This blog is dedicated to all things simple, old, serene, classical, and romantic. It is an attempt to recapture the simplicity of days gone by, when happiness could be found in simply lying in the grass and writing poetry. In honor of the years that came before us, and in hope of reclaiming a bit of their simplicity, I dedicate "That We Were Butterflies." WELCOME!


"Was it a vision, or a waking dream? Fled is that music - do I wake or sleep?"
~ John Keats

Wednesday, November 10, 2010

A Word About Cell Phones

I have been living for almost one year now without a cell phone! When I had one (a contract one, not my emergency Trac phone), I thought I could never live without one. I hear other people say, "I wouldn't function without my phone." Well, up until only a few decades ago, people DID function without cell phones. And, for the majority of our human history, we had no phones at all.

This is why I love not being tied to a cell phone:
There is an anxiety that comes with phones - you see it all around you. In school, students jump when their phone vibrates; they hurry to check who is texting or calling; they miss sections of class to text or answer the phone. At work, co-workers check their phone every few minutes to see what vital information they have missed. People break up over texts, have affairs through texts, reveal secrets rashly over texts. And we're all just dying, just DYING to see who will call next.

Of course, most of us use/d our phones as alarms. Hence the middle of the night phone calls. Hence the anxiety of falling asleep, worried that someone might contact you.

There is such thing as a home phone. There are emergency cells for EMERGENCIES. There are alarm clocks.

My anxiety levels have gone down considerably since my cell phone mysteriously stopped working when Tom was sick. I took that as a sign, then, that I was meant to focus on Tom, not my phone. Also mysteriously, just before it broke, the numbers 777 appeared on my phone's screen, flashing. I later learned that 777 represents Jesus Christ. Shortly after, Tom died.

I couldn't pay my bills after that, and soon learned that my life has become - could it be?! - EASIER without a constant urge to check my phone.

Life is simple when lived simply.

Wednesday, September 8, 2010

Hope Is A Thing With Feathers ...

I never cared for the beloved poem Hope by Emily Dickinson, although she is a favored poet of mine. I think her words fit for these two images, though; one is a tragic reminder that death is all-too-real while the other is a tender display of bonding between two doves.
... these are all words that come to mind when I think of being alive.

What does being alive mean to you?

A Solitary Farewell


Soulmates, Free To Fly


Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune--without the words,
And never stops at all,

And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.

I've heard it in the chillest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.

~Emily Dickinson~

*Special thanks to the artist BERNS on for use of her beautiful photograph Up On The Roof. You can browse Berns' gallery here:

Wednesday, August 25, 2010

Sonnet To My Soulmate - Sonnet No.9

For Mike
Dear skin and hands and all things sweet and pure
containing legends deep within the bone,
and holding old romance in their allure
pull me in dreams of you and me alone –

Alone in white rooms, fantasized by me;
alone in orphaned gardens, saved by you;
alone in white-washed castles by the sea;
alone in meadows pale and soaked in dew.

The beauty of your life is intricate
although you may not see its rambling grace;
you’re made of candlelight and fires lit
to warm the pallid shadows on my face.

My spirit flies to you and now I’m whole,
and sweetly, gently, I embrace your soul.

Tuesday, August 17, 2010

Keats' House ~ London, England

Where An Angel Lived and Loved

Keats House

The John Keats House in London is the original home where John Keats, Charles Armitage Brown, and the Brawne Family lived. It is where John Keats wrote some of his most beloved poetry, including Ode to a Nightingale, as well as being the meeting place of John Keats and Fanny Brawne: lovers until Keats' death at age 25.

The house has been restored and now has museum status. Artists can apply for permission to paint in the gardens; there are weekly children's events, sonnet readings, and other gatherings in the gardens.

Of course, I wish dearly to visit the Keats House someday! Just browsing through the website made my eyes teary! The romance and beauty of all that was John Keats life and love is stored here ... who wouldn't want to visit? For more information, see:

A Stroll Through the Past:

The Entrance Knocker
Wellington Knocker, Keats House

The Chester Rooms, where Brown and Keats wrote poetry
Chester Rooms, Keats House
BRIGHT STAR, Written to the Left of a Shakespeare Sonnet
Bright Star
The Brawne Rooms
Brawne Rooms
John Keats' Parlour
John Keats Parlour - Keats House
Fanny Brawne's Room
Fanny's Room, Keats' House
John Keats' Room
John Keats' Room, Keats' House
The Gardens in Springtime
Garden, Keats House
Memorial Plaque
Keats House

Wednesday, July 28, 2010

The Butterfly Journal

I was gifted with a chrysalis of a Monarch butterfly today, and this page will be my daily update on my baby butterfly's progress!

NOTE: I have all of the butterfly memories in a private journal. I'll type it up here as soon as possible. :)


JULY 28th 2010

Not much news to report on my chysalis today: it seems that there is gentle swelling in the middle, and the waxiness of the casing is lined with very faint vein-like design. So faint you can barely see it, but I see it. The black and gold speckles, and the brilliant gold-dotted line are all glistening magically. It still looks like a waxy jem ready to be made into a pendant.

I bought a miniature rose bush today that has pink blossoms that are purple inside. It is gorgeous, and looks so pretty on my windowsill with the butterfly and my seedlings. Life is beautiful.

Oh, all these living things!


JULY 27th 2010

As of now, my chrysalis is suspended from a think wooden stick, in a plastic jug. It's a beautiful light green, pale and pearly, looking as if it is a bead ready to be hung on an elegant necklace. There are tiny black dots at the base and tip of the chrysalis, and there are golden dots speckled here and there across the waxy surface. On the right side, a long, thick golden bar promises beautiful wings: a metallic, golden reminder of the incomparable beauty of nature.

I am so protective over this little treasure; yet, it's easy to forget that this jewel-like cacoon is really a living creature in the middle of evolution!

Has anyone else raised a butterfly? I remember doing so in kindergarten, but this is my first adulthood attempt, and I'm terrified to mess up!

Shall I name it? ;)

Monday, July 19, 2010

If I were in an Austen novel ...

I think I am more like Emma Woodhouse, my favorite Austen character, but this description fits me well. ;)

I am Catherine Morland!

Take the Quiz here!

Sunday, March 28, 2010

Sonnet 3

Sonnet to Sleep
Oh, sweet eleison night, you promise sleep
with silver moon orb'd bright within her sphere;
and dreams that come to sleepers slumb'ring deep
- so lost within their realm away from fear.
The Muse of Dreaming enters through the eyes
so gently closing lids and hiding light:
her voice, in whispered song, will hypnotize
and bring her happy sleepers sweet delight.
The darkling night is fleeting and does fly
into the rosy hue of morning's spell;
the night is delicate and swiftly dies
and morning creeps in rooms where dreamers dwell.
Oh, gentle Muse that charms the world to yawn
why won't you come to me before the dawn?!