Morning at the Lakehouse

Yesterday I went to improv and my aunt picked me up from there to come to Creedmoor, where she lives next door to my grandparents on the lake. It’s so nice up here. I decided to write about it this morning around 9:30ish, I suppose, and so I’ll use that here as my blog for the day:


The line of trees across the lake is nearly shadowed by the old and heartless fog, which, with a mighty fist, has taken over the land. Not a breeze blows-the bare trees are stagnant as they stand tall amongst the thick blanket of mist. The skeletal branches stretch in every odd direction, giving the impression of a demonic presence, an ominous spirit which manipulate and connives the beautiful land, making color fade to gray and summer turn to the dead of winter.

The lake, or what can be seen of it, is low. The drought has taken its toll, dooming all creatures relying on water. One does not realize the danger of the water famine till one looks at a lake which was once full, and sees what has happened to it as the water line recedes.

Though it is the middle of winter, the leaves are still in a deep mass on the ground, damp with rain and the morning dew. I long to venture out of doors and finger them, letting warm, damp leaves, gritty with soil, fall through my fingers. However, I know the leaves are not warm, as they are in early autumn, but instead they are frigid and numbing to the touch.

I long for the pink and purple blooms on the trees that spring brings along with it. I yearn for the deep, shady greens of summer, the hot rays on my back as I plant herbs, water the garden and reap my fragrant harvest—oh, there’s nothing that smells quite as much like summer as warm basil does!

Even autumn beckons for me now—the smell of dead leaves tossed about by the cooling breeze. The weather becomes moderately cool again, and I have the inward desire for an arm around me or an antique chest locked with a heart-shaped key, containing love letters on parchment written in quill pen. Alas, that cannot be so now.

Winter simply does note appeal to me. Perhaps, if it snowed a couple of fee that for a week or so didn’t melt, and we could build snow forts and have snow ball wars and fun things like that, winter would seem worthwhile. The only things that are good about winter, to me, are Christmas (of course), but also warm citrus punch and ginger snaps, warm old-fashioned kitchens and dulcimers playing in the background. But those wintry associations I have not encountered in years, and it makes me wonder why I still make such a connection.


I want to get away. Not away in the context of hate or rebellion, just AWAY. I’m probably not going to college (I don’t see any reason to, except that WTCC doesn’t offer any upper-level music classes, so perhaps I could see if I can take some somewhere that does), so I’d like to do something, to go somewhere as just me, the individual Jessica-on-a-mission-to-do-something-liberating (if you haven’t noticed, that word is like my theme-song word). Even just to move somewhere for 6 months to a year, just to be away and do my “own thing.” A Wolf Park internship or practicum is an option (see sidebar, “favorite links.”). Also, I’d like to work at Gettysburg. I love the grounds there—it’s all so beautiful. When we went there, it had recently rained, and, even though I was much younger, I reveled in the beauty of the green grass and endless forests. I love caves, too. Mammoth Cave, Luray Caverns, anything else. I could give tours, become a cave inspector, or become a spelunker or spelunkist or spelunkerist (Joanna would say, “JESSICA, you got it right the FIRST time!!!”).

It’s so expensive to go to/live in a foreign country, namely Europe. I’d love to live in Stratford upon Avon in England for a while, or south Ireland or Scotland somewhere, or I could live in the Italian countryside and have a vineyard and learn music there, except I keep hearing and reading that the real estate market in Italy is atrocious.

Some of your know of my past obsession with Australia, and, really, I still like it there…perhaps I could get a job at the Australian Zoo, which always looks really cool on Animal Planet. Steve Irwin (*sniffle* I haven’t gotten over the sting-ray thing yet) worked there. I think that’s how he met his wife. If I take BIO 110 at WTCC, then I can take Zoology. It’s not a degree, but at least I’d have a little background info. And if I lived in Australia, I wouldn’t have to celebrate Australia Day all by myself anymore!

Well, I cannot go anywhere right now. I’m overwhelmed with scholastic obligations, I have zero mullah, and my grandparent’s cat, after an unasked for happy-pawing of my Seahawks sweatshirt, is asleep on my lap. I don’t really want to wake her up, because I’m cold and she’s warm.

I need a job. I’d like to work at a pet store or at a vet or at a music store or a book store. Marck was saying to me yesterday that if I worked at Pet Pad, I’d get my paycheck and go spend it all at Bert’s Music a couple doors down, and if I worked at Bert’s Music, then I’d get my paycheck and spend it all at Pet Pad. *sigh*. And by the way, if anyone can find the sheet music to “Love of My Life” by Queen, and bought it for me, I would love you forever (I guess), because I can play the intro and some of the bridge by ear, but the singer’s voice kind of presides over the piano in the rest of the song, and I can’t really hear what he’s playing. While you’re at it, can you please pay for a new piano for me (Steinway, if you can afford it)? It’s really hard to play piano on our piano, if you know what I mean.

Anyway, good bye!
~Jessica