New York Chronicle: Issue III

Burnt and festering!

Have you ever seen what the sun can do to two fair, freckled, women? Particularly when those same two women are not particularly conscientious in their use of the sunscreen bottle. Ach! Will not I ever learn? Must I always remain so foolish a mortal?

Tuesday, 19 July, 2005. The fatal day of our destruction. We went to Jones Beach, on the south shore of Long Island. One of the best stretches of sand in the United States so I'm told. We spent a good portion of the day there, during the hottest hours naturally. I spent my time alternately rolling with the mighty waves, and attempting to build sand castles. Periodically, after having been beaten by a few too many breakers I retreated to the sand and the sanction of our very own umbrella. But, oh woe to me! I had not the wisdom to retire to the shade of that mercifully large essential. Instead I delighted in casting myself down onto a towel and giving the sun its due amount of attention.

Kristi, I repent in dust and ashes. Pray forgive my ere in judgment. I really should have listened to you. I utterly and completely admit that I was in the wrong.

And now is the part where I give you full leave to laugh at my expense. I only took the trouble to apply sunscreen to a few vitally important areas of my extremely Caucasian body:

-A smattering on the backs of my knees.
-A blob on the end of my precious nose.
-Just a pat on as much of my back as I could reach.

And that was all.

And now I am in anguish. Utter, hair-raising, extreme, agonizing, anguish. Or so I was yesterday and the day before. Its beginning to heal at last I do believe. My poor sister had an itching fit in her back today that sent her into spasms. Even little Katie, whom we dutifully slathered with SPF 45 did not completely escape some redness.

Now to make you (and I) feel better about the entire situation:

Perks to having a Sizzling Sunburn:
-Due to the fact that my entire face is the color of scarlet, there is no need for make-up except perhaps for a dab of mascara.
-I can already recognize the distinct signs of a deep tan starting beneath the dominating boiled lobster look.
-I now have every right to moan or groan or be a complete weeny if I wish. (Note: this is not intended to intimate that I am in any way succombing to the temptation.)
-I have virtually been living in my swimsuit for the past three days and will no doubt continue to do so. I cannot abide contact on my poor abused skin.

But...I enjoyed the day! The soveriegnty of our God was so evident there as wave after wave swept over me, and as I rose with the ebb and flow, the constant crash and then the inevitable under tow continued. And continues still. Faced with such great power, such a feeling of helplessness. Such an awareness of God's majesty. He created it all. He sustains it all. And this is our God. The one who predestined His Son to die for our transgressions. That kind of love belongs to that kind of power. There is no beating that.

And I know God has a plan even for sunburn. If only I knew what it was...

New York Chronicle: Issue II

Date: July 4, 2005
Time: 5:30 p.m.
Location: Upstate NY

Directly in front of me stands a barn--this towering structure is painted brick red, and planted round about its base, are coral-colored Day Lilys. A sweeping panarama is to my back, the amber glow of the crops, and nestled in between hills and valleys and clumps of trees, are farmhouses dating back to the turn of the last century. There is always the inevitable big red barn.

I am sitting at a picnic table, set in this very spot to sanction our own private al fresco supper. I am among friends. I am lingering over a savory meal (props to Mrs. M.). At this moment I believe that I couldn't be more glad, more content. A gallon jar is resting on the ground adjacent to our table. Perspiration is dripping down its smooth sides. It contains oh-so-glorious ice water. Earlier today I took Katie with me to the side of the barn where the tall circular silo stands erect. Together we poked our heads inside its cool, dark interior and sang up into its dome. Sang a song to our creator.

"Let all things now living a song of thanksgiving to God the creator triumphantly raise. Who fashioned and made us, protected and staid us, who guides us and leads to the end of our days."

Katie loves music. She also loves to sing. She may be heard projecting her babyish voice loud and clear during the hymns in church. It is simply enchanting. Her favorite song (incidently the only one she knows), is "All People That On Earth Do Dwell". It is number one in the red Trinity Hymnal, and is sung to the tune of the doxology. And she really sings it. She knows the tune, but doesn't quite get the words out yet.

But back to the al fresco dinner. In due course our idyllic meal came to an end, and, together we set about clearing, cleaning, and carrying everything back to the house. And as the day was coming to its restful close, so also was our brief sojourn in this beautiful place. And as I lingered to feast my eyes for the last time, the sun in all its glory, was making its final descent into the horizon. As it sunk low, I was dazzled by the hugh eminating from its core. Pink. Hot, golden pink gazed back at me for long moments, and then it was gone.

