Angels Secrets

我不配

2012-01-17T09:37:00.000-08:00

I believe the need to feel worthy is the most predominantly debilitating requirement in today’s society. It is also the desire that is least often addressed or satisfied.

Let me start by saying: You are perfect just as you are. I’d like to say that one more time. You are perfect, just as you are. Are you able to accept that statement, or do you resist it? Does it bring tears to your eyes? That’s not uncommon. I’ve met very few women who had full faith in their own worthiness. Those who have possessed that self-assurance had done so only after much soul searching and self-care.

Every situation you’ve lived through has made you the person you are today, and there is purpose to your experience. While it’s true there is room for improvement in all of our lives, the most damaging thoughts you can buy into are those that tell you that you’re broken and must fix yourself. That’s just not true. You are not broken and, while we can all benefit from self-improvement and self-care, there is nothing about you that needs to be fixed.

It’s probable you encountered conditional acceptance as a child. I’ve never encountered anyone who didn’t. You could have had these experiences at home, at school, or within your community. As you matured, you learned that you would be accepted if you followed the rules of those you sought acceptance from. At home, you may have been required to follow your parents’ rules. At school, your teacher had a list of expectations for your behaviour, and your classmates likely had rules of their own.

When you were accepted by the people in each of these environments, you learned that you were okay. Each time you experienced rejection or were punished, you learned that a part of you was not acceptable. This process taught you that you were only conditionally worthy.
Were you ever told that you were a bad girl? Each time you heard those words, your feeling of worthiness was diminished. Were you ever told that you weren’t special enough to be part of a group, such as the popular crowd at school? Again, each rejection reduced your sense of worthiness.

If you received enough of these messages throughout your life, which is quite common, your belief in your deservingness likely needs to be improved upon.

I have seen so many individuals struggle with deeply held questions related to their personal value. These individuals, driven to prove their worth, have pursued success at any cost—amassing substantial material wealth, achieving high social stature, and excelling in specialized skills, only to find that nothing they accomplish fills the empty hole in their spirit. Ultimately, these individuals sought an external source to tell them that they were okay. Yet, no matter how much external validation they received, they weren’t able to accept acknowledgement because they didn’t personally believe in their own value.

I want more than that for you! You can take control of your feelings of worth and increase your sense of personal value.

A Thousand Miles of 2012

2012-01-03T21:54:00.000-08:00

Hey there Ladies and Gentlemen!

I want to wish you all a Happy New Year! Can't you believe it is already 2012?

What 2012 means to me is, time to create better memories, make new friends, rekindle on the memories and talents you long lost.

Above is a song for all of the love birds out there,

I know what it feels like to be with the person you love.

Never forget who you are and wherever you are, wherever you go, you are loved.

说你爱我

2011-12-29T18:19:00.000-08:00

说你爱我- Say you love me.

你真的爱我吗？ (Do you really love me?)

This saying is often asked by many people around the world. But the question is what is your defination of love?

What is love? It is one of the most difficult questions for the mankind. Centuries have passed by, relationships have bloomed and so has love. But no one can give the proper definition of love. To some Love is friendship set on fire for others Maybe love is like luck. You have to go all the way to find it. No matter how you define it or feel it, love is the eternal truth in the history of mankind.

Love is patient, love is kind. It has no envy, nor it boasts itself and it is never proud. It rejoices over the evil and is the truth seeker. Love protects; preserves and hopes for the positive aspect of life. Always stand steadfast in love, not fall into it. It is like the dream of your matter of affection coming true.

It bonds them and connects them in a unified link of trust, intimacy and interdependence. It enhances the relationship and comforts the soul. Love should be experienced and not just felt. The depth of love can not be measured. Look at the relationship between a mother and a child. The mother loves the child unconditionally and it can not be measured at all.

A different dimension can be attained between any relationships with the magic of love. Love can be created. You just need to focus on the goodness of the other person. If this can be done easily, then you can also love easily. And remember we all have some positive aspect in us, no matter how bad our deeds maybe.

And as God said Love all. In the past the study of philosophy and religion has done many speculations on the phenomenon of love. But love has always ruled, in music, poetry, paintings, sculptor and literature.

Psychology has also done lot of dissection to the essence of love, just like what biology, anthropology and neuroscience has also done to it. Psychology portrays love as a cognitive phenomenon with a social cause. It is said to have three components in the book of psychology: Intimacy, Commitment, and Passion. Also, in an ancient proverb love is defined as a high form of tolerance. And this view has been accepted and advocated by both philosophers and scholars. Love also includes compatibility.

But it is more of journey to the unknown when the concept of compatibility comes into picture. Maybe the person whom we see in front of us, may be least compatible than the person who is miles away. We might talk to each other and portray that we love each other, but practically we do not end up into any relationship.

Also in compatibility, the key is to think about the long term successful relationship, not a short journey. We need to understand each other and must always remember that no body is perfect. Be together, share your joy and sorrow, understand each other, provide space to each other, but always be there for each others need. And surely love will blossom to strengthen your relationship with your matter of affection.

Love all, trust a few, do wrong to none.
William Shakespeare.

全面通緝完整版

2011-12-27T21:43:00.000-08:00

Sometimes I wonder who we are running from by the end of the day.

Hypocrisy- the lifestyle made up by people that want other people to believe that they are perfect.

"The moment you found someone that makes your heart beat, stop the searching and take the risk, remember that the world is a big place, that if you lose the one you love, you have to search the whole world again..."

Merry Christmas

2011-12-27T20:43:00.000-08:00

Hello to all of my fantastic reader, just wanting to wish you all a Merry Christmas!

For Christmas it is one of those seasons that we celebrate, either for a day of relaxing, a day where all the family members come together and the lists can go on for miles.

As for me it is a day where I can celebrate the birth of Jesus and the appreciation of my family.

A little girl walked to and from school daily. The weather one morning was questionable and clouds were forming, yet she made her daily trek to the elementary school.
As the afternoon progressed, the winds whipped up, along with thunder and lightning. The mother of the little girl felt concerned that her daughter would be frightened as she walked home from school and she feared that the electrical storm might harm her child. Following the roar of thunder, lightning, like a flaming sword, would cut through the sky.
Full of concern, the mother quickly got into her car and drove along the route to her child's school. As she did so, she saw her little girl walking along, but at each flash of lightning, the child would stop, look up and smile. Another and another were to follow quickly and with each the little girl would look at the streak of light and smile.
When the mother's car drew up beside the child she lowered the window and called to her, "What are you doing? Why do you keep stopping?"
The child answered, "I am trying to look pretty. God keeps taking my picture."
May God bless you today as you face the storms that come your way.

I admit that we all lost our way at times so here is a little something I'd like to share with you!

Once upon a mountain top, three little trees stood and dreamed of what they wanted to become when they grew up. The first little tree looked up at the stars and said, "I want to hold treasure. I want to be covered with gold and filled with precious stones. I'll be the most beautiful treasure in the world!" The second little tree looked out at a small stream trickling by on it's way to the ocean. "I want to be traveling mighty waters and carrying powerful kings. I'll be the strongest ship in the world."
The third tree looked down into the valley below where busy men and women worked in a busy town. "I don't want to leave this mountain top at all. I want to grow so tall that when people stop to look at me, they will raise there eyes to heaven and think of God. I will be the tallest tree in the world." Years passed. Rain came, the sun shone, and the little trees grew tall. One day three woodcutters climbed the mountain. The first woodcutter looked at the first tree and said, "This tree is beautiful. It is perfect for me." With a swoop of his shining ax, the first tree fell. "Now I will be made into a beautiful chest. I shall hold wonderful treasure!" the first tree said. The second woodcutter looked at the second tree and said, "this tree is strong, it is perfect for me." With a swoop of his shining ax, the second tree fell. "Now I shall sail mighty waters!" thought the second tree. "I shall be a strong ship for mighty kings!" The third tree felt her heart sink when the last woodcutter looker her way. She stood straight and tall and pointed bravely to heaven. But the woodcutter toppled it. Any kind of tree will do for me." he muttered. With a swoop of his shining ax the third tree fell.
The first tree rejoiced when the woodcutter brought her to a carpenter's shop. But the carpenter fashioned the tree into a feedbox for animals. The once beautiful tree was not covered with gold, nor with treasure. She was covered in saw dust and filled with hay for hungry farm animals. The second tree smiled when the woodcutter took her to a shipyard, but no mighty sailing ship was made that day. Instead, the once strong tree was hammered and sawed into a simple fishing boat. She was too small and too weak to sail an ocean, or even a river; instead she was taken to a small lake. The third tree was confused when the woodcutter cut her into strong beams and left her in a lumberyard. "What happened?" the once tall tree wondered. "All I ever wanted was to stay on the mountain top and point to God."
Many days and nights passed. The three trees nearly forgot their dreams. But one night, golden starlight poured over the first tree as a young woman placed her newborn baby in the feed box. "I wish I could make a cradle for him, her husband whispered. The mother squeezed his hand and smiled as the starlight shone on the smooth and sturdy wood. "This manger is beautiful," she said. And suddenly the first tree knew she was holding the greatest treasure in the world.
One evening a tired traveler and his friends crowded into the old fishing boat. The traveler fell asleep as the second tree quietly sailed out into the lake. Soon a thundering and thrashing storm arose. The little tree shuddered. She knew she did not have the strength to carry so many passengers safely through with the wind and the rain. The tired man awakened. He stood up, stretched out his hand and said, "Peace, be still." The storm stopped as quickly as it had begun. And suddenly the second tree knew she was carrying the King of Heaven and Earth. Early one morning a couple years later, the third tree was startled when her beam was yanked from the forgotten woodpile. She flinched as she was carried through an angry jeering crowd. She shuddered when soldiers nailed a man's hands to her. She felt ugly and harsh and cruel. But three days later, with he sun shining and the earth trembling beneath her, the third tree knew that God's love had changed everything. It had made the third tree strong, And every time people thought of the third tree, they would think of God, that was better than being the tallest tree in the world!
"Commit to the Lord whatever you do, and your plans will succeed." Proverbs 16:3 ...

Christmas Season

2011-12-22T20:45:00.000-08:00

Hey Crazy Readers!

As you guys might have noticed, I haven't posted as much as I wanted to lately and for that I am so sorry! I have been caught up with the Christmas Spirit of constant shopping and work hours picking up all over again.

During those time, I have been frequently asked by many people about whether or not I celebrate Christmas. To that I do. However, what is our definition of celebrating Christmas? Is it the family gatherings? Is it the stories we share around the Christmas tree?

After constant research I have a few post many people describe Christmas as,

Christmas is a Joyful Time of Year
By Tori
Christmas means a joyful time of year. It makes me think of giving. There is so much joy going on. Christmas is all about Jesus. You know it’s easier to celebrate Christmas if you know Jesus. Jesus' birth was on Christmas. That’s how it got it’s name. The first word spells Christ. This reminds me of a story about when Mary had baby Jesus in a manger in Bethlehem. Christmas is the most joyful time of year; knowing that Jesus was born on that day.
What Christmas Means to Me
By Ricky
Christmas is a very good holiday. You can get a lot of presents but the most important thing about Christmas is that’s when Jesus was born.
Celebrating Jesus Birthday
By Nicole
Christmas is the best time for me. It brings friends and family together.
Everyone smells joy in the air and everyone is celebrating Jesus’ birthday. It’s a matter of opening gifts and celebrating my Lord and King. I LOVE YOU JESUS.

WHAT CHRISTMAS MEANS TO ME
By Shani Lynne
Christmas is not about getting stuff. It is about JESUS’ birthday. Next Christmas think about him. AND Some kids don’t get any thing for Christmas; so this Christmas, I’m offering them some stuff.

What Christmas Means to Me
By Robert
When I think of Christmas I think of good times. When Christmas is here you are suppose to share and have a nice time, and love each other. Mary gave birth to the Lord's Son on Christmas. That’s why this day is so important. On this day the wise men and all the shepherds came to the stable. How did they know where to go? Not only did the angel Gabriel tell them where to go, but there was a star that lead them to the stable. It was a long and hard trip. The reason Mary and Joseph had to go to Bethlehem is because they had to pay their taxes and then they had baby Jesus that day in a stable because there was no rooms in the inn.

What I think about Christmas
By Miranda
I think that Christmas is a good time of the year. It is my favorite holiday. Do you know why?
Because it is Jesus’ birthday. Christmas is a time that family and friends get together.

In some places of the world, they don’t celebrate Christmas like we do. I know a little girl who doesn’t get a lot of stuff for Christmas. Our Bible Club is going to do something for her this year at Christmas.

At Christmas time I like to decorate the tree. This year, Grandma is going to show us how to make old fashioned homemade decorations for the tree, like she did when she was a little girl. I think it will be fun.
What Chrismas means to Me
By Phillip
Christmas means having fun with your family, spending time with your family, seeing all the beautiful lights, decorating the tree, eating all the food you can eat, celebrating Jesus's birthday and buying presents for other people. How could I forget? We get out of school for two weeks! And oh yea, buying the best present for Grandma. That is what Christmas means to me!!!!

I have a question for all of you..... How do you celebrate Christmas?

You You You

2011-12-15T19:00:00.000-08:00

Rock and Roll Nerd

2011-12-11T14:47:00.000-08:00

Don't make fun of nerds cause you never know!

Random Dialogue

2011-12-11T14:45:00.001-08:00

Typical Dialogue of Two Football Players,

Two football players are sitting at the bus stop at a typical October afternoon and this is what had happened.

Dude 1: dude, dude, dude…

Dude 2: yeah man?

Dude 1: Remember that chick… from practice? The one you know with the cheerleader outfit?

Dude 2: yeah… what about her?

Dude 1: she was so checking me out the other day after I hit the gym after practice!

Dude 2: really man? (Not amused whatsoever)

Dude 1: yeah man

Dude 2: (no response)

Dude 1: do you think I should ask her out?

Dude 2: I would before someone asks her out.

Dude 1: I think I will after practice

Dude 2: she’s pretty hot too ya know what I’m saying?

Dude 1: yeah man, totally calls dibs on this one.

Dude 2: yeah you can have her man

Dude 1: thanks man

Dude 2: no probs brah.

Did the dude ever succeed in asking the girl in the purple shirt out? We will find out next episode on typical dialogue between two football players.

My Valentine

2011-12-01T17:43:00.001-08:00

My Valentine

I don’t know about you

But I’ve always like Valentine’s Day

The roses, the kisses, the butterflies in my stomach

The gifts, the laughter and romance

Small things that make Valentine’s Day so special

Just the other day I was in class

To you class maybe be long and maybe a bit boring

For me I think today is going to be a good day

Today isn’t Valentine’s Day but does it really matter?

I made a wish did you know? What’s my wish? I wished for you...

Because today I’m going to make you mine,

I often wonder if karma was like this.

The small things that you do that make me feel special

Don’t ever leave my beautiful Valentine

You make me feel every day is like Valentine’s Day.

So make a wish and make it quick…

Because you never know,

If you are going to get you wish

Before it is too late, my sweet Valentine.

True Canadian

2011-12-01T17:42:00.001-08:00

True Canadian

Instead of expressing gratitude,

I have decided to issue a general apology.

To my parents, sorry for being so darn right rebellious throughout my childhood.

To my baby brother, sorry for being so annoying and disruptive to your learning and studies

To my high school locker, sorry for beating on you 5 days a week (but if you just had opened…)

To my high school teachers, I am sorry for driving you up the wall with so many darn questions

To my friends, sorry for disrupting your learning and surprising you guys so much.

To my awesome post secondary school, sorry for wishing that a meteorite would destroy you the night before the midterms

And again for exams

To all those who tried to inspire me? Sorry for being so gosh darned realistic.

To the world, I am sorry for the trees I have killed, for my own selfish needs for knowledge.

To those who have doubted me, I am sorry that my success has pissed you that much.

To our fellow American’s that are right below us, how is that for being a True Canadian, eh?

True Beauty

2011-12-01T17:41:00.001-08:00

True Beauty

Some people find beauty at the oddest places.

Some people can’t describe where beauty comes from.

I think I know where beauty exists

Beauty is a 6 letter words, made up with love.

It is seen through the darkest ages.

It is brought to life in the happiest places.

True beauty is something that can’t be taken

And it is something that must be given.

I wonder by day and night where I can find this beauty,

But if you look deep within,

You may just find the beauty you are looking’.

Sometimes Say Never

2011-11-29T18:27:00.001-08:00

Okay, so this is really catchy and I have to share it with you readers/follower out there.

MJ's Medley

2011-11-29T18:23:00.000-08:00

He's a really good singer, in my opinion. I recommend him.

What do you think?

What if...?

2011-11-26T16:04:00.000-08:00

"The moment we want to believe something, we suddenly see all the arguments for it, and become blind to the arguments against it. Sometimes love blinds us, other times it let’s us see."

"When we honestly ask ourselves which person in our lives mean the most to us, we often find that it is those who, instead of giving advice, solutions, or cures, have chosen rather to share our pain and touch our wounds with a warm and tender hand. The friend who can be silent with us in a moment of despair or confusion, who can stay with us in an hour of grief and bereavement, who can tolerate not knowing, not curing, not healing and face with us the reality of our powerlessness, that is a friend who cares."

We all have a Dark Side

2011-11-26T15:44:00.001-08:00

You need a Smile? :)

2011-11-25T21:17:00.001-08:00

2012 Chinese Zodiac!

2011-11-25T19:20:00.000-08:00

Personality

Occupying the 5th position in the Chinese Zodiac, the Dragon is the mightiest of the signs. Dragons symbolize such character traits as dominance and ambition. Dragons prefer to live by their own rules and if left on their own, are usually successful. They’re driven, unafraid of challenges, and willing to take risks. They’re passionate in all they do and they do things in grand fashion. Unfortunately, this passion and enthusiasm can leave Dragons feeling exhausted and interestingly, unfulfilled.
While Dragons frequently help others, rarely will they ask for help. Others are attracted to Dragons, especially their colorful personalities, but deep down, Dragons prefer to be alone. Perhaps that is because they’re most successful when working alone. Their preference to be alone can come across as arrogance or conceitedness, but these qualities aren’t applicable. Dragons have tempers that can flare fast!

Health

Considering their hard-working nature, Dragons are healthy overall. They do get stressed and suffer from periodic tension/headaches, likely because they take so many risks. Dragons could benefit from incorporating mild activity into their lives. Yoga or walking would be good as these activities can work both their minds and their bodies.

Career

Dragons prefer leading to being led. Jobs that allow them to express their creativity are good choices. Some good careers include: inventor, manager, computer analyst, lawyer, engineer, architect, broker, and sales person.

Dragons and the 5 Elements

Metal Dragons – Years 1940 and 2000

Metal strengthens this already strong sign. Metal Dragons are more determined and they’ll fight for what they believe in. They enjoy the company of those who feel mighty enough to challenge their beliefs. They’re true leaders and usually find plenty of others willing to follow.

Water Dragons – Years 1952 and 2012

Water calms the Dragon’s fire. Water Dragons are able to see things from other points of view. They don’t have the need to always be right. Their decisions, if well-researched, are usually better since they allow other’s to become involved.

Wood Dragons – 1904 and 1964

Wood Dragons also are willing to entertain the opinions of others. Their artistic side is strong, and Wood Dragons enjoy being creative and innovative. They get along with others, but will always be the dominating force.

Fire Dragons – 1916 and 1976

A Fire Dragon’s emotions can flare instantly. Fire Dragons put themselves on pedestals, and because they react quickly and recklessly, they sometimes make wrong decisions. Fire Dragons need to slow down and keep their tempers in check as that’s when they’re best.

Earth Dragons – Years 1928 and 1988

More rooted in the ground, Earth Dragons make better decisions because they act more rationally. Earth Dragons are level-headed and able to control their behaviors. They’re more supportive of others, but they prefer being admired by others.

Compatibility

Dragons are compatible with the Monkey or Rat and incompatible with the Ox and Goat.

In the Dark

2011-11-25T18:01:00.001-08:00

It was dark,

Darker than I could ever imagined,

Maybe the power lines went out…

Or is it, maybe I forgot to turn the lights on

These are the questions that are left unanswered,

If I close my eyes, I try to imagine something bright

It doesn’t help, it is still dark

I am holding my breath

I’m trying not to panic

But you can hear my pulse

Racing faster and

faster

But then small lights

Appear in the night sky….

They make the sun envious

Stars, small, delicate and beautiful

These stars even make me envious with joy

I wonder as I began to fall asleep, in my warm bed

How many wishes does a star receive, could be millions or

Maybe billions of secrets! Maybe I should wish upon a star tonight

Closing my eyes I wished with all my heart, “I wish for a wish you may be heard

Before, to fall in love with a prince charming and have my happy ending”

60 Seconds

2011-11-25T18:00:00.001-08:00

A minute carries 60 seconds

60 seconds could be the last moment of your life

Spending 60 seconds with that person I just saved him

It takes 60 seconds to meet that person

60 seconds to make a first impression

60 seconds to make a person smile

A funny remark only takes 60 seconds

Within that 60 seconds you just made someone’s day

60 seconds to make a new friend

By those 60 seconds I just scored a date

It took me 60 seconds to day dream

Another 60 seconds to fall asleep

So let me ask, what can you do?

