the discipline of silence

"...the things we feel most deeply we ought to learn to be silent about, at least until we have talked them over thoroughly with God..." e. elliot

So much to say and so much I cannot.

I dare say how thankful I am for journals and I must apologize before hand at how irritatingly vague this post may be. There is inside me a clamoring cry to share my current disposition; an almost insatiable call to verbalization. My journal would attest to this, as it is nearly finished; I write incessantly now. More so than usual. Why? For I simply cannot go anywhere else. I dare not speak some things into existence; they simply must remain written there. The words of my heart scribbled on pages and pages and pages.

Such an odd feeling. To have so much to say; to feel your insides being pulled this way and that and prudence prevents it's declaration. Do you ever feel like there is so much feeling in you that you'll burst? So many thoughts and emotions; Each, simultaneously, demanding a stage and an audience; all rushing the gates, all clogging up the drain, all attempting escape through a door ten times too small?

Now I find myself thanking the Lord for Himself. For if it weren't for Him and His listening ear I simply would die in misery. The trembling burden of silence set to crush me.

It is not a mournful thing. Though I feel something very close to sadness... it isn't sadness, is it really? It's more like, depth; weight; rawness and reality. I can't explain it. It's as though a deepness in me is being revealed. It makes me nauseous as much as it thrills me.

"The Lord will fight for you while you keep silent." Exodus 14:14

derelict grander

I'm supposed to be studying. To be dedicating myself to Pythagorus and analytical argument. Give me credit, I have duitully returned to GRE review many times today, yes, with dispirsed breaks in between but only to serve as a reward for previous mental exertion; and all whilst ignoring the clamoring call to write! Routinely, my yearnings for literary exploration consistently occur at the most inconvient of times. Desire, don't you know I have other things more pressing to attend to?

Todays thought? "Am I going crazy?"

"Crazy people don't think they're crazy." I remember hearing a character in a movie say this once. Up until now I thought the sentiment brilliant and quite comforting ; I have often questioned my mental status. But, in fact, that thought is quite illogical. Even now it appears trite and un-weighty! I'm sure that many crazy people are very much aware of their delirium. So maybe I AM crazy.

What brings this to mind you wonder? What has caused my preoccupation with mental instability? To be completely candid, since April I have been wading through the very muddled world of depression. I say "wading" because it very rarely feels like walking. More often than not, like shuffling, knee-deep through muck, and as I have journeyed through my current disposition I have also been experiencing an array of physical ailments that in conjunction with my depression make my day-to-day doings...exhausting. I'll spare you the details, as some are far from appetizing and, might I add, WebMD has been far from helpful. In fact, the only thing I'm sure of now, after months of independent research, is that it has produced innumerable hypochondriacs who believe they suffer from everything to Hypothyroidism to Rheumatoid Arthritis. Perhaps even a mutant disease derived from both! As this has been my experience.

A current thread of thought has interwoven itself into my psyche. That perhaps this despressive state has been of my own doing. My life, truly, hasn't been that horrible. I wasn't sold to a slave trader at twelve, my father didn't burn up in a house fire and my mother didn't leave me. My life, I have thought, has been quite devoid of the tragic, but then my grandfather died and suddenly I found myself crying all the time. Not just about my grandfather but about other things. Past things. Things I committed to forgetting long ago. The accepted occurrences of my past suddenly appeared unacceptable and all that is crazy, yes? Why should the things that have been okay with me for all these years suddenly become not okay? I must be crazy.

However, there is another thought. Perhaps I am not insane but simply, awakened. Awakened to every hurt and injury that I have repressed for so long. That all of me is moving through that pain. Even my bones are aching with the realization. In this option, there is no immediate relief to be found. No pill or prescription. Simply, a process. A process where I am being taken to the end of me, in all of my derelict grander.

So no. Perhaps I'm not crazy. Perhaps, I'm just like everybody else.

Website Launch!

Hello dearest friends and followers,

Today is quite the momentous day.

Today nicholeporrata.com launched!

As some of you may be aware of I am a singer/songwriter/Starbucks barista extraordinaire. The first two you might gather from my website the third I just felt like throwing in there as I do also very much enjoy making drinks for people. Most people. Most people that don't use Starbucks coffee as an identity of self. But anyways, I digress.

I finally have something to show for my summer of recording and photo-shooting and web designing. I'm still kinda bummed that my songs aren't up there yet but my web designer friend is off on retreat for a couple of months and communicating long distance has been very frustrating. Thus, things have gone a lot slower than I had desired. Patience is a virtue, or so I've heard and I've been forced to live within that virtue for the past three months.

As frustrating as this whole process has been I've been assured that this is whole slow-mo, turtl'es pace-ness is normal in this biz and not to worry about it and to be fair, I can't hold a grudge against a process that my own pursuit of excellence has impeded at times. I simply want to present to you all something that I can be proud of and something that you all will enjoy and want to share with your friends. I think that is respectable.

I met with my gal Jordan a couple weeks ago. She is currently working on my myspace music page and design for the album and I'm super stoked about it! The album artwork on the website is more like a formality till she's done putting the concept together. I'm very excited. She's extremely talented.

Hopefully, the album will be on itunes, the songs will be on my website, my myspace page will be finished and the design of the album complete in November. Here's hoping and here's to sooner than later.

Recommendation #7

#7 Bake the Day Away

Though I know it's been a while since we have shared the same bit of cyberspace, my absence marked by various important and momentous events such as the recording of my first e.p., a mental breakdown and my new job at Starbucks, all of which ought to be elaborated upon at a later time my friends. But today! No. Today I am going to be talking about duckies, rubber duckies, rubber ducky cupcakes to be exact!

Tuesday was my day off and I had marvelous plans to drive to Dallas and sample various organic veggies and peruse thrift stores, but of course, Mother Nature had other plans and I was rendered immobile by thunder storms. Though saddened as I was to have not made the trip I had quickly set myself down to recover my day when a thought struck me. Cupcakes! I would spend the my day indoors baking up yummy treats for no particular reason except that I could and I would, and it would be lovely. Is there a better way to spend a rainy day? I think not.

