The Tale of Peter Rabbit

Two days ago, I was drawn to The Tale of Peter Rabbit: Beatrix Potter's timeless story about a young rabbit who mischievously disobeys his mother when he j0urneys into the garden of Mr. McGregor.

I was lead to Peter Rabbit by first reading an article about an auction of rare children's books including Harry Potter, Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, and "Beatrix Potter's personal copy of 'The Tale of Peter Rabbit'".

The Tale of Peter Rabbit, I thought. Ahh, yes, now I remembered where I had seen it lying around in past years. It was in my garage with all the other old children's books. When I arrived home for Thanksgiving break, I went straight to the garage, opened the cupboard, and behold --- the quiet, dusty book was sitting there, snug in its place. Gently, I pulled it off the shelf, as if it was a piece of antique china, and went to the living room to turn on the fireplace and read the book that reminded me of my childhood. With the fire crackling and The Tale of Peter Rabbit on my lap, I picked it up and started reading...

Children's books refresh my mind and spark my imagination. They take me back into a time when I lived in wonder and they allow me to taste that wonder, if just for a few moments. After finishing Peter Rabbit, I looked up with new eyes to see the world around me: from my living room to the mountains, and from my desk in front of me to the farthest stars in God's creation. Maybe you could find your favorite book from childhood and see what it does for you.

-Carson

Library Cards: When's the last time you owned one?

Remember when you checked out books from the library because you wanted to read them and not because you had to read them for a class? Remember when you had a library card for your local library?

Last night, for the first time since what had to be 9th grade, I had the pleasure of checking out a book from the library that I wanted to read. Walking out with a fiction novel made me feel like a kid with a library card again; it made me wonder why I ever stopped going to the library for reading pleasure. The process of checking out books, reading them, and then returning them was somehow nostalgic. This picture is from a site with the most beautiful libraries in the world.

"A Wrinkle In Time" Finished

In the pockets of time throughout the day, in the dawn of morning with a cup of coffee, and in the dead of night before bedtime, I have steadily made my way through "A Wrinkle in Time" by Madeleine L'Engle, an endearing story full of warmth and love; a story that shouldn't be reserved for children, but shared with the whole world. I believe stories are universal and that they resonate in the hearts of all who have retained their childlike wonder and imagination. Good stories, I believe, should not be held in our hearts, but shared joyfully with our deepest friends.

Red Eyes

There's two coffee shops on Biola's campus ---

Common Grounds & The Talon

If you were on campus randomly, you'd most likely see me at The Talon because they know how to make coffee better and I'm no advocate of weak coffee. Today was different. My friends invited me to Common Grounds and so I said yes and made my way down there. While walking, I was contemplating what on earth I would order at a place that has the word "common" in their name --- a sure sign of the quality of their coffee, I thought. Nevertheless, I continued walking and met up with the friends I mentioned earlier.

I have always known in the back of my mind that there is a drink made up of espresso and coffee, but for some reason I have never gotten it. Today was the day to change that. I saw it on the menu as "Red Eye" and somehow I knew that it was the drink I was thinking of.

"So is the 'Red Eye' espresso with coffee on top?" I asked the barista.
"Yep!" she said with a smile.
"I don't know how I knew that with your code name for it and all," I said with a smirk. "but I guess I was right. I'll have that."

And so it was. Even after a distasteful first encounter with Common Grounds coffee, I had officially ordered my second drink. After I waited 5 minutes, I decided to ask if the drink was ready. I realized the irony of my words after I got my drink.

"Did I miss the red eye or are you guys still making it?"
"Yep, here it is. It was ready a couple minutes ago."
She handed me the drink and I took it.
"Thanks so much," I said.

When I tasted the drink, I was taken aback. "Wow..." I took another sip. "WOW."

The Red Eye had won me over and I had let it do so. It might've just been the nature of the drink and that any drink with espresso plus coffee is going to be good. But something happened this afternoon - something special that moved my soul and changed my attitude about Common Grounds. Maybe my newfound love for Common Grounds will only go as far as the Red Eye or a doppio espresso, but I may end up enjoying something more. Everyday is a new opportunity for coffee to tug at you in a different way and today I experienced the tug of the Red Eye. Tomorrow is different --- tomorrow is the unknown tug.

