Sarah and I are on break, and we're all together, yet we've not met as Muses yet.
My break is rapidly coming to a close, and is filling up quickly.
I now only have tomorrow morning and afternoon, or early morning Saturday to meet.
Please choose a time SOON!!!
Thursday, December 27, 2007
Sunday, December 2, 2007
I agree that we should meet. I was just going through the Book, organizing the random 'Better Homes and Gardens' pages that I ripped out mercilessly. Anyway, so when? Where? We could meet at McClains, or that nice Downtown Fullerton courtyard. Sometime we should include Soren, and see what he says.
tata Dearies,
-Sarah
Saturday, December 1, 2007
Dreams only come true if you work hard
SO...
A friend I have who wants to start a bakery.
Another friend I have who would like to own a book store.
We three, indeed, do want to start a boheimian academy, it seems. A community of sharing, discussing, and learning.
Down stairs shall be the books and bakery, with wooden stairs that lead to the upper room, where sit people with their bread, pastries and books, or paint their canvas being inspired by a friend, or smell, or the music that another shares. Some listen, some discus, some ponder, some are lost. Lost in a world within the pages that they hold. And in the back, either above or below, are studios, two to be precise. From one is heard melodious sound, or perhaps not so very melodious. From the other the smell of oil paint floats.
The floors are wood, the draperies all around, and the smell of old books mixes with those smells of bread, spices and the like.
Think you, my sweets, that this is that of which we dream?
I dream of it, and hope that it may be.
But for it to become a reality, we must all three meet and plan and scheme.
A friend I have who wants to start a bakery.
Another friend I have who would like to own a book store.
We three, indeed, do want to start a boheimian academy, it seems. A community of sharing, discussing, and learning.
Down stairs shall be the books and bakery, with wooden stairs that lead to the upper room, where sit people with their bread, pastries and books, or paint their canvas being inspired by a friend, or smell, or the music that another shares. Some listen, some discus, some ponder, some are lost. Lost in a world within the pages that they hold. And in the back, either above or below, are studios, two to be precise. From one is heard melodious sound, or perhaps not so very melodious. From the other the smell of oil paint floats.
The floors are wood, the draperies all around, and the smell of old books mixes with those smells of bread, spices and the like.
Think you, my sweets, that this is that of which we dream?
I dream of it, and hope that it may be.
But for it to become a reality, we must all three meet and plan and scheme.
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