Life Is Better With Art In It

Life Is Better With Art In It

 

From the creative mind and talented hand of Angela West, my little girl . . . 

My Heart Soars Like a Quaffle – Nerd Love is Fantastical

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So Valentines Day — It’s here. I was going to write something lovey and gushy and sweet, but before I did, I asked my son what words he would put down instead . . . words aren’t really his thing (even though they are and he just doesn’t realize it), I could see the little wheels begin to spin and he said he’d get back to me.

He and the adorably nerdy geekdom that are his circle of friends, had a text party that night.

While he waited for his friends to get their romantical ideas to him, we sat down and wrote our own, sort of. We did string together the words, but most had already been said, you might recognize their sources. It’s short and sweet.

I would follow you beyond the blackest gates,

into unseen dangers if you’d only wear my ring.

I would wait for 2000 years just to see your face, my precious.

If we were ever torn apart

I would face the depths of the unknown,

for my hearts; they beat only for you,

can’t you hear the drumming? 

I would pull time itself apart for you.

When we met I wondered

if I’d wandered into a dream,

and when I said I love you,

you simply said I know.

Quantumly entangled,

it’s together or not at all.

If you asked me how long I was going to stay,

I would say forever,

because we’re all just stories in the end.

Ask of me anything,

will grant it to you . . .

as you wish.

So back to my sons geek squad of *romantics for a day*, I provided the beginning and what follows makes my heart soar because a group of teenagers and twenty-somethings took time out on a Friday night to come up with these cheesy, surprisingly sweet, and innocent lines of . . . I guess we’ll call it love.

Romeo and Juliette had a love so tragic,

but James and Lilly Potter —

their love was truly magic.

It lives on and on forever,

that much can be said,

you can see it on their faces

in The Mirror of Erised.

My heart screams for you like a mandrake,

like a mermaid in the black lake,

when I cannot be with you.

My heart soars like a quaffel

every time you eat a waffle.

Dragons are red,

Nevilles face is blue,

petrificus totalus

attracts me to you.

Flue powder is green,

the portkeys a shoe,

I feel my best

when I’m traveling with you.

You are a golden snitch

and I’m a humble seeker,

I know that when I catch you,

you will be a keeper.

My Nerdy Valentine - love this boy so much.

My Nerdy Valentine – love this boy so much.

So I’ve not written a sonnet or an ode or an epic ballad of love this year, I just had some fun with my son and his adorably fantastic friends — the laughter and the love filling the room as we played was a gift, and these silly words will always be my portkey to take me right back to it, that makes them far more epic than ten thousand words penned to a page.

Crystal R. Cook

His Boots

 Sharing in honor of Valentines Day . . . 

Boots by Crystal R. Cook

I remember writing this the night my husband

returned home from Iraq.

It was his third and last homecoming

from that faraway place . . .

He’s since retired.

The sight of those boots laying there at our bedside

was one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen.

 

Dust from another world,

soles worn from wear,
the color of sand,
wrinkled and creased
from the miles
marched in,
fought in,
slept in.

Dappled with the
darkened stains
from fallen sweat
and silent tears.

On the floor
by the bedside
they lay,
weary from war.

Worn with pride
ready again for service,
but now they rest
beside the bed where
the soldier sleeps.

Safe, loved,
home with me.

When tomorrow comes
a little boy
will wear the boots,
clumsily making his
way around the house.

He doesn’t know
where those
boots have been,
he just knows
they are his daddy’s
and he is home
again . . .

Crystal R. Cook

 

Girl gaga! Ha! Gotta love spam.

spam

“What i do not understood is in fact how you’re no longer really a
lot more smartly-favored than you may be right now.
You are very intelligent. You know therefore significantly in terms of this topic, produced me in my
opinion imagine it from so many varied angles.
Its like women and men aren’t interested except it’s one thing to accomplish with Girl gaga!
Your personal stuffs nice. Always maintain it up”

Yes, girl gaga – I has it. Sometimes the spam comments really amuse me 🙂 This particular bit of poorly translated spammage has popped up a few times, makes me laugh every time!

Maintain it up, my friends, maintain it up . . .

Our Camp Grenada – Apologies to Mr. Sherman

 

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Found sillies from the shoebox – I love rediscovering things I jotted down and tucked away . . . She was likely a pre-teen when I presented this one to her. It had no effect on the state of her room. Ever.

I may revise it for her and her husband.

My silly lyrics loosely based on what I remember of Camp Grenada by Alan Sherman – This version is lovingly dedicated to my daughter, my inspiration, my messy muse if you will. I dramatized things just a tad, but the premise of this little ditty is based on actual events, my husband and I are still in therapy, but things are getting better by the day.

I’ve actually had this tune stuck in my head since 1977 I believe, at least the tune to the first verse, I’m not certain if it even has any variation in tune between stanzas, all I know is it haunts me. It never leaves. It’s the fault of my sweet little troll sister. She sang it repeatedly from the age of five until just shy of her ninth birthday. I wonder if she even remembers the song.

