Desert Island Picks.

SnapDragon’s Top Ten Albums: Pick #4.

Hi! And welcome to the latest addition to my Desert Island Picks.

In case you missed my little advertisement, I’ve decided to award ten–yes, only tentop albums of my life.

And when I say ‘album’, I mean the entire album, friends. The whole record. Not some compilation or mix tape. I put in the CD, crank up the volume on quality speakers, and let the artist’s creation come to life.

You know. How it was intended.

All right. Now that we’ve cleared that up, let us continue!

. . .

#4: American Doll Posse by Tori Amos (2007)

Image borrowed from Amazon.com

Hell yesss.

Before we begin, Dear Reader, it’s worth reminding you that this list of albums is a reflection of my life.

Each selection is precious; each one a savored stone of remembrance.

And let’s face it: not everyone digs Tori.

But she’s my spirit animal (whatever that even means) and I’m effing proud to list American Doll Posse as Pick #4.

Here. We. Go.

. . .

It’s the spring of 2007. I’m on the brink of turning 20; my curly hair is dyed a coppery shade of red. Sophomore year of college has awoken me to so many beautiful and complicated truths.

I feel like I’ve shed a skin I didn’t know I had.

My Chevy Corsica barrels down the highway, the nighttime calling and shrieking and pulling me in to its possibilities.

I’m fucking unstoppable, yo.

And in the passenger seat, no doubt, is my black-haired best friend. Sparkly eye shadow. Pink Sugar perfume. Non-stop laughs about things only we think are funny.

And although life has taken us different places, the magic of ADP will always remain between us.

Pure magic.

. . .

All right, all right. I’ll get to the music.

American Doll Posse checks all of the glorious Tori boxes:

-Raw, Badass Lyrics

-Insane Imagery

-Pristine Vocals

-Powerful Yet Intricate Piano

And in typical Tori fashion, she created five distinct personalities to deliver the message.

Like so many things, it’s a bit odd to experience it now, in post-Trump America.

But it’s a masterpiece. And I leave it to your ears now, friends.

. . .

Favorite Track: You just gotta listen to the whole thing. Just do it.*

. . .

*Can’t? If you insist, listen to “Dragon”.

. . .

SnapDragon is a wife, mama, and teacher who lives in beautiful southeastern PA.

Follow Snippets of SnapDragon for her two-bit opinions on pretty much everything.

The Poetry Pot.

The Spider’s Web.

Poem 1. Written by SnapDragon X.

Not Forgotten, 2017. Acrylic on Canvas. Original Painting by SnapDragon X.
All rights reserved.

there is a delicate fluttering within me

stitched down deep,

that keeps us together after all these years.

the constant spinning:

may it never grow weary;

may it remind you of

everything that was and will be.

. . .

SnapDragon is, perhaps, just another brick in the wall.

Follow her Two-Bit Musings and more on Snippets of SnapDragon.

Two-Bit Musings.

The Keepsake Box.

We’re having a baby. Yep.

So that means. . . well, it means a lot of things.

But it also means the total home reorganization/deep cleaning project has officially begun!

(smiles shakily)

My OCD ebbs and flows with the piles of clutter on nearly every surface: documents to file; books to take to the office; bag after bag of GoodWill donations we hope will somehow find new life.

It’s rather a lot.

But, the fun part (aside from seeing vacant shelves for the first time in years) is the journey through…

The Keepsake Box!

To be fair, there is more than one box. In fact, this dive through every nook and cranny of our house has revealed many-a-loose-end to be rediscovered. Perhaps I should upgrade it to The Keepsake Corner. Or even The Keepsake Closet.

Anyway, it’s a weird feeling to see your life’s memories reduced to a plastic bin of seemingly useless objects.

But, sitting down on the floor of our loft, water bottle at the ready and Henry and Raja sniffing about, I dug into the dusty treasures of yesteryear.

I pawed through envelopes of photographs. I smiled at the faces of people who at one time I shared my secrets with, but have long since drifted away. I wondered what they were up to. I wondered if they had found happiness.

There were wedding and bridal shower invitations; thank-you cards; baby shower and birth announcements; letters from friends and relatives; ticket stubs; agenda books from undergrad; four pairs of eye glasses; old driver’s licenses; cards from students; journals; scrap papers with the beginnings of stories; graduation tassels; cheap plastic earrings bought at Claire’s.

It was all there. The little moments that make up a life.

I suppose we all have different “phases” that categorize our time spent on this planet. Mine might be: The High School Years; The College Years; The Philly Years; The Teaching Years. There would also be subcategories, such as: My Art; My Writing; My Travels.

I think back to each of these times, and inevitably wonder:

Could I have done things better?

Sure. I could have studied harder. I could have stuck with the clarinet instead of switching to the oboe, then the bassoon. I could have taken more art classes.

I could have settled into each moment, worrying not of the future stretched before me. I could have realized that all of those struggles, all of those worries, would one day come to pass.

But alas, things are never quite so simple.

I think no matter how old we get, we will always have a list of unknowns.

And perhaps, all we can do is to greet each day with hope.

Because all of those phases of life, all of those notebooks and drawings and plans are a part of you.

They’re a part of me.

That high school girl with her nose in the book is me.

That college girl with the bright red hair and blasting jukebox is me.

That Philly girl with the clawfoot tub and Dunkin’ Donuts addiction is me.

That teacher who danced The Harlem Shake with her drama kids is me.

I’m still here, ready for the next adventure.

I awake with a hand on my growing belly and my husband by my side.

Here we are.

We’re a family of travelers, academics, and fur babies.

And we’re ready for whatever’s next.

We’re ready to savor the simple moments that mean we’re alive.

Hello again.