In the last 60 seconds of your life?

It took 60 seconds to make this poem,

60 seconds to make someone special smile J

It took 60 seconds to make you smile.

So go ahead, smile.

You are Beautiful

2011-11-25T17:59:00.001-08:00

One word, 9 letters

It can be expressed though language

Culture is just another example

You are beautiful.

I don’t know about you but I feel beautiful today.

Maybe I exaggerated just a bit there. I feel beautiful every day.

We all have our moments where we feel like we don’t belong.

We all want to find a place where we truly belong.

Let me ask you a question…

How you want to interpret it is up to you.

When was the last time you felt beautiful?

When was the last time you were complimented?

Don’t let me be the first to tell you this.

Don’t let me be the last person to tell you this either…

You’re beautiful

Absolutely beautiful

Inside Creative Writing

2011-11-25T12:48:00.001-08:00

Studio Letter 3

As I was reading collection of shorter plays by Samuel Beckett, I was thinking are you kidding me? How in the world am I going to finish this in time? But I did anyways. During my readings I find that most of Beckett’s play was full of drama and entertainment. Beckett’s ignorance and sense of humor towards human existence lightens up the mood and made this reading, in my opinion, tolerable. Before you know it, I began to like Beckett’s shorter plays. If you came up to me and asked me, “Which play did you like or which one is easier to read?” I would have replied, “You’re kidding right? It’s Beckett”… with many hours of reading, with a side of sleep deprivation, I still stumble here and there trying to come up a way of how Beckett’s writing changed my life or how his writing impacted my daily experiences, and honestly I couldn’t think of any. Beckett’s quirky ways and absurd sense of humor just made things even more confusing, for instance the act without words made honestly made things even more complicated and I honestly caught myself miming it out trying to find his hidden meanings or message he’s trying to tell us. Before I knew it, I ended up throwing the book to the side and watched Ellen DeGeneres.

After many hours or researching, reading and watching YouTube videos I stumble upon a short play I felt I can somewhat relate too “Ohio Impromptu”, if you guys haven’t read it yet; I recommend it to all of you. If you asked me for my opinion on this play, I would have replied in a sincere voice telling you to go away, no… more like “You should read it yourself”. I found this play very heartbreaking and downright depressing. The play opens to two older men sitting right angles to each other beside a rectangular table. They are both wearing long black coats and have long white hair. The character(s) that played in this is known as the “Listener” who is facing the audience but his head is bowed and his face is hidden from the audience. The other character known as the “Reader” posture the similar qualities but the only difference is he has what it seems to be a book in front of him, open just at the last few pages. As the reader reads from the book the listener knocks on the table with his left hand at which at that point the reader pauses and repeats the last full sentence, waits for a further knock on the table before continuing. This continues throughout the entire reading and at one point the listener stops the reader from turning back to the earlier page to which the text (Beckett 285). Towards the end the Listener makes the Reader repeat the last sentence of his take and then the book is closed. “Nothing is left to tell” (Beckett 286) and yet the listener insists on knocking one last time but there is nothing more to read.

What I have quickly gathered was Beckett is trying to find a way to escape the pain he was feeling, the constant restless nights that followed and the feeling of fear and remorse of losing someone special or have lost someone special had greatly impacted him and haunts him to this day. The Reader in a way represents a messenger from the past, possibly the listener himself in the distant future, that we never really know. I hated the ending; the emotional impact of the short story greatly affected me that to this point it felt as if I was playing the listener, listening to all of my past mistakes. It had left me with several unresolved questions, for instance “why?” or “what the hell just happened here?” and “common, I don’t want it to be over! What happens afterward?” But nonetheless, Beckett purpose was for us to draw our own conclusions.

I sat my book down and I went and dug up my old diary, not going to start reading it out loud anytime soon. I was amazed by the lack of grammar that was used and how my writing seemed to be all over the place. Maybe because it was how I felt at the time possibly a mixture of anger, hatred, a bit of sadness, maybe a dash of happiness here and there, and the list go on for hours. I then compared my writing with Beckett’s writing, I was amazed of my lack of spelling, run on sentences and lack of grammar and it felt as though I was experiencing one of those emotional monthly tantrums. But anyways, we all face ups and downs some point in our lives, we all must have done something we all regret with a mixture of stupidity and some certain situation that we wished we had all done things differently. Maybe build a time machine and go back to that specific moment, smack your old self on the side of the head saying “don’t do it, trust me I’ve been there” and as soon as I find a way to travel back in time, I’ll let ya’ll know.

One thing is for sure Beckett’s writing taught me a lesson, although we can’t build a time machine and go back change what we did, there is something we can do. We can choose how we react to the situation and in the midst of it we can pull through, find strength somewhere inside of us to move on and become a better person, even if it seems like the whole world is against us.

Prejudice

2011-11-24T18:25:00.000-08:00

Hello Readers!

A fellow classmate of mine, Amanda had shown me this video and I would love to share with you!

Tell me what you think!

Value of Friends

2011-11-23T11:26:00.001-08:00

A FRIEND

A Friend is the one who....
(A)ccepts you as you are
(B)elieves in "you"
... (C)alls you just to say "HI"
(D)oesn't give up on you
(E)nvisions the whole of you (even the unfinished parts)
(F)orgives your mistakes
(G)ives unconditionally
(H)elps you
(I)nvites you over
(J)ust "be" with you
(K)eeps you close at heart
(L)oves you for who you are
(M)akes a difference in your life
(N)ever Judges
(O)ffers support
(P)icks you up
(Q)uiets your fears
(R)aises your spirits
(S)ays nice things about you
(T)ells you the truth when you need to hear it
(U)nderstands you
(V)alues you
(W)alks beside you
(X)-plains things you don't understand
(Y)ells when you won't listen and
(Z)aps you back to reality

Value of Life

2011-11-22T15:22:00.000-08:00

"Someone will always be prettier than you...
Someone will always be smarter than you...
Someone will always be younger than you...
Someone will always be happier than you...
But they will never be YOU...♥"

A well known speaker started off his seminar by holding up a $20 bill. In the room of 200, he asked, "Who would like this $20 bill?"Hands started going up.He said, "I am going to give this $20 to one of you but first, let me do this." He proceeded to crumple the dollar bill up.He then asked, "Who still wants it?"Still the hands were up in the air."Well," he replied, "What if I ......do this?" And he dropped it on the ground and started to grind it into the floor with his shoe.He picked it up, now all crumpled and dirty. "Now who still wants it?" Still the hands went into the air."My friends, you have all learned a very valuable lesson. No matter what I did to the money, you still wanted it because it did not decrease in value. It was still worth $20. Many times in our lives, we are dropped, crumpled, and ground into the dirt by the decisions we make and the circumstances that come our way.We feel as though we are worthless.

But no matter what has happened or what will happen, you will never lose your value. The worth of our lives comes not in what we do or who we know, but in WHO WE ARE. You are special - Don’t EVER forget it."Count your blessings, not your problems. And remember: amateurs built the ark. Professionals built the Titanic. If God brings you to it - He will bring you through it.

NEVER FORGET WHO YOU ARE.........NEVER FORGET HOW TO DREAM

A Moment of Inspiration

2011-11-22T15:10:00.001-08:00

"What is the secret of success?" asked the Sphinx.

"Push," said the Button.

"Never be led," said the Pencil.
...
"Take pains," said the Window.

"Always keep cool," said the Ice.

"Be up to date," said the Calendar.

"Never lose your head," said the Barrel.

"Make light of everything," said the Fire.

"Do a driving business," said the Hammer.

"Aspire to greater things," said the Nutmeg.

"Be sharp in all your dealings," said the Knife.

"Find a good thing and stick to it," said the Glue.

"Do the work you are suited for," said the Chimney

If I Die Young

2011-11-19T22:16:00.000-08:00

We all have a moment in our life where we all are afraid of dying.

To be honest, today could be our last day, maybe tomorrow or the next day.

So I have a dare for all those who are reading my blogs,

Go out there and say hi to a few people. Get to know them, make them smile.

Cause' you never know. You could save a life today!

Pass it on!

Things to Think About

2011-11-18T11:34:00.001-08:00

I asked God why I wasn't rich.

He showed me a man with the wealth of a thousand kings, who was lonely, and had no one to share it with.

I asked God why I wasn't beautiful.
...
He showed me a woman more beautiful than any other, who was ugly because of her vanity.

I asked God why He'd allowed me to become old.

He showed me a boy of 16, who lay dead at the scene of a car accident.

I asked God why I didn't have a bigger house.

He showed me a family of six, who had just been evicted from their tiny shack, and were forced, to live on the street.

I asked God why I had to work.

He showed me a man, who couldn't find a decent job, because he'd never learned to read.

I asked God why I wasn't more popular.

He showed me a socialite with a thousand friends, who all left the moment the money and parties were no longer there.

I asked God why I wasn't smarter.

He showed me a natural born genius, serving life in prison for making ill use of his knowledge.

I asked God why He put up with a thankless sinner like me.

He showed me His Bible. He showed me His Son who took my place at the judgment. I knew then how much He loved me.

Smile

2011-11-17T18:40:00.000-08:00

One word, one curve on the face that will set everything straight.

We all have our moments in life where we all lost our smile, hope and faith.

Remember to smile!

Yes I know it is hard at times but before you know it, it'll be contagious.

There is more to come! Stay tuned.

Feel free to leave a comments and thoughts!

I hope you all had a fantastic week.

2011-11-16T13:15:00.000-08:00

"Wish You Were Here"

I can be tough
I can be strong
But with you, it's not like that at all

There's a girl
who gives a shit
behind this wall
You've just walked through it

And I remember all those crazy things you said
You left them running through my head
You're always there, you're everywhere
But right now I wish you were here.
All those crazy things we did
Didn't think about it, just went with it
You're always there, you're everywhere
But right now I wish you were here

Damn, Damn, Damn,
What I'd do to have you
here, here, here
I wish you were here.
Damn, Damn, Damn
What I'd do to have you
near, near, near
I wish you were here.

I love the way you are
It's who I am, don't have to try hard
We always say, say like it is
And the truth is that I really miss

All those crazy things you said
You left them running through my head
You're always there, you're everywhere
But right now I wish you were here.
All those crazy things we did
Didn't think about it, just went with it
You're always there, you're everywhere
But right now I wish you were here

[Chorus:]
Damn, Damn, Damn,
What I'd do to have you
here, here, here
I wish you were here.
Damn, Damn, Damn
What I'd do to have you
near, near, near
I wish you were here.

[Bridge:]
No, I don't wanna let go
I just wanna let you know
That I never wanna let go

(let go let go let go let go)

No, I don't wanna let go
I just wanna let you know
That I never wanna let go

(let go let go let go let go let go let go let go)

Damn, Damn, Damn,
What I'd do to have you
here, here, here
I wish you were here (I wish you were)
Damn, Damn, Damn
What I'd do to have you
near, near, near
I wish you were here.

Damn, Damn, Damn,
What I'd do to have you
here, here, here
I wish you were here.
Damn, Damn, Damn
What I'd do to have you
near, near, near
I wish you were here.

Summer of Love

2011-11-14T21:31:00.000-08:00

I don't know about you guys, but remember those summer moments when you spend time with your loved one? The butterflies, the laughter, the hidden kisses and many secret. Then the drama, heart-breaks and rumours. Back-stabbers and all those things that you wished it never happened? Well, life is full of ups and downs, as for me I try my best to remember the ups and forget about the downs even if it haunts me sometimes.

Here is a task for all you readers out there.

What is your most memorable moments in life?

Go create the best memory you can ever imagine!

Invincible- Hedley

2011-11-13T20:20:00.000-08:00

I have to admit, we all have lost our ways sometimes,

We all struggle with constant judgement, bullying, diseases and the list can go on from there.

I know I have been sharing clips with you a lot lately but this song is very motivating and I would love to share it with you all!

I hope you all have a wonderful weekend and remember we are strong!

-Jaylynn

Angry Driver

2011-11-12T18:57:00.000-08:00

It was dark at night, Miley Cyrus song "when I look at you" was playing at the radio, Cal was driving in the dark and you can see he was exhausted, he was on his fourth can of red bull and he's getting drowsy. As he is curving from the pavement a deer dashed out in front of him. Swinging away Cal failed to see a parked red corvette, the red corvette was smashed into pieces, the metal on metal left a distinct sound and in a blink of the eye, Cal sees the red corvette tip over the cliff and tumbles down into the pit. "Shit" is all he could say. "Shit, shit shit!, what do I do now?" Cal proclaimed. Panicking for 30 mins he finally calls in the accident. Within the hour he is questioned what seemed like forever and was sent home.

As he set his keys on the brown curved table he let out a heavy sigh. A long day it was, yet he couldn't get the picture of the red corvette, the metal on metal sound, the way the car tipped over the cliff and hit the bottomless pit. Cal was angry at his boss for sending him home so late, the deer dashing out in front of him. Cal was also angry at himself for not pulling over when he had the chance too. Everything was a blurred. He then sat down in front of the TV opening up another red bull, hell he wasn't sleep that night especially what had happened earlier.

As he just about to fall asleep he heard a bang at the door, "great, it's the newspaper" Cal mumbled. He got up and went to grab the paper, as he did he noticed the Headline: RED CORVETTE FOUND AT A DITCH, DRIVER SHOT. Cal's eyes begin to widen with shock. Just then he hears his phone ringing from the counter. It was the police. The policed called him into question and is now the number 1 suspect.

The police ask if he knew Milton, of course he did. It was a colleague of his years ago. Apparently, at a shady hotel, while Milton is having sex with a waitress, and Piper is in another room, Milton is attacked by King and his men, who heard about his return. Milton is able to kill most of them, all while still having sex with the waitress. The Accountant appears with the police and chases after Milton and Piper, who are chasing after King's RV. Milton uses a gun labelled "The God killer" to shoot the Accountant out of the road. They then follow King to a church, which they enter, only to be ambushed by King and captured. Piper is kidnapped and Milton is left for dead, but awakens and kills King's men before pursuing his RV once again. Inside, Piper breaks free and fights King before jumping out of the RV and onto Milton's car. King then shoots them down and escapes.

That is how he ended up in the Red Corvette. Cal is numb with the shock, angry with all that has happened. But then he is woken up by the police tapping on his window. His lesson was learned, if you are ever tired. Pull over and sleep cause you never know, things can happen.

Boy Meets World

2011-11-12T17:23:00.000-08:00

We all grew up at some point in our lives, where we must have watched boy meets world.

I fell in love watching Cory and Topanga falling in love and understanding live together.

One quote I want to share with that Eric has one said in the episode,

"Lose one friend, Lose all friends, Lose yourself"- Eric Matthews

What whould you do?

Flash Mob Wedding Proposal

2011-11-12T16:01:00.000-08:00

To my fellow Ladies and Gents'

Yes you have read my title right, this is a Flash Mob Wedding Proposal

For my Daughter

2011-11-12T15:45:00.000-08:00

For my Daughter- Sarah Kay

-Amazingly beautiful

Remembrance Day

2011-11-11T13:58:00.000-08:00

What do people do?

Many people wear artificial poppies on their clothes in the weeks before Remembrance Day. Red poppies symbolize the memory of those who died and white poppies campaigns for non-military interventions in conflict situations. On November 11, special church services are organized. These often include the playing of "The Last Post", a reading of the fourth verse of the 'Ode of Remembrance' and two minutes silence at 11:00 (or 11am). After the service, wreaths are laid at local war memorials.

The official Canadian national ceremonies are held at the National War Memorial in Ottawa, Ontario, according to a strict protocol. A service is held and wreaths are laid by armed services representatives. In May 2000 the remains of a Canadian soldier who died in France in World War I, but was never been identified, were laid in the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier at the National War Memorial.

Since then, members of the public have laid poppies, letters and photographs on the tomb. Similar services and events are held throughout Canada. Some schools that are open on Remembrance Day hold special assemblies, lessons and presentations on armed conflicts and those who died in them.

Public life

Remembrance Day is a national public holiday for many federal government employees, private businesses, provincial governments and schools in Canada. Its status varies by province.

Manitoba

Manitoba retail business is prohibited between 9am and 1pm on Remembrance Day, with exception to professional health services, goods or services relating to:

Living accommodation or prepared meals.
Veterinary services.
Drugs, medicines, surgical appliances, or infant formula.
Gasoline, motor oil or related products.
Or parts and services for emergency repairs to a vehicle.

Remembrance Day is not a general holiday under Manitoba's labour legislation but most industries in Manitoba are not allowed to operate that day, with some specified exceptions.

Ontario

In Ontario, some employers give their employees a holiday on Remembrance Day, but they are not require to do so under the Employment Standards Act, 2000 (ESA).

Quebec

Remembrance Day is also not a statutory holiday in Quebec, although corporations that are federally registered may make the day a full holiday, or instead, designate a provincially recognized holiday on a different day. When Remembrance Day falls on a Sunday or Saturday that is a non-working day, workers are entitled to a holiday with pay on the working day immediately preceding or following the general holiday.

Nova Scotia

Remembrance Day is governed by the Remembrance Day Act in Nova Scotia. Some employees may be entitled to a benefit. Employees required to work on Remembrance Day in Nova Scotia get an alternate day off with pay, except for those types of businesses that are exempt from the Act. Employees who do not work that day, do not get paid for the day, unless the employer offers pay as an added benefit. Remembrance Day must be observed on the actual date.

Background

Remembrance Day marks the anniversary of the official end of the World War I hostilities on November 11, 1918. World War I was a massive conflict was played out over the whole globe, but particularly in Europe, where troops from Canada supported the Allied forces.

World War I resulted in the loss of huge numbers of lives amongst both civilians and military personnel. Many more people were badly injured. The war left great emotional scars in the servicemen, who had experienced it, and in the communities, whose sons, brothers, fathers, uncles and even grandfathers had died. Remembrance Day commemorates those who died in armed conflicts, particularly in and since World War I.

In Canada, November 11 is officially called Remembrance Day, but it is also known as Armistice Day and Poppy Day. Remembrance Day is commemorated in many countries, particularly members of the Commonwealth, including Australia and New Zealand (where it is also referred to as Armistice Day). In the United States, Veterans Day falls on the same date. In the United Kingdom, the Sunday closest to November 11 is known as Remembrance Sunday.

Symbols

Remembrance Day is symbolized by the artificial poppies that people wear and place at war memorials. The poppies may be worn or placed singly or as wreaths. The use of the poppy as a symbol of remembrance comes from a poem written by John McCrae, a Canadian doctor serving in the military. The poem is called In Flanders Fields and describes the poppies growing in the Flemish graveyards where soldiers were buried.

Poppies grow well in soil that has been disturbed. They also grew in large numbers on battle fields. The red color of their petals reminded people of the blood lost by victims of and casualties in the conflict. Some people choose to wear white poppies to campaign for non-military interventions in conflict situations.

Other symbols of Remembrance Day are the war memorials, which are often near the geographical center of communities. These commemorate members of the community, who have died in military action. A particularly well-known memorial is the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier in Ottawa, Ontario. The military parades held on November 11 are also symbolic of Remembrance Day.

Summer Dream's

2011-11-10T23:37:00.000-08:00

Summer Dream

It wasn't until last summer.

The first time I have ever seen you smile.

We were the best couple, the best of friends, the best of everything.

We had the perfect record, the perfect smile, the best of both worlds.

It wasn't until we had our first fight,

the fight's became more and more frequent.

That next summer you left and I was then left with emptiness.

The feeling of abandonment.

I dreamt those summer nights, the nights where we spend our days laughing.

Creating memories that lasted a lifetime.

What happen to forever?

Seems like it was only yesterday,

you were here beside me.

I dream for a day where we can go back to the beginning

and change what we had, what we used to be.
That summer night.

Remember your good times, don't take these moments for granted.

Because before you know it,

it's just a summer's dream.

Moment of Need

2011-11-10T23:23:00.000-08:00

Psalm 139

-If you ever feel like no-one in the world knows you behold! Here is a Psalm I like to share with you!

For the director of music. Of David.

¹ You have searched me, LORD,
   and you know me.
² You know when I sit and when I rise;
   you perceive my thoughts from afar.
³ You discern my going out and my lying down;
   you are familiar with all my ways.
⁴ Before a word is on my tongue
   you, LORD, know it completely.
⁵ You hem me in behind and before,
   and you lay your hand upon me.
⁶ Such knowledge is too wonderful for me,
   too lofty for me to attain.