This is your muddah,

and your fadahh,

we’re writing to ya,

our dear daughta,

we’d like to say that,

we really love ya,

but if you don’t clean your room we’re gonna holla.

We are standing,

in your room now,

things are movin,

and things are crawlin,

dad looks mad now,

I feel like bawlin,

if we’re not careful we could end up fallin.

There’s that new game that,

we just bought ya,

it’s in pieces

neath your fadahh.

It wasn’t his fault,

now just keep readin,

I’m pretty sure that I can stop the bleedin’

I see garbage,

he sees dishes,

we both wish that,

we had three wishes,

we would wish that,

things were cleaner,

or maybe we

could just be meaner.

Maybe we should,

get outta here now,

it’s getting dark and,

I feel fear now.

What if we can’t,

find our way out,

I don’t think that there’s a clear escape route.

Oh my dear daughta,

it’s getting hotta,

it’s been hours,

since we’ve had watta,

we are thirsty,

and we are hungry,

maybe there’s a snack under that laundry.

Your faddah’s searching,

beneath the pile,

it seems to go on,

for miles and miles.

I don’t see him,

and I don’t hear him,

oh I hope that he’s not suffacatin.

I’m going in now,

it’s been an hour,

I’ve got to find him,

he’ll need a shower.

When I reach him,

I will hold him,

I just hope and pray that he’s still breathin.

Oh dearest daughta,

things look real bad,

I hope we make it,

don’t be too sad,

if we’re unconscious,

when you find us,

just resuscitate me first and then your dad.

By the way dear,

you are grounded,

no matter how this,

letter sounded,

we would rather,

throw your junk away,

than look at this big mess for even one more day.

Sincerest of apologies to Mr. Sherman . . .

Crystal R. Cook

Magical Doorways

Magical Doorways

The classics . . . pieces of art and history, penned by the hands of literary masters, caretakers, and keepers of words; their works have stood the test of time, remaining while all else changes . . . forever.

My childhood was filled with magic and mystery, drama and suspense. I was a time traveler and a princess, a mighty hero and a damsel in distress. I’ve flown round the world and journeyed to the center of the earth. I had grand adventures when I was young. I could go anywhere and do anything because my mother led me to a me a magical doorway, an entrance into another world.

She gave me a wonderful gift when she taught me to read, it was my key to unlock the doors of imagination and knowledge. When I was six years old I found a weathered copy of The Old Man and The Sea, I read it front to back without pause; I’ve read it many times since. The same softly covered book, printed and bound in nineteen fifty-two, holds a place of honor in not only my memory, but in my home as well. Once I stepped beyond the boundaries of everyday reality into the wondrous world of literature there was nothing I did not desire to read.

Herman Melville and Ernest Hemingway were my best friends. Shakespeare and Mark Twain accompanied me to school quite often. Hawthorne and Homer waited patiently for me at the end of each day. I’ve been to secret gardens and lived in enchanted castles. I’ve known the greatest of love and have felt the deepest of sorrow. I played with Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn; I’ve even been to the moon and back again. I’ve sat along the shores of the great grey-green, greasy Limpopo River with the elephant’s child and pondered what the crocodile ate for diner. I bravely ventured into the mind of Poe.

I remember going to the fair with Charlotte and Templeton and investigating every mystery with the Hardy Boys. I was in the skiff with the old man Santiago and I felt the wind in my hair as I rode atop Black Beauty. My tears stained the pages where the red fern grew.

Aesop, Anderson and Kipling often joined me for lunch with James and his companions beneath the giant peach tree in the backyard. I traveled with Bilbo Baggins of Bag End and met the great wizard Gandalf. I befriended elves and fought ogres in search of the ring.

I held hands with Jesus in stories from the Bible and I was with Daniel in the lion’s den. I stood atop Mt. Ararat and gazed upon the most beautiful rainbow with Noah. I’ve been both young and old, taken many forms and seen many places. I’ve ridden high atop unicorns and slain dragons. I’ve even soared on the wings of angels.

I will forever be thankful to those who penned their dreams and fantasies, for in doing so; they bestowed upon me a treasure of great worth. I adore my books, though the pages have aged and the bindings have seen better days, I still go back to them, I visit my old friends often, adding new ones along the way. I never know where the magic door will take me or who will be my guide. It may be a quest for infinite wisdom or a marvelous retreat into days long since passed. Perhaps the future awaits my arrival on some distant star.

Who knows, maybe it lies within me, just waiting to be printed and bound . . .

Crystal R. Cook

The Origin & Etymology of QWIETPLEEZ

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Since beginning this lovely blogging journey of mine, I’ve been asked many a time why my bloggy little corner of cyberspace is called the The Qwiet Muse, and I’ve thus far had no less than 5 well meaning folks inform me I spelled quiet wrong, you know, just in case spell check didn’t catch it. So sweet. To put those helpful minds at ease, let me issue an assurance to all, I spelled it that way on purpose. I had to fight spell check to do it to.

