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#KeepinTheSparkleAlive 

Contest ends 12/31/14.. If I don't reach 1000 by then no TwiPrize will be given away! So help a sparkly peep out will ya! 😄

Two Separate Stephenie Meyer Day celebrations in 2015 to be held at the same time?!?! Say What!!!

I have so many feels about this right now I am not sure where to start... 

There might be two separate Stephenie Meyer Day celebrations during September 10th-13th, 2015. One will be held in Forks, Washington like always, AND the other to be held in St. Helens, Oregon!

Click here to read more about this!!

I am very torn about these two events, and the dilemma these two sides face right now for sure...  

I love Forks and all the surrounding areas, however Oregon is my home and St. Helens is not far from where I live.

HOWEVER, St. Helens will not have the sign that always welcomes me and my SPARKLE team to Forks. Well, lest face it, it welcomes us ALL to Forks, and we LOVE seeing it!

Change is not always easy, but I am not sure if this kind of change is good or bad.. I am still processing this to be honest.  I love Oregon with my whole heart, but I love the PacNW as a whole as well, and I always look forward to getting way once a year to see my Twifamily in Forks!

Now there will be two events at the same time?!? Now my TwiFamily will be a divided team?!?

UGGGGH, now I know how Bella felt when she was trying to decided between Jacob and Edward!

Can there be a Team Switzerland for these two events and their planners?!?  

Although, I really pray there isn't going to be a choice to be made.  Because I like Bella, will ALWAYS chose Edward!!!  Life is what you make it and for me and my team we ALWAYS have a SPARKLY good time no matter where we go or who we are with! 

What are your thoughts about the two events being held at the same time?  

Which one will you be going too?

Forks where the Twilight Saga books are based on or St. Helens, where some of the filming of the m Twilight  movie was done at?

Decisions decisions... 

Either way it sounds like all of us Twifans have a few really big decisions to make ourselves before September 10th 2015, as well as these two AMAZING cities and their "committee member's", per say, whomever they are...

However, no matter what the out come is, I hope we ALL remember its about fun, friends and the love we ALL share for Twilight Saga!  

#KeepinTheSparkleAlive

The Twilight Saga - 2014 Calendar

LOOK!!!

If you don't have one yet now is the time to get your Twilight Saga 2014 Calendar!! 

I love mine!!

Amazon has the Twilight Saga 2014 calendar on sale for a whopping low price of $4.95! How can you beat that! Yay for deals!! :)

So get them while you can TwiPeeps!! 

Order yours now: Amazon

#KeepingTheSparkleAlive 

#Forever

YA Novel Showdown! Vote For Your Favorite in Our Tournament

Twilight will always get my vote! I just love the fact that Twilight is still in the running for something!!!  So go vote TwiPeeps! 

"What is the best young adult novel of all time? As Divergent opens in theaters on Friday, we find ourselves wondering which novel (or series) is the best-written work for the YA set. Sure, all of these books contain heart-thumping action and adolescent angst, but which one created a world we never wanted to leave?"

"Vote for your favorite novel in the first round! Voting in each round will close at 11:59 p.m. and a new round will be revealed every day until we crown a winner on Friday, March 21."

Come on TwiPeeps let bring Twilight home again! Whoop Whoop fun! :)

Vote here!

Source

The Works of Alfred Lord Tennyson; The Lotos-Easters

If you are "True" Twilighter then you will COMPLETELY understand why I purchased this book to add to my Twilight collection!  :)

As soon as I figured out who the Author was of the poem Bella was reading to Renesmee in BD2 which was like the very next day of seeing the movie, I added it to my Twilight collection. :)

However, just so you know I have been enjoying his work, as I read it more and more, and not just because it was in a Twilight movie. Anyhooo, if you love poems and the late 20th century, your imagination will run SPARKLY wild with Tennyson's work! LOL

Want one for your TwiCollect?
Buy here: Amazon 

If you would like to read the whole poem, The Lotos-Eaters by Tennyson, I have listed it below for you all to enjoy.  Oh and if you are wondering why its a different color then my web site.. Wellllllll, its because I had to cut and pasted the poem from another web site and the font wont behave itself at all in blogger.. And No I was NOT gonna re-type the whole thing either...

The Lotos-Eaters

Alfred, Lord Tennyson (1809-1892)