⁷ Where can I go from your Spirit?
   Where can I flee from your presence?
⁸ If I go up to the heavens, you are there;
   if I make my bed in the depths, you are there.
⁹ If I rise on the wings of the dawn,
   if I settle on the far side of the sea,
¹⁰ even there your hand will guide me,
   your right hand will hold me fast.
¹¹ If I say, “Surely the darkness will hide me
   and the light become night around me,”
¹² even the darkness will not be dark to you;
   the night will shine like the day,
   for darkness is as light to you.

¹³ For you created my inmost being;
   you knit me together in my mother’s womb.
¹⁴ I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
   your works are wonderful,
   I know that full well.
¹⁵ My frame was not hidden from you
   when I was made in the secret place,
   when I was woven together in the depths of the earth.
¹⁶ Your eyes saw my unformed body;
   all the days ordained for me were written in your book
   before one of them came to be.
¹⁷ How precious to me are your thoughts,^[a] God!
   How vast is the sum of them!
¹⁸ Were I to count them,
   they would outnumber the grains of sand—
   when I awake, I am still with you.

¹⁹ If only you, God, would slay the wicked!
   Away from me, you who are bloodthirsty!
²⁰ They speak of you with evil intent;
   your adversaries misuse your name.
²¹ Do I not hate those who hate you, LORD,
   and abhor those who are in rebellion against you?
²² I have nothing but hatred for them;
   I count them my enemies.
²³ Search me, God, and know my heart;
   test me and know my anxious thoughts.
²⁴ See if there is any offensive way in me,
   and lead me in the way everlasting.

A Moment of Inspiration

2011-11-06T12:30:00.000-08:00

Psalm 139:14

"I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that very well"

I will praise thee - I will not merely admire what is so great and marvelous, but I will acknowledge thee in a public manner as wise, and holy, and good: as entitled to honor, love, and gratitude.
For I am fearfully and wonderfully made - The word rendered "fearfully" means properly "fearful things;" things suited to produce fear or reverence. The word rendered "wonderfully made" means properly to distinguish; to separate. The literal translation of this - as near as can be given - would be, "I am distinguished by fearful things;" that is, by things in my creation which are suited to inspire awe. I am distinguished among thy works by things which tend to exalt my ideas of God, and to fill my soul with reverent and devout feelings. The idea is, that he was "distinguished" among the works of creation, or so "separated" from other things in his endowments as to work in the mind a sense of awe. He was made different from inanimate objects, and from the brute creation; he was "so" made, in the entire structure of his frame, as to fill the mind with wonder. The more anyone contemplates his own bodily formation, and becomes acquainted with the anatomy of the human frame, and the more he understands of his mental organization, the more he will see the force and propriety of the language used by the psalmist.
Marvellous are thy works - Fitted are they to excite wonder and admiration. The particular reference here is to his own formation; but the same remark may be made of the works of God in general.
And that my soul knoweth right well - Margin, as in Hebrew, "greatly." I am fully convinced of it. I am deeply impressed by it. We can see clearly that the works of God are "wonderful," even if we can understand nothing else about them.

A Starving Soul

2011-11-03T19:27:00.000-07:00

I can't simply imagine, just sit down and suddenly write a story about a hunger. But truth be told the grumbling of my stomach is undeniable. I start to make something to eat until I realize that I'm trembling, very badly.

Something is lurking and I don't like the feeling that it's giving me. The eyes stares at me from the window and I am hesitating to look but I know I have too. As I looked out, to my own realization it was a mere branch hitting the window. I sigh in relief. I sat down with my sandwich and I once again try to write. My soul is hungry to write something with depth and emotion yet the texture of the sandwich is very fullfilling.

Every word seem so small, every single movement of my hand on the keyboard makes me wonder, my mind is racing as part of me wants something more. I close my eyes and envision something inspiring but it was lost, the fog of my window is fogging up and I feel so trapped under my skin and I do not know what I can do. I look back into my past life thinking of how I became the person I am today, some say that I was the inspiration, the fire of passion that is burning within, the starving soul of wanting more than what life has to offer. To be the best, the best of the very best.

I start thinking about the third world countries. They are all hungry, hungry for food, craving for love and shelter. A warm clothes on their backs. The eyes is the window to a soul, a soul I could not possibly explain. As I wake up from sleeping on my computer, with a half eaten sandwhich, the sun slowly peeking from the clouds, I sit here, sigh and began to let my mind wonder. We are all humans and we have our share of temptations, the high's and low's of life. Sometime in between but it is up to us to choose to put the hunger, the raw intensity of our emotions to work and being able to be vulnerable through our writing, once we reach to that level it's no turning back.

A little something from a writer with a starving soul.

Classic Ghost Tale

2011-10-31T21:06:00.000-07:00

The Tell-Tale Heart

by Edgar Allen Poe

TRUE! — nervous — very, very dreadfully nervous I had been and am; but why will you say that I am mad? The disease had sharpened my senses — not destroyed — not dulled them. Above all was the sense of hearing acute. I heard all things in the heaven and in the earth. I heard many things in hell. How, then, am I mad? Hearken! and observe how healthily — how calmly I can tell you the whole story.

It is impossible to say how first the idea entered my brain; but once conceived, it haunted me day and night. Object there was none. Passion there was none. I loved the old man. He had never wronged me. He had never given me insult. For his gold I had no desire. I think it was his eye! yes, it was this! He had the eye of a vulture — a pale blue eye, with a film over it. Whenever it fell upon me, my blood ran cold; and so by degrees — very gradually — I made up my mind to take the life of the old man, and thus rid myself of the eye forever.

Now this is the point. You fancy me mad. Madmen know nothing. But you should have seen me. You should have seen how wisely I proceeded — with what caution — with what foresight — with what dissimulation I went to work! I was never kinder to the old man than during the whole week before I killed him. And every night, about midnight, I turned the latch of his door and opened it — oh so gently! And then, when I had made an opening sufficient for my head, I put in a dark lantern, all closed, closed, so that no light shone out, and then I thrust in my head. Oh, you would have laughed to see how cunningly I thrust it in! I moved it slowly — very, very slowly, so that I might not disturb the old man's sleep. It took me an hour to place my whole head within the opening so far that I could see him as he lay upon his bed. Ha! — would a madman have been so wise as this? And then, when my head was well in the room, I undid the lantern cautiously — oh, so cautiously — cautiously (for the hinges creaked) — I undid it just so much that a single thin ray fell upon the vulture eye. And this I did for seven long nights — every night just at midnight — but I found the eye always closed; and so it was impossible to do the work; for it was not the old man who vexed me, but his Evil Eye. And every morning, when the day broke, I went boldly into the chamber, and spoke courageously to him, calling him by name in a hearty tone, and inquiring how he has passed the night. So you see he would have been a very profound old man, indeed, to suspect that every night, just at twelve, I looked in upon him while he slept.

Upon the eighth night I was more than usually cautious in opening the door. A watch's minute hand moves more quickly than did mine. Never before that night had I felt the extent of my own powers — of my sagacity. I could scarcely contain my feelings of triumph. To think that there I was, opening the door, little by little, and he not even to dream of my secret deeds or thoughts. I fairly chuckled at the idea; and perhaps he heard me; for he moved on the bed suddenly, as if startled. Now you may think that I drew back — but no. His room was as black as pitch with the thick darkness, (for the shutters were close fastened, through fear of robbers,) and so I knew that he could not see the opening of the door, and I kept pushing it on steadily, steadily.

I had my head in, and was about to open the lantern, when my thumb slipped upon the tin fastening, and the old man sprang up in bed, crying out — "Who's there?"

I kept quite still and said nothing. For a whole hour I did not move a muscle, and in the meantime I did not hear him lie down. He was still sitting up in the bed listening; — just as I have done, night after night, hearkening to the death watches in the wall.

Presently I heard a slight groan, and I knew it was the groan of mortal terror. It was not a groan of pain or of grief — oh, no! — it was the low stifled sound that arises from the bottom of the soul when overcharged with awe. I knew the sound well. Many a night, just at midnight, when all the world slept, it has welled up from my own bosom, deepening, with its dreadful echo, the terrors that distracted me. I say I knew it well. I knew what the old man felt, and pitied him, although I chuckled at heart. I knew that he had been lying awake ever since the first slight noise, when he had turned in the bed. His fears had been ever since growing upon him. He had been trying to fancy them causeless, but could not. He had been saying to himself — "It is nothing but the wind in the chimney — it is only a mouse crossing the floor," or "it is merely a cricket which has made a single chirp." Yes, he had been trying to comfort himself with these suppositions: but he had found all in vain. All in vain; because Death, in approaching him had stalked with his black shadow before him, and enveloped the victim. And it was the mournful influence of the unperceived shadow that caused him to feel — although he neither saw nor heard — to feel the presence of my head within the room.

When I had waited a long time, very patiently, without hearing him lie down, I resolved to open a little — a very, very little crevice in the lantern. So I opened it — you cannot imagine how stealthily, stealthily — until, at length a single dim ray, like the thread of the spider, shot from out the-crevice [[the crevice]] and fell full upon the vulture eye.

It was open — wide, wide open — and I grew furious as I gazed upon it. I saw it with perfect distinctness — all a dull blue, with a hideous veil over it that chilled the very marrow in my bones; but I could see nothing else of the old man's face or person: for I had directed the ray as if by instinct, precisely upon the damned spot.

And have I not told you that what you mistake for madness is but over acuteness of the senses? — now, I say, there came to my ears a low, dull, quick sound, such as a watch makes when enveloped in cotton. I knew that sound well, too. It was the beating of the old man's heart. It increased my fury, as the beating of a drum stimulates the soldier into courage.

But even yet I refrained and kept still. I scarcely breathed. I held the lantern motionless. I tried how steadily I could maintain the ray upon the eye. Meantime the hellish tattoo of the heart increased. It grew quicker and quicker, and louder and louder every instant. The old man's terror must have been extreme! It grew louder, I say, louder every moment! — do you mark me well? I have told you that I am nervous: so I am. And now at the dead hour of the night, amid the dreadful silence of that old house, so strange a noise as this excited me to uncontrollable terror. Yet, for some minutes longer I refrained and stood still. But the beating grew louder, louder! I thought the heart must burst. And now a new anxiety seized me — the sound would be heard by a neighbour! The old man's hour had come! With a loud yell, I threw open the lantern and leaped into the room. He shrieked once — once only. In an instant I dragged him to the floor, and pulled the heavy bed over him. I then smiled gaily, to find the deed so far done. But, for many minutes, the heart beat on with a muffled sound. This, however, did not vex me; it would not be heard through the wall. At length it ceased. The old man was dead. I removed the bed and examined the corpse. Yes, he was stone, stone dead. I placed my hand upon the heart and held it there many minutes. There was no pulsation. He was stone dead. His eye would trouble me no more.

If still you think me mad, you will think so no longer when I describe the wise precautions I took for the concealment of the body. The night waned, and I worked hastily, but in silence. First of all I dismembered the corpse. I cut off the head and the arms and the legs.

I then took up three planks from the flooring of the chamber, and deposited all between the scantlings. I then replaced the boards so cleverly, so cunningly, that no human eye — not even his — could have detected any thing wrong. There was nothing to wash out — no stain of any kind — no blood-spot whatever. I had been too wary for that. A tub had caught all — ha! ha!

When I had made an end of these labors, it was four o'clock — still dark as midnight. As the bell sounded the hour, there came a knocking at the street door. I went down to open it with a light heart, — for what had I now to fear? There entered three men, who introduced themselves, with perfect suavity, as officers of the police. A shriek had been heard by a neighbour during the night; suspicion of foul play had been aroused; information had been lodged at the police office, and they (the officers) had been deputed to search the premises.

I smiled, — for what had I to fear? I bade the gentlemen welcome. The shriek, I said, was my own in a dream. The old man, I mentioned, was absent in the country. I took my visitors all over the house. I bade them search — search well. I led them, at length, to his chamber. I showed them his treasures, secure, undisturbed. In the enthusiasm of my confidence, I brought chairs into the room, and desired them here to rest from their fatigues, while I myself, in the wild audacity of my perfect triumph, placed my own seat upon the very spot beneath which reposed the corpse of the victim.

The officers were satisfied. My manner had convinced them. I was singularly at ease. They sat, and while I answered cheerily, they chatted of familiar things. But, ere long, I felt myself getting pale and wished them gone. My head ached, and I fancied a ringing in my ears: but still they sat and still chatted. The ringing became more distinct: — it continued and became more distinct: I talked more freely to get rid of the feeling: but it continued and gained definiteness — until, at length, I found that the noise was not within my ears.

No doubt I now grew very pale; — but I talked more fluently, and with a heightened voice. Yet the sound increased — and what could I do? It was a low, dull, quick sound — much such a sound as a watch makes when enveloped in cotton. I gasped for breath — and yet the officers heard it not. I talked more quickly — more vehemently; but the noise steadily increased. I arose and argued about trifles, in a high key and with violent gesticulations; but the noise steadily increased. Why would they not be gone? I paced the floor to and fro with heavy strides, as if excited to fury by the observations of the men — but the noise steadily increased. Oh God! what could I do? I foamed — I raved — I swore! I swung the chair upon which I had been sitting, and grated it upon the boards, but the noise arose over all and continually increased. It grew louder — louder — louder! And still the men chatted pleasantly, and smiled. Was it possible they heard not? Almighty God! — no, no! They heard! — they suspected! — they knew! — they were making a mockery of my horror! — this I thought, and this I think. But anything was better than this agony! Anything was more tolerable than this derision! I could bear those hypocritical smiles no longer! I felt that I must scream or die! — and now — again! — hark! louder! louder! louder! louder! —

"Villains!" I shrieked, "dissemble no more! I admit the deed! — tear up the planks! — here, here! — it is the beating of his hideous heart!"

Poe, Edgar Allen. "Halloween Ghost Stories - Classic Ghost Stories." Halloween Ghost Stories - What would Halloween be without a good Scare?. N.p., n.d. Web. 1 Nov. 2011.

Happy Halloween!

2011-10-31T21:00:00.000-07:00

Here Is tale I found I Like to share with you!
THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOWby Washington Irving

THE END

hook. "Halloween Ghost Stories - Classic Ghost Stories." Halloween Ghost Stories - What would Halloween be without a good Scare?. N.p., n.d. Web. 1 Nov. 2011.

A pleasing land of drowsy head it was,
Of dreams that wave before the half-shut eye;
And of gay castles in the clouds that pass,
For ever flushing round a summer sky.
Castle of Indolence.

In the bosom of one of those spacious coves which indent the eastern shore of the Hudson, at that broad expansion of the river denominated by the ancient Dutch navigators the Tappan Zee, and where they always prudently shortened sail, and implored the protection of St. Nicholas when they crossed, there lies a small market-town or rural port, which by some is called Greensburgh, but which is more generally and properly known by the name of Tarry Town. This name was given, we are told, in former days, by the good housewives of the adjacent country, from the inveterate propensity of their husbands to linger about the village tavern on market days.

Be that as it may, I do not vouch for the fact, but merely advert to it, for the sake of being precise and authentic. Not far from this village, perhaps about two miles, there is a little valley, or rather lap of land, among high hills, which is one of the quietest places in the whole world. A small brook glides through it, with just murmur enough to lull one to repose; and the occasional whistle of a quail, or tapping of a woodpecker, is almost the only sound that ever breaks in upon the uniform tranquillity.

I recollect that, when a stripling, my first exploit in squirrel-shooting was in a grove of tall walnut-trees that shades one side of the valley. I had wandered into it at noon time, when all nature is peculiarly quiet, and was startled by the roar of my own gun, as it broke the Sabbath stillness around, and was prolonged and reverberated by the angry echoes. If ever I should wish for a retreat, whither I might steal from the world and its distractions, and dream quietly away the remnant of a troubled life, I know of none more promising than this little valley.

From the listless repose of the place, and the peculiar character of its inhabitants, who are descendants from the original Dutch settlers, this sequestered glen has long been known by the name of Sleepy Hollow, and its rustic lads are called the Sleepy Hollow Boys throughout all the neighboring country. A drowsy, dreamy influence seems to hang over the land, and to pervade the very atmosphere.

Some say that the place was bewitched by a high German doctor, during the early days of the settlement; others, that an old Indian chief, the prophet or wizard of his tribe, held his powwows there before the country was discovered by Master Hendrick Hudson. Certain it is, the place still continues under the sway of some witching power, that holds a spell over the minds of the good people, causing them to walk in a continual reverie. They are given to all kinds of marvellous beliefs; are subject to trances and visions; and frequently see strange sights, and hear music and voices in the air. The whole neighborhood abounds with local tales, haunted spots, and twilight superstitions; stars shoot and meteors glare oftener across the valley than in any other part of the country, and the nightmare, with her whole nine fold, seems to make it the favorite scene of her gambols.

The dominant spirit, however, that haunts this enchanted region, and seems to be commander-in-chief of all the powers of the air, is the apparition of a figure on horseback without a head. It is said by some to be the ghost of a Hessian trooper, whose head had been carried away by a cannon-ball, in some nameless battle during the revolutionary war; and who is ever and anon seen by the country folk, hurrying along in the gloom of night, as if on the wings of the wind. His haunts are not confined to the valley, but extend at times to the adjacent roads, and especially to the vicinity of a church at no great distance. Indeed, certain of the most authentic historians of those parts, who have been careful in collecting and collating the floating facts concerning this spectre, allege that the body of the trooper, having been buried in the church-yard, the ghost rides forth to the scene of battle in nightly quest of his head; and that the rushing speed with which he sometimes passes along the Hollow, like a midnight blast, is owing to his being belated, and in a hurry to get back to the church-yard before daybreak.

Such is the general purport of this legendary superstition, which has furnished materials for many a wild story in that region of shadows; and the spectre is known, at all the country firesides, by the name of the Headless Horseman of Sleepy Hollow.

It is remarkable that the visionary propensity I have mentioned is not confined to the native inhabitants of the valley, but is unconsciously imbibed by every one who resides there for a time. However wide awake they may have been before they entered that sleepy region, they are sure, in a little time, to inhale the witching influence of the air, and begin to grow imaginative- to dream dreams, and see apparitions.

I mention this peaceful spot with all possible laud; for it is in such little retired Dutch valleys, found here and there embosomed in the great State of New York, that population, manners, and customs, remain fixed; while the great torrent of migration and improvement, which is making such incessant changes in other parts of this restless country, sweeps by them unobserved. They are like those little nooks of still water which border a rapid stream; where we may see the straw and bubble riding quietly at anchor, or slowly revolving in their mimic harbor, undisturbed by the rush of the passing current. Though many years have elapsed since I trod the drowsy shades of Sleepy Hollow, yet I question whether I should not still find the same trees and the same families vegetating in its sheltered bosom.

In this by-place of nature, there abode, in a remote period of American history, that is to say, some thirty years since, a worthy wight of the name of Ichabod Crane; who sojourned, or, as he expressed it, "tarried," in Sleepy Hollow, for the purpose of instructing the children of the vicinity. He was a native of Connecticut; a State which supplies the Union with pioneers for the mind as well as for the forest, and sends forth yearly its legions of frontier woodsmen and country schoolmasters. The cognomen of Crane was not inapplicable to his person. He was tall, but exceedingly lank, with narrow shoulders, long arms and legs, hands that dangled a mile out of his sleeves, feet that might have served for shovels, and his whole frame most loosely hung together. His head was small, and flat at top, with huge ears, large green glassy eyes, and a long snipe nose, so that it looked like a weather-cock, perched upon his spindle neck, to tell which way the wind blew. To see him striding along the profile of a hill on a windy day, with his clothes bagging and fluttering about him, one might have mistaken him for the genius of famine descending upon the earth, or some scarecrow eloped from a cornfield.

His school-house was a low building of one large room, rudely constructed of logs; the windows partly glazed, and partly patched with leaves of old copy-books. It was most ingeniously secured at vacant hours, by a withe twisted in the handle of the door, and stakes set against the window shutters; so that, though a thief might get in with perfect ease, he would find some embarrassment in getting out; an idea most probably borrowed by the architect, Yost Van Houten, from the mystery of an eel-pot. The school-house stood in a rather lonely but pleasant situation, just at the foot of a woody hill, with a brook running close by, and a formidable birch tree growing at one end of it. From hence the low murmur of his pupils' voices, conning over their lessons, might be heard of a drowsy summer's day, like the hum of a beehive; interrupted now and then by the authoritative voice of the master, in the tone of menace or command; or, peradventure, by the appalling sound of the birch, as he urged some tardy loiterer along the flowery path of knowledge. Truth to say, he was a conscientious man, and ever bore in mind the golden maxim, "Spare the rod and spoil the child."- Ichabod Crane's scholars certainly were not spoiled.

I would not have it imagined, however, that he was one of those cruel potentates of the school, who joy in the smart of their subjects; on the contrary, he administered justice with discrimination rather than severity; taking the burden off the backs of the weak, and laying it on those of the strong. Your mere puny stripling, that winced at the least flourish of the rod, was passed by with indulgence; but the claims of justice were satisfied by inflicting a double portion on some little, tough, wrong-headed, broad-skirted Dutch urchin, who sulked and swelled and grew dogged and sullen beneath the birch. All this he called "doing his duty by their parents;" and he never inflicted a chastisement without following it by the assurance, so consolatory to the smarting urchin, that "he would remember it, and thank him for it the longest day he had to live."