So we’ll start with the muse part. I love the word muse. Words often have more than one meaning, you may see the word muse and envision some ethereal goddess floating overhead, gently guiding and inspiring, but I have to say, if some ghostly apparition was hovering overhead, encouraging me to write, I would run.

Muse can also be defined as an instance or period of reflection, a source of inspiration . . . my particular muse comes from everything around me; my faith, my family, my friends. My muse exists in all the wonders of God’s creation and in my own human experience.

Onto to the origins and etymology of ‘qwiet’.

qwi-et [kwahy-it] adjective. Basic definition – it’s the same as quiet. It’s the same word, with the obvious distinction of containing a W in place of the U.

making no noise or sound, especially no disturbing sound: qwiet children.
free, or comparatively free, from noise: a qwiet house.
silent: Be qwiet!
restrained in speech, manner, etc.; saying little: a qwiet person.
free from disturbance or tumult; tranquil; peaceful: a qwiet life.

verb
to make qwiet.
to make tranquil or peaceful; pacify: to qwiet a crying baby.
to calm mentally, as a person.
to allay (tumult, doubt, fear, etc.).
to silence.

Origin: 1997; English(ish). Derived from (adj.) Middle English quiet < Latin quiētus, past participle of quiēscere ; (v.) Middle English quieten, partly derivative of the adj., partly < Late Latin quiētāre, derivative of quiētus.

*credit and apologies to dictionary.com

Historical Account:

In the summer of 1997, a young mother set about creating her first AOL.com email account. Her beginning attempts all ended in failure, every name she chose was unavailable. She wanted something witty, something fun, and something memorable. After several hours and many (many) unsuccessful attempts, her frustrations began to rise, as did the playful rambunctiousness of her four, young children.

Her attempts at quieting them were as unsuccessful as creating the perfect screen-name. Finding it increasingly hard to think, she found herself repeatedly requesting silence from the little house trolls. Calm down, lower your voices, hush, go to the other room, knock it off, zip it, chill out, and other such requests went ignored.

Her final, semi-shouted command to shush their pie-holes, not only stilled the room of sound for a blessed moment, but became her victory at the keyboard as well.

“JUST – BE – QUIETPLEASE!”

She was filled with trepidation, dreading another unavailable message but she pressed on, one key after the other. Q w i e t p l e e z. That was it! It was perfect! Her finger hovered over the enter key, she closed her eyes and pressed the button. When she opened them, the message said success!

So, I suppose you’ve guessed it, that young mother was me.

And there you have it, the origins of qwietpleez which lent itself quite adorably, at least to me, as inspiration for the creation of The Qwiet Muse.

Oh, by the way, I realize please is spelled wrong, I like it that way.

Crystal R.Cook aka Qwietpleez

Light it Up – Anthem for my children – Burn, let it burn.

This song, Bonfire by Building 429 is my anthem for my children . . . When I heard these words they rolled down my cheeks. I want my children to be proud of who they are, to stand for what they believe and never be ashamed or let anyone try to dim their light. This song says so much of what I have always tried to instill in them. My babies burn bright – Powerful – Like a modern day version of This Little Light of Mine – Let it burn.

BONFIRE

My mama always said I was born for this
And some people wouldn’t like that I was different
It never really mattered how hard it would be
Cause she filled me with love and the strength to lead
She said, “Oh oh, that kid’s a flame”
Said, “Oh oh, that kid’s a flame.
He’s gonna burn something down if you get in his way”

I came to light it up
Light it up
Light it up
If I was born to be a flame, then I wanna light a bonfire
Light it up
Light it up
Light it up
If I was born to be a flame, then I wanna light a bonfire
(Boom) Let it burn, let it burn
(Boom) Let it burn, let it burn
(Boom) Let it burn, let it burn
I’m gonna burn something down if you get in my way

This is the shout out, this is my voice
Calling all the men, women, girls and boys
The dropouts and losers, the hurt and the broke
Time to reclaim what the darkness has stole
Marching to the beat of a different drum
We live for the love, without counting the cost
If you wanna be free, then it’s time to go
Lift up your hand so the world will know!

We came to light it up,
Light it up
Light it up
If we were born to be a flame, then we’re gonna light a bonfire
Light it up
Light it up
Light it up
If we were born to be a flame, then we’re gonna light a bonfire
(Boom) Let it burn, let it burn
(Boom) Let it burn, let it burn
(Boom) Let it burn, let it burn
We’re gonna burn something down if you get in our way

We are not meant to be silent
We are alive just to shine
We are not meant to be quiet
We are the light of the world, we’ve gotta light-light-light it up

“Oh oh, that kid’s a flame”
Said, “Oh oh, that kid’s a flame.
He’s gonna burn something down if you get in his way”

We came to light it up
Light it up
Light it up
If we were born to be a flame, then we’re gonna light a bonfire
Light it up
Light it up
Light it up
If we were born to be a flame, then we’re gonna light a bonfire
(Boom) Let it burn, let it burn
(Boom) Let it burn, let it burn
(Boom) Let it burn, let it burn
We’re gonna burn something down if you get in our way