Bemelmans.

Today has been good and not.
Swell.
But not like the swell you're thinking. Not like that classy swell of the gangsters in the 40s who wore two guns tight against their chests and ribs and walked arm-in-arm with the women who had the perfect curls and green dresses under black wool coats.
Just, swell.
Swollen. With everything and nothing at all. Because see, I've been staring at Ludwig Bemelman's illustrations for far too long now, studying for an oral presentation on Thursday, and I can't get over it. I just can't.
I want this so bad. And it's swelling. It's swelling up in my chest and pressing on everything and it hurts and I just want to throw my hands up in the air and be done with everything and start everything. It's killing me inside, how badly I want this. Need this. How much it swells.

Let's see what comes of it.

See the super glue.

Today I super-glued my yellow rosebud earring onto my ear. On accident of course. I was just being impatient.
And then I drew.
And then my Daddy told me that on Saturday he is going to take me to buy glasses. I am so darn excited.

Loving what you hate.

Dear Fleur.
So. I found blackberries last night. Tazza and Jenn and I went to a frozen yogurt place after school. I filled my little bowl with cheesecake yogurt and went over to the toppings and then proceeded to freak out. Blackberries. Strawberries. Blueberries. Raspberries. I used to hate berries. But c'est la vie.
This morning I woke up and my hair looked like it went through a blender. Then I had a fight with my little brother because I want to name a child "Atlas Hosea," and Atlas is a titan god. He is convinced that everyone will hate my kid if I do that. He reads too much Percy Jackson.
I have so much homework to do today.
We all watched James Bond together before bed. I think I liked the shower scene the best. And I know that sounds bad, but I promise it's not. It's just sweet. If spies can be sweet.
Now I have to go draw.
Love Bells.

Can you make a bowtie work?

Dear Fleur.
I've been doing Art History homework all day. Literally. Other than the times I took a break to draw men wearing neckties. And I was just completely inspired to draw a guy wearing a jean jacket via this picture. Which means I'll probably go sketch after this.
And watches. I need to draw watches more often.

Tonight I made baked apple dumplings. Then I almost started an oven fire. I drank chai tea too. And I'll probably make myself some dinner now. Tomato soup? Heck oui.

Never write a story with a lady who wears a pink dress covered in bows for the final scene. Honestly. It's torture for your ink pens. And your eyes. Neckties are easy. Fedoras are harder. Tiny bows? I want to scream.

Homework again. Gah, I'm sick of it. And soup.
Love Bells.

Frilly blouses.

Dallas Clayton wrote me back.
He told me is too busy to draw for me. He is so busy he can barely draw for himself.
I was sitting there wearing a little tee shirt and sweatpants thinking how not-busy I am.
Then he told me I write very beautifully and that my words are pure. And that for the rest of my life I would make rad things no matter who drew for me.
He told me to draw for myself.
No matter how terrible I think I am, he said he thinks I should do it myself. Because I just should.

I have been drawing this morning. Grapefruits and tall ladies with frilly blouses. I am unhappy with my ladies heads. But it's okay. I can work on it. I do like the blouses. And the grapefruits. Those are nice.

He inspired me to go and find my black drawing book too. So I did last night. Now all I need is a nice ink pen.
I like to draw in pen.

Birds.

Dear Fleur.
My hair's a big mess today. And I'm wearing eyeliner and mascara which I usually don't do. I have to file for financial aid. AGAIN. Nice church service this morning. Week of Prayer and Fasting started. Tulips on the table. And I decided to read Daniel again this week and write Charlie Meets The Sky. Maybe fixing the van. Trying to be a waitress. Cold hands. Good dreams lately. And I like wearing blouses these days. And I need a nice oak frame for the picture Victoria gave me; so I can hang it up. I'll paint more. Draw pictures. School. And I want to stargaze tonight. Maybe I'll convince Tazza to bundle up and we can lay on the lawn together.

I really want the flowers to grow back. So I can make a flower crown.
But all I have is bird earrings.
It'll do.

Burning my house.

Dear Fleur.

One birthday present down. 1000 to go.

I just got back from a wedding.
It made me wonder.
It made me wonder what all those people thought of me. In my lipstick and wedge heels and new little dress with amazing pockets.
It made me wonder if I'll ever get married. And even if I want to get married.
It made me wonder if they could smell the beer on my hands(Gotta love recycling).
It made me wonder how many of them could recite a poem...because my mind ran away with me.
I like to wonder.
Weird.