When school hours were over, he was even the companion and playmate of the larger boys; and on holiday afternoons would convoy some of the smaller ones home, who happened to have pretty sisters, or good housewives for mothers, noted for the comforts of the cupboard. Indeed it behooved him to keep on good terms with his pupils. The revenue arising from his school was small, and would have been scarcely sufficient to furnish him with daily bread, for he was a huge feeder, and though lank, had the dilating powers of an anaconda; but to help out his maintenance, he was, according to country custom in those parts, boarded and lodged at the houses of the farmers, whose children he instructed. With these he lived successively a week at a time; thus going the rounds of the neighborhood, with all his worldly effects tied up in a cotton handkerchief.

That all this might not be too onerous on the purses of his rustic patrons, who are apt to consider the costs of schooling a grievous burden, and schoolmasters as mere drones, he had various ways of rendering himself both useful and agreeable. He assisted the farmers occasionally in the lighter labors of their farms; helped to make hay; mended the fences; took the horses to water; drove the cows from pasture; and cut wood for the winter fire. He laid aside, too, all the dominant dignity and absolute sway with which he lorded it in his little empire, the school, and became wonderfully gentle and ingratiating. He found favor in the eyes of the mothers, by petting the children, particularly the youngest; and like the lion bold, which whilom so magnanimously the lamb did hold, he would sit with a child on one knee, and rock a cradle with his foot for whole hours together.

In addition to his other vocations, he was the singing-master of the neighborhood, and picked up many bright shillings by instructing the young folks in psalmody. It was a matter of no little vanity to him, on Sundays, to take his station in front of the church gallery, with a band of chosen singers; where, in his own mind, he completely carried away the palm from the parson. Certain it is, his voice resounded far above all the rest of the congregation; and there are peculiar quavers still to be heard in that church, and which may even be heard half a mile off, quite to the opposite side of the mill-pond, on a still Sunday morning, which are said to be legitimately descended from the nose of Ichabod Crane. Thus, by divers little make-shifts in that ingenious way which is commonly denominated "by hook and by crook," the worthy pedagogue got on tolerably enough, and was thought, by all who understood nothing of the labor of headwork, to have a wonderfully easy life of it.

The schoolmaster is generally a man of some importance in the female circle of a rural neighborhood; being considered a kind of idle gentlemanlike personage, of vastly superior taste and accomplishments to the rough country swains, and, indeed, inferior in learning only to the parson. His appearance, therefore, is apt to occasion some little stir at the tea-table of a farmhouse, and the addition of a supernumerary dish of cakes or sweetmeats, or, peradventure, the parade of a silver tea-pot. Our man of letters, therefore, was peculiarly happy in the smiles of all the country damsels. How he would figure among them in the church-yard, between services on Sundays! gathering grapes for them from the wild vines that overrun the surrounding trees; reciting for their amusement all the epitaphs on the tombstones; or sauntering, with a whole bevy of them, along the banks of the adjacent mill-pond; while the more bashful country bumpkins hung sheepishly back, envying his superior elegance and address.

From his half itinerant life, also, he was a kind of travelling gazette, carrying the whole budget of local gossip from house to house; so that his appearance was always greeted with satisfaction. He was, moreover, esteemed by the women as a man of great erudition, for he had read several books quite through, and was a perfect master of Cotton Mather's history of New England Witchcraft, in which, by the way, he most firmly and potently believed.

He was, in fact, an odd mixture of small shrewdness and simple credulity. His appetite for the marvellous, and his powers of digesting it, were equally extraordinary; and both had been increased by his residence in this spellbound region. No tale was too gross or monstrous for his capacious swallow. It was often his delight, after his school was dismissed in the afternoon, to stretch himself on the rich bed of clover, bordering the little brook that whimpered by his school-house, and there con over old Mather's direful tales, until the gathering dusk of the evening made the printed page a mere mist before his eyes. Then, as he wended his way, by swamp and stream and awful woodland, to the farmhouse where he happened to be quartered, every sound of nature, at that witching hour, fluttered his excited imagination: the moan of the whip-poor-will* from the hillside; the boding cry of the tree-toad, that harbinger of storm; the dreary hooting of the screech-owl, or the sudden rustling in the thicket of birds frightened from their roost. The fire-flies, too, which sparkled most vividly in the darkest places, now and then startled him, as one of uncommon brightness would stream across his path; and if, by chance, a huge blockhead of a beetle came winging his blundering flight against him, the poor varlet was ready to give up the ghost, with the idea that he was struck with a witch's token.

His only resource on such occasions, either to drown thought, or drive away evil spirits, was to sing psalm tunes;- and the good people of Sleepy Hollow, as they sat by their doors of an evening, were often filled with awe, at hearing his nasal melody, "in linked sweetness long drawn out," floating from the distant hill, or along the dusky road.

Another of his sources of fearful pleasure was, to pass long winter evenings with the old Dutch wives, as they sat spinning by the fire, with a row of apples roasting and spluttering along the hearth, and listen to their marvellous tales of ghosts and goblins, and haunted fields, and haunted brooks, and haunted bridges, and haunted houses, and particularly of the headless horseman, or galloping Hessian of the Hollow, as they sometimes called him. He would delight them equally by his anecdotes of witchcraft, and of the direful omens and portentous sights and sounds in the air, which prevailed in the earlier times of Connecticut; and would frighten them woefully with speculations upon comets and shooting stars; and with the alarming fact that the world did absolutely turn round, and that they were half the time topsy-turvy!

But if there was a pleasure in all this, while snugly cuddling in the chimney corner of a chamber that was all of a ruddy glow from the crackling wood fire, and where, of course, no spectre dared to show his face, it was dearly purchased by the terrors of his subsequent walk homewards. What fearful shapes and shadows beset his path amidst the dim and ghastly glare of a snowy night! - With what wistful look did he eye every trembling ray of light streaming across the waste fields from some distant window!- How often was he appalled by some shrub covered with snow, which, like a sheeted spectre, beset his very path!- How often did he shrink with curdling awe at the sound of his own steps on the frosty crust beneath his feet; and dread to look over his shoulder, lest he should behold some uncouth being tramping close behind him! - and how often was he thrown into complete dismay by some rushing blast, howling among the trees, in the idea that it was the Galloping Hessian on one of his nightly scourings!

All these, however, were mere terrors of the night, phantoms of the mind that walk in darkness; and though he had seen many spectres in his time, and been more than once beset by Satan in divers shapes, in his lonely perambulations, yet daylight put an end to all these evils; and he would have passed a pleasant life of it, in despite of the devil and all his works, if his path had not been crossed by a being that causes more perplexity to mortal man than ghosts, goblins, and the whole race of witches put together, and that was- a woman.

Among the musical disciples who assembled, one evening in each week, to receive his instructions in psalmody, was Katrina Van Tassel, the daughter and only child of a substantial Dutch farmer. She was a blooming lass of fresh eighteen; plump as a partridge; ripe and melting and rosy cheeked as one of her father's peaches, and universally famed, not merely for her beauty, but her vast expectations. She was withal a little of a coquette, as might be perceived even in her dress, which was a mixture of ancient and modern fashions, as most suited to set off her charms. She wore the ornaments of pure yellow gold, which her great-great-grandmother had brought over from Saardam; the tempting stomacher of the olden time; and withal a provokingly short petticoat, to display the prettiest foot and ankle in the country round.

Ichabod Crane had a soft and foolish heart towards the sex; and it is not to be wondered at, that so tempting a morsel soon found favor in his eyes; more especially after he had visited her in her paternal mansion. Old Baltus Van Tassel was a perfect picture of a thriving, contented, liberal-hearted farmer. He seldom, it is true, sent either his eyes or his thoughts beyond the boundaries of his own farm; but within those every thing was snug, happy, and well-conditioned. He was satisfied with his wealth, but not proud of it; and piqued himself upon the hearty abundance, rather than the style in which he lived.- His stronghold was situated on the banks of the Hudson, in one of those green, sheltered, fertile nooks in which the Dutch farmers are so fond of nestling. A great elm-tree spread its broad branches over it; at the foot of which bubbled up a spring of the softest and sweetest water, in a little well, formed of a barrel; and then stole sparkling away through the grass, to a neighboring brook, that bubbled along among alders and dwarf willows. Hard by the farm-house was a vast barn, that might have served for a church; every window and crevice of which seemed bursting forth with the treasures of the farm; the flail was busily resounding within it from morning to night; swallows and martins skimmed twittering about the eaves; and rows of pigeons, some with one eye turned up, as if watching the weather, some with their heads under their wings, or buried in their bosoms, and others swelling, and cooing, and bowing about their dames, were enjoying the sunshine on the roof. Sleek unwieldy porkers were grunting in the repose and abundance of their pens; whence sallied forth, now and then, troops of sucking pigs, as if to snuff the air. A stately squadron of snowy geese were riding in an adjoining pond, convoying whole fleets of ducks; regiments of turkeys were gobbling through the farm-yard, and guinea fowls fretting about it, like ill-tempered housewives, with their peevish discontented cry. Before the barn door strutted the gallant cock, that pattern of a husband, a warrior, and a fine gentleman, clapping his burnished wings, and crowing in the pride and gladness of his heart- sometimes tearing up the earth with his feet, and then generously calling his ever-hungry family of wives and children to enjoy the rich morsel which he had discovered.

The pedagogue's mouth watered, as he looked upon this sumptuous promise of luxurious winter fare. In his devouring mind's eye, he pictured to himself every roasting-pig running about with a pudding in his belly, and an apple in his mouth; the pigeons were snugly put to bed in a comfortable pie, and tucked in with a coverlet of crust; the geese were swimming in their own gravy; and the ducks pairing cosily in dishes, like snug married couples, with a decent competency of onion sauce. In the porkers he saw carved out the future sleek side of bacon, and juicy relishing ham; not a turkey but he beheld daintily trussed up, with its gizzard under its wing, and, peradventure, a necklace of savory sausages; and even bright chanticleer himself lay sprawling on his back, in a side-dish, with uplifted claws, as if craving that quarter which his chivalrous spirit disdained to ask while living.

As the enraptured Ichabod fancied all this, and as he rolled his great green eyes over the fat meadow-lands, the rich fields of wheat, of rye, of buckwheat, and Indian corn, and the orchards burdened with ruddy fruit, which surrounded the warm tenement of Van Tassel, his heart yearned after the damsel who was to inherit these domains, and his imagination expanded with the idea, how they might be readily turned into cash, and the money invested in immense tracts of wild land, and shingle palaces in the wilderness. Nay, his busy fancy already realized his hopes, and presented to him the blooming Katrina, with a whole family of children, mounted on the top of a wagon loaded with household trumpery, with pots and kettles dangling beneath; and he beheld himself bestriding a pacing mare, with a colt at her heels, setting out for Kentucky, Tennessee, or the Lord knows where.

When he entered the house the conquest of his heart was complete. It was one of those spacious farmhouses, with high-ridged, but lowly-sloping roofs, built in the style handed down from the first Dutch settlers; the low projecting eaves forming a piazza along the front, capable of being closed up in bad weather. Under this were hung flails, harness, various utensils of husbandry, and nets for fishing in the neighboring river. Benches were built along the sides for summer use; and a great spinning-wheel at one end, and a churn at the other, showed the various uses to which this important porch might be devoted. From this piazza the wondering Ichabod entered the hall, which formed the centre of the mansion and the place of usual residence. Here, rows of resplendent pewter, ranged on a long dresser, dazzled his eyes. In one corner stood a huge bag of wool ready to be spun; in another a quantity of linsey-woolsey just from the loom; ears of Indian corn, and strings of dried apples and peaches, hung in gay festoons along the walls, mingled with the gaud of red peppers; and a door left ajar gave him a peep into the best parlor, where the claw-footed chairs, and dark mahogany tables, shone like mirrors; andirons, with their accompanying shovel and tongs, glistened from their covert of asparagus tops; mock-oranges and conch-shells decorated the mantel-piece; strings of various colored birds' eggs were suspended above it: a great ostrich egg was hung from the centre of the room, and a corner cupboard, knowingly left open, displayed immense treasures of old silver and well-mended china. From the moment Ichabod laid his eyes upon these regions of delight, the peace of his mind was at an end, and his only study was how to gain the affections of the peerless daughter of Van Tassel.

In this enterprise, however, he had more real difficulties than generally fell to the lot of a knight-errant of yore, who seldom had any thing but giants, enchanters, fiery dragons, and such like easily-conquered adversaries, to contend with; and had to make his way merely through gates of iron and brass, and walls of adamant, to the castle keep, where the lady of his heart was confined; all which he achieved as easily as a man would carve his way to the centre of a Christmas pie; and then the lady gave him her hand as a matter of course. Ichabod, on the contrary, had to win his way to the heart of a country coquette, beset with a labyrinth of whims and caprices, which were for ever presenting new difficulties and impediments; and he had to encounter a host of fearful adversaries of real flesh and blood, the numerous rustic admirers, who beset every portal to her heart; keeping a watchful and angry eye upon each other, but ready to fly out in the common cause against any new competitor.

Among these the most formidable was a burly, roaring, roystering blade, of the name of Abraham, or, according to the Dutch abbreviation, Brom Van Brunt, the hero of the country round, which rang with his feats of strength and hardihood. He was broad-shouldered and double-jointed, with short curly black hair, and a bluff, but not unpleasant countenance, having a mingled air of fun and arrogance.

From his Herculean frame and great powers of limb, he had received the nickname of BromM Bones, by which he was universally known. He was famed for great knowledge and skill in horsemanship, being as dexterous on horseback as a Tartar. He was foremost at all races and cock-fights; and, with the ascendancy which bodily strength acquires in rustic life, was the umpire in all disputes, setting his hat on one side, and giving his decisions with an air and tone admitting of no gainsay or appeal. He was always ready for either a fight or a frolic; but had more mischief than ill-will in his composition; and, with all his overbearing roughness, there was a strong dash of waggish good humor at bottom. He had three or four boon companions, who regarded him as their model, and at the head of whom he scoured the country, attending every scene of feud or merriment for miles round. In cold weather he was distinguished by a fur cap, surmounted with a flaunting fox's tail; and when the folks at a country gathering descried this well-known crest at a distance, whisking about among a squad of hard riders, they always stood by for a squall. Sometimes his crew would be heard dashing along past the farmhouses at midnight, with whoop and halloo, like a troop of Don Cossacks; and the old dames, startled out of their sleep, would listen for a moment till the hurry-scurry had clattered by, and then exclaim, "Ay, there goes Brom Bones and his gang!" The neighbors looked upon him with a mixture of awe, admiration, and good will; and when any madcap prank, or rustic brawl, occurred in the vicinity, always shook their heads, and warranted Brom Bones was at the bottom of it.

This rantipole hero had for some time singled out the blooming Katrina for the object of his uncouth gallantries, and though his amorous toyings were something like the gentle caresses and endearments of a bear, yet it was whispered that she did not altogether discourage his hopes. Certain it is, his advances were signals for rival candidates to retire, who felt no inclination to cross a lion in his amours; insomuch, that when his horse was seen tied to Van Tassel's paling, on a Sunday night, a sure sign that his master was courting, or, as it is termed, "sparking," within, all other suitors passed by in despair, and carried the war into other quarters.

Such was the formidable rival with whom Ichabod Crane had to contend, and, considering all things, a stouter man than he would have shrunk from the competition, and a wiser man would have despaired. He had, however, a happy mixture of pliability and perseverance in his nature; he was in form and spirit like a supple-jack- yielding, but tough; though he bent, he never broke; and though he bowed beneath the slightest pressure, yet, the moment it was away- jerk! he was as erect, and carried his head as high as ever.

To have taken the field openly against his rival would have been madness; for he was not a man to be thwarted in his amours, any more than that stormy lover, Achilles. Ichabod, therefore, made his advances in a quiet and gently-insinuating manner. Under cover of his character of singing-master, he made frequent visits at the farmhouse; not that he had any thing to apprehend from the meddlesome interference of parents, which is so often a stumbling-block in the path of lovers. Balt Van Tassel was an easy indulgent soul; he loved his daughter better even than his pipe, and, like a reasonable man and an excellent father, let her have her way in everything. His notable little wife, too, had enough to do to attend to her housekeeping and manage her poultry; for, as she sagely observed, ducks and geese are foolish things, and must be looked after, but girls can take care of themselves. Thus while the busy dame bustled about the house, or plied her spinning-wheel at one end of the piazza, honest Balt would sit smoking his evening pipe at the other, watching the achievements of a little wooden warrior, who, armed with a sword in each hand, was most valiantly fighting the wind on the pinnacle of the barn. In the meantime, Ichabod would carry on his suit with the daughter by the side of the spring under the great elm, or sauntering along in the twilight, that hour so favorable to the lover's eloquence.

I profess not to know how women's hearts are wooed and won. To me they have always been matters of riddle and admiration. Some seem to have but one vulnerable point, or door of access; while others have a thousand avenues, and may be captured in a thousand different ways. It is a great triumph of skill to gain the former, but a still greater proof of generalship to maintain possession of the latter, for the man must battle for his fortress at every door and window. He who wins a thousand common hearts is therefore entitled to some renown; but he who keeps undisputed sway over the heart of a coquette, is indeed a hero. Certain it is, this was not the case with the redoubtable Brom Bones; and from the moment Ichabod Crane made his advances, the interests of the former evidently declined; his horse was no longer seen tied at the palings on Sunday nights, and a deadly feud gradually arose between him and the preceptor of Sleepy Hollow.

Brom, who had a degree of rough chivalry in his nature, would fain have carried matters to open warfare, and have settled their pretensions to the lady, according to the mode of those most concise and simple reasoners, the knights-errant of yore- by single combat; but Ichabod was too conscious of the superior might of his adversary to enter the lists against him: he had overheard a boast of Bones, that he would "double the schoolmaster up, and lay him on a shelf of his own school-house;" and he was too wary to give him an opportunity.

There was something extremely provoking in this obstinately pacific system; it left Brom no alternative but to draw upon the funds of rustic waggery in his disposition, and to play off boorish practical jokes upon his rival. Ichabod became the object of whimsical persecution to Bones, and his gang of rough riders. They harried his hitherto peaceful domains; smoked out his singing school, by stopping up the chimney; broke into the school-house at night, in spite of its formidable fastenings of withe and window stakes, and turned every thing topsy-turvy: so that the poor schoolmaster began to think all the witches in the country held their meetings there. But what was still more annoying, Brom took all opportunities of turning him into ridicule in presence of his mistress, and had a scoundrel dog whom he taught to whine in the most ludicrous manner, and introduced as a rival of Ichabod's to instruct her in psalmody.

In this way matters went on for some time, without producing any material effect on the relative situation of the contending powers. On a fine autumnal afternoon, Ichabod, in pensive mood, sat enthroned on the lofty stool whence he usually watched all the concerns of his little literary realm. In his hand he swayed a ferrule, that sceptre of despotic power; the birch of justice reposed on three nails, behind the throne, a constant terror to evil doers; while on the desk before him might be seen sundry contraband articles and prohibited weapons, detected upon the persons of idle urchins; such as half-munched apples, popguns, whirligigs, fly-cages, and whole legions of rampant little paper gamecocks. Apparently there had been some appalling act of justice recently inflicted, for his scholars were all busily intent upon their books, or slyly whispering behind them with one eye kept upon the master; and a kind of buzzing stillness reigned throughout the school-room. It was suddenly interrupted by the appearance of a negro, in tow-cloth jacket and trowsers, a round-crowned fragment of a hat, like the cap of Mercury, and mounted on the back of a ragged, wild, half-broken colt, which he managed with a rope by way of halter. He came clattering up to the school door with an invitation to Ichabod to attend a merry-making or "quilting frolic," to be held that evening at Mynheer Van Tassel's; and having delivered his message with that air of importance, and effort at fine language, which a negro is apt to display on petty embassies of the kind, he dashed over the brook, and was seen scampering away up the hollow, full of the importance and hurry of his mission.

All was now bustle and hubbub in the late quiet school-room. The scholars were hurried through their lessons, without stopping at trifles; those who were nimble skipped over half with impunity, and those who were tardy, had a smart application now and then in the rear, to quicken their speed, or help them over a tall word. Books were flung aside without being put away on the shelves, inkstands were overturned, benches thrown down, and the whole school was turned loose an hour before the usual time, bursting forth like a legion of young imps, yelping and racketing about the green, in joy at their early emancipation.