That is a taste of the beauty to behold in this state, and that was our celebration of Independance Day. Perhaps New York in some way represents the whole of this country, I cannot presume to say. But I believe that our celebration was more beautiful and more joyous than most. We were free and happy in the heart of the country. True there was no big show, no fireworks, no fuss and botheration. And that suited me fine.

And now we are half-way through July, and I have much, much, more to say. Next week is the proposed time for our trip to The City (Manhattan). But I will save that for another time. For now, life is good, because God is good. And that is all anyone need know about anything.

New York Chronicle: Issue I

The dust has begun to settle and we are all beginning to recuperate from the past week of unpacking. Ben and Sarah moved into their new house on Thursday (incidently the day we got here), and it took us a few days of hard work and mayhem to get settled in, get the kitchen in functioning order, etc. etc. It is quiet now--I am writing this from Ben's office. He is gone for the day, otherwise I probably wouldn't have a chance. Haha--actually, he quite generously offered to let me come up and blog for a while.

It is balmy weather here, and if I was brave enough to open the window shades up here at the top floor, the sun would be bursting in upon me with irresistably dazzling rays. When Mom goes home next week I will move into the spare room on this same floor and will leave my shades open constantly! Splendid. For now I am inhabiting the basement with her. This house really is shockingly roomy I must say. There is a full basement with a kitchen and bathroom, an upstairs with two rooms, two bedrooms on the main level, and a decently-sized kitchen and living room.

Life for the most times is tranquil, and very interesting. Andrew is a darling child, and has the biggest appetite in the history of the world! He took a few steps yesterday--I felt so privilaged to be able to witness such a momentous event. He didn't think it was so very wonderful--he was only interested in getting from Mama's arms across the floor and latching onto the pretzel in Daddy's hand. Anything for food. Katie is a little slip of a girl with a silliest laugh this side of Pitsburgh. I am afraid she relishes the title and calling of "big sister". It can be very amusing at times. "No Adew! Adew, No! NO ADEW!" Bath-time is another adventure which perhaps I should chronicle in some future issue.

On our third day here I had quite an extraordinary experience. I walked into Ace Hardware, only to be met by what looked like a miniature doberman pinscher. Jenna, maybe you could help me out here? It was the size of a Chiwawa (sp?), and seemed to enjoy jumping up as far as its little paws could reach on any given victom. Just two more steps into the store saw me face-to-face with the biggest dog I have ever seen in my life. I tell you truly--it was massive. Gigantic. And black all over. Surprisingly enough, I wasn't much worried--it was a New Foundland. Very gentle, and at this particular moment--very lazy. The whole picture just struck me as odd. And histerical.

Until next time~

Clarification...

Dearly beloved~

I would be much obliged if you, my dear friends would drop me a note on my email to inform me of your home addresses. It would be extreemly helpful. I'm making an effort to keep contact--and I would dearly love to send you all lovely little post-cards as well! Please see my profile if my email address is needed.

Yours truly,
~darling little me
xo

P.S. You can disregard the "darling" if you want.
P.P.S. For that matter you might consider disregarding the "little" as well.
P.P.P.S. On no account must you disregard the "~".

Stress, laughter, anticipation, tears, gladness...and everything in between.

I have seven days--no, less than that (today is almost over). As the time grows nearer, I am growing more sad, glad, apprehensive, and...oh it is so hard to articulate a woman's emotions! And that is another frustration.

I am just realizing how many people I have built my life upon and around. And how many people I have so intricately woven into my heart who must be missed this summer. Oh yes, it is only a summer. But what a summer it is to be! I will officially graduate when I return in the Fall, and then comes adulthood (my eighteenth birthday) and responsibility. Where has Beka, that little girl run off to? Will she ever return? Can she ever? This is such a turbulent and unpredictable time. Will I be happy? Will I be strong enough to face my dreaded nemesis, "real life" without flinching? Most of all, will I serve my Master faithfully, and persevere.

Many of you have been so kind as to wish me well, and bestow on me such tokens of faithful friendship, now in this short time before my departure. You all are so precious to me. I, who call myself a writer, can scarce find appropriate words to express it. What a grand send-off you wonderful people are giving me--full of warmth and love and good wishes.