I had a dream today. A good one. In a way.

My house was burning down. And this was MY house. I lived in it by myself.
I was standing in the kitchen in my pajamas while the flames were creeping up the curtains, but I didn't care. I was making pancakes.
There were firemen methodically marching through the front door bringing my chairs outside. I had a lot of chairs. Nice chairs. Antiques. Vintage finds. Reupholstered in adorable flowered prints. That was the firemen's job. To get my chairs out of the house. And there I was, flipping pancakes. Watching. It made no sense at all.
And then one of them approached me after they took the last chair outside. Nice looking. He was big. His helmet had fallen off and his face was sooty. His hair was singed, but a gorgeous chestnut colour. And his hands were burned. He told me in a decided voice that he would take the pancakes outside and that I could go choose whatever I could carry in an armful, but that was all.
He left.
And I went into my bedroom and looked.
I chose a dress. I think it meant something really important to me. And I grabbed my Keats book and The Little Prince and my notebook&journal. A box of lace from France. And then I took one letter. It was from God. And it wasn't opened.
Then I left.
My house was consumed in flames.
The firemen and I sat outside and ate pancakes on my front yard while watching it burn. From my perspective in the dream, it was the oddest thing.
Me. Sitting on my lawn surrounded by 7 firemen. My hair a huge mess on my head. Only wearing a men's pajama shirt and some slipper boots. A small pile of things next to me. Chairs all over the front yard. And a tablecloth on my clothesline.
I wasn't even sad. I just watched the flames get higher. I think I liked the way they made my cheeks warm.
There was a letter from God on my right knee.
But I didn't open it.
I was too busy yelling at the nice looking fireman about how he had left the maple syrup inside.

So ridiculous. I know. But still, it was good. It made me wonder what was in the letter. And why that dress mattered(I don't even own a dress that looked like that one). And even why we were watching my house burn.
I don't know.
But I liked it.

Now I have to go make more presents. And draw. I am liking drawing lately. Maybe I'll even draw firemen. And something about lace.

I am so in love with lace lately.
But that could just be the wedding.

Love. Bella.

when i was little i used to draw decently. now...not so much. but i can sew.

dear fleur.
3 days. before i get to be with the ocean. i am ecstatic. i kind of want to sit in the sand and draw ugly pictures.
i am not very good at drawing.
i want to be e.h.shephard and ludwig bemelmans. but my hands can't decide who they really are. i am more like a grossssssss bella who grimaces at too straight lines.
ugh.
i want to draw sweeter.

on another note, my tote bag is coming along. but i am tired of working on that. so i think i'll make something for kirstie instead. that should be nice. if only i can think of what to make her.
PAUSE.
i know. this is going to be lovely.
and
i want to go write. something gorgeous. there's this boy up here right now. he is sad. he misses her. and he has hair like bleached sunshine and a nose like hamlet. it is to die for.
i should practice drawing too.

love, bella.

look.

Dear Fleur.
Currently:
in my head, i am planning a Martial Arts lesson for tonight
my hair is curled
i'm still wearing pajamas
landon austin is blasting in the living room
ria is dancing
tandy is riding a scooter outside in her pajamas
my little brother is learning to skate
a girl is running in and out of my ears and through my mind at a dizzying pace
i wonder of pomegranates
chocolate milk is in the kitchen for me
moremoremoremoreflowers
Jesus
argyle socks on my feet
i am falling in love with vacuums
it's 11:30
and
i can't find my viewmaster.

.

.
ode to a viewmaster.

when i was little
you lived underneath my bed.
i can remember hiding you from the other girls.
so you would be all mine.
i hated sharing you. positively hated it. to see you in someone else's little hands. to watch their smile bloom in delight at your magical pictures. to have to wait my turn.
it made my face red.
like a ripe cherry tomato.
but the days when you were all mine. those were the best.
i wanted to marry you.
see,
i fell in love with you.
(and the dinosaur slides were my favourite.)
i pretended you asked me. and i was flattered. i blinked my eyelashes and blushed.
"me?"
you want to be mine forever?
what a ridiculous 7 year old girl i was.
marry a toy.
but you know, when you're 7, toys are everything.
a tonka truck is your girlfriend.
a rag doll is your extra sister.
legos are an older brother.
and a viewmaster is your
husband.

if only i could find you.
you're not under my bed anymore.
i think you're in a box somewhere. lonely. scared.
but you live in my heart.
.

I think I have a quest to go on.
And I need to draw something.
I like drawing.
Love, Bell.