The gallant Ichabod now spent at least an extra half hour at his toilet, brushing and furbishing up his best, and indeed only suit of rusty black, and arranging his looks by a bit of broken looking-glass, that hung up in the school-house. That he might make his appearance before his mistress in the true style of a cavalier, he borrowed a horse from the farmer with whom he was domiciliated, a choleric old Dutchman, of the name of Hans Van Ripper, and, thus gallantly mounted, issued forth, like a knight-errant in quest of adventures. But it is meet I should, in the true spirit of romantic story, give some account of the looks and equipments of my hero and his steed. The animal he bestrode was a broken-down plough-horse, that had outlived almost every thing but his viciousness. He was gaunt and shagged, with a ewe neck and a head like a hammer; his rusty mane and tail were tangled and knotted with burrs; one eye had lost its pupil, and was glaring and spectral; but the other had the gleam of a genuine devil in it. Still he must have had fire and mettle in his day, if we may judge from the name he bore of Gunpowder. He had, in fact, been a favorite steed of his master's, the choleric Van Ripper, who was a furious rider, and had infused, very probably, some of his own spirit into the animal; for, old and broken-down as he looked, there was more of the lurking devil in him than in any young filly in the country.

Ichabod was a suitable figure for such a steed. He rode with short stirrups, which brought his knees nearly up to the pommel of the saddle; his sharp elbows stuck out like grasshoppers'; he carried his whip perpendicularly in his hand, like a sceptre, and, as his horse jogged on, the motion of his arms was not unlike the flapping of a pair of wings. A small wool hat rested on the top of his nose, for so his scanty strip of forehead might be called; and the skirts of his black coat fluttered out almost to the horse's tail. Such was the appearance of Ichabod and his steed, as they shambled out of the gate of Hans Van Ripper, and it was altogether such an apparition as is seldom to be met with in broad daylight.

It was, as I have said, a fine autumnal day, the sky was clear and serene, and nature wore that rich and golden livery which we always associate with the idea of abundance. The forests had put on their sober brown and yellow, while some trees of the tenderer kind had been nipped by the frosts into brilliant dyes of orange, purple, and scarlet. Streaming files of wild ducks began to make their appearance high in the air; the bark of the squirrel might be heard from the groves of beech and hickory nuts, and the pensive whistle of the quail at intervals from the neighboring stubble-field.

The small birds were taking their farewell banquets. In the fullness of their revelry, they fluttered, chirping and frolicking, from bush to bush, and tree to tree, capricious from the very profusion and variety around them. There was the honest cock-robin, the favorite game of stripling sportsmen, with its loud querulous note; and the twittering blackbirds flying in sable clouds; and the golden-winged woodpecker, with his crimson crest, his broad black gorget, and splendid plumage; and the cedar bird, with its red-tipt wings and yellow-tipt tail, and its little monteiro cap of feathers; and the blue jay, that noisy coxcomb, in his gay light-blue coat and white underclothes; screaming and chattering, nodding and bobbing and bowing, and pretending to be on good terms with every songster of the grove.

As Ichabod jogged slowly on his way, his eye, ever open to every symptom of culinary abundance, ranged with delight over the treasures of jolly autumn. On all sides he beheld vast stores of apples; some hanging in oppressive opulence on the trees; some gathered into baskets and barrels for the market; others heaped up in rich piles for the cider-press. Farther on he beheld great fields of Indian corn, with its golden ears peeping from their leafy coverts, and holding out the promise of cakes and hasty pudding; and the yellow pumpkins lying beneath them, turning up their fair round bellies to the sun, and giving ample prospects of the most luxurious of pies; and anon he passed the fragrant buckwheat fields, breathing the odor of the bee-hive, and as he beheld them, soft anticipations stole over his mind of dainty slapjacks, well buttered, and garnished with honey or treacle, by the delicate little dimpled hand of Katrina Van Tassel.

Thus feeding his mind with many sweet thoughts and "sugared suppositions," he journeyed along the sides of a range of hills which look out upon some of the goodliest scenes of the mighty Hudson. The sun gradually wheeled his broad disk down into the west. The wide bosom of the Tappan Zee lay motionless and glassy, excepting that here and there a gentle undulation waved and prolonged the blue shadow of the distant mountain. A few amber clouds floated in the sky, without a breath of air to move them. The horizon was of a fine golden tint, changing gradually into a pure apple green, and from that into the deep blue of the mid-heaven. A slanting ray lingered on the woody crests of the precipices that overhung some parts of the river, giving greater depth to the dark-gray and purple of their rocky sides. A sloop was loitering in the distance, dropping slowly down with the tide, her sail hanging uselessly against the mast; and as the reflection of the sky gleamed along the still water, it seemed as if the vessel was suspended in the air.

It was toward evening that Ichabod arrived at the castle of the Herr Van Tassel, which he found thronged with the pride and flower of the adjacent country. Old farmers, a spare leathern-faced race, in homespun coats and breeches, blue stockings, huge shoes, and magnificent pewter buckles. Their brisk withered little dames, in close crimped caps, long-waisted shortgowns, homespun petticoats, with scissors and pincushions, and gay calico pockets hanging on the outside. Buxom lasses, almost as antiquated as their mothers, excepting where a straw hat, a fine ribbon, or perhaps a white frock, gave symptoms of city innovation. The sons, in short square-skirted coats with rows of stupendous brass buttons, and their hair generally queued in the fashion of the times, especially if they could procure an eel-skin for the purpose, it being esteemed, throughout the country, as a potent nourisher and strengthener of the hair.

Brom Bones, however, was the hero of the scene, having come to the gathering on his favorite steed Daredevil, a creature, like himself, full of mettle and mischief, and which no one but himself could manage. He was, in fact, noted for preferring vicious animals, given to all kinds of tricks, which kept the rider in constant risk of his neck, for he held a tractable well-broken horse as unworthy of a lad of spirit.

Fain would I pause to dwell upon the world of charms that burst upon the enraptured gaze of my hero, as he entered the state parlor of Van Tassel's mansion. Not those of the bevy of buxom lasses, with their luxurious display of red and white; but the ample charms of a genuine Dutch country tea-table, in the sumptuous time of autumn. Such heaped-up platters of cakes of various and almost indescribable kinds, known only to experienced Dutch housewives! There was the doughty doughnut, the tender oly koek, and the crisp and crumbling cruller; sweet cakes and short cakes, ginger cakes and honey cakes, and the whole family of cakes. And then there were apple pies and peach pies and pumpkin pies; besides slices of ham and smoked beef; and moreover delectable dishes of preserved plums, and peaches, and pears, and quinces; not to mention broiled shad and roasted chickens; together with bowls of milk and cream, all mingled higgledy-piggledy, pretty much as I have enumerated them, with the motherly tea-pot sending up its clouds of vapor from the midst- Heaven bless the mark! I want breath and time to discuss this banquet as it deserves, and am too eager to get on with my story. Happily, Ichabod Crane was not in so great a hurry as his historian, but did ample justice to every dainty.

He was a kind and thankful creature, whose heart dilated in proportion as his skin was filled with good cheer; and whose spirits rose with eating as some men's do with drink. He could not help, too, rolling his large eyes round him as he ate, and chuckling with the possibility that he might one day be lord of all this scene of almost unimaginable luxury and splendor. Then, he thought, how soon he'd turn his back upon the old school-house; snap his fingers in the face of Hans Van Ripper, and every other niggardly patron, and kick any itinerant pedagogue out of doors that should dare to call him comrade!

Old Baltus Van Tassel moved about among his guests with a face dilated with content and good humor, round and jolly as the harvest moon. His hospitable attentions were brief, but expressive, being confined to a shake of the hand, a slap on the shoulder, a loud laugh, and a pressing invitation to "fall to, and help themselves."

And now the sound of the music from the common room, or hall, summoned to the dance. The musician was an old gray-headed negro, who had been the itinerant orchestra of the neighborhood for more than half a century. His instrument was as old and battered as himself. The greater part of the time he scraped on two or three strings, accompanying every movement of the bow with a motion of the head; bowing almost to the ground, and stamping with his foot whenever a fresh couple were to start.

Ichabod prided himself upon his dancing as much as upon his vocal powers. Not a limb, not a fibre about him was idle; and to have seen his loosely hung frame in full motion, and clattering about the room, you would have thought Saint Vitus himself, that blessed patron of the dance, was figuring before you in person. He was the admiration of all the negroes; who, having gathered, of all ages and sizes, from the farm and the neighborhood, stood forming a pyramid of shining black faces at every door and window, gazing with delight at the scene, rolling their white eye-balls, and showing grinning rows of ivory from ear to ear. How could the flogger of urchins be otherwise than animated and joyous? the lady of his heart was his partner in the dance, and smiling graciously in reply to all his amorous oglings; while Brom Bones, sorely smitten with love and jealousy, sat brooding by himself in one corner.

When the dance was at an end, Ichabod was attracted to a knot of the sager folks, who, with old Van Tassel, sat smoking at one end of the piazza, gossiping over former times, and drawing out long stories about the war.

This neighborhood, at the time of which I am speaking, was one of those highly-favored places which abound with chronicle and great men. The British and American line had run near it during the war; it had, therefore, been the scene of marauding, and infested with refugees, cow-boys, and all kinds of border chivalry. Just sufficient time had elapsed to enable each story-teller to dress up his tale with a little becoming fiction, and, in the indistinctness of his recollection, to make himself the hero of every exploit.

There was the story of Doffue Martling, a large blue-bearded Dutchman, who had nearly taken a British frigate with an old iron nine-pounder from a mud breastwork, only that his gun burst at the sixth discharge. And there was an old gentleman who shall be nameless, being too rich a mynheer to be lightly mentioned, who, in the battle of Whiteplains, being an excellent master of defence, parried a musket ball with a small sword, insomuch that he absolutely felt it whiz round the blade, and glance off at the hilt: in proof of which, he was ready at any time to show the sword, with the hilt a little bent. There were several more that had been equally great in the field, not one of whom but was persuaded that he had a considerable hand in bringing the war to a happy termination.

But all these were nothing to the tales of ghosts and apparitions that succeeded. The neighborhood is rich in legendary treasures of the kind. Local tales and superstitions thrive best in these sheltered long-settled retreats; but are trampled under foot by the shifting throng that forms the population of most of our country places. Besides, there is no encouragement for ghosts in most of our villages, for they have scarcely had time to finish their first nap, and turn themselves in their graves, before their surviving friends have travelled away from the neighborhood; so that when they turn out at night to walk their rounds, they have no acquaintance left to call upon. This is perhaps the reason why we so seldom hear of ghosts except in our long-established Dutch communities.

The immediate cause, however, of the prevalence of supernatural stories in these parts, was doubtless owing to the vicinity of Sleepy Hollow. There was a contagion in the very air that blew from that haunted region; it breathed forth an atmosphere of dreams and fancies infecting all the land. Several of the Sleepy Hollow people were present at Van Tassel's, and, as usual, were doling out their wild and wonderful legends. Many dismal tales were told about funeral trains, and mourning cries and wailings heard and seen about the great tree where the unfortunate Major Andre was taken, and which stood in the neighborhood. Some mention was made also of the woman in white, that haunted the dark glen at Raven Rock, and was often heard to shriek on winter nights before a storm, having perished there in the snow. The chief part of the stories, however, turned upon the favorite spectre of Sleepy Hollow, the headless horseman, who had been heard several times of late, patrolling the country; and, it was said, tethered his horse nightly among the graves in the church-yard.

The sequestered situation of this church seems always to have made it a favorite haunt of troubled spirits. It stands on a knoll, surrounded by locust-trees and lofty elms, from among which its decent whitewashed walls shine modestly forth, like Christian purity beaming through the shades of retirement. A gentle slope descends from it to a silver sheet of water, bordered by high trees, between which, peeps may be caught at the blue hills of the Hudson. To look upon its grass-grown yard, where the sunbeams seem to sleep so quietly, one would think that there at least the dead might rest in peace. On one side of the church extends a wide woody dell, along which raves a large brook among broken rocks and trunks of fallen trees. Over a deep black part of the stream, not far from the church, was formerly thrown a wooden bridge; the road that led to it, and the bridge itself, were thickly shaded by overhanging trees, which cast a gloom about it, even in the daytime; but occasioned a fearful darkness at night. This was one of the favorite haunts of the headless horseman; and the place where he was most frequently encountered. The tale was told of old Brouwer, a most heretical disbeliever in ghosts, how he met the horseman returning from his foray into Sleepy Hollow, and was obliged to get up behind him; how they galloped over bush and brake, over hill and swamp, until they reached the bridge; when the horseman suddenly turned into a skeleton, threw old Brouwer into the brook, and sprang away over the tree-tops with a clap of thunder.

This story was immediately matched by a thrice marvellous adventure of Brom Bones, who made light of the galloping Hessian as an arrant jockey. He affirmed that, on returning one night from the neighboring village of Sing Sing, he had been overtaken by this midnight trooper; that he had offered to race with him for a bowl of punch, and should have won it too, for Daredevil beat the goblin horse all hollow, but, just as they came to the church bridge, the Hessian bolted, and vanished in a flash of fire.

All these tales, told in that drowsy undertone with which men talk in the dark, the countenances of the listeners only now and then receiving a casual gleam from the glare of a pipe, sank deep in the mind of Ichabod. He repaid them in kind with large extracts from his invaluable author, Cotton Mather, and added many marvellous events that had taken place in his native State of Connecticut, and fearful sights which he had seen in his nightly walks about Sleepy Hollow.

The revel now gradually broke up. The old farmers gathered together their families in their wagons, and were heard for some time rattling along the hollow roads, and over the distant hills. Some of the damsels mounted on pillions behind their favorite swains, and their light-hearted laughter, mingling with the clatter of hoofs, echoed along the silent woodlands, sounding fainter and fainter until they gradually died away- and the late scene of noise and frolic was all silent and deserted. Ichabod only lingered behind, according to the custom of country lovers, to have a tete-a-tete with the heiress, fully convinced that he was now on the high road to success. What passed at this interview I will not pretend to say, for in fact I do not know. Something, however, I fear me, must have gone wrong, for he certainly sallied forth, after no very great interval, with an air quite desolate and chapfallen.

Oh these women! these women! Could that girl have been playing off any of her coquettish tricks? Was her encouragement of the poor pedagogue all a mere sham to secure her conquest of his rival? Heaven only knows, not I!- Let it suffice to say, Ichabod stole forth with the air of one who had been sacking a henroost, rather than a fair lady's heart.

Without looking to the right or left to notice the scene of rural wealth, on which he had so often gloated, he went straight to the stable, and with several hearty cuffs and kicks, roused his steed most uncourteously from the comfortable quarters in which he was soundly sleeping, dreaming of mountains of corn and oats, and whole valleys of timothy and clover.

It was the very witching time of night that Ichabod, heavy-hearted and crest-fallen, pursued his travel homewards, along the sides of the lofty hills which rise above Tarry Town, and which he had traversed so cheerily in the afternoon. The hour was as dismal as himself. Far below him, the Tappan Zee spread its dusky and indistinct waste of waters, with here and there the tall mast of a sloop, riding quietly at anchor under the land. In the dead hush of midnight, he could even hear the barking of the watch dog from the opposite shore of the Hudson; but it was so vague and faint as only to give an idea of his distance from this faithful companion of man.

Now and then, too, the long-drawn crowing of a cock, accidentally awakened, would sound far, far off, from some farm-house away among the hills- but it was like a dreaming sound in his ear. No signs of life occurred near him, but occasionally the melancholy chirp of a cricket, or perhaps the guttural twang of a bullfrog, from a neighboring marsh, as if sleeping uncomfortably, and turning suddenly in his bed.

All the stories of ghosts and goblins that he had heard in the afternoon, now came crowding upon his recollection. The night grew darker and darker; the stars seemed to sink deeper in the sky, and driving clouds occasionally hid them from his sight. He had never felt so lonely and dismayed. He was, moreover, approaching the very place where many of the scenes of the ghost stories had been laid. In the centre of the road stood an enormous tulip-tree, which towered like a giant above all the other trees of the neighborhood, and formed a kind of landmark. Its limbs were gnarled, and fantastic, large enough to form trunks for ordinary trees, twisting down almost to the earth, and rising again into the air. It was connected with the tragical story of the unfortunate Andre, who had been taken prisoner hard by; and was universally known by the name of Major Andre's tree. The common people regarded it with a mixture of respect and superstition, partly out of sympathy for the fate of its ill-starred namesake, and partly from the tales of strange sights and doleful lamentations told concerning it.

As Ichabod approached this fearful tree, he began to whistle: he thought his whistle was answered- it was but a blast sweeping sharply through the dry branches. As he approached a little nearer, he thought he saw something white, hanging in the midst of the tree - he paused and ceased whistling; but on looking more narrowly, perceived that it was a place where the tree had been scathed by lightning, and the white wood laid bare. Suddenly he heard a groan- his teeth chattered and his knees smote against the saddle: it was but the rubbing of one huge bough upon another, as they were swayed about by the breeze. He passed the tree in safety, but new perils lay before him.

About two hundred yards from the tree a small brook crossed the road, and ran into a marshy and thickly-wooded glen, known by the name of Wiley's swamp. A few rough logs, laid side by side, served for a bridge over this stream. On that side of the road where the brook entered the wood, a group of oaks and chestnuts, matted thick with wild grape-vines, threw a cavernous gloom over it. To pass this bridge was the severest trial. It was at this identical spot that the unfortunate Andre was captured, and under the covert of those chestnuts and vines were the sturdy yeomen concealed who surprised him. This has ever since been considered a haunted stream, and fearful are the feelings of the schoolboy who has to pass it alone after dark.

As he approached the stream his heart began to thump; he summoned up, however, all his resolution, gave his horse half a score of kicks in the ribs, and attempted to dash briskly across the bridge; but instead of starting forward, the perverse old animal made a lateral movement, and ran broadside against the fence. Ichabod, whose fears increased with the delay, jerked the reins on the other side, and kicked lustily with the contrary foot: it was all in vain; his steed started, it is true, but it was only to plunge to the opposite side of the road into a thicket of brambles and alder bushes.

The schoolmaster now bestowed both whip and heel upon the starveling ribs of old Gunpowder, who dashed forward, snuffling and snorting, but came to a stand just by the bridge, with a suddenness that had nearly sent his rider sprawling over his head. Just at this moment a splashy tramp by the side of the bridge caught the sensitive ear of Ichabod. In the dark shadow of the grove, on the margin of the brook, he beheld something huge, misshapen, black and towering. It stirred not, but seemed gathered up in the gloom, like some gigantic monster ready to spring upon the traveller.

The hair of the affrighted pedagogue rose upon his head with terror. What was to be done? To turn and fly was now too late; and besides, what chance was there of escaping ghost or goblin, if such it was, which could ride upon the wings of the wind? Summoning up, therefore, a show of courage, he demanded in stammering accents - "Who are you?" He received no reply. He repeated his demand in a still more agitated voice. Still there was no answer. Once more he cudgelled the sides of the inflexible Gunpowder, and, shutting his eyes, broke forth with involuntary fervor into a psalm tune. Just then the shadowy object of alarm put itself in motion, and, with a scramble and a bound, stood at once in the middle of the road. Though the night was dark and dismal, yet the form of the unknown might now in some degree be ascertained. He appeared to be a horseman of large dimensions, and mounted on a black horse of powerful frame. He made no offer of molestation or sociability, but kept aloof on one side of the road, jogging along on the blind side of old Gunpowder, who had now got over his fright and waywardness.

Ichabod, who had no relish for this strange midnight companion, and bethought himself of the adventure of Brom Bones with the Galloping Hessian, now quickened his steed, in hopes of leaving him behind. The stranger, however, quickened his horse to an equal pace. Ichabod pulled up, and fell into a walk, thinking to lag behind- the other did the same. His heart began to sink within him; he endeavored to resume his psalm tune, but his parched tongue clove to the roof of his mouth, and he could not utter a stave. There was something in the moody and dogged silence of this pertinacious companion, that was mysterious and appalling. It was soon fearfully accounted for. On mounting a rising ground, which brought the figure of his fellow-traveller in relief against the sky, gigantic in height, and muffled in a cloak, Ichabod was horror-struck, on perceiving that he was headless!- but his horror was still more increased, on observing that the head, which should have rested on his shoulders, was carried before him on the pommel of the saddle: his terror rose to desperation; he rained a shower of kicks and blows upon Gunpowder, hoping by a sudden movement, to give his companion the slip- but the spectre started full jump with him. Away then they dashed, through thick and thin; stones flying, and sparks flashing at every bound. Ichabod's flimsy garments fluttered in the air, as he stretched his long lank body away over his horse's head, in the eagerness of his flight.

They had now reached the road which turns off to Sleepy Hollow; but Gunpowder, who seemed possessed with a demon, instead of keeping up it, made an opposite turn, and plunged headlong down hill to the left. This road leads through a sandy hollow, shaded by trees for about a quarter of a mile, where it crosses the bridge famous in goblin story, and just beyond swells the green knoll on which stands the whitewashed church.