I am flying into the unknown. Although I have visited New York before this and loved it, people are what make a place worth seeing. Yes, I will be with my dear sister and brother, and their sweet babies, but other than they, my whole world will be new. Unexplored. Unfamiliar. You must pardon me, I am feeling just a trifle sentimental at present. But you must promise me one small thing:

Don't forget me amid you summer delights or trials, inrigues or drudgeries. Remember that I haven't moved to Mars, I'm still sufficiently accesible here in the capitol of the world. And if you happen to think of me sometimes, present me to God in your hearts.

That was more than one little thing, but I am sure that after you have thought it over and pondered it you will find it within your hearts to forgive me. And now--if any of you would enjoy hearing from me other than on this blog while I am away, I would very much appreciate it if you would give me your home addresses, and I promise to drop postcards, letters, notes, whatever I have time for at any particular time. Some of you no doubt have already bestowed such information upon me in the past, but please do so again so I may be sure of having it all written in my little book. Email would be the most convenient of the modes of communication--if you would be so kind?

Note: See my updated profile if my email address is needed.

The pangs or perhaps joys, of a petty poet

Sitting beneath this willow
My chosen place of retreat,
My mind was open--ready to create.
But somehow when I long for a gift
It is most unwilling to be given
And soon I must be content
With rustling wind and a pink hair ribbon.

There is a time for every purpose--
This is a good and right decree,
But when I am wanting something I cannot see,
It most often remains elusive.
And as I was despairing of ever gaining a prize,
Inspiration sweet being withheld from my eyes,
I looked back up my page and found--not empty words,

But the very thing coveted--gold.

Falling...

...no, not in love.

You are struggling for a foothold
Your hands reach to grasp mere air
Your heart tells you to let go
But you fear the result of despair

Falling, falling, releasing
The demon with reckless abandon
Eyes glaze in total surrender
Drenched in sin, you grieve but cannot shun

Will no one save you from yourself?
You feel it would be useless to try
A cry comes forth from the depths of your soul:
"Oh help God, send reply!"

Falling, falling, will God forgive?
You have no other hope--
He reaches with scarred hands to catch
You are saved from this wretched slope

Discover new strength in temptation, and praise the Lord!

Note: this was written out of faith as well as personal experience. I originally wrote it in the first person, but changed it for publication.

Angel of Patience?

I believe its time for a little explanation. When I first gave out my blog address, I recieved comments from people who wanted to know if I was the "angel of patience." No. Afraid not. This sublime celestial is my mascot. And I'd like to tell you why. Please read on:

To weary hearts, to mourning homes,
God's meekest angel gently comes:
No power has he to banish pain,
Or give us back our lost again;
And yet in tenderest love our dear and
Heavenly Father sends him here.
There's quiet in that angel's glance,
There's rest in his still countenance!
He mocks no grief with idle cheer,
Nor wounds with words the mourner's ear;
But ills and woes he may not cure
He kindly trains us to endure.
Angel of Patience! Sent to calm
Our feverish brows with cooling palm;
To lay the storms of hope and fear,
And reconcile life's smile and tear;
The throbs of wounded pride to still,
And make our own our Father's will!
Oh thou that mournest on thy way,
With longings for the close of day;
He walks with thee, that Angel kind,
And gently whispers, "Be resigned:
Bear up, bear on, the end shall tell
The dear Lord ordereth all things well!"

-John Greenleaf Whittier

This poem speaks to me like no other that I have ever read. Its eloquence is not lacking in any respect. And I--I struggle to be patient, to temper my longings, fears, frustrations with pure, simple peace. I truly want to "be resigned" and "make (my) own our Father's will". What could be more beautiful than to live in such tranquility and patience!

terrible tact!

Note: I understand that truth must be tempered with tact, but I find that for me, it would be better if tact were tempered with truth.

How many times has the perfect moment come, but my words failed to come with it?
How often have I abstained from telling truth, and settled for tact instead?
And how many moments have slipped through my fingers--lost forever?
Moments when I could have touched a soul, but flattered instead?
That terrible nod and smile of supposed understanding has too often belonged to me, and I have listened silently as others have explained and reasoned--trying desparately to justify their wrong-doing.
And I so afraid of offending my fellow human being, simply let it pass, terrified of the result should I speak.
Others tell me that tact and sensitivity are my gift and should be cultivated.
But sometimes I think it would be more appropriate to call it cowardice.
I would rather be called sincere.
I would rather be known as a woman who means what she says and says what she means. What a truthful life I would lead!

