Around two years ago, I started to listen to The Beatles. After watching a Reunion Concert, I got progressively involved in the music and culture of their era. The concert was such an exquisite blend of past, present, and future. This led me to begin considering myself a hippie. I learned throughout this time that my dad too was an authentic hippie (overalls, waist length hair - no, really!) and the flower child in me waiting just out of sight burst out and became increasingly prominent.
I want this blog to essentially be a literary version of the Beatles reunion concert - relating things to the past and introducing new ideas. Additionally, I'd like to to express my activism, talk about self-discovery, and pretty much anything else for the old souls among us.
The Author:Name: Faith
Interests: ballet, The Beatles, astronomy, religions of all sorts, photography, rearranging the furniture in my room, Harry Potter, The Lord of the Rings, French, Spanish, and poetry.
Enjoys: Cartwheels, baking, Saute de Chat leaps, fiction books, new boxes of Crayons, naming plants (especially succulents and air plants), babysitting, Peace Cakes, libraries, colorful leotards for dance, tea, recycling, coconut oil, Scottish accents, quality music, and Michaels.
Labels: humanist, ballerina, artist, activist, environmentalist, optimist, and of course, hippie.
Fetishes: good, really truly red markers, candles, hot glue guns, bobby pins, fuzzy socks, normal socks, parentheses, overalls, succulents, air plants, and perfume samples.
Dislikes: Erasable colored pencils, mean/judgmental/offensive people. (But really who does like people like that?)
Succulents: Toby Martin, Clint, Ursula, Ian, Merryweather, Flora, and Fauna. (Past) Tabitha and Jane.
Air Plants: Ezra, Eleanor, Penelope, Ellison, and Oliver.
If you want, you can also read this article my friend Karsten wrote about me on his blog because the article is wonderful and so is he.
Poem about the Author by the Author: "Purple"
I grew up with the stars on my shoulders and the round moon in my eyes
Rusty sand perpetually shifting between my toes
A bed with bursting seams that smells like petunia on the right and soft pinecone smoke on the left
A flowing, crunchy yellow hat shading auburn hair from a sun that comes down like rain
Playing “Mom and Dad” on bare-footed sticky floors nestled in tawny aspen trees
Five pairs of ten toes racing through dew-dropped grass and three next-door-neighbor-almost-siblings
Apple-tree-scratches and mortar sap on prickly, blistery hands
A daffodil colored swing that taught me to fly
and a platinum pair of crutches that taught me to land.
And I grew up with slushy toes, stinging noses, flurries that rest on dimpled cheeks
Flaming breakfasts on wintry mornings
Silky warm hands reaching out of itchy blue flax sweaters
Reluctant billows of snow quivering on a glaring pink helmet
Counterfeit eyelashes on exhilarated eyes
Drifting in between wooly branches with scalding sweet tongues
Purple door that means home.