When You're Too Tired To Write One Sentence

It was after staying up all night to write an essay that I had to go to a 3-hour class in the morning. It was 10:30 AM and I could barely keep my eyes open. Everything within me wanted to close them and dream of happy lands. I tried my hardest to write at least one sentence without closing my eyes, but even when I fought the sleep, my heavy eyes still won. Every time. The page below contains my honest attempts to write what was going on in the class discussion. Click on the picture to get a closer look at my hilarious nonsense:



Hope you enjoyed looking at my jibberish---Make sure to get some sleep so you can keep your eyes open long enough to do what you love well.

running and waking

i discovered the value of exercise in contrast to academic work last night. yesterday, after spending a good 14 hours studying, reading and writing, it only made sense to me to go take a run and get all that was welled up within me out of my system. it was 12:30am at the time, but i needed to do it. so i got into some running clothes and headed to the track at our school. it was nice and cold outside. i ran more than i thought i would and it felt great --- all that intake of information and all that sitting was released as i ran. being out there alone on the dark track calmed me and settled my mind.

that night, i slept very well and this morning i woke up with a clear state of mind. i can't study forever. my body needs that balance of the mental and the physical.

Going Home

When my alarm clock went off I was in the middle of a dream. An enjoyable dream as I remember. I got out of my bed and turned off the alarm. It was cold outside of my blanket. I looked around the room for the things I needed and brewed some coffee while doing so. The quiet morning combined with the slow mumbling and crackling of the coffee maker soothed my mind and focused it for the day ahead.

Just as a bluish, dim light was peeking through the window, I had found all of the things I needed. Once I had gathered them into my backpack, I started on a long walk towards my car with a fresh cup of coffee in my hand. It was a blue morning; a brisk morning compared to the mornings before this one. There was a heavy fog and a soft bite to the air like a child who bites his sibling’s finger - it doesn’t sting, but you can sure feel it. It’s still a bite.

Suddenly I was feeling heavy – like all the fog that surrounded me. The weight of my backpack and the dense morning might have contributed to this feeling, but I think it was more of where I was headed.

I was going home that day, and I hadn’t been home in a long time.

I started the car. Exhaust immediately shot out to join the fog that was already there. The best kind of fog is the kind where you can’t see even 15 feet in front of you. This was the kind of fog there was. A fog so dense that it creates an uncertainty and uneasiness in people. I made a left and entered onto the 5 Freeway. A mad place, the freeway is. I wondered where everyone was going and where I would end up if I followed the blue car in front of me. I wondered how many people actually wanted to go where they were going, or if they were just stuck working a job they despised or running an errand they thought was mundane. By this time in the drive, the coffee had filled the whole car with its aroma and was blending with the music I was listening to, creating a multisensory experience. The morning was still waking up. The fog hadn’t lifted yet.

I was going home for the day.

Home took on a new meaning sometime between leaving for college and now. For me, it’s a place of refuge, safety and relaxation. Memories of childhood are in the air and laughter is painted on the walls. But really, I don’t really know what it is at the core – what makes a home a home or what creates the feeling of being home. Maybe it’s the people in it or the things a home provides for our souls – a place where you can take off all the thick layers of disguises and get rid of all the masks and sit there in the living room and just be, perhaps more so than anywhere else. When I walk through the front door I feel a release of whatever tension had come upon me from the outside world. The home provides a motherly comfort that so many people never experience because they don’t have a place to call home.

The car seemed to pull itself off at the right freeway exit. I didn’t need to think about it. I knew where home was. It felt like Fall that day more than any day before. As I was driving on the quiet neighborhood streets, hearing the toss and turn of the wind and the creaking of the trees, it wasn’t the changing color of the leaves that made it feel like Fall, but the fact that I was going home that brought the season fully to life. I was driving. It was Fall. I was finally home.

Morning

I woke up this morning with this quote in my mind:

It is enough to be, in an ordinary human mode, with one's hunger and sleep, one's cold and warmth, rising and going to bed. Putting on blankets and taking them off, making coffee and then drinking it. Defrosting the refrigerator, reading, meditating, working, praying. I live as my ancestors have lived on this earth, until eventually I die. Amen. There is no need to make an assertion of my life, especially about it as mine, though doubtless it is not somebody else's. I must learn gradually to forget program and artifice.

-Thomas Merton

Preproduction in the studio - Day 2!