Here Hear!

Reduced to the person that lives on the speck that lives on the clover: my tiny voice says, "I EXIST!"

How it feels not needing a distraction, but desperately looking for one.

I have decided that the words "ready," "prepared," and the like are simply not applicable to me.
I always imagine that I'm ready for something, I'm ready to be gone, I'm ready to be in love, I'm ready to make huge choices, I'm prepared for this.
Suddenly, my head and heart are spinning around like juggling balls in someone's hands, stable for two seconds as they land safely in the palm of his hand, then flying in the air again, afraid I'm going to hit the floor (or worse, never come down at all). Suddenly, I'm leaving in six weeks. Suddenly, silence.
And I am so not ready.
We always imagine ourselves to be sure of things until they occur. But nothing is ever the way you imagine it to be. Anything subject to human emotion immediately is out of control.
I am out of control.
Catch me.

Inspired?

I have come to see that being in a prayer meeting amongst people pouring out their hearts before God is one of the most beautifully intimate experiences.
Sometimes the faith of others is so humbling to me. The humility which I feel is not an intimidated or belittled humility, but an inspired humility in awe of the bold fearlessness, the open-heartedness that I see before me.

I guess that I have had this idea tumbling around in my head for a couple of weeks, but didn't put it down like this till now. I hope the thought makes sense?

Writer's Block?

I never write. Right. Rite. AAAAAAAALRIGHT. I think I've already used that play on words, another sad sign that I am starting to repeat myself regularly. Which is probably why I haven't written...
I imagine that if I were in some sort of encyclopedia, my entry would be something like this:
"Hannah Hempstead, born September 28, 1989. Nationality: USA. Current Residence: A long and narrow hallway. Interesting Facts: Hannah wanders from the north to the south end of her hallway constantly. Each time she reaches the north or south end, it's as though she has discovered it for the first time. Unfortunately, she doesn't realize that she's seen the same wall several times before. Also, she hasn't grasped the idea that a hallway is nothing in comparison to a house. Or a 100 story building. Or a town. Or a city. Or a world. Or a universe."
The idea that I am unoriginal is even getting unoriginal.
How... pathetic.

?

Is it the uncertainty that you love or is it the love that you're uncertain of?

Left right wrong right denied right

Today i feel like that stupid deer, caught between the east and west highways, headlights and racing cars going two different ways, trying to choose which car will and which car won't hit me.

Judgment.

I never thought I would battle bitterness.
For years I've always looked the other way, always been desperate enough to forgive those that I want in my life. But lately I'm finding myself to be constantly battling something I have always feared: hatred. Not the sort of hatred that comes from some distant dislike or difference, but the sort of hatred that comes from the constant hurt and selfishness people give out. Unfortunately, my own bitter indignance at people's nearsightedness has begun to make me nearsighted, and I constantly say, "They're only looking at how things affect them" while I am, in fact, myself progressively backing into my own little shell; taking off my own glasses.
Where can I find the balance? How can I be honest to myself about people's faults without committing the same faults myself?
This morning I read a good answer to that. Oswald Chambers writes:
"The reason we see hypocrisy and fraud and unreality in others is because they are all in our own hearts. The great characteristic of a saint is humility-- yes, all those things and other evils would have been manifested in me but for the grace of God, therefore I have no right to judge.... We have judged our fellow men as sinners; if God should judge us like that we would be in hell. God judges us through the marvellous Atonement of Jesus Christ."
There, indignation.
There, bitterness.
There, hatred.
Listen.

Big Picture

Now zooming out a bit... I've been far too introspective/cryptic of late in my posts, I appologize for the past few posts that really seem emo and pathetic.
Not much to write really.
A couple resolves: to not be resolved about much else but my resolves to make some creative/wearable/pretty/hannahesque skirts and start doing yoga.

Go. Stay.

Half of me wants to tell you how I wish I'd never met you.
The other half is begging you to stay.
I don't want to miss you.

Does this sound bitter? Or is it just fact?

It's not all that hard to maintain that which you care about.
So there.

Not a resolution, but a thought.

I need to change it, to untie all of the strings I use to make meaningful connections between a song, a picture, anything, and you.
I'll take those loosed strings and put them in a box somewhere, or tie them into pretty little bows that I can admire for what they are on their own:
a done creation, something which has existed before and still does, but something which no longer grows.

Anything.

NO WORDS. No words.
Just thoughts.
A whole pile of thoughts cut up and scattered on some old chipped tabletop.
I am wondering where the pattern is, but I have a sinking feeling it is cut up with the rest of those shredded thoughts.
So there I am.
Somewhere.

Iced Coffee is much safer.

To start off my day, I successfully did a typical clueless-hannah thing: reaching my arm over a steaming, boiling, hot pot of tea water.
"Hannah, steam is a higher temperature than boiling water..." My mother observes.
Something I'd much rather not learn first hand, but there it is. A burn the size of a golf ball inconveniently situated on my lower left arm (with which I write) is today's lesson which seemed to repeat itself in many different forms throughout the day: an old adage I have retained from my early reading years: "Look before you leap."

Kapow (again)!