So armed with my umbrella and adorned with comfy sweatpants and slippers I drove to my local Barnes and Nobles to buy a cupcake cookbook. I was thinking my two lone cookbooks, Puerto Rican Cocina and Autumn with the Thornberry's were looking a bit lonely on their shelf and I was lacking inspiration. I drove around the parking lot three or four times trying to find a parking spot because, of course, everyone was at Barnes and Nobles. But finally, I relented and parked so far away that by the time I walked through the doors I was a soggy mess; my rain saturated sweat pants bottoms trailing a yard behind behind me and my eyes glancing from side to side searching for the "Cupcake" sign. Surely a delight that grand had to have it's own section. After trodging through the calenders and Bargain Books I finally found what I was looking for in the isle labeled " Cookbooks," and quickly plopped myself down. Thinking about it now, I can't imagine how ridiculous I looked. There I sat, surrounded by baked good compilations, wet, mascara streaking my normally rosy cheeks, my soaked panted legs streched out in front of me creating a growing puddle. I didn't care. I had hit the Jackpot!

"What's New Cupcake?"

See above.

Not only did the cupcakes in this book looked yummy but they were cute to boot! I had to have it! It didn't take me long to decide that Ruber Duckies was by far the most fitting of the cakes to make since I deemed the current weather suitable only for ducks. I rushed to the checkout, purchased my first ever Cupcake Cookbook and once I had purchased all the ingredients required, I set to making these adorable little duckies.

Step 1) Buy Cupcakes! Okay, to be honest, I could have made the cupcakes but hey! I was strapped for time, as it was already 5 p.m. and I didn't want to be baking till 3 in the morning. Here's a nifty little bit of advice. If you find yourself a little short of the tiempo, no need to panic, simply make your way to your local grocery and pick up some plain cupcakes from their bakery. Just ask the lady or gent behind the displays, they're usually stocked with bulk cupcakes.

Major Step #2) Ice Cupcakes

Major Step# 3) Squish on the donut head

Major Step #4) Ice again

Major Step #5) Freeze

Major Step #6) Melt frosting, die yellow.

Major Step#7) Dip frozen duck into yellow, melted frosting

Major Step #8) kjnffawdjlqndfq

Majwkmd JNQ#435SAEFA

Okay, you get the picture. I'm sure neither you or I want to sit here and read all these steps. If you really want to know how to make them just buy the book! You won't regret it.

I gotta say, though my duckies weren't going to be winning any Cupcake War competitions they were adorable and although they kind of looked liked a kindergartner made them but I'd say it was an admirable attempt by a novice confectionist. These weren't your garden variety cupcakes; these were molded, and mushed and iced within an inch of their lives and they came out nicely.

I crashed on my couch, starving(!) because when I had been drowning in a sea of creative juices and sugar I had forgotten to eat dinner, oops!

But, I felt accomplished. My freezer a wave of yellow waddlings and my kitchen amassed in bits of dried frosting and vanilla cake crumbs I couldn't have been happier.

Listening to the master of the album. AH! so close folks! :D

Sitting at @Art Six Coffee enjoying a fall inspired latte and listening to the rain hit the window. What a lovely afternoon.

Awesome friends! I know you all know people- Who can give me the names of some people in the music biz who could write up some press for me?? :) in North Texas and elsewhere??

Check.Check.Testing

Him

This morning I've been meditating on the glory and wonder of the Lord. It has been wonderful; simply saying the name of Jesus brings me so much life.

Spending time with Him is so sweet. Honestly, it is the only time in the day where I feel like I'm completely known and understood; at peace. Though our time has been a tad dry recently, part of it has been my lack of focus but also, as I have realized recently, the return to some faulty thinking.

This happens often enough for me to have to kick myself in the proverbial shin. I start to look at my time with Him as a feel good therapy session, belittling His presence and power to a vending machine type of relationship. If I put in two quarters of quiet time then I'll get 2 ounces of peace. all of that quality time becomes me-focused, making me happy so I can feel something. Our time becomes dull and lifeless; shorter and shorter, to where I'm only spending 10 to 15 mins with him before I run off to work.

This morning I began to meditate on nature and how consistently satisfying it is to my soul. A sunrise never leaves me disappointed or a bird's song leave me lacking. Instead I always want more. Why is this? What is it about nature that leaves me yearning for more of it, yet at peace and satisfied at the same time? It is in fact revealed in it's inception. At the beginning. The world was created that the majesty, wonder, beauty, etc,... of the Lord would be recognized and thus He would be given glory; reverent recognition.

Nature, unlike man, has stayed true to its original intention to bring God that glory. The trees were not given free will in as much as the eagles were. As part of their innate make-up they declare the glory of the Lord. *Psalm 19* This was how it was intended. Because creation still operates under this we experience the benefits and are refreshed.

I was created under the same pre-tense, to glorify my maker as His image bear. Unfortunately, humans have strayed off the beaten path and have become self-worshipers; consumed with our own happiness and comfort. As yet sinners, saved by grace, this self-veneration seeps into our relationship with the Lord as well. Our precious moments with Him become therapy sessions, a Jesus fix, upon it's receipt of peace we leave, nary to return till we need him again. If we are already of the disciplined sort and dutifully spend time with Him every day because that is what we ought to do we become brazenly depressed and dissatisfied all the more as we spend our "supposed to" time with him. Still not getting what we desire or what we think we need.

Yet, my dear brothers and sisters, it was never designed to work that way. We receive all the blessings we do because they are the side effects of His goodness and grace. Not because we spend 10 or so min. with Him each morning.

Ought we not to thank Him? To have our worship last throughout the day, in gratitude. Joy stemming out of gratitude, gratitude out of worship, worship of of realization of His presence and realization stems out of recognition. To simply state the names of God, the wonders of His hands, how we are breathing in air, clothed and covered by the blood of Jesus. This is all glorifying the God of the ages.

This morning as I mentioned back to Him His blessings, speaking out scripture and praising His existence and love I began to feel all that I had desired to feel. Somehow, when I took the focus off me and my needs, my needs were met. That truly what my soul needs is to glorify my maker. Then all peace, joy, life comes soon thereafter; all as I am aligning my heart with it's ordained purpose.

A Non-Reccomend: Robin Hood 2010

Now this might seem like quite the pretentious undertaking to take on a movie that claims to be the: "Number one movie in the world!" But I've never been one to be easily intimidated, so this is no biggie.

