excited beyond all reason. Is that sad?

Then, it's a fond farewell to Boston, and a happy hello to Portland, Maine.

Haha I apologize for the somewhat off-kilter blog title.

I'm going to Salem for the day, and I couldn't resist throwing a quote from The Crucible in here somewhere. It's one of my favorite plays (even if it is the most frustrating story ever! It's like, please, John, man up and confess you seduced Abby and all of this will clear up. Granted, you'll be despised and reviled by the town, but at least you and your wife and your best friends and some other random good people will still be ALIVE.)

I have to apologize again now, this time for getting so heated in that little mini-rant. I love tragedies, but they never fail to enfuriate me, no matter how many times I watch/read them because everything that happens is usually so avoidable. It's frustrating.

The point is, I'm going to Salem today. I'm probably not going to immerse myself in the occult-tourist-trap that most of Salem has become. (I tried that once, and it was just tacky, to be honest.) Instead, I'm going to eat lunch with a few friends at the Hawthorne Hotel and take a trip up to the House of the Seven Gables.

On the way up there, I'm stopping in at the Old North Church to hobknob with the ghosts of American history past. (For an enlightening historical tidbit, check out Drunk History: The midnight ride of paul revere Part 1 on youtube. Then, go check out the REAL drunk history channel. Those are even better, and oh-so-educational.)

Now I'm off to mount my steed and warn of the British.

Farewell!

Alas, cruel fate has barred my joy at the wonders of nature for this afternoon.

It looks like it's going to rain. Therefore, going to the public gardens today will probably not work out for the best.

I'm now searching for something to do indoors.

Thank heavens for trip advisor, which I admit I've never used before today.

Wait--GASP!

Eureka. I can't believe I didn't think of this before. The commonwealth museum, where resides the Massachusetts state constitution, penned by John Adams himself -- the oldest living state constitution, and arguably the most influential document on our national Constitution. The document which first established some of the most important concepts of United States government, such as the equal branches of government (as opposed to legislative or executive supremacy, as in other states), and which original coined such turns of phrase as "security, prosperity, and happiness", which first and foremost valued the ideals of our lives and liberties, our safety and happiness as a people.

(Did I mention I was in a We the People competition government class, and my unit was pre-Constitutional political philosophy, and my particular forte was state constitutions, and that half of my paper was quoted directly from the aforementioned document? Yeah, I'm a little bit government-history-obsessed.)

I'm freakishly excited. I'm also going to make a trip to Quincy to visit the Adams family ancestral home, summer mansion, and chuch parish/family crypt. John Adams is my favorite president, and to stand near his mortal remains (okay, as creepily morbid as that sounds...) will be a pretty awesome experience.

<3 Sarah

...actually, I'm already here. My first summer vacation as a high school graduate. (I really need to stop doing that. Everything I do is going to be the first SOMETHING as a high school graduate. I should get over it...but it will probably take a while.)

We had terrible weather back in Indiana last night, so our flight took off two and a half hours late. We arrived at the gate in Boston at exactly midnight. It was actually kind of cool. But that's beside the point. The point is that I didn't get up until about 11 o clock today, and therefore I have not gone out and done anything in this lovely city.

I'm not entirely sure what my plans for today are. I'm a history buff, so tomorrow or Friday I'm going to meander down the Freedom Trail, visit Old Ironsides (USS Constitution) and the Old North Church, etc.

Today, however, I have no plans. I'm eager to go out and explore, but Boston is a big place and I'm not sure where to go first. And I only have three days. Alas.

I'm pretty sure I'm going to go to the Boston Public Garden. I've heard (via Trip Advisor) that it's lovely, and I'm quite fond of nature. Perhaps before I go I should check on the weather...

Any advice as to how else I should spend my brief trip to Boston would be much welcomed.

I have officially graduated from high school.

It's kind of a weird feeling, mainly because I don't feel any different (setting aside the fact that I just chopped off nine inches of my hair yesterday). I still feel like me, and I certainly don't feel like an adult.

I think I'm just ready to move on. I'm not necessarily ready to leave, but I don't see going to college as leaving. It's just a new opportunity. Granted, I won't be seeing many of the people I've come to depend on, but they'll be with me. (Most importantly, He'll be with me.)

I don't know. It never really sank in. Is it supposed to? Am I supposed to feel some overwhelming universal shift right now? Or was it just another ceremony, another (final) school event?

Perhaps I'm overthinking all of this. Probably. It's late and I'm tired.

Nevertheless, I just feel like I should feel something more about this major milestone.

Oh well. Time for bed.

In two days, I will officially graduate high school. A year ago, I would have given anything to be done. Now, I'm beginning to feel how tough the coming transition will be. None of my friends will be attending the same university, and I will go from being at the top of the world to being yet again an insignificant freshman.