As yet the panic of the steed had given his unskillful rider an apparent advantage in the chase; but just as he had got half way through the hollow, the girths of the saddle gave way, and he felt it slipping from under him. He seized it by the pommel, and endeavored to hold it firm, but in vain; and had just time to save himself by clasping old Gunpowder round the neck, when the saddle fell to the earth, and he heard it trampled under foot by his pursuer. For a moment the terror of Hans Van Ripper's wrath passed across his mind - for it was his Sunday saddle; but this was no time for petty fears; the goblin was hard on his haunches; and (unskillful rider that he was!) he had much ado to maintain his seat; sometimes slipping on one side, sometimes on another, and sometimes jolted on the high ridge of his horse's backbone, with a violence that he verily feared would cleave him asunder.

An opening in the trees now cheered him with the hopes that the church bridge was at hand. The wavering reflection of a silver star in the bosom of the brook told him that he was not mistaken. He saw the walls of the church dimly glaring under the trees beyond. He recollected the place where Brom Bones's ghostly competitor had disappeared. "If I can but reach that bridge," thought Ichabod, "I am safe." Just then he heard the black steed panting and blowing close behind him; he even fancied that he felt his hot breath. Another convulsive kick in the ribs, and old Gunpowder sprang upon the bridge; he thundered over the resounding planks; he gained the opposite side; and now Ichabod cast a look behind to see if his pursuer should vanish, according to rule, in a flash of fire and brimstone.

Just then he saw the goblin rising in his stirrups, and in the very act of hurling his head at him. Ichabod endeavored to dodge the horrible missile, but too late. It encountered his cranium with a tremendous crash- he was tumbled headlong into the dust, and Gunpowder, the black steed, and the goblin rider, passed by like a whirlwind.

The next morning the old horse was found without his saddle, and with the bridle under his feet, soberly cropping the grass at his master's gate. Ichabod did not make his appearance at breakfast- dinner-hour came, but no Ichabod. The boys assembled at the school-house and strolled idly about the banks of the brook; but no schoolmaster. Hans Van Ripper now began to feel some uneasiness about the fate of poor Ichabod, and his saddle. An inquiry was set on foot, and after diligent investigation they came upon his traces.

In one part of the road leading to the church was found the saddle trampled in the dirt; the tracks of horses' hoofs deeply dented in the road, and evidently at furious speed, were traced to the bridge, beyond which, on the bank of a broad part of the brook, where the water ran deep and black, was found the hat of the unfortunate Ichabod, and close beside it a shattered pumpkin.

The brook was searched, but the body of the schoolmaster was not to be discovered. Hans Van Ripper, as executor of his estate, examined the bundle which contained all his worldly effects. They consisted of two shirts and a half; two stocks for the neck; a pair or two of worsted stockings; an old pair of corduroy small-clothes; a rusty razor; a book of psalm tunes, full of dogs' ears; and a broken pitchpipe. As to the books and furniture of the school-house, they belonged to the community, excepting Cotton Mather's History of Witchcraft, a New England Almanac, and a book of dreams and fortune-telling; in which last was a sheet of foolscap much scribbled and blotted in several fruitless attempts to make a copy of verses in honor of the heiress of Van Tassel. These magic books and the poetic scrawl were forthwith consigned to the flames by Hans Van Ripper; who from that time forward determined to send his children no more to school; observing, that he never knew any good come of this same reading and writing. Whatever money the schoolmaster possessed, and he had received his quarter's pay but a day or two before, he must have had about his person at the time of his disappearance.

The mysterious event caused much speculation at the church on the following Sunday. Knots of gazers and gossips were collected in the church-yard, at the bridge, and at the spot where the hat and pumpkin had been found. The stories of Brouwer, of Bones, and a whole budget of others, were called to mind; and when they had diligently considered them all, and compared them with the symptoms of the present case, they shook their heads, and came to the conclusion that Ichabod had been carried off by the galloping Hessian. As he was a bachelor, and in nobody's debt, nobody troubled his head any more about him. The school was removed to a different quarter of the hollow, and another pedagogue reigned in his stead.

It is true, an old farmer, who had been down to New York on a visit several years after, and from whom this account of the ghostly adventure was received, brought home the intelligence that Ichabod Crane was still alive; that he had left the neighborhood, partly through fear of the goblin and Hans Van Ripper, and partly in mortification at having been suddenly dismissed by the heiress; that he had changed his quarters to a distant part of the country; had kept school and studied law at the same time, had been admitted to the bar, turned politician, electioneered, written for the newspapers, and finally had been made a justice of the Ten Pound Court. Brom Bones too, who shortly after his rival's disappearance conducted the blooming Katrina in triumph to the altar, was observed to look exceedingly knowing whenever the story of Ichabod was related, and always burst into a hearty laugh at the mention of the pumpkin; which led some to suspect that he knew more about the matter than he chose to tell.

The old country wives, however, who are the best judges of these matters, maintain to this day that Ichabod was spirited away by supernatural means; and it is a favorite story often told about the neighborhood round the winter evening fire. The bridge became more than ever an object of superstitious awe, and that may be the reason why the road has been altered of late years, so as to approach the church by the border of the mill-pond. The school-house being deserted, soon fell to decay, and was reported to be haunted by the ghost of the unfortunate pedagogue; and the ploughboy, loitering homeward of a still summer evening, has often fancied his voice at a distance, chanting a melancholy psalm tune among the tranquil solitudes of Sleepy Hollow.

A New Beginning

2011-10-31T20:51:00.000-07:00

Some of my friends an I are experimenting with poetry so here it is!

A New Beginning

Remember the time when I woke up under the starry night?

Even if I did it's almost like I can kiss the stars.

But then the memory was created.

The creation started with the space.

It was long and empty, filled with void and emptiness.

Until one day, it was not.

It became clear as day what It was meant to be.

What was meant to be is our destiny.

Our destiny, is our choice.
The road we choose tells a tale.

A tale that tells us how we are.

How we are can various.

We grow up to learn, fall down, get up and go at it again.

We learn to get our heart broken once or twice.

But in the end we can look back in life and say

"I don't have any regrets"

"I don't have any regrets is because I have lived my life to the fullest"

Everyday is a blessing, everyday is something I am looking forward too.

Everyday is new beginning.

What is your beginning?

Start Again

2011-10-30T22:09:00.000-07:00

Hey Guys!

I don't know about you but I'm having a huge music fest lately.

Some of the music is pretty inspirational especially when I am writing.

This is definately one of them and I couldn't help myself and share it with you guys!

This baseline is pretty simple, it's about two young teens dating and things turn really rocky for both of them. The guy of course starts rejecting her phone calls and start moving on to new relationships. The boy who has been admiring her for ages couldn't find the courage to talk to her, checks up on her (in not a stalking way). The girl gets a broken heart and gets a note from the boy she long forgetten and goes back to him to give love a second chance.

The message I want to share with you guys is that YES we will be having broken hearts and we will have trust issues. However to move forward we have to learn how to forgive and "Start Again" just like the music video that is present above.

Let me know you guys think!

Moved by Art

2011-10-30T18:29:00.000-07:00

Ever since I moved to down to Kelowna I have never understood the true beauty of art. Most of my childhood was constant of throwing dodge ball at each other in P.E, balloon fights at lunch hour and sledding down the hill during Christmas Eve. I never realized that art was more than just a course you have to take in Elementary school, art is about creation and creating new unique playing with the color that you have and showing off who you are. When art is used it doesn’t have an outline it is in the eyes of the creator. What is beautiful to one person is spiteful to another, art can be told in many forms and there isn’t a proper answer to the art that we see, art help gives us an idea, gives us emotions that was long lost forgotten, to tell the story of how the artist feel. This was one of my favorite paintings that I walk by when I’m at downtown. It is one of the most memorizing, eye-popping and breath-taking art I have ever seen. At a glimpse of this art I believe the purpose of is to capture the beauty the painter has whether it is an idea, a story, an image or an abstract concept, there are few Artists that set out to solely create 'beautiful' art, especially since the modern period. “Art is the psychic expression of beauty as revealed through truth.” From my personal opinion I believe that the painter is telling a story about making a difference. As you see in the painting, there are two hands holding together, it’s significant because you are stronger working as a team. Art is a form of language, it is unspoken and motivational, and it helps beauty in many different cultures. The quality of the artwork is dependent on its ability to display the truths of its time and place. Modern art is more a matter of asking questions or provoking the viewer to ask questions. It is this lack of affirmation that leaves many viewers of today's art perplexed. ART SHOWS WHAT YOU FEEL AND WHAT YOU ARE THINKING. Art allows us to see through the eyes of the artist or photographer or see a place we’ve never been. It can be educational, recording history, or it can simply capture the feeling of a moment in time.

Making a Difference

2011-10-30T18:27:00.000-07:00

A man was walking down a deserted Mexican beach at sunset. As he walked along he began to see another man in the distance.

As he grew nearer he noticed that the local native kept leaning down, picking something up, and throwing it out into the water. Time and again he kept hurling things out into the ocean.
As our friend approached even closer he noticed that the man was picking up starfish that had washed up onto the beach, and one at a time, he was throwing them back into the ocean.

The first man was puzzled. He approached the man and said, "Good Evening Friend, I was wondering what are you doing?" And he replied, "I'm throwing these starfish back into the ocean. You see, it's low tide right now and all these starfish have been washed up onto the shore. If I don't throw them back into the sea, they will die from the lack of oxygen."

"I understand," my friend replied "but there must be thousands of starfish on this beach and you couldn't possibly get to all of them. There are simply too many and don't you realize that this is happening on hundreds of beaches up and down this coast ... can't you see that that you can't possibly make a difference?

The local native smiled, bent down, picked up yet another starfish ... and as he threw it back out into the sea, he replied, "It made a difference to that one!"

You may feel like you cannot make a difference in the world today, but you CAN make a difference in one life at a time.

True Colors

2011-10-30T16:03:00.000-07:00

When there was a light,

not so long ago.

Exploded in the night sky,

I made a wish on that shooting star

Wishing for a change.

Maybe there is a secret to a broken heart.

Maybe I can finally find "the one."

Little do I know,

There was a heart, beating inside of me

going 60/ per min.

I know sometimes you feel like you don't fit in.

This world doesn't know what you have within

When I look at I see something rare

A rose that CANT grow anywhere.

What makes you different, makes you beautiful.

Be the rose that grows under the shining light.

Show the true colors.

Be you.

The true colors that makes you beautiful,

makes you different.

You don't know how you touched my life.

You taught me what love was suppose to be.

You saw the little things that made you beautiful.

What makes you beautiful makes you different.

Everytime I look into your eyes I see all the love I'll ever need.

So I say thank you.

Maybe I can finally show my true colors.

Maybe there is good out there that I never kenw

I finally accept who I am.

Are you going to show your true colors?

Love-Bound

2011-10-29T23:35:00.000-07:00

As I walk down the school hallway,

10th Grade.

My heart pounding in my ears.

Heads turning, people whispering,

my head down more than usual.

Bell rings for class

So it begins.

As I carry on for the next 3 years

finishing high school, graduate with honors.

Many failed relationships,

broken trust and broken heart.

Mending it everyday,

trying not to let anyone in.

1st year of Post-Secondary

I met you

Well into my 2nd year

You said something that took me by surprise

you held me by my hand and told me how you felt.

You were surprised when I told you

I felt the same way,

You then said,

"Why do you think my face is alway red when i'm with you, and why I turn off my heater when you come over? You're as bright as a star, babe, and you always light up my day."

You are the reason why I have hope today,

don't ever change babe.

Don't ever change.

Word Slam Review

2011-10-29T22:21:00.000-07:00

Things you would do on a saturday night, I don't know about you but I had a great time listening to the writers talk about there writings. From the imagery to the give-a-ways, a few smiles and giggles, sharing your heart to heart talks and overall a good time! But what does these words mean to you?

For me? It can be taken to different levels, like putting the words what and if together, think about it... what and if are two words that means nothing unless you put them together. What if? Becomes the two most regretted words of all time.

In Literature, it can be given, taken, expressed in ways writer want to be described because it is art. Words are able to give the audience something they want to hear, something you can play with, be with and most of all express yourself in ways imaginable. While I was attending an event at the Bohemian Cafe, I was able to meet great writers as they reading there stories/poetry. It is amazing how creative the English writing can be if you are willing to give it a chance to.

If you weren't at the event, I can definately say you have missed out, from the jokes and constant word usage of "FUDGGEEE, Spanking, drunk, Booze?, prizes, a-dam, What did you just make me do there? Diaper bag, using Fudge as a swear word, is there a question about this event, damn don't come back up here, do you ever go by the dark allias vader? are you british? me too and damn" I would say my night is pretty much made.

Writers Unite!

The End of The World 2012

2011-10-29T13:41:00.000-07:00

December 21 2012 Predictions – The End of The World 2012?

There's a rumour saying that the world is going to end in December 12 2012, but the question is, is it true? It wasn't until a few years ago there were not that many people who were acquainted with the end of the world 2012 prophecy that was put forward by many scholars who studied the end of the Mayan long calendar. This Long Count calendar has lasted for five thousand one hundred and twenty five years, and although the end of the calendar leads to many different interpretations, one of the most popular is the belief that at the end of this cycle the world (or humanity’s existence) will come to an abrupt end on December 21 2012.

Is the world going to end in 2012?

This calendar began on August 13th, 3114 B.C. This marked the end of the last period and the beginning of the current one. The baktun that we are currently living in is the thirteenth, and the end of this cycle is one that has been considered to have a large level of importance to the Mayan people, which is why so many people have come to the conclusion that this cycle’s end is one that will mean the end of the world as we know it.

While there is no definite proclamation of how the end of the world 2012 predictions will happen, those who have studied this calendar claim that the long calendar was created in order to correspond with a long term astronomical prediction by the Mayan people.

This has led some to believe that this end of the world scenario will play out in a manner that has something to do with something from beyond this world. While this correlation to something that is going on in outer space is not a definite thing, for some it comes from a basic understanding of Mayan culture and their unique understanding of astronomical phenomena and planetary alignments.

The end of the world 2012 scenario is one that frightens many people, but this does not have to be the case. If you are interested in finding out more about the theories and philosophies that the 2012 doomsday prophesy is founded on, then you visit the link below to find out more about the end of the world and what you can do to help your family survive any number of disasters. On top of this you can get a complete three hundred and sixty degree view of the processes of the 2012 countdown, including a special bulletin that will keep you up to date on everything that is related to this upcoming date and the disastrous implications it brings with it. So, if you are someone who is looking to make sure that they stay ahead of the danger and keep on top of new developments on the end of the world 2012, then this site is the perfect thing to keep you informed and prepared to december 21 2012.

Do you think the worlds going to end?

For more information check out
Judgement day
http://www.endoftheworld2012.net/

101 Advice: Common Mistake in a Relationship.

2011-10-28T21:13:00.000-07:00

Adultery has been around forever, and has always given us something to talk about. Most reality TV shows these days center on it, as do gossip mags and teen pregnancy. But we are far from cracking the big mystery: Why do some men cheat in relationships?

All men know, at some level, that cheating is wrong. From the earliest age, we are taught the virtues of monogamy. "Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor's wife," bellows our Judeo-Christian consciousness. Yet we still do it.

Blame it on the genes

In troubled relationships, cheating can be an easy alternative to the burden of a breakup or the agony of divorce. It's a quick fix for the sake of the couple's or the family's integrity. Some of us have even gone so far as to enact the long-distance code: If you cheat in another zip code, it doesn't count.

And with evolutionary psychologists telling us that we are wired to lay our seeds in as many women as possible to ensure our genetic survival, adultery is slowly becoming a defensible misdeed, which may explain why women are catching up to men in the game of infidelity.

Because of our insatiable appetite for physical activity, we men can sometimes only be as faithful as our options. Here are the 10 main reasons why some men will opt to shed their devotion and cheat on their partners.

Number 10

Your lady doesn't put out

Every man has heard that the best way to get a woman to stop having sex with him is by marrying her. Apparently, long-term relationships seem to suck the sex drive out of many women, leaving men gasping for fulfillment. With the need for more sex, some men will start "working late" more often.

Or it could just be that the sex has become boring. She doesn't want to try new things in bed, or won't perform fellatio. Some men may cheat because they don't want their girlfriends or wives to perform certain sex acts that would ruin their "good girl" image, so they get a mistress to take care of it. Like Robert de Niro said in Analyze This , "That's the mouth she kisses my kids good night with!"

In light of this, I call on lawmakers around the world to create an International BJ Day, where men and women get the day off from work and get all the oral satisfaction they need from their partners. I'll bet that this alone would cut infidelity by at least 75%.

Number 9

She cheated on you

So you found out your lady was being unfaithful, and the only way you can relieve your anger is by doing the same. For many men, this is the only way to get back at their cheating girlfriends and even the score. Some men might even cheat to get back at all the cheating women they've had the misfortune of dating throughout their lives; now that's efficiency.

Number 8

It's challenging and exciting

If you consider the women you sleep with "sexual trophies," chances are you have already cheated at least once in your life. Some men simply cannot leave behind the thrill of the hunt, the chase and the conquest. For other men, the excitement is in the variety, like changing ice cream flavors for one day after years of sticking to just one.

Number 7

You can get away with it

"What eyes don't see, the heart doesn't feel," goes the old adage, and it still holds true, as long as there are no cameras around. The knowledge that no one will find out and no one will get hurt is reason enough for some men to grab a different helping. But be careful; as men get craftier with avoiding detection, women get more sophisticated with detecting, not to mention boosting their network of spies.

Number 6

It boosts your ego

Nothing lifts the old self-esteem like discovering that other women still desire you sexually. When in long-term relationships, men may begin to question their sexual marketability, which will lead some of them to sow their clandestine wild oats. Once a man knows he can get back in the game, he'll return to his mate; or not.

What's a guy to do when his girlfriend's-a-naggin' and opportunity comes-a-knockin'?

Number 5

The opportunity was there
It's an uncontested fact that most men can't say "no" to sex. Although guys aren't constantly bombarded with sexual offers, sometimes an irresistible prospect presents itself. Maybe it's a frisky ex-girlfriend, maybe it's a horny hottie on the dance floor. A guy may see it as once-in-a-lifetime occasion that might never be available again. Carpe diem , as they say.

Number 4

Your girlfriend is a nag
Most men have experienced at least one woman who thrives on making him feel like crap. Constant nagging, fighting and squabbling in the right ratios is the best recipe for a headache. Cheating with another woman is a common escape from this domestic hell, and works better than aspirin.

Number 3

Women let us
Truth be told, women are quick to forgive men for their unfaithful behavior. Maybe it's their fear of being alone, or that women are simply the more merciful ones of the human species. Some women might even blame themselves for their men's infidelities, and take steps to improve their relationships. The fact that many women let their men get away with murder might compel them to double deal repeatedly. Just ask Bill Clinton.

Number 2

She doesn't turn you on anymore
Long-term relationships have the annoying habit of making people lazy. No longer concerned with staying fit and attractive, a committed woman might lose the allure she once had. Her man may simply not find her beautiful anymore, and making love to her is not as stirring as it once was. This is why most mistresses are gorgeous, young women.

Number 1

You don't love her anymore
Alas, after a long time together, you have lost the feelings you once had for her. But the relationship has remained too much a part of you. Separating seems so painful, so radical that it's almost inconceivable. So instead of separating, you go elsewhere to get your physical gratification. Most times this does not help matters, but only prolongs the inevitable breakup.

Your cheating heart

In the end, cheating is no joking matter. If you are cheating on your girlfriend or wife, it might be that you are unhappy in the relationship, or that you have issues that you should address. Look at the big picture and see your unfaithfulness as a symptom of a bigger problem.

Cheating might feel good as a quick escape from your problems, but it's only an anesthetic -- not a long-term solution

Dream within a Dream

2011-10-28T20:33:00.000-07:00

A Dream Within A Dream
Edgar Allan Poe

Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow-
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.

I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand-
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep- while I weep!
O God! can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?

Claddagh Ring

2011-10-28T20:20:00.000-07:00

"The Claddagh's distinctive design features two hands clasping a heart, and usually surmounted by a crown. The elements of this symbol are often said to correspond to the qualities of love (the heart), friendship (the hands), and loyalty (the crown).

The way that a Claddagh ring is worn on the hand is usually intended to convey the wearer's romantic availability, or lack thereof.

1) Traditionally, if the claddagh ring is on the right hand with the heart facing outward and away from the body, this indicates that the person wearing the ring is not in any serious relationship, and may in fact be single and looking for a relationship: "their heart is open."

2) When worn on the right hand but with the heart facing inward toward the body, this indicates the person wearing the ring is in a relationship, or that "someone has captured their heart".

3) A Claddagh ring worn on the left hand ring finger facing outward away from the body generally indicates that the wearer is engaged.

4) When the ring is on the left hand ring finger and facing inward toward the body, it generally means that the person wearing the ring is married."

Hands for friendship, a heart for love, and a crown for loyalty. Claddagh Rings have embodied the spirit of connection for hundreds of years. This traditional design is just as powerful today. Whether to signify friendship, engagement or matrimony, our Claddagh rings are fitting for any occasion.