A few nights ago I sat in my comfy pleather cinema seat, munching on over-buttered popcorn and dreaming up visions of epic grandeur as per perscribed in the bombastic previews I had veiwed over the last couple of months. Chalk it up to grandiose expectations or bad movie munchies but the movie really wasn't all that great. It was nothing more than a fancied up introduction to the original and well-loved story that we're all familiar with: Prince John is a cad is ticked off with Robin Hood, kidnaps maid Miriam, exploits the already sketchy and morally grey Sherriff of Nottingham, Prince John challenges Robin Hood to a duel of the archery sort and Robin wins, etc.. etc... Well, you might be shocked to know that none of these events, omitting the Prince John is a cad part, are run over in this film. It all is really an introduction, a pre-quel if you will...a two and a half hour pre-quel.

The whole time I was wanting the movie to just get on with it! Sure the parts where Robin puts together his and of merry men are sorta neat. Little John is portrayed by that brutish slash smarmy, in my opinon ,bad guy from Lost(Martin Keamy.) That was weird. Maid Miriam was sassy, contrary, predictable. Sadly, it was exactly that: the predictability of this movie that really killed it for me. Which was odd, considering I knew nothing of this "back story" in the first place!

Also- funnily- is that a word? While I was watching the movie, maybe in an attempt to entertain myself from the drudgery of the Number one Movie in the World! I kept thinking back upon Disney's rendition of the story, you know, the one where the characters are portrayed by fuzzy woodling creatures? Well I guess not all of them, some were elephants. Yup, that movie was better.

Positives? The Movie was pretty looking.

But don't take my word for it, see it for yourself and be deeply disapointed.

Awhile Away

I apologize ahead of time for apologizing again. I have yet again let a few or more weeks go by since my last update-dge. I'd like to say it won't happen again and that I'll be steadfast and dutiful to my blogging affiliation, I really would! Despite my absence I quite often think about this blog and how I'd like to be writing in it. Does intention count?

Wonderfully, the stage of life I'm in has put me in the midst of a whirlwind of good things, all of which take time and attention and emotional investment at that. You understand how difficult it is to communicate at all when exhausted. Let alone convene your thougths enough to put them down on paper. The sad scribblings in my journal, as of late, can testify to that. You wouldn't know to differentiate the words from the spaces, from the commas, from the doodles. It's just where my brain has been lately.

Some good things:

I auditioned for Glee.

Here's the link

No, I'm not taking this seriously. However! I will say it's been an elephant butt load of fun(the elephant here is to emphasize the immensity of fun. Some butts are just not that big,) not only to do the actual audition, which took numerous takes, but also to see the amount of support I've received. Something like 20,000 gold stars! Thanks guys for voting! I think that's good... though I'm sure in the end, and this is my theory, it'll turn out to be this whole big marketing scheme just to get people to watch Glee and they'll end up casting a professional. They always do. I think I'm the only person who remembered that open casting call they had for Home Alone 3 and how millions of snotty nosed 8-12 year olds swarmed to malls for a chance at cinematic glory. I actually thought Home Alone 3 was a riot. All that...just to hire a kid who was with a talent agency and had a resume. Like I said, marketing scheme...might I say, a genius one.

I had a photo shoot
As some of you might know! I like to dabble in the arts of singing and songwriting. A little more than dabble really. I remember a conversation with an olde, seasoned,famous ragtime musician and I remember him saying, " Honey, you know you're a career muscian when you can't help but do it. That's how you know." I remember being quite impacted by those words and the more I grow as a musician the more I realize how right he was. I truly can't help but do it. It's in my blood and how I was created *Psalm 13.* So I'm recording my ep this July and the photo shoot(s) for the album and website happened a few days ago. Honestly. So much fun! Know for sure that I'll post a link to the website once it launches in August. You'll be able to find it on itunes after September 14th( my launch date.) My muse is an olde, cruiser bicycle. Cannot WAIT for what is in store in the next few months.

Wedding(s) Glore!
Tis the season to be married! Fa la la la la, la la la la. Honestly, I have four this summer...maybe five. I'm not entirely sure if I'm invited to that one. I've sang in one and am in another( my bff Elaine is getting married!). The othes are fairly low key though there is still traveling to be had, gifts to be bought and bridal showers to attend. The way I've viewed weddings has changed over the years, at first with mild disdain for the amount of time required for me to sit still, then with weepy longing as a teeenager wondering mournfully if my time would ever come! Now, I like them! They're beautiful and I'm so into the late night dance parties. I like weddings...for the most part. All but the bouquet toss. I find myself finding an excuse to run to the bathroom whenever that dreadful occurrence happens. Why you might ask? Well! I don't know about you, but if you're single, weddings have a knack of reminding you of your single-hood about every .2 seconds. It gets even worse when most of your friends are also married and feel the compulsion to set you up with people, at the weddings, as to not make you feel as exposed, and to somehow commiserate in the sometimes awkwardness of this friend's existence in the midst of couplings. Another slightly uncomfortable occurrence is what happens to guys at weddings. Those of the male sex, who are normally footless, fancy free not wanting to be tied down kind of men outside of a marital celebration, once taken to a wedding suddenly seem to realize their impending biological clock. "Wow, this marriage thing is sorta Awesome! I want to get married!" Enter the bouquet toss... and every man, now with a heightened awareness of their single hood starts looking at the single ladies and wondering, " Ooo, is she wife material??" Nuhuh, don't act like you don't know what I'm taking about men. I know, because I do it too...that is exactly why I run to the restroom.

There really is so much more... but I gotta go. Check ya laters!

Recommendation #6

#6 Look it up!

This might shock some of you(:p) but I do, regularly, use a dictionary and a thesaurus! It is true. I realize that this might get me in trouble with some of the more serious bloggers who use the words "sagacious" and "dendrite" on a regular basis and would be thinking I'm playing a part when I use words that are more of the impressive genre but I'm not embarrassed to say it, I do look things up! Those who would judge once opened their Websters as well, whether they admit it or not, and I'll tell you why.

1) Because reading, where we often stumble upon new words, is not only an opportunity to use one's imagination but to expand one's knowledge. If I were to simply graze over the meaning of "presentiment," without a glance at my dictionary, I might just lose the meaning of a sentence, completely, which is a travesty in it of itself. The author used that word for a reason. But by not investigating it's meaning I am also limiting my current vocabulary and my ability to engage readers as similarly in my own writing. This leads me to my next point.

2) Why? Because a vocabulary adds to the beauty of composition. A sentence could read," The little boy was sad" but where is the luster, the pow, the piece de resistance in that? It is far more glorious to say,"The child was inconsolable, despondent, doleful," and I have inferred that dutiful inspection of a word as well as how that word is used is more than vital to one's writing. Otherwise, one finds their writing to become dull and tad bit boring, full of commonplace descriptors and analogies.