All in all, this has been the best year of my life. I was senior class president, involved with all sorts of extracurriculars, drama club president, the lead in the school play, one of the leads in the school musical, and prom queen, among numerous other things. Anyone who knows me finds this last piece of information exceedingly amusing -- I'm not exactly the prom queen type. Nevertheless, there I stood, with a prom king who is exactly twenty inches taller than me. I was awarded the school's outstanding drama, French, and English awards last evening at the "senior night of distinction". This year has just kept getting better, and in two days it will be over.

I have had some of the best times with the best friends I have ever had. Some of them have a year or two left in high school, and some of them are scattering all over the state (a few even all over the country) to further their educations. I'm not sure what it will be like when I won't see them all every morning outside the high school choir room hallway.

And yet, in the wake of all the farewells, I'm going off to start my own journey in life. It's a little bit terrifying and a little bit electrifying to think about. Perhaps my great senior year was a good sign -- a sign of things to come. Then again, perhaps it was an omen -- life's way of saying, "Enjoy this year you've been given, because the rest is downhill for a while." Haha that sounds so pessimistic.

Whatever happens, though, it is mine for the taking. Now I just have to take those steps forward and extend my hand to grab it. A turn of a tassle, a toss of a cap, a few enthusiastic congratulations, and that's it.

An end, and a beginning.

(I'd like to apologize in advance -- this is pretty heavy stuff for my first blog post. But I wanted to share this personal narrative I wrote. It explains why I chose the AFA as my charity.)

A Memory Shattered

     My childhood was one of unperturbed bliss. Nature endowed me with a wonderful family, including my Uncle Ron and my Aunt Connie. As a child, I loved them especially because they always gave the best Christmas presents. Their children were grown, and they loved to visit my brother and me and my parents every so often, and we loved having them.

     Many years ago, I received from my aunt and uncle the most beautiful Christmas gift. It was a snow globe music box with a carousel horse inside. The pristine white horse, crowned and harnessed in pink roses, danced in a halo of sparkles that shimmered and swirled and swept blithely through the clear water of the globe. It was a beautiful little world that I longed to be a part of. The base of the globe matched the horse’s beauty, crafted into a small piece of perfection. Lines carefully etched, rosettes carved and painted with precision.

     The best part was the song it played.

     I remember turning on the little black switch underneath the music box and dancing around my room, singing. My favorite things. How appropriate for a music box that became my most cherished possession. I knew all of the words; The Sound of Music was my favorite movie.

     Raindrops on roses… I will never forget the first time I got a bouquet of roses. I was in fifth grade, and I had just performed my first performance of my first ever theatrical production; I was Marta in the Sound of Music. The moment I heard that audience, I knew that I had found a new love. As I skipped into the lobby after the performance, I saw my mother and father beaming, holding a dozen beautiful pink roses all for me.

     Whiskers on kittens… To this day, I still get a little thrill of excitement whenever I think about the day my mother told me we were getting a cat. The very first thing I asked her was, “Can he be mine?” She told me that the cat belonged to the whole family. It didn’t take more than a few years for all of my family to admit that Max was, in fact, my cat. He and I became inseparable. If he heard me laughing, he would skip to my side and purr contentedly. If I cried, he was immediately there, gently nuzzling my arm with his sweet face. Whenever I took a nap, he would leap onto the chair or couch or bed where I lay and curl up next to me.

     Bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens… Every snow day I had during elementary school, I bundled up in my heavy coat and my warm gloves, and played outside for hours. I came inside, nearly frozen and grinning wildly; my mother took down a small copper pot and boiled water to make me some chicken noodle soup. As in the song, these “silver white winters” melted into glorious spring. Spring meant my birthday. Spring meant the tree in my front yard blooming into glorious white flowers, and the bushes bursting into pink buds. Spring meant playing with friends every day after school.

     Brown paper packages tied up with strings… One year during spring, I fell ill with a nasty fever. I felt miserable, and it just wasn’t fair that I was sick in the springtime, a week before my birthday. I sniffled, curled up in my parents’ bed, forlorn and lonely and achy all over. My mother came into the room and said she had a surprise for me. She explained that it was supposed to be for my birthday, but that it had come early. She presented me with a dull, brown cardboard box. I was intrigued. The prospect of an early birthday present gave me chills completely separate from my fever. The promise of something new and wonderful inside the monotonous walls of the box delivered. Inside the box was an American Girl Doll who looked just like me. Blond hair, blue eyes. I believe I never felt my fever again that entire day. I already had a Samantha doll, but I had wanted a modern doll for several years. I immediately named her Sarah, and introduced her to her older sister Samantha, with whom she immediately became best friends.