12:27 AM, Tuesday, May 5th I think.
With an uncharacteristically decisive tone, I have announced to people that I'm not going to school in the fall.
I am going to either be collecting 5 cent cans out of garbage pails -or some other mode of employment suited to my current degree in nothing- OR, if all goes well, I'll be in Kenya, or thereabouts. Not only that, but I have a plan for the spring! I'm going to apply for the Art History program at BU.
...
Don't check your screen, it's really happening, I am making a decision.
FO REALZ FOLKS.

Painters

You know those things that make you wish you could paint/write/create something as beautiful as them?

Painters by Jewel (one of my all time favorite songs):

Eighty years, an old lady now, sitting on the front porch
Watching the clouds roll by
They remind her of her lover, how he left her, and of times long ago.
When she used to color carelessly painted his portrait
A thousand times-or maybe just his smile-
And she and her canvas would follow him wherever he would go

'Cause I'm a painter and i want to paint you a lovely world
A lovely world.

Oil streaked daisies covered the living room wall
He put water-colored roses in her hair
He said, "Love, I love you, I want to give you mountains, the sunshine, the sunset too
I just want to give you a world as beautiful as you are to me

'Cause they were painters and they were painting themselves
A lovely world.

So they sat down and made a drawing of their love, they made it an art to live by
They painted every, passion every home, created every beautiful child
in the winter they were weavers of warmth, in summer they were carpenters of love
They thought blue prints were too sad so they made them yellow

'Cause they were painters and they were painting themselves
A lovely world.

Until one day the rain fell as thick as black oil
And in her heart she knew something was wrong
She went running through the orchard screaming,
'No God, don't take him from me!,'
But buy the time she got there, she feared he already had gone
She got to where he lay, water-colored roses in his hands for her
She threw them down screaming, 'Damn you man, don't leave me
with nothing left behind but these cold paintings, these cold portraits to remind me!
He said, 'Love I leave, but only a little, try to understand
I put my soul in this life we created with these four hands
Love, I leave, but only a little this world holds me still
My body may die now, but these paintings are real.'
So many seasons came and many seasons went
and many times she saw her loves face watering the flowers,
talking to the trees and singing to his children
And when the wind blew, she knew he was listening,
and how he seamed to laugh along, and how he seemed to hold her
when she was crying

'Cause they were painters and they were painting themselves
A lovely world.

Eighty years, an old lady now, sitting on the front porch
Watching the clouds roll by, they remind her of her lover
how he left her and of times long ago, when she used to color carelessly,
Painted his portrait a thousand times, or maybe just his smile,
and she and her canvas would follow him wherever he would go

Yes, she and her canvas still follow
Because they are painters and they are painting themselves
A lovely world

Browns

I think there is something immortal about Browns Pharmacy, at least it feels that way to me since I've only worked there for five years of its 150-year existence. I feel as though I am standing right at the pulse of the town, when someone strolls in and asks where they may buy a paper, or when someone calls and asks me to tell their sister to buy onions when she comes in. Sometimes I think I could stay there always, looking out the big arched window at the old folks walking by, with Glenn Miller happily playing around me. I never get tired of telling people it's the oldest store in New York (even though I'm not sure that's true.). I never get tired of telling the old stories about the various crazy people we've seen throughout the years. Somehow, the simple and sometimes even ugly of Deposit becomes so beautiful there. I love hearing the old ladies talking about how they play pinochle with their friends, or Mrs. K. telling me she saw my name in the paper for the president's list and how she said to her husband, "Lee, that's our Hannah!"... "we claimed you."
I think my family somehow does belong to the people of Deposit in a different way than most people belong. And they belong to us. We belong first out of necessity, but also out of love and a knowledge that a small town can only be understood by those with eyes open and humble enough to see the roots under our feet.

"How can you be so dead?"

Is anyone else more than slightly nauseated by American Christians?
Seriously, as I write this I am so appalled by the Christan culture in America, because it is so different from the Christian culture of the Bible.
If all you're looking for in a Church is "fun," "food," "games," and "entertainment," then you're looking for something so shallowly lacking the true reality of the gospel.
Last time I checked, the Bible isn't about planning the next superbowl party or youth laser tag night. I think the Bible has a little more to do with... God?

It's time to get out of the desert and into the sun

I've got you all figured out. No matter what I say, you'll say the opposite, but when I am there, you are happy.
And I'm not sure if I am happy too, in some way or another. At least I know I love you, even though love and happiness aren't always friends.
I'll make them friends. I'll make us friends.

Day 1 of Spring Break

You know those days where you avoid almost everything you really ought to do?

They always make me feel a little empty, a little sad, and really lazy.

I just want to watch movies, to spend lots and lots of vacuous hours gazing at scenes flying by my eyes and pretend I'm not gonna be stuck in town all next week.

April 3

10:30 am: Jess, Nienna and I sit together giggling in the Spot Diner. Down the same street, at the same moment, a man is shooting more than a dozen innocent people.
10:30 pm: I sit in my kitchen, and somewhere, maybe thousands of miles away, innocent people are being killed, raped, tortured.
Somewhere in the past twelve hours I've felt the horror of not being able to leave behind situations that I've always found so easy to ignore. It's here, it's now. And now it's real.
Awareness is a word I have used all too lightly.