I have become more aware of the ever rarer population of word lovers and just simply, literature lovers nowadays and it sadly shows. It seems that one need only to listen to two people converse in a coffee shop, a bar, the gym, at Panera to know that we have become nothing more than primordial sloths limited to uninspired discourse: " And like, she didn't have to say that, it was completely rude and stupid." " Ya, she was a total !@#% to you." Now please, don't get me wrong, I am not a grammatical nazi who gets hacked off every time someone uses the word "like" too much or uses a word incorrectly. I'm guilty on both counts of literary negligence. However, it does cause me to wonder about our future children whose vocabulary will be nothing more then a collection of primary sentiments and colorful expletives.

So I guess there are two recommends here, in one. 1) Read more folks! 2) And look up your dang words!

The manner in which we communicate separates us from the animal kingdom. Those of which are limited to grunting, barking and a variety of other noises. I don't know about you, but I much prefer words.

P.S. If you're reading this, odds are you hold some respect for literacy. I realize I'm preaching to the choir.

Recommendation #5

#5. Writing in your blog

So, just as I was about to rest my weary feetsies from a hard day's work of cooking and burning a traditional Puerto Rican meal(yes it did take me all day;) I remembered a statement I made this morning to my buddy Steven: " I will write in my blog today;" and integrity prevented me from taking my Nyquil and hitting the hay. Yes, I do realize it is no longer today where I am in Texas but it is in California(where Steven resides) and this blissfully means I have two more solid hours before it is, in fact, no longer today. Woho!

Time Zones are sweet.

So hello guys! Aw, it has been way to long. Some of you might be wondering, "What happened?" "Did you die!?" What dramatic occurrence awakened you from your blogging sleep to, gasp, post in your blog? Well, no, I didn't die. That's a dumb question. I came back because of a comment ole Stevo, as previously mentioned, made on his Facebook Status:

"The World is Full of Neglected Blogs."

Reading that dug a spear into my heart engraved with the words, Conviction. It's been awhile. Of course, as many, I have a list of very acceptable excuses! I have been busy, I have been distracted and I have been pre-occupied with to-do(ery.) It is a very affirming feeling to have checked off your way through your day. *Write in Blog never seemed to get crossed out though and why?

Because I was scared.

I know! It may sound ridiculous and I'll concede, maybe somewhat confusing. But this blog became an ominous cloud of intimidation. A dutiful occupation that had begun to suck me dry of all my literary inspiration, as minuet as it may be. People liked reading what I wrote (imagine that!) and the knowledge of that grew into a grappling fear of possibly producing material that people would not want to read. "Would they still like me?" I asked. Really, Nichole, are you five years old? The more I grow older the more I realize that we all are still snotty nosed children fearful of not being chosen. But that's for another time.

So, you're right Stevie. There are a whole lot of neglected blogs floating around our internetary hemisphere and thanks for the reminder. I don't want to be one of them. I gave this blog the title that it has because of my commitment to being true about myself. I guess I mentally got away from that, from me.

Here's to you, Blog, you winding array of musings and ruminations. I've ignored you far too long. I'm still Nichole, nonetheless.

Cat Whisperer

My Grandpa is finally home! Hurray and Hallelujah! Although the past two weeks have been fraught with stress and tribulation and more to come, there have been many bright rays of funnies to lighten up the dreariness. Here is one of my favorites.

Being here in Puerto Rico is always an "experience." I say that because I never leave without a armful of memorables and hysterical stories. What can I say, the Island's good to me. As you might have assumed I have been staying at my Grandparents house. There are so many shadows of childhood scattered about this place and finding myself lost in thought is not uncommon. However, for all it's charm, it comes with it's fair share of interesting.

Their house is in fact situated in the bustling metropolis of greater San Juan; Otherwise known as, the Jetto or Ghetto for all my literal folks. As a child I don't remember it being as it is now, a sprawling collection of bus driving, reggaeton blaring, poultry raising crazies but it is what it is and at least my Grandparents aren't in want of company.

My moment of enlightenment came my first night. I was exhausted from my non-stop flight from LAX to San Juan earlier that morning, which was quite a unforgettable affair enough as it was. There I was, in the middle seat. To my right the businessman, nothing too exciting there but to my left a women sporting ski pants. What an absorbing choice considering we were Caribbean bound. I had been catching up on LOST and even considered the ludicrous notion that perhaps she too had ventured into an icey room, spun the magic wheel, moved the island and hadn't yet had time to change. For those who are not as ridiculously addicted as I am to the show and have no idea what I'm talking about. I apologize. I eventually decided against asking why she had curiously chosen that trouser, for fear that perhaps I was just seeing things and then that would just be awkward." Uh, these are jeans." Anyways, I digress.

The first night I fell asleep to the sound of chirping frogs, various insects... my neighbors off pitch Luis Fonsi memorials. I was too fatigued to care. However, at about two o'clock in the morning the fun began. At first, it was a dwarfish moan, and then another equally so would follow after a few seconds. It sounded like someone was calling for help. I turned over and drew my teddy closer, telling myself I was just hearing things and "don't be ridiculous." Yet there it was again! This time the pleas weren't spaced apart but were becoming all the more rapid. High pitched and feverish I buried my head in my pillow in attempt to escape the screams now that were filling my ears. As they reached a climax I sprung out of bed and like a ninny, rushed, well more like hobbled, to my Aunt and shook her awake. " TiTi. Do you hear the voices!?" I demanded. You could just imagine the look on her face as her dreary eyed neice shook her awake because she claimed to be hearing "voices." She handled it well I think. " No, Nichole, those are just some cats. Go back to bed." I didn't believe her, instead I opted to sleep with my Aunt. I was a tad shaken up and made a pact to lay off the LOST marathons.

As our neighbor drove us to the Hospital the next morning my aunt in the midst of lighthearted and cordial conversation mentioned the story to Dona Erma. As my Aunt recounted the prior night's events Dona Erma began to laugh and laugh...and laugh some more. As my spanish was a little rusty and I was still weary from my lack of sleep I couldn't make sense of my eldery chauffeurs response. What's so funny? I asked. She paused from her delight and responded: "Los gatos esta enamorado." Which translates to: They were doing the do.

