A Farewell Brunch

My cousin Lauren left today, which is a sad life. I hadn't cooked yet and thought she might appreciate some non-airport food before taking off. 

Crustless quiche with vegetables, ham, and cheese.

Whole wheat French toast with cinnamon and powdered sugar.

Grabbed these beauties at Publix.

The quiche turned out pretty well, but the French toast was a little chewy. But I really enjoyed being in the kitchen this morning. We had such a great time with Lauren the past week or so. It feels weird not having her around, and just reminds me that I really don't have a ton of time to spend at home (que horrible dread sinking in my stomach). But if I don't enjoy then it's just a waste. So...off to enjoy!

Love's Pure Light

Christmas:
Holy and golden, it is a time to remember the miraculous and simple. Life, in the way it is ordinarily made, is celebrated. Life, in the crazy way that God gave it, is celebrated. What I think is needed this Christmas is for people (myself) to remember that it's real. Jesus took his first breath in a cave. Angels appeared to shepherds; the sign of a King was swaddling cloth; hay and animals and a husband witnessing the birth of God/a human. The love of a God that makes no sense. A love that brings confusion and hope, rejection and light, the question what and the word wow. A love that disarms and binds. Christmas is about Christ, and therefore redemption, relationship, and love (emblems of another thing called Family). Christmas through the ages creates worship, journeys, and wonder. Christmas through the ages brings a desire for family, rich food, and warmth. Christmas is the face of the event of love: miraculous, peaceful, and ancient.

Home, Love, Christmas

Just some photos of Greenville...I think I'm going to go out and take some today. I miss this place a lot, and it's weird when I'm away from it and have to explain where I come from. Greenville is Southern in that it's warm and eats well and remembers where it came from. It's also new with a sweeping suspension bridge and art-driven and begs to be walked from one end to the other. I want everyone to visit this place.

I watched my Creative Writing seniors read here, along with the beautiful Lauren Groff who forever made me feel like I could write whatever I wanted. (I'm feeling a bit hyperbolic today, can you tell? I think Christmas Eve's make me more nostalgic than New Year's Eves.)

My wonderful and magnicificent friend Victoria Ford read the most beautiful graduation speech known to all of mankind on May twenty eighth of this year and sent one hundred frightened and excited students out into the world. Victoria: hello, dear. What took you so long?

I could see this bridge from my window senior year. I went to the most blessed school in all of creation.

All of these photos are by Andrew Stephen Cebulka from a beautiful magazine called Garden and Gun that my crazy and completely fantastic fiction teacher will be published in soon. 

Is it weird that miss you a place you are in?

A few Christmas memories and then I won't write here for another few months:

Jennifer's Mother's white chocolate peppermint bark. Watching Love Actually with all of the CWs and crying at the end, holding Victoria's hand. Singing All I Want for Christmas Is You with Dunbizzle in the cafeteria. Watching Ms. Higgins Geometry class go caroling around the classrooms. The ornaments hung above the computer stations in the library. Candy cane fudge at home. Waking up, curled into the sheets, and realizing it's Christmas morning. James and I waiting in my room until Daniel woke up to go see presents. Eating pralines by the handfuls at Dunbizzle's house with a toasted turkey and cheese sandwich. Showing off the stockings that my mother hand-stitched. Putting all of my parents anniversary ornaments in order around the tree. Listening to James Taylor. Sending out massive text messages. Remembering Matthew Dickman's words: Words are the antithesis of emotion. Poetry is the impossible: putting emotion into words. I feel that now, when I try and tell people from my Wheaton community that I miss them in a weird way, when I try and tell my GSAH community that I carry your heart (I carry it inside of my heart), when I try and tell my family that I couldn't live in Chicago without their love and encouragement, when I try and tell Scott, George, and Mamie that only after a while, I see the unbelievable value of the past two years and miss you more than I could have thought a year ago.

Merry Christmas All, and Good Winter,

Emilea

Lesson #1: Fleece jacket + Rain Coat = Much Better

It's the first blustery day. Can we say forty three degrees (with wind chill thirty six)? Yes. Yes, we can. It was raining, and windy, and cold. A great welcome back to the semester after a beautiful fall break.

I am going into Chicago for Thanksgiving and am deciding whether or not to bring a duffle bag or a rolling suitcase...which one screams "I'm tough, don't try to mug me, I'm friends with Jason Bourne AND Bruce Wayne" more? I don't know. Help?

Two guys from my brother floor were stuck in an elevator for thirty eight minutes, and it was sort of the most exciting thing that happened all day besides the weather. That's the kind of day it's been. But, I learned a lesson:

Layers. Layers. Layers. I originally just wore a fleece jacket. Fleece jackets don't keep one safe from the biting wind that seeks to destroy any warmth left in your body. Think dementors. That's right. They're real. But, when you layer a rain coat over the fleece jacket, you are semi-protected from the rain/wind/cold. But generally, you will still be overjoyed to get in doors.

Much love,
Emilea

Hello, Again

Um...

hi. It feels a little strange to reinter this small world a dear friend and I made when we were thirteen so we could be like our poetry teacher. And here I am.

So, I've been writing like a crazy person lately, and one of the hardships of leaving art school is the people that understand me and my work are no longer with me to say "False." And/or "Good, but work on it harder." Or "Buck up." 

So this is an attempt to let those people (and whoever else) to comment on my poetry as able and I might talk about how cold it is in Chicago sometimes (because being from the South, I've never experienced a real Fall or Winter. The other day, people were complaining about how hot it was outside. It was 85. I was rejoicing in the coolness.) 

To the CWs:

I carry your heart (I carry it inside of my heart). My heart misses you a lot.

A Final Hooray

An egyptian cotton bed with fourteen of us piled on top,

a nest made of hearts too heavy to talk about it. 

All we could do was breathe each other in, eat bagels

with apricot preserves. There was a dog 

more like a bear, the gentlest bear you’ve ever seen and even he

knew. The eyes told you so.

There was that moment, the next day, next to a rose bush or outside

a book store where we finally admitted to each other.

The pavement was hot and the highway dusty. At night, we squealed

through sprinklers, pretended to be younger. It was field day

and the popsicles last forever.

But we were not younger, 

and laid down. What else to do at the end,

except be with loves and say it is finished.

Thoughts? Much love,

Emilea