~full and free~

My father died of a brain tumor when I was still in the womb. Since Jesus took him my mother has raised my six siblings and myself on her own. She even made the descision to educate us almost completely at home. I will never forget an occasion when she had taken a job as a waitress. I was still young and didn't like it one bit. After only a few days of work she quit and came home to me. Yes at times I've wanted my father--wanted him like you wouldn't believe. But how could I be so ungrateful for long, when God has blessed me with such a fantastic mother? This is for her.

She's here, she's there
It seems to me she's everywhere.
She's picking up toys,
She's feeding little boys.
Even though she's tied all through,
She still has a hug for you.
Her love is full and free,
For my brothers, my sisters, and me.
~~~
Sometimes things are rough,
Even through sickness she's tough
For there's meals to be laid
And there's beds to be made.
Play is hard for some kids--
Sleep is falling on heavy eyelids.
Her love is full and free,
For my brothers, my sisters, and me.
~~~
We're grown, some have gone away.
She hopes that some are here to stay.
No one will ever know how long
She's prayed that we would keep from wrong.
All alone she raised us, but did she?
I think there was help--from the Trinity.
Always her love is full and free,
For my brothers, my sisters, and me.

Some cherished ones

Here's me sister and me niece for your enjoyment! By the way, its Anna and Kylee. Just thought I had better clarify that. 

Blogs: leanings and meanings

It is precisely six months yesterday since I began this blog, and in view of that fact I believe it is time for a little evaluation—an overview of what this blog has been and continues to be to me. It started as a new and exciting undertaking. It has turned into a learning experience.

It may seem a bit strange and perhaps even a little self-centered to some, but one of my main struggles is simply to understand myself. Have you ever felt the torment of having started a new friendship and being terrified that the person in question will somehow “find you out” and will shun you because you were found lacking? My comfort is that God knows me inside out—and loves me anyway. But people aren’t always so unconditional, and I have felt the pain (however imaginary it may be) of failure and rejection. I suppose the less time spent stewing about such things the better.

I was talking about self-discovery. Who am I really? Is what I write really and truly a manifestation of the real me? And is it really that important to search out one’s self? But forgive me, my eloquence is becoming not so very eloquent.

Another of my interests is to understand others. All these people around me, my family, my friends—even my fellow bloggers. I seek to understand what makes them tick so to speak. What causes their actions and reactions, their emotions, their values? What is important to each individual? To become acquainted with this myriad of characters, and hearts is not un-useful to such a predominantly intuitive person such as I. I am concerned that I will offend, will be the cause of grief or discomfort, and so I work to know how I may avoid such blunders. I don’t know if you would call this a science or an art form, but it certainly is somewhere along those lines.

But too much ado about my interests. This blog has provided a means of self-discovery, and others-discovery in a very nice manner, and I can only hope that my ramblings will have really meant something and not have been just a bunch of words on a page somewhere in cyber-space.

Correction...

Oops! The link for "Feminine Frills" was going to the old address--sorry about that folks. It is now corrected, and I invite all to visit and see the changes that have been made(improvements I hope).

Grace I don't think I misspelled anything...but then my eyes may be playing tricks on me--I'm becoming so terribly old and decrepit you know! =)

Have a lovely day!

We're in business!

Ladies and gentlemen, may I turn your attention to the links on my sidebar, and more to the point, the particular link named, "Feminine Frills". This is the team blog which I have started in association with my dear friend Erin. We would be glad of a visit from you periodically!

Jenna and Sara--I have a bone to pick with you!!! You know what I'm talking about. =)

Immortality of lake, cabin, and fire-side

Recently written by a friend (thank you again, its lovely!), this epistle describes the sojourning of Kat and her fellow adventurers. Other summarizations of the proceedings can be found with Mark, Kristi, and Drea.

The Chronicles of Nothing Else...

There's nothing else like seeing your clothes and your friends' sprinkled with tiny yellow constellations of dandelion pollen because of a flower tossing war.

There's nothing else like punting through sunken forests of mossy trees with new spring buds, with four friends in a sturdy enough little boat and pushing off marshy goose nests, just to see what's around the next corner.

There's nothing else like the delicious spooky chill you get from being out in the same boat, shiver-cold water lapping at your feet, playing a flashlight through tricky fog, trying to figure out if the human figure about twenty yards to your left is alive or not.

There's nothing else like the voice of a friend quiet in the dark, telling a story about ancient faraway people who fully lived.