Misty fables surrounds one of Ireland's unique treasures, "The Claddagh" a symbol of Love, Friendship and loyalty.

Some 400 years ago in a fishing village called Claddagh overlooking Galway Bay, close to the city of the Tribes, lived Richard Joyce a Master Goldsmith. It was he who crafted this now famous design that has become part of the IRISH heritage.

The Claddagh Ring belongs to a widespread group of finger rings called Fede or "Faith rings" which date from Roman times. They are distinguished by having the bezel cut or cast in the form of two clasped hands, symbolising faith, trust or "plighted troth". Fede rings were popular in the Middle Ages throughout Europe, and there are examples from this time in the National
Museum of Ireland, Kildare Street, Dublin. The "Claddagh" ring is a particularly distinctive ring; two hands clasp a heart surmounted by a crown.

The ring worn on the right hand, crown turned inward tells your heart is yet unoccupied, worn with the crown turned outwards reveals love is being considered. Worn on the left hand the crown turned outward shows all, your heart is truly spoken for.

W. Dillon in his publication on "The Claddagh Ring" in the Galway Archaeological Society Journal, Vol. IV, 1905-6, defines the limits over which the ring is worn as roughly from the Aran Islands on the West, and through all Connemara and Joyce Country to Galway, and then eastward and southward for not more than 12 miles at most. The whole district is the one served by fisherfolk of the Claddagh village just outside the city of Galway, but became known as the Claddagh ring probably because of the proximity to the city of the large Claddagh fishing community using the ring alone.

Huge numbers of Claddagh rings were left with a Mr. Kirwan following the Great Famine 1846/7 which finally had to be consigned to the melting pot as there was nobody to redeem or purchase them, hence the difficulty in ascertaining their origin.

Dillon describes some early rings, one with a mitre-like crown, rings made from coins, an analogous ring from Brittany, a "Munster" ring, also Spanish rings with some similarities. He tells us that the Claddagh ring was the only ring ever made in Ireland worn by Queen Victoria and later by Queen Alexandra and King Edward VII. Their rings were made by Dillons of Galway, established in 1750, to whom the Royal Patent was granted and the tradition has been carried on at Dillons to this day. Prince Rainier and Princess Grace of Monaco in 1962 were presented with gifts embodying the Claddagh ring motif set in Connemara marble.

In 1984 when Galway celebrated its Quincentennial as a Mayoral City, the people of Galway presented a specially commissioned 18 carat gold Claddagh ring to President Ronald Reagan.

The earliest examples of Claddagh rings that can be dated are stamped with RI, the mark of Richard Joyce, a goldsmith working in Galway circa 1689-1737, of the Joyce Tribe, one of the renowned "Fourteen Tribes of Galway" City. According to Dr. Kurt Ticker in "The Claddagh Ring - A West of Ireland Folklore Custom" (1980) interest in Claddagh rings became dormant after Richard Joyce ended his manufacturing career in the 1730s, and it was revived a generation or more later, probably by George Robinson (Dillon in fact had attributed the earliest ring to Robinson). From then on a number of Galway goldsmiths and jewellers of Galway made Claddagh rings. Their early manufacture was by cuttle-bone mould casting, then the cire perdue or "lost wax" process up to the 1840s, when manufacture became commercialised.

Some Marks on Claddagh Rings from the latter part of the 17th to the early part of the 18th century.

The Origins of the Claddagh Ring even yet remains a matter for conjecture, both popular stories of its origins attribute it to the Joyce family of Galway City. The two stories are as follows.

The first story says that a Margaret Joyce married Domingo de Rona, a wealthy Spanish merchant who traded with Galway. They proceeded to Spain, where he died,leaving her a considerable fortune. Returning to Galway she used her fortune to build bridges from Galway to Sligo, and re-married Oliver Og French, Major of Galway 1596/7. She was rewarded for her good works and charity by an eagle who dropped the original Claddagh ring into her lap.

The 5 abstractions

2011-10-25T16:13:00.000-07:00

A couple years ago, I came to a lady's house to buy some vitamins. Upon entering the house, I noticed that there was an electronic keyboard on the stand, leaning against the wall. Being a musician, I asked if the woman played. She said "Yes" and added that she had been taking lessons--at age 54! I told her that that was very impressive for her to pursue her passion to play the piano. Then she reciprocated the question. "I have been playing for 8 years now." I answered. "Then you must play a song for me before you leave." she requested. I thought she was kidding and I simply smiled. By the end of purchase of the vitamins, she reminded me of our musical "deal." She then showed me to an old upright piano in the living room and asked me to play a song for her. I thought for a moment and decided to play David Lanz's "Return to the Heart", since she had much passion for music, and it's one of my soul-searching songs. I played the song with my best ability, with much emotions pouring into it as possible. She loved it. As I was about to step out of the door, I heard a weak voice calling out. "Young man!" I turned around. And there was an old lady taking one little step at a time with the help of another woman. "I wanted to come out to thank you for the beautiful song that you played. I have been very sick, and it's very hard for me to get off my bed, but I really wanted to thank you for the song. It made me feel good...", she said. With that, she turned around and walked slowly back to her room. I was deeply touched by her appreciation and felt a deeper understanding for the song. It served its purpose beautifully, returning to one's heart for peace and joy.

The Mouse Trap Story

2011-10-25T15:40:00.001-07:00

A mouse looked through the crack in the wall to see the farmer and his wife open a package. "What food might this contain?" the mouse wondered. He was devastated to discover it was a mousetrap.
Retreating to the farmyard, the mouse proclaimed the warning: "There is a mousetrap in the house! There is a mousetrap in the house!"
The chicken clucked and scratched, raised her head and said "Mr.Mouse, I can tell this is a grave concern to you, but it is of no consequence to me. I cannot be bothered by it."

The mouse turned to the pig and told him "There is a mousetrap in the house! There is a mousetrap in the house!" The pig sympathized, but said "I am so very sorry, Mr.Mouse, but there is nothing I can do about it but pray. Be assured you are in my prayers."

The mouse turned to the cow and said "There is a mousetrap in the house! There is a mousetrap in the house!" The cow said "Wow, Mr. Mouse. I'm sorry for you, but it's no skin off my nose."
So, the mouse returned to the house, head down and dejected, to face the farmer's mousetrap alone.
That very night a sound was heard throughout the house - like the sound of a mousetrap catching its prey. The farmer's wife rushed to see what was caught. In the darkness, she did not see it was a venomous snake whose tail the trap had caught. The snake bit the farmer's wife. The farmer rushed her to the hospital and she returned home with a fever.

Everyone knows you treat a fever with fresh chicken soup, so the farmer took his hatchet to the farmyard for the soup's main ingredient. But his wife's sickness continued, so friends and neighbors came to sit with her around the clock. To feed them, the farmer butchered the pig. The farmer's wife did not get well; she died. So many! people came for her funeral, the farmer had the cow slaughtered to provide enough meat for all of them.

The mouse looked upon it all from his crack in the wall with great sadness. So, the next time you hear someone is facing a problem and think it doesn't concern you, remember: when one of us is threatened, we are all at risk. We are all involved in this journey called life. We must keep an eye out for one another and make an extra effort to encourage one another. Each of us is a vital thread in another person's tapestry.

Creative Class

2011-10-25T15:29:00.000-07:00

I don't know about you guys, but lately I have been swamped with lots of homework and tons of midterms, paper writing and stressing over every mark.

Throughly I have enjoyed every single class.

My favorite class of all has to be Into To Creative Class with Kennedy. He is absolutely amazing, his teaching is fun, outgoing and willing to challenge us to think outside the box. I wouldn't change a thing.

Writing has been an inspiration to me and impacted me in ways I would never knew it would. Many hours spent on writing short stories, I believe I have written over hundred's of journals and i'm inspired to continue becoming a better writer.

What makes you a better writer? If you're not a writer it's fine!
Ask yourself this, what calms you? What makes you happy?

Worst Story That was Ever Written

2011-10-25T15:21:00.001-07:00

Back in the day, down somewhere in the south or was it suburban? Honestly i don’t remember but somewhere down street there are picket fences that resembled Nancy Kerrigan’s teeth. There was a boy who shall not be named, lived in Hogwarts with his fellow classmates. He spoke many languages and with his incredible language skills it had given him the wisdom that can only come from experience. There wasn’t anything like it before, like a guy who went blind because he looked at a solar eclipse without one of those boxes with a pinhole in it and now goes around the country speaking at high schools about the dangers of looking at a solar eclipse without one of those boxes with a pinhole in it. When he went to get tested at the optometrist the result threw him over the cliff, he realizes that it was not the solar eclipse that had blinded him but Edward Cullen taking off his shirt under the sunlight, blinded him instantly. The sheriff’s daughter Bella had fallen in love with Edward, just like a fat boy chasing the ice cream truck. Both Bella and Edward represent the little boat gently drifted across the pond exactly the way a bowling ball wouldn't. From the attic came an unearthly howl. The whole scene had an eerie, surreal quality, like when you're on vacation in another city and "Jeopardy" comes on at 7pm instead of 7:30. My hair glistened in the rain like nose hair after a sneeze, a hoogy dangling in the open. Bella’s eyes were like two brown circles with big black dots in the center, ready to attack her pray. Edward was as tall as a six-foot three-inch tree. The hailstones leaped from the pavement, just like maggots when you fry them in hot grease. Her date was pleasant enough, but she knew that if her life was a movie this guy would be buried in the credits as something like "Second Tall Man." Long separated by cruel fate, the star-crossed lovers raced across the grassy field toward each other like two freight trains, one having left Cleveland at 6:36pm traveling at 55 mph, the other from Topeka at 4:19pm at a speed of 35 mph crashing together like a bird on a window. Bush was gone but unnoticed, like the period after the Dr. on a Dr. Pepper can. John and Mary had never met. They were like two hummingbirds who had also never met. The thunder was ominous-sounding, much like the sound of a thin sheet of metal being shaken backstage during the storm scene in a play. His thoughts tumbled in his head, making and breaking alliances like underpants in a drier without "Cling-Free." The red brick wall was the color of a brick-red crayola crayon, everything was vivid it was fantastic like a subconscious dream, I can’t wait for the next one.

Chinese Horoscope: 2011, Rabbit!

2011-10-22T20:01:00.000-07:00

Occupying the 4th position in the Chinese Zodiac, the Rabbit symbolizes such character traits as creativity, compassion, and sensitivity. Rabbits are friendly, outgoing and prefer the company of others. They also prefer to avoid conflict. In confrontational situations, Rabbits approach calmly and with consideration for the other party. Rabbits believe strongly in friends and family and lacking such bonds can lead to emotional issues.

Their serene nature keeps Rabbits from becoming visibly upset. Because they’re serene animals, Rabbits are easily taken advantage of. Their sensitive nature makes them shy away from aggressive or competitive situations. They’re overall conservative and not interested in taking risks.

Classy, sophisticated, expressive, well-mannered and stylish, those born under the Sign of the Rabbit enjoy leaning about cultural issues and learning about people from other countries. Rabbits are most comfortable being home, and their homes are always neat and organized. Home is also where Rabbits prefer to entertain. Rabbits are conservative in their decorating tastes.

Rabbits should work at building more self-confidence and self-worth so they can feel more secure. The desire for remaining in safe, comfortable environments keeps Rabbits from taking risks which sometimes causes them to miss out on good opportunities.

Health

Even though Rabbits don’t usually get visibly upset or stressed, they do tend to keep these feelings inside. When they don’t express these feelings, such feeling can cause Rabbits to become ill. Rabbits could benefit from more everyday activity which would reduce their stress levels and better their health.

Relationships

Rabbits are very sexual, but tend to give more of themselves than they should. This can lead to unrealistic expectations and unhealthy situations. Rabbits need partners who won’t take advantage of their giving nature. Such pairings will be strong.

Career

Rabbits are articulate and good communicators which is why friends and acquaintances seek out their advice. It’s also why Rabbits make excellent diplomats and politicians. Other good careers for Rabbits include: writer, publisher, actor, fashion designer, therapist, doctor, administrator, public relations, and teacher.

Rabbits and the 5 elements

Metal Rabbits – Years 1951 and 2011

Metal gives Rabbits more strength, resilience and determination. Metal Rabbits are more intense in their actions, whether they’re work-related or romantic.

Water Rabbits – Years 1903 and 1963

Like the currents, Water Rabbits prefer to go with the flow, avoiding conflict at all costs, even in situations that are bothersome. It’s easy to take advantage of Water Rabbits. They’re very supportive of others.

Wood Rabbits – Years 1915 and 1975

Wood Rabbits occupy their time doing for others; always feeling the need to make others content. This generosity is easy for others to take advantage of and sometimes Water Rabbits don’t even realize is happening.

Fire Rabbits – Years 1927 and 1987

Fire adds spark to the Rabbit’s personality and all that Fire Rabbits do. Fire compels Rabbits to seek new adventures. Prone to tantrums, Fire Rabbits prefer to avoid conflict.

Earth Rabbits – Years 1939 and 1999

Earth Rabbits are grounded in reality. Their advice can be harsh, but honest. Home life is important to Earth Rabbits as are money and material goods.

Compatibility

The Rabbit is most compatible with the Pig and Dog and incompatible with the Rooster and Rat.

Rabbits are private individuals, a bit introverted and withdrawn. People e born into this sign would rather work behind-the-scenes instead of being the center of attention in any situation. Do not misunderstand…the Rabbit is not a recluse. In fact, he is a reasonably friendly individual who enjoys the company of a group of good friends whether at a business dinner or a holiday party. Rabbits just like to be a part of the gang as opposed to the leader of it.

Years of the Rabbit

Rabbit Years are fourth in the cycle, following Tiger Years, and recur every twelfth year. The Chinese New Year does not fall on a specific date, so it is essential to check the calendar to find the exact date on which each Rabbit Year actually begins.

THE SIGN OF THE RABBIT

Rabbits, like their animal counterparts, are quite calm people who do not exhibit aggressive behavior and will avoid confrontation at all costs. When angry about something, a Rabbit will approach it calmly and considerately, hardly ever raising his voice or becoming visibly annoyed. Because of their serenity, Rabbits seem to miss things, whether they are confrontational in nature or not. However, the Rabbit is quite keen and pays close attention to the situations developing around him. He is intelligent and quick and can talk himself in or out of most situations with no problem.

The Chinese Rabbit is one of the most stylish creatures of the Chinese Animal Signs and finds interest in different cultures. He is classy and sophisticated, and can be found adorning one of the latest fashion magazine cover looks. Rabbits also like artistic ventures, such as painting and music and are generally quite present in these worlds. They love top express themselves, which is evident when joining them at home for a function or a cup of coffee.

RABBIT FACTS:
People born in the Year of the Rabbit share certain characteristics. The Rabbit Sign is an abbreviated way of characterizing that individual’s personality. Following are features associated with the Sign of the Rabbit.
Fourth in order, Chinese name-TU, sign of peace
Hour—5am-6:59am Month—March
Western Counterpart—Pisces

CHARCTERISTICS
Keen, Wise, Fragile, Tranquil, Serene, Considerate, Fashionable, Sneaky, Obsessive

IN YOUR ELEMENT

The characteristics of the Rabbit are tempered by one of the five Chinese elements of Metal, Water, Wood, Fire and Earth overlaying a 5-year cycle of characteristics on the original 12-year cycle.

THE METAL RABBIT 1951 AND 2011
Metal gives Rabbits a more resilient demeanor than the other more quiet Rabbit. These Rabbits are very ambitious and can be quite crafty in their dealings with others. They throw themselves and their emotions into everything they do, making them intense lovers, but not outwardly affectionate lovers. Their determination can affect their work as well, whether through personal relationships with colleagues or with the work itself, a Rabbit can be known to immerse himself in his projects…business and personal.

THE WATER RABBIT 1903 AND 1963
Delicate and docile, Water Rabbits will pretty well go with the flow to avoid any conflict or argument. These situations hurt them and bother them because they are such sensitive creatures. They are usually sociable and relaxed, although sometimes they get withdrawn and introspective. They are supportive with family and friends as well as business partners and display an empathy that makes people flock to them for friendly advice and comfort. Sometimes, they can easily be taken advantage of because they are so generous with themselves and their emotions. So they have to be careful not to let their guards down so quickly.

THE WOOD RABBIT 1915 AND 1975
Wood Rabbits tend to be the least bit indecisive. This is probably due to their always wanting to play the peacemaker and not wanting to hurt other people’s feelings. Wood Rabbits are incredibly generous souls and like to avoid the spotlight instead preferring to live amongst others. These people are always kind enough to help you move into a new house, make you a hot cup of coffee or to listen while you rant and rave about your latest character flaw. The Wood Rabbit can sometimes be too kind for his own good, thus causing him to be taken advantage of and sometimes even used by others unknowingly. Rabbits have to learn to say no and to out their feet down or their cups will overflow.

THE FIRE RABBIT 1927 AND 1987
Fire adds an unspoken magnetism and mystery to the Rabbit. These creatures have a burning desire to get out there and live life to its fullest. They are active and adventurous and love anything that sparks their creativity or curiosity. They can throw tantrums here and there, if provoked, but most of the time they work very hard to avoid conflict or unpleasant confrontations. Fire Rabbits are charming and tend to push their emotions into the backs of their minds, but will speak up if necessary.

THE EARTH RABBIT 1939 AND 1999
The Earth element gives these Rabbits a sense of reality and practicality that others don’t illustrate so freely. They are able to give sound advice, which in turn gets them respect and trust from those who solicit their counsel. They take pride in their homes and work diligently to make them a place of security for their loved ones. In the same breath, Earth Rabbits put a great deal of value on material comforts and like to make money.

HEALTH AND HABITAT

HEALTH
Rabbits are apt to be sensitive to ailments and to have bad allergies. Stress or conflict will detriment the Rabbit’s health. Exercise could take off unnecessary stress and strengthen the Rabbit’s physical condition, but he tends not to work out regularly. Rabbits have to learn to incorporate more action into their everyday routines.

AT HOME WITH THE RABBIT
A Rabbit will become depressed and withdrawn if his home does not consist of beautiful possessions that make him comfortable. They are extremely organized and the best way to throw a Rabbit off is to remove something from its sitting place. They are so orderly and their homes and offices so clutter-free that it is sometimes a point of humor with their friends. Rabbits are modest in their decorating choices and choose different shades of green such as sages and turquoises.

CAREER AND FINANCE

THE RABBIT ON THE JOB
Rabbits have really good communication skills and are best utilized in positions of management. They make great teachers and PR people because they are so diplomatic and well-organized. Even so, they can also make great painters or musicians due to their sense of beauty and their love of creativity.

MONEY AND THE RABBIT
Rabbit people are usually relatively careful when it comes to their finances. And that lucky rabbit foot didn’t just come out of nowhere…Rabbits are pretty lucky folks! They use much of their money for possessions such as their homes, cars or furniture. They would rather invest their money in gadgets and things than in the stock market. They love hunting for antiques, arts and crafts and will tend to make sound investments in these types of things.

RABBIT CAREERS
Those born in the Year of the Rabbit share the same kinds of goals and objectives in life. The occupations best suited for the Rabbit are listed below:

RABBITS MAKE EXCELLENT:

Therapists

Psychiatrists

Doctors

Ophthalmologists

Writers

Masseurs

Teachers

Publishers

Designers

Actors

Musicians

Administrators

PR agents

Fashion designers

CONGENIAL BUSINESS PARTNERS

Whether Rabbits are compatible with their business partners depends on whether their signs are harmonious or antagonistic to those of their business partner. Considering the congruity of their own characters and the characters of their business partners can also be very useful.

Rabbits ruled by Benefit From Are antagonistic to

Metal Earth Sheep Fire Dragons

Water Metal Dogs Earth Roosters

Wood Water Rabbits Metal Horses

Fire Wood Snakes Water Tigers

Earth Fire Pigs Wood Monkeys

Leisurely activities and pleasures

LIKES AND DISLIKES
Since Rabbits are born under the same Animal Sign, they often share likes and dislikes. Following are similar likes and dislikes of the Rabbit personality.
Color Preference: Pale Green
Gems and Stones:
Crystal, Emerald, Pearl
Suitable Gifts: Tapestry kit, CD, fine wine, easel, lyrics book
Hobbies and Pastimes: Writing poetry, hiking, planting gardens and trees, chatting with friends
Rabbits Dislike: Touchy-feely people, abrupt curves in their routines, disorganization

THE RABBIT ON VACATION
Rabbits love to indulge in different cultures and spend a lot of their lifetimes trying to find inner peace. Sensitive and careful by nature they would be just as happy shopping for hidden treasures at the local flea market or yard sale to display in their delicately decorated homes. Rabbits tend to want to travel to traditional places such as Europe and Asia when they have time off. In addition, taking a course to release their creative energies such as photography or instrument lessons would make the Rabbit feel well-rounded and accomplished.

