Thursday, December 31, 2009

Last Post of 2009~A Year Of Dreams

I really didn't know what to expect from 2009. And now, at the very end of 2009, I can see that there is no way I could have expected what this year brought me.

2009 was a year of great sadness and great joy.

My uncle died on Easter. My mum's oldest friend died in November. But, even in the depths of sorrow, God is with me and there is always His Light shining. And it was shining.

The great joys came throughout the year and carried me through. For me, 2009 will always be remembered as the Year of Dreams.

In this year of Dreams, which sounds cheese-y but is the truth, I became friends with some of the loveliest people ever and helped promote the fledgling careers of 3 very talented and lovely English singer/songwriters, Bobby Long, Marcus Foster, and Sam Bradley. This new vocation gave me such a wonderful purpose. I traveled to Texas to meet my new friends, the boys, and see some fabulous live music. I also traveled several times to Portland, Seattle, and even Vancouver, BC, to help promote and to see shows, to see friends & family. It was amazing. I have never really traveled by myself, nor taken on such responsibilities. I have grown up a lot this year, which is a very good thing. I have learned life lessons and made an impact and have found something that I adore doing.

I have also had fabulous times with dearest old friends, including my Twinnie!, playing 10 Words, watching dazzling movies, and much more.

I could go on and on, but I have spent more than enough time on the computer this year. My song of the year is Bobby's "Being A Mockingbird." Go listen.

"I don't know where I am headed to, but at least I know where I've been . . ."
  • Bobby Long, "A Passing Tale"

Our revels now are ended. These our actors,
As I foretold you, were all spirits and
Are melted into air, into thin air:
And, like the baseless fabric of this vision,
The cloud-capp'd towers, the gorgeous palaces,
The solemn temples, the great globe itself,
Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve
And, like this insubstantial pageant faded,
Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff
As dreams are made on, and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep.

---William Shakespeare, the Tempest,
Act IV, Scene i, Lines 148-157

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