There's nothing else like the shreiks of a friend who can't stand crawly things suddenly discovering that the previously well-contained crawdads on the picnic table have miraculously achieved their liberty and are beating a hasty retreat under her chair.

There's nothing else like lying in your sleeping bag and knowing that if you start singing something, anything, even Brahams's Lullaby, someone will join in harmony, and it will be beautiful, even if you mess up the words.

There's nothing else like coming in off the lake at ten-thirty in the morning, having been through the gates of Narnia and back, knowing that you have the entire rest of the day ahead of you, to a full breakfast with sausages cooked over the open fire pit.

-a timeline-

"Things that were..."

I am a dreamer. Truly I am in the fullest sense of the word. But it is such a lovely word is it not? I have been dreaming all my life long (which hasn't been so very many moons). I have also been wishing for with great impatience the time when I may at last make dreams realities. Now what would you call this? A juvenile discontent for present blessings? Or simply the restless wandering of a spirit ever in need of change and new discoveries? I always see the wonders of what could be, the glory of what has been--but fail to cherish what is sufficiently enough. I am sad to say that this is my life story--my disposition is fixed and I am blind to the wonders and discoveries of today. But this situation is not hopeless. As I grow perhaps I am learning that all the wonders of past and future at one time were contained in "today".

"...things that are..."

Now I stand in the open portal of the adult world, listening transfixed to the voices of that world calling me to join them. Join them in striving, in joy, in sorrow, in pain, in glory. And suddenly as the things I had hoped for are finally coming to pass, I long to hide my face like a child in a mother's embrace and stop the clocks for one immortal moment. For it seems such a great and awesome responsibility to me--to live and work as a subject of the King and be about His business. But I remind myself to wake from my dreams of yesterday and move forward with the future in my eye, on the ever present path of today.

"...and some things which have not yet come to pass."

What is in store? And what does my future hold for me? Has not every person living in this world pondered that question? This reflection certainly isn't unprecedented. I fear that I sound like a freckle-faced, romantic school girl--alas, this is what I am. Some part of my immediate future has been revealed to me. If God wills, I am traveling to spend the summer in New York with my sister and brother-in-law, Ben and Sarah (I love you guys!). This means aproximately two months of my life devoted exclusively to my East coast family. You must imagine my excitement! I am to go and take care of my neice and nephew, and generaly help out in any way I can--in exchange for my passage east and a salary per week. Can you imagine that?! I am going to be payed to do what is my dearest delight! I can't decide if someone handed me the moon or sewed me some wings. Think of it--just two months from now, I'll be on my way. What terrible glory this is! I feel so very timid--and blessed.

Now you must be thinking that I am making too much noise over one brief summer in the history of the world. But I am determined to make this trip live up to its fullest potential. I want to grow and to learn and to serve with all of my might. And that with the help of our Lord, most esteemed ladies and gentlemen is what I intend to do! Excelsior--onward and upward!

Fred the brave and true

I would like to say at the outset of this post that the only reason that I discovered Fred in the first place was to entertain a six-year-old child with similar fantasies. It worked. Now I seek to entertain you.

Fred is my friend. He has brown hair like me, he is short like me, and the only difference between the two of us is that his eyes are a warm shade of brown (not to mention the difference in gender). Fred is at my side constantly and has strong opinions on many aspects of my daily life. I like to think of him as my twin brother--you see I couldn't get away from him even if I wanted to, and nor could he, seeing as we're connected at the hip.

When I first became aware of Fred's existence, he was greatly persecuted by a good friend of mine, who quite frankly should have known better. Poor Fred, to have been ignored for the first seventeen years of his life, and then having at last emerged from obscurity, only to be scoffed at by such a person. But enough said on that subject, I have since forgiven this good friend of mine because she has provided a companion for my dear Fred. Yes, she at last surrendered to the truth--her good sense has finally triumphed over her synicism and Fred has met his bosom friend...Timmy.

Timmy is connected to my friend at the hip and therefore, he and Fred have become "kindred spirits" so to speak. But that is neither here nor there--I must tell my story, or should I say, Fred's. Fred loves sushi, algebra, hockey, buz cuts (which I absolutely will not allow), thinks that Tennyson and Shakespeare stink, and generally hates all my loves, and loves all my hates. But then, what are little bros for? Nevertheless, he is extreemly loyal and very attached to me (no pun intended) his devoted and loving twin. This is a very natural feeling for him to have seeing as he owes his very existance to my extreemly well cultivated imagination.