FRIENDS AND ENEMIES

Rabbits, although outgoing, are definitely not the leaders of the pack or the spotlight thieves. They like to be associated with a group or a club, where they find comfort in the company of others. Rabbits just happen to be low-profile people. Perhaps this is because they tend to be rather picky about who they pal around with. Rabbits love their friends and offer them all a warm refuge and a sympathetic shoulder to cry on. They enjoy catching up and hanging out more than anything.

Compatible Friends

Best Friends: Sheep and Pigs

Mortal Enemy: Roosters

RABBIT PARENTS AND BABIES

Many Rabbit people have large families. The Chinese say this is due, in part, to them being the sign of fertility. Despite the record-breaking number of children any Rabbit person may have, the happiness of his partner and family is essential to his own well-being. Although they love their children intensely and take care of them quite affectionately, sometimes Rabbit parents can come off as looking uninterested or distant. Still, Rabbits are so defending of their children that they often appear strict and overbearing.
When their children are little, Rabbit parents will dress them in cute little outfits and will insist they act mild mannered and politely. Rabbits often find themselves wrapped around the tiny fingers of their kids and will do anything for them, too make them happy and to keep the peace. Rabbits despise arguing with their children, as conflict makes them quite uncomfortable, and they will avoid it at all costs. Rabbits will always be there for their children and will help them even as they grow and mature. They find themselves there for their kids throughout their lives.

RABBIT INFANT AND CHILD
Young Rabbits are very sensitive children. They tend to let their emotions get the best of them and will cry with no remorse. At school, these children often get teased for being so sensitive and become branded crybabies by other boys and girls. Rabbit children are especially close to their mothers and maintain a wonderfully close relationship with them throughout their lives. They depend on their mothers for advice and support and will reciprocate when necessary. Rabbit children are desperate for stability and routine and require a sort of scheduling to do their best work. Like the adult Rabbit, Rabbit children are likely to be quite interested in the arts, particularly in music, a subject in which most Rabbit children thrive.

RABBIT PARENT/CHILD KINSHIPS
Some parents immediately click with their children and others find they will never have a close relationship no matter how hard they try to make it happen. Following are the compatibility ratings between Rabbit parents and their children.

Rabbits with Under the same roof Compatibility Rating

Rat a bit of incongruity **

Ox pretty supportive **

Tiger conflicting views **

Rabbit very well-established ****

Dragon creativity thrives ***

Snake a solid, affectionate relationship ****

Horse not much communication *

Sheep easygoing ****

Monkey a bit of restlessness ***

Rooster argument-prone *

Dog a deep commitment ***

Pig stable and loving ****

*uphill struggle **some complications ***easy bonding

****on the same wavelength

Lovers and spouses

THE RABBIT LOVER
The Rabbit lover would never dream of wearing his heart on his sleeve. The Rabbit seems aloof, yet underneath is sensual and loving - a tough facade protects a tender interior. Rabbit folk are romantic yet realistic, generous yet mercenary. Rabbits are strongly Yin and, whether male or female, are in tune with the feminine part of their psyche. Their mothering instinct compels them to nurture others, and they have an innate love of home and family.

MARRIAGE
Rabbits are easily moved to tears through words, thoughts and actions. They are deeply sensitive people who shun conflict. Rabbits tend to be a little moody and are sometimes influenced by the friends they have. Despite their cool exterior, they have a reputation for being very sexual and intimate beings. Although they may go a little crazy in their youth, they will commit themselves readily to a partner for life.

THE RABBIT LOVE PARTNER
The Rabbit needs a partner who is affectionate and loving and who will pamper his mate a bit. A partner who shares the style and suave of the Rabbit will make a good lover for him as well. Chinese horoscopes are very specific about which partnerships have the potential to be successful in love and in business. Yet, though destiny can pint us in the right direction, we must still make all efforts to maintain loving relationships. Following is a brief description of how a Rabbit will affect a relationship with other Animal Signs.

PARTNERS IN LOVE

Rabbit*Rat

The Rat will aggravate your nerves. Better steer clear.

Rabbit*Ox

Calm and quiet…your kind of romance.

Rabbit*Tiger

You’ll make a good duo.

Rabbit*Rabbit

Destined for success…same outlook and relaxed lifestyle
will keep you both quite content.

Rabbit*Dragon

Your differences cold either drive you apart or make your bond that much stronger.

Rabbit*Snake
Intense romantic ideals and heated passions make this pairing exotic and exciting!

Rabbit*Horse
You can handle it…if you want to.

Rabbit*Sheep
You share love, affection, truth…you’ll be great for each other!

Rabbit*Monkey
You’ll probably end up hurting each other irreparably.

Rabbit*Rooster
You can’t stand each other…why risk romance?

Rabbit*Dog
You’ve got potential.

Rabbit*Pig
Absolute bliss. You’re good friends and great lovers.

Love Partners at a Glance

Rabbits with Tips on Togetherness Compatibility

Rat too different *

Ox caring and sensitive ***

Tiger your differences make you closer ***

Rabbit best of mates ****

Dragon learn to compromise **

Snake intensely sexual ***

Horse pretty hard **

Sheep heavenly ****

Monkey don’t try *

Rooster no way *

Dog strong and healthy ***

Pig shared understanding ****

*dispute **keep working at it ***intense sexual attraction

****angelic

EAST MEETS WEST

ARIES RABBIT
These people need their own space and will utilize their ambitious natures by changing career patterns and personal paths throughout their lives. They need to be in motion and motivate themselves through change.

TAUREAN RABBIT
These Rabbits measure their success in the acquisitions they have made. They like the stability and comfort of nice things and work hard to provide these luxuries to themselves and their families.

GEMINI RABBIT
These people love to talk and actually, unlike most Rabbits, like to be the center of attention. They make great friends and find talking stimulates them.

CANCERIAN RABBIT
These Rabbits find themselves in a tight relationship with their mothers. They are deeply sensitive individuals who are most at ease in the comforts of their own home.

LEONINE RABBIT
These people are extremely popular with others, partly due to their suave natures. They are outgoing, yet conditioned, and are one of the most confident of these combinations.

VIRGO RABBIT
These Rabbits are incredibly and almost annoyingly organized. They can be seen as anal, but trust they will never lose anything and will finish most nay project they start. They are a bit fussy about their neatness, but are some of the most efficient people you will ever meet.

LIBRAN RABBIT
Libran Rabbits are quite the sophisticated breed and love to be in the midst of a social situation. They play the part of the socially-aware quite convincingly.

SCORPIO RABBIT
These Rabbits are demure, and you never quite know what they’ll do next. They are creative and open-minded and you can find most working in the arts. Although they are relatively stand-offish at times, they carry with them a depth of character unbeknownst to most people.

SAGITTARIAN RABBIT
These are probably the most open-minded of the Rabbits finding comfort in just relaxing at home. They don’t get caught up in the sensitive characteristics of the normal Rabbit and would rather be a little less emotional and a lot more comfortable.

CAPRICORN RABBIT
These Rabbits thrive on promotions and raises at work. They work to see their efforts rewarded and take pride in their statuses and titles at work. They are loyal, handworkers, although not showy in their endeavors.

AQUARIAN RABBIT
These Rabbits love to learn new things and search for the answers to their own questions. They are gifted with imagination and determination. These individuals would rather be rich in knowledge than in possessions.

PISCEAN RABBIT
The Piscean Rabbit is quite a complex person. He is creative and will work best in relaxed, peaceful situations where his creativity can be explored and put to good measure.

A Moment To Smile

2011-10-22T19:53:00.000-07:00

I don't know about you guys but, when you wake up every moment, I gotta make someone smile/ I don't know about you though but, I hope that once you found my blog/log on into it, it gives you more reasons to smile more each day, feel free to give me feedback too!

Season Ticket:

Sarah was reading a newspaper, while her husband was engrossed in a magazine. Suddenly, she burst out laughing. "Listen to this," she said. "There's a classified ad here where a guy is offering to swap his wife for a season ticket to the stadium."
"Hmmm," her husband said, not looking up from his magazine.
Teasing him, Sarah said, "Would you swap me for a season ticket?"
"Absolutely not," he said.
"How sweet," Sarah said. "Tell me why not."
"Season's more than half over," he said.

Three Kids.

A family is at the dinner table. The son asks his father, 'Dad, how many kinds of boobs are there?'
The father, surprised, answers, 'Well, son, there are three kinds of Boobs. In her 20's, a woman's are like melons, round and firm. In her 30's to 40's, they are like pears, still nice but hanging a bit. After 50, they are like onions'.
'Onions?'
'Yes, you see them and they make you cry.'
This infuriated his wife and daughter so the daughter said, 'Mum, how many kinds of 'willies' are there?'.
The mother, surprised, smiles and answers, 'Well dear, a man goes through three phases. In his 20's, his willy is like an oak tree, mighty and hard. In his 30's and 40's, it is like a birch, flexible but reliable. After his 50's, it is like a Christmas Tree.'
'A Christmas tree?'
'Yes - the root's dead and the balls are just for decoration.'

Rooster in Pants:

A salesman is talking to a farmer when he looks over and sees a rooster wearing pants, a shirt, and suspenders. He says, "What the hell is that all about?"
The farmer says, "We had a fire in the chicken coop and all his feathers got singed off, so the wife made him some clothes to keep him warm. There ain't nothing funnier than watching him try to hold down a hen with one foot and get his pants down with the other."

Rightful Heir

A man in a bar sees a friend at a table, drinking by himself. Approaching the friend he comments, "You look terrible. What's the problem?"
"My mother died in June," he said, "and left me $10,000."
"Gee, that's tough," he replied.
"Then in July," the friend continued, "My father died leaving me $50,000."
"Wow. Two parents gone in two months. No wonder you're depressed."
"And last month my aunt died, and left me $15,000."
"Three close family members lost in three months? How sad."
"Then this month," continued the friend, "nothing!"

Deep Voice:

A man walks along a lonely beach. Suddenly he hears a deep voice: "Dig!"
He looks around: nobody's there. "I am having hallucinations", he thinks. Then he hears the voice again: "I said, dig!"
So he starts to dig in the sand with his bare hands, and after some inches, he finds a small chest with a rusty lock. The deep voice says: "Open!"
Ok, the man thinks, let's open the thing. He finds a rock with which to destroy the lock, and when the chest is finally open, he sees a lot of gold coins. The deep voice says: "To the casino!"
Well the casino is only a few miles away, so the man takes the chest and walks to the casino. The deep voice says: "Roulette!"
So he changes all the gold into a huge pile of roulette tokens and goes to one of the tables, where the players gaze at him with disbelief. The deep voice says: "27!"
He takes the whole pile and drops it at the 27. The table nearly bursts. Everybody is quiet when the croupier throws the ball. The ball stops at the 26. The deep voice says: "Shit!"

Bear Hunting:

A hunter goes into the woods to hunt a bear. He carries his trusty 22-gauge rifle with him. After a while, he spots a very large bear, takes aim, and fires. When the smoke clears, the bear is gone.
A moment later the bear taps the hunter on the shoulder and says, "No one shoots at me and gets away with it. You have two choices: I can rip your throat out and eat you, or you can drop your trousers, bend over, and I'll do you in the ass."
The hunter decides that anything is better than death, so he drops his trousers and bends over, and the bear does what he said he would do. After the bear has left, the hunter pulls up his trousers again and staggers back into town. He's pretty mad.
He buys a much larger gun and returns to the forest. He sees the same bear, aims, and fires. When the smoke clears, the bear is gone. A moment later the bear taps the hunter on the shoulder and says, "You know what to do."
Afterwards, the hunter pulls up his trousers, crawls back into town, and buys a bazooka. Now he's really mad. He returns to the forest, sees the bear, aims, and fires. The force of the bazooka blast knocks him flat on his back. When the smoke clears, the bear is standing over him and says, "You're not doing this for the hunting, are you?"

How much for a Season Pass:

On the first day of college, the Dean addressed the students, pointing out some of the rules: "The female dormitory will be out-of-bounds for all male students, and the male dormitory to the female students. Anybody caught breaking this rule will be fined $20 the first time."
He continued, "Anybody caught breaking this rule the second time will be fined $60. Being caught a third time will cost you a fine of $180. Are there any questions?"
At this point, a male student in the crowd inquired: "How much for a season pass?"

The Bird of True Love:

If the bird of wisdom is an owl, and the bird of peace is the dove, what is the bird of true love?
The Swallow.

The Best:

The moon shown silver on the waters of the lake, and the waves that were beating on the shore were hardly equal in intensity to the waves of passion nearby. One ardent couple paused long enough for the young man to whisper, "Darling am I the first man to make love to you?"
Her tone upon answering was slightly more than irritable. "Of course you are!" she said. "And also the best too. I don't know why you men always ask the same old ridiculous questions."

Creative Class with Kennedy

2011-10-22T19:45:00.000-07:00

Studio Letter 2

“That’s how wrong my love is” Lynne Tillman

To my most awesome readers in Kennedy’s class, as I began to read this beloved collection of poetry called “Someday this will be funny” by Lynne Tillman, I sat down almost immediately thinking “this assignment should be a piece of cake and I’ll be done in 20”. That wasn’t the case when I sat down. But, I can tell you this as I opened this magnificent book I couldn’t help but notice the new smell and the words becoming crystal clear to me for the very first time and I was captured almost immediately. Emphasize the almost, I was thoroughly capture with “That’s how wrong my love is” and I had to reread this particular poem more than a dozen times to fully understand it, to me it felt many hours and words becoming more jumbled to me as ever.

What intrigued me was her funny, simply, ironic titles and her way of sticking out the “don’t judge the book by its cover” quote. As I began reading I was immediately captured by her sense of style in her writing and being able to feel the emotions that is portrayed. Tillman uses a lot of imagery, compassion and extreme detail in her writing, making my writing seem far from hers. Analyzing her writing was extremely difficult since there isn’t much to critique and understanding where she was coming from, I don’t even know where to begin. So I did what I thought was best and start at the very beginning. Tillman opens up her writing by stating that “Every morning, right to the window; every afternoon, come home, open the door, right to the window—I witnessed the entire cycle of a nesting mother and father, a chick’s beak cracking through the eggshell, the baby’s care, it’s parents’ nurturing it, the baby’s first flight” (Tillman 1). My first expression was oh my goodness! Why hasn’t she brewed coffee yet? All joking aside; it was more like wouldn’t it be cool to wake up every day and to be able to watch the circle of life happening at your window? At that moment, I began to let my mind wonder out and imagine what the writer saw as I stared out my window; the stars were out that night (thankfully).

As I read on further it had occurred to me that the narrator is convinced that she has developed an intimate connection with the three mourning doves. “I realize this sounds corny, ridiculous, or just another piece of anthropomorphism, or vanity, if feeling appreciated or recognized by birds is vanity,” Tillman writes. “Yet I believe it was their intention, though I have since learned that mourning doves lack cunning and are not bright.” (Tillman 4) By this point I am pretty convinced that the narrator has gone mad.

As I set the book aside, confused and frustrated, thinking “this is the most absurd poem ever”, a part of me couldn’t help but to carry on reading. Flipping page by page I couldn’t help but feel the sadness of abandonment for the writer. “This is what happened: I whistled again, the three gazed at me, now closer in proximity than they’d ever been, the baby half the size of its parents, so slim and sleek, and with their heads turned in my direction, there was a long moment during which we continued to look at each other. Then, suddenly, but in unison, they flew away. They’d waited for me to come to the window; they’d wanted me to know they were abandoning their nest. And me, perhaps.” (Tillman 3) To be honest, I tried to compare the same amount of depth of emotion that were used in this specific quote in my personal experience and truth be told? I couldn’t find anything to compare it too; I could only imagine the heart-break the narrator must have felt as she watched these birds in unison, flying away, saying their last goodbyes. So trying to understand this quote a little more, I went did the unthinkable: I went and talked to my parents about this.

Going to my parents to ask what they thought was dreadful, I thought they would give me a simple “go figure it out yourself” answer, but to my amazement they both sat down and said this to me. “You’ll understand it one day when you have children.”

“Yeah” I said, “but how does that help me? It’s not like I’m going to be having children anytime soon”

They carried on and said: “As a parent you’ll watch your children grow up, trying to understand them and their rebellious ways, watching as they spread their wings and fly, falling down maybe once or twice and give or take a dozen times before getting back up and going at it all again. When the time comes they will leave your nest and build a new family somewhere else.” Amused and somewhat content with the answer I went out and thought it over, Maybe what my parents had said was true. To the narrator, she felt like she was part of the birds’ family in an odd way. She witnessed the dove’s birth and was able to watch as the parents took turns nursing them, leaving bird seeds at the window every now and then coming home every day to see them grow up. Then, in the blink of an eye, they were gone.

As I went out to take a breath of fresh air, I thought about how much the book gives me a headache. I pondered how she had gotten this inspiration. At that moment I realized how beautiful the stillness of everything was, how the stars simply aligned with each other. How a simple leaf blowing against the wind or how a bird spread its wings and fly.

After re-reading this poem I would have to disagree with only two things: the poem’s title and that the poem wasn’t long enough. The love, desire and bond that the writer has for something like the mourning doves isn’t pathetic as she would describe it. I would have done the exact same thing. Portrayed in this poem, Tillman writes of an indescribable connection and that is something I’ll definitely continue to read time after time, As she would say; “I love animals, I am an animal, I’m a mammal, a human being, I like most people, love many, despise one person, though I don’t want to hate anyone. I am also selfish and want what I want. My greatest and most enduring problems in life are ethical, but living ethically is necessarily a conscious endeavor, the unconscious is not ethical, and questions and riddles about correct behavior are endless in variation, new issues coming along all the time—stalking on the Internet, for example.” (Tillman 7) In other words, do what you feel is right; make the most of what you have, don’t take little things for granted because you never know when they could be gone. “There are things I like to do, and I do them, and, as much as I can, I don’t do what I don’t want to do.” (Tillman 8) Make everything count.

Thoughts of a Typical Writer

2011-10-07T21:01:00.000-07:00

To my wonderful readers, bear with me as I am still under construction in writing my blogs. I have been extremely busy lately due to school, work and many other things.

Lately, I couldn't find anything to write no inspiration no nothing, hench weeks of no posts and many wondering where have you been?

I've always been here, lost somewhere in the woods pondering where what is the right thing to say or an inspiration until i read a book about poetry and that's where it all started.

Jake wanted us to write.... write about how we feel and this is how i felt. Enjoy.

While sitting down and reading Ken Belford “Lan(d)guage; a sequence of poetics”, I couldn’t help myself but to get lost in his writing…..Literally. While reading “a sequence of poetics” late at night with a good cup of Tim Horton’s coffee in one hand and pondering half the time on why couldn’t I have done this a night earlier? (But who’s complaining?) But beside the point, I began reading nonetheless; half way though reading, I couldn’t help myself but become more confused and wondered what heck was he on when he wrote this. But one thing for sure, Belford has a talent and he isn’t afraid to use it. Belford written something that made me realize something that was long forgotten, falling in love with writing all over again and it definitely changed my perspective in poetry. He states in his writing that “Poetry is one hundred percent communicable. Even one poem is enough to begin a cycle. Ingestion of infected poetry results in permanent death, but injecting poetry directly into a dead brain is useless. Meat inspectors, when not looking for lesions, laugh at the poem and spit at the poet. Poets possess no powers of regeneration poems that are damaged, stay damaged. Poems travel through the bloodstream, from their point of entry to the brain” (Belford, 10). There aren’t any lessons or a proper way to express what you feel in poetry, it just comes out as the way it is, but writing poetry has its pros and cons you will always face critics wherever you are regardless. Poetry is never meant to be understood. So why do we write poetry? Belford described Poem as a “flow toward consciousness. A poem is an amplifier of information that is not a continuous series of images but a grainy wave transmitted in packages of possibilities. The implicate order of a poem connects everything with everything” (Belford, 33). Poetry helps bring the world together, it needs great concentration to read and even more to write. From personal experience, the best way to appreciate poetry is to keep reading it, take it apart, put it back together, reread it, sleep on it, try to figure it out and pour your heart out though the writer. Poetry is found deep within the language, it is impulse, unforgotten, breath taking, addicting and easily to fall in love with, over and over, for instance Shakespeare. As Belford would say “the layers of a poem go deeper and deeper until the unknown” (Belford, 33). These are the reasons why I found myself appreciating what Belford has to offer, there is passage he had wrote and I would love to share with you, it is in page 40 “Choices have to be made but chances are too good to miss. So often it’s either too soon or too late, but then there’s a moment when everything comes together, when sensations arrive on top of each other, third party robbers sit in on operations, and writers paper over the gaps, fitting jumble into story” (Belford 40). Without motivation, nothing important can be achieved and without pleasure in writing, talent will never see the light of day. Don’t let a moment in your day to stop you from writing, cause when you wake up “the next time a sunrise steals your breath or a meadow of flowers leaves you speechless, remain that way. Say nothing and listen as heaven whispers “do you like it? I did it just for you.” (Max Lucado).

I hope this inspires many.

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