     So many memories, locked in the confines of my mental rolodex, break free when I think about that song and that music box. Yet as my blissful, charmed youth began its end – its transition into a wiser and sadder time of life—and my naïveté lost its way, so also I lost some things that were dear to me.

     I cherished my carousel-horse, snow-globe, favorite-things music box, but I didn’t understand just how much it meant to me. I loved to look at it, but I was so young that I also loved to play with it. I used to pretend it was a crystal ball that would let me see into the future or, better yet, that would let me see into a magical world of beautiful carousel horses that I could get into if I wished for it hard enough. One day, I took my treasure with me in a car ride to see someone’s new house – I don’t remember whose, but I remember being very bored. We got back home, and my neighbors across the street asked me to play outside with them. I set my crystal ball down on the staircase landing beside me as I put my shoes on. I forgot that I had left it there, near the top of the stairs, and as I got up to go down, my foot knocked into the music box, sending it toppling down the stairs. I still remember how long that brief moment dragged on.

     The music box rolled onto its side, and gravity pulled it ruthlessly onward to the next step. It bounced off the step, and, airborne, soared toward infinity -- thus reaching its end. For a brief moment, the sunlight streaming in from the open doorway caught the glass of the globe, setting it ablaze, the little carousel horse galloping gloriously in the rays, desperate to escape the confines of its utopian prison cell, where it had so long been locked away from freedom. Onward and onward it flew, slipping away beyond my grasp, down, down, down.

     As quickly as the moment began, it reached an abrupt end. Time resumed its natural course; the globe crashed onto the tile floor and shattered into hundreds of pieces.

     I screamed, a shriek of terror and of awe, as I stared helplessly at the glittering glass shards dripping with dazzling droplets, the little horse – still attached to its perpetual carousel pole – lying still in its watery grave. My parents came rushing; I sobbed a brief explanation.

     “You should have been more careful,” they scolded gently. It didn’t help. The damage was final, irrevocable, and I was struggling to accept that fact. I was so young; I had never had to face the bitterness of a farewell.

     Time always finds ways to make us grow older, wiser. For some, a ripe age beckons knowledge of the world while peers are still blissful, blithe, unaware. Around the same time that I was taken in by the whirlwind of being in my first production, my aunt Connie was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease. It was one of the most terrifying and traumatic experiences of my life at the time. I couldn’t comprehend what it would mean. How could she just lose all of her memories? Would she forget everything? Would she forget me? The thing that scared me the worst was the fear that someday I would get the same disease. I was comforted by the thought that it didn’t necessarily run in the family because she was only my aunt by marriage. Even then, I didn’t understand—couldn’t understand in the slightest how terrible the situation was, and how much worse it would become. My aunt was only a few years past 50 when she was diagnosed.

     The process began slowly, but gained steam and barreled toward the inevitable, like the glass globe racing to its destruction. I won’t forget the first time Aunt Connie asked me, “You’re Sarah, right?”

     I won’t forget, but she did, almost immediately.

     She has already forgotten that day, and far more. Now, she doesn’t even know me. If she acknowledges me at all, it is a vague, distant, emotionless expression – far from the warm, lovely glow that her face once exuded. She is locked inside her own mind, yet unable to remember. Sometimes – only on the rarest, most dear occasions – a flash of her old self slips into her eyes, a hint of recognition, some faint hope, and then slips away again, dragged back by the disease.

     I took many things for granted in my life. I learned the hard way that if you don’t care for the things you love, you may lose them. Even more difficult was facing the fact that if you don’t take the time to cherish the people you love, you may never get a second chance – and the process isn’t always quick. Sometimes you stand by and watch as loved ones slip slowly farther and farther from your grasp.

     The truly sad thing is that of all of my memories, I have very few of my aunt. I remember receiving very interesting and thoughtful gifts from her, but I don’t remember much about her personality. I couldn’t see past the material things I associated with my aunt, and now all I’m left with are memories of her decline. I don’t blame myself; I was very young. I just can’t help wishing that I had understood the need, the urgency of enjoying every moment with her.

     I still have the music box, the little horse standing proudly on the jagged ruins of its crystal palace, its shattered world. Sometimes, I feel for the little black switch on the bottom of the music box, and I listen to the tinny, electronic melody as it repeats and repeats and repeats. The music box never fails to remind me of the things in my life that are wonderful, though they may be broken. I have been blessed with so much, and the music box that I took for granted, given to me by the aunt that I didn’t know how to cherish enough, reminds me that life is constantly balancing out the good with the bad.

     When the dog bites, when the bee stings, when I’m feeling sad, I simply remember my favorite things… My aunt might not have the option of remembering her favorite things, but perhaps she is blessed to be able to forget life’s sorrows. She is in my memory locked, and so I will remember for her.

     And then I don’t feel so bad.