The Chronicles of Narnia

I'm in mourning. Mourning over the fact that I am on the last book of The Chronicles of Narnia series. Mourning that there will be no more adventures with Aslan, or Mr. Tumnus, or Reepicheap, or the Pevensies, or Puddleglum, or Prince Caspian, or Scrubb, or Pole, or Bree, or sailing to the East, or searching for the lost prince, or defeating the White Witch. Often, with good books, there's a feeling of sadness when the last page has been turned. It's that feeling of wishing the story could go on, wishing that there could be just a little more information about what happens after. Fortunately, with The Chronicles of Narnia, that feeling of sadness is countered by the excitement for the next book in the series. But I am now at the last book and will no longer be able to feel so excited about the next book in the series. For one there is not. It's the end. 

 I'm having a Pity Party at my house tonight at about 11:45 (that's when I will mostly likely finish it), if anyone would like to come...

On a lighter note...Cannon Beach tomorrow! Woot woot! I've been to many beaches in Florida, Hawaii, Washington, the Caribbean, California, New York, Mexico, and New Jersey, but none of them have impressed me quite as much as Oregon beaches do, and especially Cannon Beach, for that matter. Palm trees, white sand, and warm water are pretty relaxing. But nothing compares to the fierce waves, the jagged rocks, the vibrant color, and the adventure that is provoked on Oregon beaches.

Irish Pub Waitress

As my mom and I walked down the city streets of New York, we were delighted to find a quaint, little Irish pub on 46th Street, a few blocks off of Times Square. Being that it was eleven in the morning and I am under 21, we stopped in to have coffee. Here's a quick video of our nice waitress. 

...

New York, you done me well.

New York City, you've done me well.

It's hard coming back from big, fabulous trips because no matter how eloquently you explain the details of the trip to those who did not go with you, the true feeling and depth of the experience doesn't seem to be communicated very well in words.

How is one to return to the normal after such an extravagant affair has taken place? How is someone to go back to Starbucks after a Stumptown coffee has been tasted? How was Bilbo supposed to return to his small, quaint hobbit hole after trekking through such great adventures? How were the four Pevensies to live a normal life back in England after ruling in Narnia for so long? I feel like the memories that have been made and the lessons that have been learned over the last week in New York will soon slip out of my grasp if I don't write them down or take them to heart or keep replaying them over and over in my mind. 

The Phantom of the Opera.

Aunt Re never went to college, came from basically nothing, yet she has worked hard and has rightfully earned a way of living that is one to be greatly admired.

The Christian and the Jew disputing over religious beliefs and theology on the side of the road.

The Irish pub experience.

Dean and Deluca's monstrous iced mochas.

The constant hum of horns honking, people talking, subway trains passing through the bowels of the city, steam billowing up from the sidewalk vents.

Turkey Sligos.

Delightfully finding out that I am Irish, not German.

Lulu and Charlie.

The almost hurricane storm.

Deep fried Oreos.

The Jersey Shore.

The realization that going to school in New York is a dream that is well within reach.

New clothes.

Inspiration to become better, and understanding that it is I, not anyone else, who needs to be the change I want to see in me.

A new, meaningful ring.

Maybe my heart was simply caught in one place and forgot that there was more to what the eye could see, more than life outside of Portland. Maybe my soul just needed something new and fresh to awaken the objective eyes that can look at myself and see what really needs to be changed in order for success to happen. 

I'm sure I will bring more thoughts from my recent trip to NYC up in later entries, but my eyelids are begging my voluntary muscle system to close them for the night (or morning)...

Scatterbrained 1

Something that was forced too early due to lack of patience.

Would waiting to jump into this have made things better or worse?

But if I had not jumped in, would I be writing now about how I wished I had?

Maybe this good thing would have been better if it were given a few good years to mature.

Maybe this good thing would have become the best.

But now it's been spoiled, to some degree, and there's not much that can be done.

Well, there maybe something that can be done.

But there's a whole lot of frustrations that would have to be dealt with.

And it takes two, not one.

Maybe I'm just mad because I let the leash I've always held tightly to, for good reasons, let out a little.

Maybe I'm just irked because those red glasses are never honest.

Convincing, yes. But never honest.

Maybe I'm just angry because there was that little God-given voice that kept whispering to me quietly, "Not now." 

No "yeses" or "noes." Simply, "Not now."

And I thought I was more wise!

Surprised that it worked out the way He predicted it would?

You shouldn't be. He warned you.

And now there's that confusing state of frustration that's grasping for resolve.

The other end speaks words, but acts on another way of doing things.

This doesn't help the musings of my heart, being that I'm deep and the other is a bit shallow.

But shallow only for 45% of the time.

The other 55% is quite nice because there's actual intellectual jargon.

Oh well. Time will tell.

New York...

In three days, I will be flying 35,000 feet above the ground headed towards New York City. The little coffee houses. The authentic pizza shops. The people. The elevators that make my stomach turn because they go so fast. The celebrities (every time I've gone, I've seen at least two). The night life. Broadway. Virgin Records music store. Serendipity (the restaurant, recommended by Oprah). The subway. The constant sound of horns honking. The endless line of yellow taxis. The street performers. The Naked Cowboy. Times Square. The Today Show. 

Ah, I can hear you calling me, New York, and soon I'll be there to console your longing for me.

Oh, Ernest.

Last year, I fell in love with a man named Ernest Hemingway. Well, his books are the real thing that stole my heart. Yes, he was a womanizer to some extent. Yes, he committed suicide. But my favorite work of his, A Moveable Feast, always seems to make me laugh inside and feel all the more intelligent, or more whitty, at least. Here's a few of my favorite quotes from A Moveable Feast:

"The only thing that could spoil a day was people and if you could keep from making engagements, each day had no limits." (page 49)

"It made me feel sick for people to talk about my writing to my face...and I thought, you con man conning me with your con...Now you will con me. Con not, that thou be not conned." (page 127)

"Scott was a man then who looked like a boy with a face between handsome and pretty...the very wavy hair and the mouth. The mouth worried you until you knew him and then it worried you more." (page 149)

Oh, Ernest, you really are a gem. Too bad you had to hate life enough to take your own. We could have been good friends, you and I...

So I am now at coffee shop on a Sunday night, by myself. It's an odd feeling to be alone sometimes, after having been socially active for long periods of time. Especially after this last week of school, where my classmates and I tried to spend every minute with each other. It's like driving a car after having been unable to drive for a few months. Or reuniting with an old friend after a few years of being apart. The feeling is one of love, yet there is a bit of doubtful awkwardness that sort of lingers, than quickly flees after a few minutes of testing the breaks, or after remembering how you and the old friend connect so well. It's nice to be with you again, Old Self. We haven't been alone for a few weeks.