“COURAGE!” he said, and pointed toward the land, “This mounting wave will roll us shoreward soon.” In the afternoon they came unto a land In which it seemed always afternoon. All round the coast the languid air did swoon,         5 Breathing like one that hath a weary dream. Full-faced above the valley stood the moon; And, like a downward smoke, the slender stream Along the cliff to fall and pause and fall did seem. A land of streams! some, like a downward smoke,         10 Slow-dropping veils of thinnest lawn, did go; And some thro’ wavering lights and shadows broke, Rolling a slumbrous sheet of foam below. They saw the gleaming river seaward flow From the inner land; far off, three mountain-tops,         15 Three silent pinnacles of aged snow, Stood sunset-flush’d; and, dew’d with showery drops, Up-clomb the shadowy pine above the woven copse. The charmed sunset linger’d low adown In the red West; thro’ mountain clefts the dale         20 Was seen far inland, and the yellow down Border’d with palm, and many a winding vale And meadow, set with slender galingale; A land where all things always seem’d the same! And round about the keel with faces pale,         25 Dark faces pale against that rosy flame, The mild-eyed melancholy Lotos-eaters came. Branches they bore of that enchanted stem, Laden with flower and fruit, whereof they gave To each, but whoso did receive of them         30 And taste, to him the gushing of the wave Far far away did seem to mourn and rave On alien shores; and if his fellow spake, His voice was thin, as voices from the grave; And deep-asleep he seem’d, yet all awake,         35 And music in his ears his beating heart did make. They sat them down upon the yellow sand, Between the sun and moon upon the shore; And sweet it was to dream of Fatherland, Of child, and wife, and slave; but evermore         40 Most weary seem’d the sea, weary the oar, Weary the wandering fields of barren foam. Then some one said, “We will return no more;” And all at once they sang, “Our island home Is far beyond the wave; we will no longer roam.”         45 CHORIC SONG I There is sweet music here that softer falls Than petals from blown roses on the grass, Or night-dews on still waters between walls Of shadowy granite, in a gleaming pass; Music that gentlier on the spirit lies,         50 Than tir’d eyelids upon tir’d eyes; Music that brings sweet sleep down from the blissful skies. Here are cool mosses deep, And thro’ the moss the ivies creep, And in the stream the long-leaved flowers weep,         55 And from the craggy ledge the poppy hangs in sleep. II Why are we weigh’d upon with heaviness, And utterly consumed with sharp distress, While all things else have rest from weariness? All things have rest: why should we toil alone,         60 We only toil, who are the first of things, And make perpetual moan, Still from one sorrow to another thrown; Nor ever fold our wings, And cease from wanderings,         65 Nor steep our brows in slumber’s holy balm; Nor harken what the inner spirit sings, “There is no joy but calm!”— Why should we only toil, the roof and crown of things? III Lo! in the middle of the wood,         70 The folded leaf is woo’d from out the bud With winds upon the branch, and there Grows green and broad, and takes no care, Sun-steep’d at noon, and in the moon Nightly dew-fed; and turning yellow         75 Falls, and floats adown the air. Lo! sweeten’d with the summer light, The full-juiced apple, waxing over-mellow, Drops in a silent autumn night. All its allotted length of days         80 The flower ripens in its place, Ripens and fades, and falls, and hath no toil, Fast-rooted in the fruitful soil. IV Hateful is the dark-blue sky, Vaulted o’er the dark-blue sea.         85 Death is the end of life; ah, why Should life all labor be? Let us alone. Time driveth onward fast, And in a little while our lips are dumb. Let us alone. What is it that will last?         90 All things are taken from us, and become Portions and parcels of the dreadful past. Let us alone. What pleasure can we have To war with evil? Is there any peace In ever climbing up the climbing wave?         95 All things have rest, and ripen toward the grave In silence—ripen, fall, and cease: Give us long rest or death, dark death, or dreamful ease. V How sweet it were, hearing the downward stream, With half-shut eyes ever to seem         100 Falling asleep in a half-dream! To dream and dream, like yonder amber light, Which will not leave the myrrh-bush on the height; To hear each other’s whisper’d speech; Eating the Lotos day by day,         105 To watch the crisping ripples on the beach, And tender curving lines of creamy spray; To lend our hearts and spirits wholly To the influence of mild-minded melancholy; To muse and brood and live again in memory,         110 With those old faces of our infancy Heap’d over with a mound of grass, Two handfuls of white dust, shut in an urn of brass! VI Dear is the memory of our wedded lives, And dear the last embraces of our wives         115 And their warm tears; but all hath suffer’d change; For surely now our household hearths are cold, Our sons inherit us, our looks are strange, And we should come like ghosts to trouble joy. Or else the island princes over-bold         120 Have eat our substance, and the minstrel sings Before them of the ten years’ war in Troy, And our great deeds, as half-forgotten things. Is there confusion in the little isle? Let what is broken so remain.         125 The Gods are hard to reconcile; ’Tis hard to settle order once again. There is confusion worse than death, Trouble on trouble, pain on pain, Long labor unto aged breath,         130 Sore task to hearts worn out by many wars And eyes grown dim with gazing on the pilot-stars. VII But, propped on beds of amaranth and moly, How sweet—while warm airs lull us, blowing lowly— With half-dropped eyelids still,         135 Beneath a heaven dark and holy, To watch the long bright river drawing slowly His waters from the purple hill— To hear the dewy echoes calling From cave to cave thro’ the thick-twined vine—         140 To watch the emerald-color’d water falling Thro’ many a woven acanthus-wreath divine! Only to hear and see the far-off sparkling brine, Only to hear were sweet, stretch’d out beneath the pine. VIII The Lotos blooms below the barren peak,         145 The Lotos blows by every winding creek; All day the wind breathes low with mellower tone; Thro’ every hollow cave and alley lone Round and round the spicy downs the yellow Lotos-dust is blown. We have had enough of action, and of motion we,         150 Roll’d to starboard, roll’d to larboard, when the surge was seething free, Where the wallowing monster spouted his foam-fountains in the sea. Let us swear an oath, and keep it with an equal mind, In the hollow Lotos-land to live and lie reclined On the hills like Gods together, careless of mankind.         155 For they lie beside their nectar, and the bolts are hurl’d Far below them in the valleys, and the clouds are lightly curl’d Round their golden houses, girdled with the gleaming world; Where they smile in secret, looking over wasted lands, Blight and famine, plague and earthquake, roaring deeps and fiery sands,         160 Clanging fights, and flaming towns, and sinking ships, and praying hands. But they smile, they find a music centred in a doleful song Steaming up, a lamentation and an ancient tale of wrong, Like a tale of little meaning tho’ the words are strong; Chanted from an ill-used race of men that cleave the soil,         165 Sow the seed, and reap the harvest with enduring toil, Storing yearly little dues of wheat, and wine and oil; Till they perish and they suffer—some, ’tis whisper’d—down in hell Suffer endless anguish, others in Elysian valleys dwell, Resting weary limbs at last on beds of asphodel.         170 Surely, surely, slumber is more sweet than toil, the shore Than labor in the deep mid-ocean, wind and wave and oar; O, rest ye, brother mariners, we will not wander more.

Source #KeepinTheSparkleAlive