In fact, I wasn't awakened by desperate pleas for help but instead by they orgasmic cries of some neighborhood cats. I couldn't help but laugh right along with her. Since that restless night I have purchased "ear seal" earplugs which although will keep me joyously traversing through dreamland might perhaps kill me if ever there was a situation where hearing was necessary, burning house, shrouded intruder for instance. I would have done anything to keep from being awakened by those feline wails again though. So that's a risk I'm more then willing to take.

To be honest though, a small part of me still wonders... if maybe, I'm a cat whisperer.

Press Pause

Mi Abuelo

As some of you might know, I was called away to Puerto Rico due to my Grandpa's recently failing health. I have, since Wednesday, been back on the island and the next few posts will most likely be about my time here.

Her voice had cracked...

of all the things that brought the severity of my Abuelo's condition into reality it was this that began the journey.

My aunt has never been one to be completly forthcoming with her emotions. As the eldest in her family as well, she and I struggle with the same condition. For us, it is a matter of caring for the family and feelings must come later. At that very moment I knew...I knew that the following days would change my life forever.

Arriving at the hospital Abuela ushered my Aunt and I into his room, his bed was a mess of tubes and wires. I gingerly made my way to his side as though my steps might somehow add to the obvious pain he was in. There he was: Abuelo. Each breath a struggle and as his heart monitor did beat at an irregular pace I grabbed his hand to steady my own. I gazed upon a frail and tiny man, his body covered in sun spots and his skin appearing oddly yellow. When his eyes would open periodically to gaze at the ceiling I thought perhaps he was seeing Angels. Hanging upon every unintelligible word that he uttered we hoped he would emerge from the medicinal sleep he had been put under for his benefit.

I couldn't help myself, I began to cry. My Grandpa had been the one to hold my bicycle secure, he had clasped my hand in his as we crossed the street and he had been the one that, as I child, I had looked to for strength. He had never looked helpless in his life. Yet, here he was, weak and close to breakable and I was powerless to help him.

A story that Grandpa loved to tease me with came to mind and I share it now with you.

I had come to visit Puerto Rico when I was five years old and, at the time, loved to play house. What five year old doesn't? So, I had taken Grandpa to the bedroom, as it was way past his bedtime, and proceeded, in gustapo-like fashion, to refuse to let him get up. "Can I get up now?" He would plead. " No!" Would be my stern reply. This went on for a good few minuets; he would implore and I would similarly deny each request. Finally, daddy came in to distract me with ice cream and bedtime was soon forgotten.

As I sat studying my Grandpa as he slept. I couldn't deny the knawing throb at the back of my heart. The knowledge that there would be no such discussion this time. I would not be granted to gift of acquiescence.

If it was his time to go, it was his time to go... with or without my permission.

Right now Grandpa remains in ICU. Though his body is slowly improving his mind has not. He is in and out of lucidity. Please continue to pray for his increased health, body, heart and mind. I find great comfort in Psalms 147:1 & 3 and Psalms 34:1.

"Praise the LORD. How good it is to sing praises to our God...He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds."

"Taste and see that the Lord is good. 'I will bless the LORD at all times; his praise shall continually be in my mouth.'"

The Lord is the great physician and whether He calls my Grandpa home our heals him completely I know that in every circumstance He is good. Thank you for your prayers.

Recommedation #4

#4. Not trying to cut your own bangs.

For my fourth recommend I thought I'd switch it around a bit and rather then suggesting, I would not suggest cutting your own bangs. For most, the prior statement might be a no-brainer. I can barely cut in a straight line, why would I take that risk with something on my face?

Well, for me it wasn't that obvious and I eagerly took it upon myself to redeem the otherwise terrifying notion. I would cut my bangs and do a smashing job! My choice to attempt the alteration on my own was influenced mostly by my boredom and my pocketbook. Seeing as my mother had taken me to the hair salon not two weeks prior and paid for a trim of my swooshy side bangs, it seemed wasteful to pay another thirty dollars for my new desired look. Also, I was po' and had no monies. So, armed with my brothers comb and a pair of scissors, I absconded from my mothers sewing basket, I set out on the grand adventure of hairstyle(ary).

So far the only instruction I had received on the cutting of bangs was a brief, though thorough, lesson from a family friend last summer. I'm sorry to admit but I remembered very little of the seminar except that cutting bangs is a lot harder then it looks. I amended this misfortune by watching many a youtube video. I learned quite a bit. For instance, one should never cut straight across, remember the whole inability to cut a straight line deal? Turns out it applies to hair too. My favorite tutorial involved a charming Asian women warning of the dangers of bang alteration with: "Ma Sur tu cuh na tu fah, o you wi hae coconut head." Translation: If you cut too much hair you will look like Friar Tuck. I'll admit, this scared me a little. I surely did not want to walk around with hair resembling a tropical fruit, or a monk for that matter, so I made sure not to get too trigger happy. I would only cut what I needed to.

To be honest, the whole deal went on without a hitch. Other than getting hair everywhere and cutting off a piece of my eyelid we were smooth sailing. I made sure to cut whilst heeding every bit of instruction and was quite proud of the results. The problem, occured a day later. I was putting in my contacts in the morning and soon thereafter checked on the wounded eyelid. It was healing up nicely. Imagine my shock when I glanced above the cut and saw a wide gash in my eyebrow; I had sliced off the middle of it. As I mentioned before, because you are not advised to cut straight across, hairstylists encourage the vertical technique. This is where the sissors cut upward into the bangs rather than side to side. Seems I got a little over zealous and decided to trim my eyebrow as well.

I partially blame my mother's sewing scissors for my slip, they were unexpectedly sharp; even though it was either them or the scrapbooking option that would have made my hair look like lace. I don't even know if it would have been possible to use those anyway. Eh, it was a thought. So, really I had no alternative. Funny, eyebrows, though small, when missing makes one look almost inhuman. If anything, I can now sympathisize with dear Wormtounge from Lord of the Rings and that guy in Arrested Development who had that hair condition, though I'm sure I'm being dramatic. Anyone remember that guy's name by the way? To clarify, I still have both eyebrows. It's just that one looks a tad more devil may care. I'm bound to draw it in for the next four months it takes to regrow.

If you're willing to risk cutting your own bangs ladies, be my guest. In the wise words of my Asian friend: "Ma Sur tu cuh na tu fah"... or you will slice off your eyebrow.

Recommendation #3

"I take my Swiss Kriss, man, they keep you rollin'. Old Methuselah, he'd have been here with us if he had known about them."