And now at last I get down to the wire. Yes, I must aknowledge that Fred exists chiefly in my own curious mind. I say chiefly because I know a very cute little six-year-old girl who has unshakable faith in Fred. And now you may return to your daily activities knowing for a fact what you have suspected all along--that Rebekah the blogger is just a little dotty.

I must apologize if this post is a trifle immature. You see in the face of many unhappy and sometimes disturbing events occuring in our world today, I find relief and great enjoyment by escaping to a wonderful world of make-believe. It is a lovely world of creativity and imagination. And I wouldn't part with it for any amount of common sense. I hope you have enjoyed this brief journey with me. Come again!

"...deeds of love and mercy..."

"He has shown you, O man, what is good; and what does the Lord require of you but to do justly, to love mercy, and to walk humbly with your God?"
Micah 6:8

These words have been copied from God's Word and printed on a simple sheet of printing paper. It hangs on a bulletin board for all to see. My mother put it there--this is just one out of many deeds of love bestowed on us, her children. There it is, right next to our computer, reminding us like a beacon through the fog of essays, papers, email, and yes--blogging, of the simple, beautiful duty of each of us servants of the Master. It never ceases to fulfill it's purpose, for every time I sit at this desk, it speaks to me with compelling arguments.

"He has shown you, O man, what is good...". What more do I need? What more can be said? There it is, shining brightly from a few little words. No matter the questions to be asked, or the complexity of future choices, this stands strong and clear. It is strange how words that have no meaning on their own, can be brought together and weaved to create such wisdom.

This epistle would be more lengthy if it weren't for the sad fact that I must not be on the computer longer than fifteen minutes--Mark's orders. I have already exceeded my limit. We have to be careful of the hard drive you see, don't want it crashing on us--again.

her parting shot

"Drive carefully!"

These are the words that I hear every time I leave my teacher's house--drive carefully. It would be quite a normal thing to say to a student as they left your house except...I don't drive. I don't have my license or a car, and I don't think I'll be getting either for a while (you need money for such things).

Dear Judy knows perfectly well that I will walk across her lawn and down Grover street for about a mile before I reach the Lynden Library. She knows perfectly well that I don't drive, that I don't have my license or a car. But still she says these blessed words: "Drive carefully" in her cheerful, sunny voice. I complain too much. My family is well aware of that fact. But it reminds me every time she says it. I reminds me to...

"...be resigned, bear up, bear on the end shall tell, the dear Lord ordereth all things well!"

You may not see the connection between the use of a funny little illogical phrase and my contentment, but it makes plenty of sense to me. What if I couldn't walk at all? As much as I hate, despise and loath having to ask for rides of people, what if I wasn't able even to walk one mile in order to get across town?

But aside from all this, I want to share with you all the simple preciousness of a person who must impact my life very deeply. Judy is the image of endurance and cheerfulness. She is my dear Mother's age and she took a job nobody else would keep just because they needed her. It is not exactly the ideal, wonderful, nice pay with benefits job. Her employers are ridiculously tight-fisted. And what hard work and dedication they get from my wonderful Judith Lynn! When she's breaking her back, all she'll say is, "am I doing this to the glory of God?" and goes back and does it better. She shall have her reward--her children (Drea and me) shall praise her in the gates!

~PINK~

Pink. Seemingly the essence of girlish femeninity, chickly weakness, and babely pride. Pink is my color. It is the hugh that every girl child by default makes its grand entrance into society wearing. To some it is shallow and wimpy--but hey! Its just so pretty! You can express so much in this perfect color:

Powder pink--you're calm, a little shy, very sweet.
Fuschia--vivacious, bold, a teensy bit rompy.
Petal pink--soft, but lively, lovely in the fullest extreem.
Pastel pink--a trifle niave, happy, girlish.
Magenta--(not from Blue's Clues) rich, mysterious, but charming.

To all my pink hating friends--remember that it takes allot of pink and blue to come out with your precious purple.

Now you may be thinking, "Why so much ado about a color?". Well most everyone has their color, for instance--Sara and blue, Jenna and red or black, Mark and yellow...these colors are universally loved for their brightness, and basic boldness. They are on every color pallate. But what about pink? Its not even included in the rainbow! Someone has to sing its praises--so why not me? A girl who really does appreciate it in all its splendor.