Wednesday.

I've just returned from a tea party at which I consumed no fewer than five cups of tea in a few hours... hence, I feel quite awake and in the mood for writing. I warned that tea would be mentioned quite frequently in this blog, so there you go.
I am sitting in my favorite room of the house. It has four big windows, two which face the house it was a companion to a hundred years ago, and two which fill the room with warm yellow setting-sunlight in evenings. It's in the back corner of the house, and there is something peacefully set-apart about it. It also has different, fancier moldings around the windows, which makes me imagine that it was a more important room in the past. Since I've lived here it has been a living room, then a dining room, and once again it is a living room which contains a new cozy fireplace and the piano. The fireplace is cold, and I haven't played the piano all that much lately. I can't help feeling as though both of those truths are somewhat parallel to my own life at this time. I'm not saying that I am depressed or anything so silly... I certainly am not pity-partying. I just am standing still right now, and have no earthshaking decisions or destinations at present. I am actually pretty content and quite happy, I just want to make sure I'm not wasting time, if you understand me. One thing I am determined to do, is to be more involved with missions and charities. I so often take my blessings for granted, and I want to give some of them away to someone who will appreciate them more than I ever could.
So I don't really know exactly where this blog took me... other than to my favorite living room, wearing my tea-party dress, my mind humming the song I heard in the car which caused this charitable resolve to grow so firmly in my caffeine less-than-free brain.

Kapow!

Hannah unexpectedly - and quite suddenly- realizes that being alone right now is way more fantastic than any other option!

Something so wild turned into paper

Winter Memory List:

1. Russian People.
2. Tea Parties
3. Mondays
4. New Years (Eve and Day)

Spring Purchase List:

1. Hunter Wellies (Yellow?)
2. New Ipod (how depressing)
3. Slip Slops!
4. Camera? Possibly?

Summer Reading List:

1. The Master and Margarita
2. Great Expectations
3. Brideshead Revisited
4. Moby Dick
5. The Four Loves
6. Something by Chesterton
7. Finish the books I am reading with my sisters (War in Heaven and Marple)

Fall To Do List:

1. ________ (Insert Something Clever)

Count the stars, if you can.

I keep finding myself back in Genesis. I have this feeling that God is trying to teach me something in the story of Abraham. Something about patience, trust, surrender, wilderness-wandering. Something about my own blockheaded ways.

Orange, Gold, and Green

I remember those months. I remember each one of us, caught up in some sort of first kiss. Everyone was so naive then, reading Perks of Being a Wallflower, eating Italian food in colorful skirts and collared shirts, sitting on furniture that is a few years older now. Oh, standing near those big windows that tapped with the spring rain (it always rained), the music behind me, and the laughter - our laughter - it was what that same book might have called "infinite." It is surprising how few photographs of that time I have. I could probably count them on one hand. It's enough to have a thousand pictures in my memory of the Converse sneakers, the dining room table, all of us a bit smaller and baby-faced.
We're so boring now, pretending to graduate from college and playing like we're old and wise enough to get married. Street names have changed for a lot of us, our pianos sit against different walls. I don't smell that smell which I found so much comfort in. The Italian restaurant is closed.
But I find that I'm still that girl in those big old windows, who now recollects and replays the voices and laughs of each of you in your own far places. Are you still laughing there? Is it all still real?

Here

... as Hannah reminds herself for the 100,000,000th time that change of location doesn't = problems solved.... is it so bad to just want to be somewhere where you cannot reach me?

9:18 pm

It seems that whenever I set out to learn or know something, instead of finding the nature of that one thing, I gain something else entirely- or many different things. Maybe it is this strange aspect of the nature of learning itself that makes learning such an infinite and beautiful thing. We're constantly redirected to another path, to something new or different which will soon point us to something else, we are chasing. Imagine how limited learning would be if this chase didn't exist... How lonesome it all would be if I met you and you simply taught me about yourself instead of adding to that knowledge a deeper understanding of myself and our world.

Introduction.

I'm suddenly inspired to write. Inspired by indignation, in fact. Indignation, yes, with a hint of procrastination. There is something about those two states of mind which makes me more eloquent than when I am happy and leisurely.

I don't really have much to say about things; about the state of politics, the state of the economy, the state of the weather, the state of New York. I think the only state I can currently speak about with any certainty is the state of my own mind and heart. Maybe this subject would be better left alone, but after all, I think it's my right to ramble at great length about myself on a blog whose URL is "hannahhempstead.blogspot.com." If you want politics or weather, just quit reading now.

So, here you are. If you're looking for a statement of purpose for this blog, or for a general theme which will consume the contents of it, you could probably sum it up very nicely like this:

The purpose of this blog is to provide a window into Hannah Hempstead's observations. There is no guarantee that these observations will reveal anything intelligent, entertaining, or relevant. One guarantee is that Tea, Community College, and C. S. Lewis are likely to be mentioned with some frequency.