Taylor’s Island, Dorchester Co.


6 pm

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10 am


2.00 p.m

3.00 p.m.


early evening

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late morning


My rugby team went on a retreat this past weekend, to the Eastern Shore. For all the photographs of roads in the above series, there was only one, and in the 36 hours we were on there, I only saw twelve cars, ours included. There were many more cemeteries and abandoned houses than people, and also Holland Island (visible as a little nub in the water in the second-to-last photo), so we were a little reluctant (a little spooked) to go outside after dark each night.

But! It was really lovely.






Mothers are oceans;

they have unfathomable depths.

My mother lost her mother

too long ago for me to know anything

of her but her children & husband’s recollections;

I know little of my grandmother,

save from photo albums in our basement.

My mother feels her absence deeply, I suspect.

Moms are fickle things;

we only know them as they are now,

not who they were when they were younger,

if we were lucky enough to know them at all.

Looking through a meticulous scrapbook of my her childhood,

I learned more about my mother as a woman,

and not as “Mom”.

The more I see,

the harder she is to read.


just how are your eyes this blue?

This year I’m away at school,

and I’ve taken up the habit to ask her,

“how is Noreen?”

and not

“how are you, Mom?”

while on the phone.

It’s a not slight,

nor so much an

“oh, I’m an adult now, so I’ll call you by your first name”


as it is that I am asking her how she is

as a person

separate from her mothering identity.


she likes to hike!

I’m named after my grandmother.

As often as I am proud,

“I was the grandchild named in her honor”

I am afraid, too.

The name is heavy.

There is a weight to this bequeathed crown,

the etymology matters less than

the namesake;

her appellation is my inheritance.

My mother’s patience and imagination

balanced truly remarkably

with her diligence and industriousness.

I will never understand how she has accomplished everything she has;

and has kept her head, too.


I would like to thank you for your kindness,

your hair-stroking (and coloring),

you humor,

and for that time we sat in the great big refrigerator box in the front yard,

eating something out of the carton.

Thank you for your faith in me,

thank you for your trust,

and your love.

I love you, too.

You are wonderful,

and will always be wonderful,

and a wonder,

in my book.

I will never reach your sea-floor

and uncovered all your opal hopes and quiet desires,

but in my book,

you’re always a favorable character,

tough, and beautiful,

vulnerable and valiant.

I want to watch Brave with you, again.

Plot twist:

I think you are more like Merida,

and I’m Elinor.

Lots & lots & garden plots


♥ love ♥


Your daughter,


photographic edits 9 June 2016



We’ve made it.

It’s the Spring, the end of the Winter, the beginning of new life.

The darkness that begins with Halloween

ends today,

with this vernal Holy week.

Today is the day Catholics (and many Protestants) celebrate the Resurrection.

(The Greek Orthodox Church celebrates Easter this year on May 1st.)

Many other faiths celebrated ceremonials this past week, and their holidays are noted below.

Easter Rose

In Éire, it’s the centenary of the Easter Rising of 1916, which means so much to the Irish.

I can’t begin to explain it, so here is Yeats’ take.


In Sweden, the Easter witches come out, lurking the the shadows until dawn.


In the Vatican, the Pope says a magnificent Mass for everyone.

In Jerusalem, fewer Christians made a pilgrimage this year than last,

and yet the faithful will always come.

♥ ∞ ♥

This past week was also an important one for many other religions.

The Spring Equinox was last Sunday,

and both the followers of Persian Zoroastrian and Baha’i celebrated the New Year on 21st March.

The 23rd was both Holi, a Hindu festival, and also Magha Puja, a critical date in the Buddhist calendar,

and 24 March was Purim, the Jewish celebration of Queen Esther‘s heroism and her prevention of an impending genocide.

The 24th was also Hola Mohalla, the founding of the Sikh Khalsa.

Tomorrow, the 28th of March, is the prophet Zarathustra‘s birthday,

(Holiday research courtesy Dr. R. Sawyer. Much thanks.)

♥ ∞ ♥

My prayers are extended to those affected by the recent acts of terror in Pakistan, Belgium, Turkey, Nigeria, and the Côte d’Ivoire.

Banksy expresses hope for world peace beautifully.

Peace, lovelies.

x. Carey

p.s. – I realize that I know very little about the celebrations and customs and traditions of other faiths, and that is a shortcoming of mine. I believe in societal “wokeness”, and now I am on a mission to become religiously woke. If any mistakes have been made above, they are mine alone. “To err is human” said John Donne, but that doesn’t mean we should admit defeat; rather, we should learn and move forward. Excelsior.

(Ever higher).

p.p.s. The images of Florence Welch, in my personal belief, are introspective in a way that I identify with.

Therefore, she frequently appears in many of my posts. Her intelligence and musical artistry are really wonderful.

This is a personal blog, and no intention has been made to undermine or criticize others’ beliefs; these thoughts and expressions are purely my own.



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Carey is:

on the verge of a mental breakdown, though

she’s not exactly certain what will aggravate/stave it.

It’s probably due to AP Season(al) Affective Disorder,

or maybe because Senioritis is real (real, real, valid, real),

or possibly the awfulness {“Oh but it’s awful/the more I’ve heard”

-my interpretation of Austra’s “Lose It”,

though I know those aren’t the lyrics.}

the awfulness of recovery,

and maybe not wanting it anymore.

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So, what did I accumulate {find} during the month of April?

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The orchid was an Easter gift;

the painting an heirloom from Grandmama O’Clock;

the bunny {a bank} from Aunt Missy,

a gift from Tiffany’s;

van Gogh journal from the localish B&N,

a guilt gift to myself;

the soapcake

originated at an orchard nearby.

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{Trying out filters with camera:

just something new.}


Fortuna bona, amicis meis!

(Good luck, my friends!)

All the best,





Apologies for the radio silence.

There is something about March that is so very dreary, yet the teachers’ solution is that one must pile papers onto students until they topple.


While taking a break from AP homework (three chapters in one weekend, oh yes!), I decided to blow eggs to dye. This is a precarious task, enlivened by the fact that I have an egg allergy.


Anywho, I blew the yolks right out of those eggs (sounds nasty, yes? Yes.)

And these were the results:


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Van Gogh’s “Starry Starry Night”

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“A Rose by Any Other Name”

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Monet’s “City Sunrise”

So yes, these are not truly “Finds”, but this is what happens when one is under the gun (which is spewing FRQs) and creativity is the best release. (Oh! And another official find {albeit virtual} is Cassey Ho’s Blogilates YouTube Pilates classes. Addictive!!)

How did I think up these lovely little eggs?

(Another good eggy find is The Talking Eggs, a picture book inspired by Haitian folklore {Krik? Anyone??} that my grandmother read over and over to me, and a book that I still read every time I am discouraged)

I thought of these eggs based on my, ah, obsession with Impressionist paintings. (GIVERNY! FIELD TRIP!!!)

1) Simply blue and yellow food dye, and salt.

Image Courtesy Wikipedia

Image Courtesy Wikipedia

2) Light coat of red dye, deeper green dye, and pink candle wax melted onto the eggshell (using a taper).

Image Courtesy Polyvore

Image Courtesy Polyvore

3) Soaked egg in red and yellow dye for about an hour, let dry, and painted with nail varnish (Essie, to be exact, but OPI and Sally Hansen work, too).

Image Courtesy Longwood University

Image Courtesy Longwood University

I am planning the Easter posts as we speak, but now I really need to get back to AP Euro…and maybe sleep.