Something Wicca this way comes.

Before I start: Salem is my favorite place in the entire world.

Reasons why Salem is the best place on Earth:

1. It is adorable

2. Pumpkins adorn every porch.

3. Most every house and lawn is decorated for Halloween.

4. Witches walk around the Salem streets fully clad in black cloaks, hats, and boots.

5. An older witch, complete with a pentagram tattoo on her widow's peek, pulled me over and told me "I like your pentacle, little witch." (I had just purchased a sterling silver pentagram, which I was wearing around my neck.)

6. I had peanut butter chocolate fudge. 'Nuff said.

7. I got my first official psychic/tarot reading.

8. I thought Natick was quaint...Salem takes the cake with its cobblestone streets and apothecaries.

9. I learned the term "Leaf Peeper" on the drive up through a beautiful countryside full of fiery trees. Apparently, a Leaf Peeper is a person who drives along the North Eastern coast to watch the changing leaves. Most Leaf Peepers originate from the Carolinas, namely South Carolina. They are usually old people. Interesting stuff.

10. I've wanted to go to Salem since, I don't know, EVER!

And now that I have, I can safely say that it is my absolute favorite town ever.

Love is Louder

So, I survived my first peaceful protest. In all honesty, part of me was afraid I was going to get shot by an angry religious fanatic, or caught in a riot, or something else horrible and violent. It was not so. A huge group of kids from my school and I took the train in from our school into the city, where we walked for about thirty minutes to get to the place the counter-protest was congregating. Even walking there was magical, as we were all excited, in good moods, and dressed in pretty white clothes (the protest encouraged this, as a sign of peace).

On the way there another group of young people joined us. They were college kids, and thought we were cute and young. I suppose college students do consider us babies in the ways of the world. It's funny how such things are measured. Anyways, the crowd of happy, white-clad people grew and grew. Every orientation, gender, walk of life was there, it seemed. It was slightly ridiculous how excited we all were, and it didn't help that movie cameras and news station started to flock. Finally, we were instructed by the amazing and kind college kids organizing this to line up in rows of three. Then, we marched. We whooped and cheered and made the peace sign and signed "love" in sign language. Periodically we broke into loud chorusing chants of "Love is louder". We marched around a large city block twice before reconvening in our starting place to celebrate. People from all over the city area came to watch us. Some were happy to see us, others not so much.

At the end, just as we were dispersing, a large, white van pulled up beside our enormous group. The van's outer walls were absolutely covered in scripture quotes. I was completely freaked out at first, and then the passenger rolled down the window. We knew he was from the Church we were counter protesting against, and he was not pleased to see us. Basically, he informed us that we were all going to hell, and then held out a narrow, yellow pamphlet detailing why. So what did we do? We showed him the strongest love we could. We lined up in front of the van and chanted
"Love is louder" with smiles on our faces until they drove off and away. It was epic.

I learned many a valuable lesson yesterday, the most valuable being that positivity truly conquers all. Acceptance and compassion are palpable and strong. People can be very, very good. Even wonderful.

Love is louder.

Sweating Tea

I don't know if it comes with a passion for writing, but the entire writing studio(myself included!) drinks tea like the apocalypse in imminent. In on of the corners of the room, by the wall of windows looking out onto the field, we have a cabinet. In this cabinet, we have cups and bowls and an oddity of utensils. Upon the cabinet is a microwave, should we want to genetically modify our foods' cells (but that's a different story). On top of the microwave is a black wicker basket. In said basket, is tea. Bags, and bags, and splenda, and bags of tea. And it's wonderful. We also have espresso roast, but thus far we've all been too lazy to make a pot. Aside from the fact that I have to pee every fifteen minutes, it's lovely. It's relaxing, and I can only hope all this green tea is bolstering my immune system and not just squeezing my bladder every quarter of an hour.

In fact, I am writing this from a Writing Studio laptop with a steaming mug of organic herbal tea. Good fun.

I don't even know

why I haven't been updating my blog. But now I'm back, so all is well.

The first week of school has been the first sprinting leg of a ninth month marathon. A good sprint, but rather tiring nonetheless. I've realized that I am functional away from my parents, aside from a wee moment of damp-eyes when my friend played my mom's favor

ite Norah Jones song (oh jeez, here I go again). But I am functional. I can eat, exercise, shower, brush my teeth, do homework all without someone telling me. Simple as it may be, it's comforting to know that for some reason.

Yesterday was the school's annual Harbor Cruise. Honestly, I haven't spent much time on boats. I've romanticized them and told myself I'd be a great...er...boat person. I know your probably expecting a story about me vomiting off the port side for four hours, but it wasn't so! I was able to keep my sea legs under me the entire ride, except for a slight bought of nausea at the very beginning (and after I ate an entire cup of fondue chocolate, but that's another story).

And the dancing helped as well. Okay, people at my school can dance. Not just ballet dance and coreography dance. But dance. Even I danced, though not nearly as well and with that awkwardness known specifically to white females who get excited because everyone else is dancing and they want to too and end up looking like an awkward white person. But I had fun. Lots of it. It was four hours of dancing and friends and other such happy things.

My dad wrote me a very touching email yesterday. During my skype session with my parents, I related to them how much I missed them. I always do, but I guess I really did sound pitiful. So a little while later, my dad wrote me a message about the importance of routine in combating home sickness. Taking out the trash, running, going for a walk, doing dishes, doing homework and so on are all good routines to have. I'd been doing those, but on automatic. If I can see that I'm doing that to stay happy and sane (as humans go), I think I'll have much fewer Nora Jones incidences. But it's been great here. The people are great, the teachers are great, and the vegetarian selection is tres bien.

Alors, I must go and start another beautiful fall day.