— Louis Armstrong in [The Louis Armstrong Story] by Max Jones & John Chilton, pg. 220.

#3. Swiss Kriss

So, seeing the need for another recommendation, I present you with an item that has greatly enhanced the quality of my life. I will admit, I have been hesitant to confer this to you since the matter is a bit, shall I say, awkward? But since everyone poo's, I thought this product would be useful for all.

Yes, I know. There are so many other things, Nichole, that you could have expounded upon that are far less gross. Like toe-socks, Hewlett Packered and Blistix, but I will remind you that this blog is a collection of things that I have found to be laudable and none of those things fit the bill.

Now, I've thought this through and through and have wondered how I might present this delightful addage to anyone's medicine cabinet without resorting to the use of vulgarities; such as: bowels, regularity, fiber, smooth, hard and dare I say, watery. I commit to you that I will do my best, but seeing as pooping has never been an entirely "behind closed doors" kind of thing in my home I apologize before hand for any amount of discomfort that this post may cause. It might help you to know that I have already resigned myself to the idea that I will most likely not receive any comments.

Now, onto the very subject this post pertains to! Swiss Kriss: Natural Herbal Laxative. As it states on it's website, the product contains: "the gentle laxative effect of senna with the digestive benefits of papaya leaves and centaury herbs, the anti-spasmodic benefits of calendula and caraway, the anti-gas benefits of peppermint leaves, parsley and anise, the tonic benefit of lemon verbena, the mild diuretic benefit of dandelion leaves, the relaxing benefit of peach tree leaves and the natural flavoring of hibiscus flowers." In other words, it's homeopathic. Which, for my four younger brothers is code name for Hippie.

I came upon Swiss Kriss two summers ago while I was on Vacation in New York. My Aunts, with whom I was staying with, are both R.N.'s/homeopathic nurses and upon complaining of my uncooperative colon quickly prescribed two tablets of the stuff. I reluctantly chugged them down with a glass of water and took note of their grassy taste and hint of lemony flavor. I honestly, didn't think much of it since my Aunt's have also taken care of hurt knees by hanging crystals over them...I wasn't skeptical, I just wasn't expecting anything grandiose. Would you believe it but after 15 mins I felt like a fright train was about to explode out of my backside and sprinted to the bathroom. I was not to be disappointed. Swiss Kriss had struck gold. I have tried my fair share of "gentle stimulants" and all of them have either made my bum feel like I had a bad case of diaper rash or reduced my bowels to a watery mess that would go on for days. Not so with Swiss Kriss, it simply detoxes and cleans you out. Also, I am a big fan of the use of plants and not chemicals to treat my digestive issues.

I know that consistent constipation is not uncommon for people nowadays. It seems that the more we simplify our lives the more we cram stuff into them leaving very little time for the bare necessities. Eating, sleeping, fill in the blank and pooping. We are under an extreme amount of stress as well. A successful visit to the loo requires time and relaxation, both of which I have very little of in my life. To further complicate matters, I am often traveling. Routine is vital for regularity and with all the here and there'ing in my life, I would be lost and not to mention very backed up without the aid of my Swiss Kriss. Even good 'ole Louie Armstrong felt as I do!

So, I urge you to take a gander and try it out. You won't be disappointed.

You can find Swiss Kriss at any of your local health food stores, your friendly neighborhood GNC or you can purchase it online: Hippie Store. Also, since it is sure to work I wouldn't recommend taking it before a business meeting or boarding a plane.

P.S. Since guys have resolved to live in a fantasy world where girls do not poop, this, I realize, may have been difficult to accept for some. My hope is that the men who follow my blog feel more comfortable with the matter and have now graduated beyond this primitive viewpoint.

My Marianne

There is something far more bitter than a broken heart and that is the numbness that takes a hold soon thereafter.

In the very least the painful shards of heartache allow you the decency of feeling. Not so with the dullness. It weakens you in the deepest parts. There is suddenly no color left in the world, no flight of fancy or little joy to distract. Just him.

I can't say I think about him with regret now or remorse that things are as they're so. But I remember feeling. I remember the exhilaration of a word and that a hairsbreadth of movement would make me fall to his gaze; captured.

I remember those things.

There is solace in the memory that I once did feel love. If even unplanned for and with no future.

I am settled now. Ours was not to be.

I want to believe that it was simply part of a divine plan, one meant to lessen my delusions of romantic grandeur, to humble my heart to see reality as it were, as it is. All in order that I might see the true man ordained to have me. But I know of no reassurance.

For now, I feel nothing.

It's Cold

Snow outside my home in Texas

Oh, what's a girl to do?

I know I'm due another "recommend" but I suppose that'll have to wait. In the meantime on to my most recent dilemma. It's cold. I know that this is an obvious statement for most everyone as even folks in south Florida experienced 30 degree weather today. But this has compounded my already prevalent issue of lack of structure.

Let me explain.

Last June, whilst sitting at home doing mostly nothing, as I was off from work for the summer, I did what I usually do when I have too much time on my hands. I began to make a list of goals some ridiculous and very close to unattainable and enthusiastically set out on a course towards the acquisition of said goals. These were the two I made in June:

1) Run Half Marathon

2) Memorize Phillipians

How did I do? Well on December 11th I am proud to say that I ran and completed my first Half Marathon. I know. It really was an accomplishment and one that I had to push through many a "I just don't wanna dooo this" moments to get to. Since I hadn't ran, seriously at least, for about a year, I had to start slow. I was training for nearly six months... Make that ALOT of " I just don't wanna do this" moments.

I still haven't memorized Philipians. Maybe I'l re-tackle that one this summer.

Anyway, which brings us into my current quandary. The entire continental United States has been thrust into a crazy bit of a cold-spell and I frankly don't want to run in it. I know, some of you might be saying: "Well, comon Nichole. You already ran 13.1 miles! Give yourself a break." But I have...I've only ran a handful of times since running across the finish line that brisk Saturday morning.

I do want to run but I don't want to. Does that make sense? Of course not. I have a solution though: I will have to register for another Half Marathon.

Let me just be completly frank. Without goals I become a pitiful blob of undirected energy. Summers are a nightmare for me as I spend most of my time not doing anything and the rest of the time hating myself for not doing anything. I need structure. If it were a nice 60 degrees outside I think the issue would be far less pressing. I know some of you hardcore runners are thinking, " She's such a whimp." I am, but I do love to run. I actually enjoyed most of the six months of preparation I had pre-Marathon, and I DID run through rain, sleet and coldness. So I've earned my badge. However, now, with no structure and the warmth of my fireplace and blankets. I seem to have little to no motivation. I'm beginning to feel a bit lumpy dumpty. I really did fear this would happen. I would accomplish something monumental: My Half Marathon and completely lose my endurance and discipline two months later. My children later on passing on the story would answer their little ones questions of what did Grandma in with " Well, my son, it was her lack of goals."

Oh, what's a girl to do?

P.S. I do know that when I get home(in Texas) I'll have my lovely gym to run in. I'm just being a bit venty and dramatic. It's simply these next couple of weeks at home(in Florida) that will prove to be the test of my will. I might have to bite the bullet, run outside and/or otherwise deny any tendencies to self-deprecate.

George and John

It's an intriguing thing to be thought of as safe.

Tonight I was talking to a good friend of mine on Facebook chat (with which I have a love-hate relationship) and he made some off the wall comment; not unusual for him. He's one of those individuals that will say most anything just to get a rise out of you. I rarely ever know when he's in earnest and usually he knows to clarify with a " Just kidding!"

Well anyways. We'll call him "George." Here's our dialogue:

George: "Nichole, when I look at your ridiculous little smiling face, I feel like a child."

Nichole: "Ooo. That's so very poetic. What does that mean?"

George: "It means that you make me feel like, if anything were to ever happen to me, you would swoop down with your Jesus-power and save me."

They were both very sweet things for him to say and oddly enough I've heard them before from "John," although he used the words 'safe' and ' comfort,' not but two months prior. "John" will have to be discussed at a later time.

What kind of truths do these coincidental agreeances infer? I began to wonder:

Do I physically look safe? More specifically, does my appearance bear to mind the ability to swim someone ashore or rescue kittens out of a burning building? Well no, I thought, of course not. I just wrote about my diminutiveness in a prior post so I certainly cannot physically appear to be the bearer of safety. I can hardly lift my suitcase onto the scale at the airport.

Perhaps it is due to my mad survivor skills and mastery of the martial arts! Okay, I lie. I don't have mad skills or any skills really. All I know about surviving is what I have ascertained from my grade school readings of Hatchet. Although, I'm pretty good with a spatula...

So then, what is it?

All I know is feeling safe is to be comforted, to feel impervious to danger, a " all is right in the world" kind of impression. The way I feel when I'm hugging my dad. He's safe because I can trust him.

My hope is these two men believe I am safe, because they feel they can trust me, because they know they are loved.

If anything, it's an intriguing thought.

Recommendation #2

"...Palmer's Cocoa Butter enriched with VITAMIN E, in a soothing emollient base. Helps smooth and blend unattractive marks and scars. Tones skin. An excellent all-over-the-body moisturizer..."

— Back Label of Palmer's COCOA BUTTER FORMULA with Vitamin E.

#2. Palmer's Cocoa Butter Formula

As most of the continental US has been submersed in a winter wonderland of a cold spell it seems fitting to dedicate my second recommendation to an item that has made this tundra bearable: my cocoa butter.

Usually my hand-dermis is not that big of a downer since living in Florida for eight years has helped to infuse moisture into my otherwise crusty and crackly hands. It has been a genetic joy of mine to receive from my mother her incessantly dry skin. However, the south has decided to turn cold now-a-days and its been a difficult transition for mis manos. Thankfully, there is Palmers! It has been quite the Godsend because my hands have gotten( in the past, before my cocoa butter salvation,)so gnarly, that they have bled. No fun. I know, I should probably spare you the details.

Actually, I was a tad skeptical to try the lotion because the only recollection I had of the stuff was that my mother used it on her breastesis and tummy after she gave birth to my brothers. I didn't want to administer 'udder' spread to my digits. But I had a couple girlfriends practically worship it so I decided to give in, if only secretly. I planned to stash it under the sink and out of view of my house guests.

What a joy it was to find that it does exactly as it promises! Heals soothes and softens. I can say that my hands have never been happier.

Some concerns and/or questions you may have:

"Cocoa butter, isn't that oily?" You might think so but its definitely not. It's a thick, yellow creme that rubs in beautifully and doesn't leave a hint of grease.

"Cocoa butter; it's going to make me smell like a tube of sunblock." Although it does have a hit of tropical, dare I say, scent. I promise the lotion smells delightful and not at all like Banana Boat: another in trepidation of mine.

"Bah! But it's so expensive! Suave is like, half the price." Exactly! You get what you pay for. The 8.5 fl. oz. bottle I use was about $7.00 but because the lotion is thick, as I mentioned, the amount used and required to do the job is much less then any other over the counter I've tried. So, in that regard, it pays for itself.

Palmer's: makes for happy hands.

So, here it goes:

After visiting and re-visiting my blog an exorbitant amount of times today, which has, by the way, made me realize how completely narcissistic I am. I blame you Facebook! More on that some other time. I realized that I haven't actually taken the time to talk about me. The girl whose writing this blog. It might be a good idea to tell your "reader(s)" who the heck you are Nichole. Not that I really have readers yet but I say that in hope that one day in the future (when I figure out how to customize my own artwork, include "widgets," fork out the ten bucks for a domain name and have readers!) that someone will stumble upon my Archives and find this lil gem of an intro.

So, Hi. My name's Nichole, that's right, with an 'h'. For about thirteen years of my life I thought my name was completely unique. I had never met any Nicole's who spelled their names like mine and so I very much liked my name. I remember some jerk grocery store attendant dashing my dreams of exclusivity though as he explained that he had, in fact, never met a Nichole that spelled her name without an h. I don't even know how I would have gotten into this conversation with a grocery sales clerk but regardless, I was pretty bothered by it. Since then, I've discovered that there's more to the uniqueness of a person then a singular letter in one's name. Thankfully.

Interests. Does this question bother anyone else? I find that my interests are always changing and because of this, generalized questions always irritate me. I feel like I'm lying a bit when I answer questions like, what's your favorite color with... "Green." Because wasn't it just yesterday that it was red Nichole? See what I mean? It's difficult. I can tell you that there are things about me that will never, some fortunately and others unfortunately, fluctuate about me.

I, in fact, am Puerto Rican. This is often surprising to people as I don't speak with a Latina accent or wear chunky gold earrings. Actually, no, okay, I stereotype. It's mostly because I'm light-skinned and have green eyes. People usually beg me for an Italian.

I am 4 feet 10.5 inches( believe me, when your this short you count each millimeter.) I could pprobably alter this, as I've seen some documentaries on people who have had themselves surgically stretched but that really grosses me out and looks extremely painful. No thank you.

I was born to Rock and Roll. Really, not really, not a big Rock and Roll fan. I mean that more as as play on words to describe my affinity towards all things musical. True story: When I was nothing but an embryo my mother would put headphones on her belly, this was before baby Einstein, and play me Beethoven and Mozart.Once and awhile throw some Tito Puente in. She was set on having a musical genius baby. Well, she had me! I am musically inclined but far from musical genius. I majored in music at Florida State( Go Noles!) and currently spend my free time writing little ditties on my piano or guitar. Thanks Mom, you're the best.

More unchangables? ENFP. Home schooled. Jesus lover. Irrational fear of Tapioca Pudding.

Um... I'm the eldest of five? I have four brothers. Yes, it was hard but also so much fun. I doubt if I had four sisters that I would have gotten stuck in trees, pegged with snowballs until I cried and been involved in a stunning re-enactment of the Battle of Gettysburg. Aw, the memories.

So there you have it, though I really could have written more... See! I am so self-absorbed.

Recommendation #1

"...since 2001 jill has been selling her work directly to fans online or via indie boutiques around the world, along the way becoming an indie-business icon. transcending studio art, graphic design or craft culture, her name has become a lo-fi lifestyle brand - a grass-roots counterpart to martha stewart or ralph lauren."

— martin wong, giant robot magazine

#1. Jill Bliss Journals

I believe that my love for writing came into being upon the arrival of my eleventh Christmas. I received a dandy little spiraled notebook in my stocking. At first, the drudgery of this gift discouraged me. For writing was nothing more than a school-assigned sadness at the time. However, the cover, with it's cute button latch and victorian monologued paper proved to be enough of a convincer(never say you can't choose a book by it's cover.) I consented to it's blue lined pages and resolved not to be intimidated at the numbers on the bottom right hand corners. I would write and I would like it, otherwise it would quite the waste. Obviously enough I caught the bug and have been writing ever since. Which leads me to the point of this posting and my very first recommendation. Jill Bliss and her lovely, lovely journals.

I do love to write and have trialed many a writing book: round rung, "sketch", leather, suede and even toilet paper recyclables and I have found, that the best journal out there for the lady sort, specifically, are those that Jill so deftly puts together. A friend of mine introduced me to them three years ago and I have been hooked ever since.

For those less exposed to the journal world you may be asking yourself, " Well, what makes a journal great?" I would say this.

One that inspires and invites your thoughts. Not only do Jill's designs incite the imagination, the pages seem to tease your thoughts onto the paper with depiction's of rosy flowers and swirling leaves but these pages also vary in mode. One page may be a solid creme open for transcriptions whilst the other be covered in graph. To write in these journals is to go on an adventure and I'm absolutely in love!

Here is her website if you're interested in purchasing one for yourself: Jill's Land of Wonderment

Lunchtime Conversations

Today over lunch my best friend Whitney reminded me of why my heart aches to think of her being so far away from me. When I graduated Florida State I was taken to Texas whilst Whitney chose to stay in Tallahassee. What I think really catches my heart about her, well many things, but one so beautifully resurfaced today at lunch is what is revealed in one of our many conversations this afternoon. Here's a part of the dialogue:

Setting: That old hooters building transformed by some green and red paint and a stunning golden eagle into a less of a divey situation: El Jalisco #4... it's a Mexican restaurant if you haven't caught my drift.

Players: Whitney, old friend. Jen, old friend with wrist brace.

Script:

Whitney: Hey! What happened to your wrist?
Jen: Oh! I have a cyst on my wrist.
Whitney: Oh! Well, at least that rhymes.
Me: (hysteric laughter)---> Sorry, I forgot to add myself to the "players" list.

Honestly, Whitney has a way of bringing out the joy, of course, in the commonplace but her appreciation of poetic nuances is so wonderfully unique and her's completely. It makes sense as she was an English major. I would have never caught that the two words rhymed and she found the event to be quite funny which I then found funny.

To Whitney, my queen of the pentameter and prose.

Photos from Mexico

I'm not a professional by any means but sometimes I do get lucky. Below are some of my luckier shots from my summer trip to Mexico.
Enjoy!



I thought the detailed etching around this door was stunning.

This older gentleman was selling hats to the tourists riding the open double decker buses. I'm sure he made a killing.



One of the many churches in Monterrey.



Atop the bus.



1791


This monument was huge and in the middle of a busy intersection.

Street view



At the park.



Our tour guide was quite the character. He claimed to know five languages!



I liked the way the clouds seemed to open up above this building.



From left to right: Richie, Nichole(me), Jen.

My Mom makes me laugh

The other day my mom and I were having, what I thought to be a fascinating, conversation about the different groupings, cliques, social status(i) that her students seem to associate themselves with. Then she began to categorize me. The dialogue went as follows:

Mom: Hey Nichole, I know what you are.
Nichole: Really? What am I?
Mom: You are an indie!
Nichole: (Laughter)
Mom: And all you "indies" like to shop at that store. What is it...(Quite convincingly)... Archeology!
Nichole: (More laughter)...You mean Anthrolpolgie?

In the spirit of this post I thought I would include the website at the center of our convo: Indie Store( according to my mom)

Thoughts on Isaiah 51:1 ( Part 5 of 5)

"Listen to Me, you who follow after righteousness, You who seek the Lord; look to the rock from which you were hewn. And to the hole of the pit (quarry in NASB) from which you were dug..."

To the hole of the pit from which you were dug. As important as it is to recall the rock, it is equally as important to remember the quarry. Not only our heritage, but our past. For were we not all encased in hardened clay and soil? To the naked eye of the world there was nothing worth digging in the muck for but the Lord saw our unformed bodies (Psalm 139:13-16) and with his hands, feet and wounded side went elbow deep in sick, depraved, rotting sin to retrieve us. The hole remains; we can no easily erase our pasts as we can erase our memories. However, the hole is not there to be jumped into or that we might fall in again, as is the danger It is there to remind us of what we have come from. Not meant to destroy but to thrust us into the arms of Christ as we remember who we were and glance again at Christ, whose robes of white have been placed upon us.